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Marry The Knight

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor was a monolith in Gotham’s fickle aesthetics, remaining constant as the city planners constantly quarreled amongst themselves over whether the city should be a one great gothic cathedral, a cyberpunk landscape, a decaying urban jungle, or even a showcase for giant typewriters and abandoned circuses. Through it all, the manor maintained its stately dignity.

In October, jack o’lanterns sprung up, more to defuse the manor’s intimidating veneer than to add to it. In December, Christmas lights rung the gates. And rarely, very rarely, the press was allowed onto the grounds. There, they would inevitably assemble around the east wing’s patio like an army laying siege. And there, Bruce Wayne would make his formal public appearances, most often to dispel some paternity suit or another.

Today was an exception. Today, it had been three hundred and sixty-five days since the Eugenic Bomb…


Lois Lane looked at her notepad, eying her own prose. Could use punching up. Was she sure that Wayne Manor only changed in October and December? She thought she’d heard something about pink ribbons during Breast Cancer Awareness Week…

Lois, like a hundred other journalists, had convened on the manor like ducks on bread. Because when Bruce Wayne wanted to say something, he either leaked it like a normal genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, or he held a press conference. It was a press conference, which meant that he was letting people into his home. Or at least close to it. And for the notoriously private Wayne, who’d never even had his phone hacked, that meant it was something important.

Lois bet that Wayne was finally going to come out of the closet. Her husband had twenty dollars on the exact opposite. She loved Clark, but obviously gaydar wasn’t one of his superpowers.

A sudden bustle from the gossip rags got her attention. Their cameras acted as a crude strobe light as Bruce Wayne strolled out from the depths of his manor. He was dressed casually for such a clotheshorse: penny loafers, khaki pants, and a magenta dress shirt (Lois knew it).

He went unerringly to the podium erected before the porch’s balustrades. With an understated but firm gesture, he signaled for the roar of questions and flash photography to stop. And miraculously, it did.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming.” To no one’s surprise, the speaker system was calibrated perfectly, without even a hint of feedback. “I really wish I could just be out here announcing a new charity golf tournament—or even explaining away a photograph of me with a lampshade on my head.”

He paused a half-second for some appreciative laughter, and cut it off just as it died down. Lois was always impressed by the way the man could work a room.

“But unfortunately, I’m out here on business. It was one year ago today that the Evilutionist set off his Eugenic Bomb, rendering a full ninety-nine percent of the population infertile. This week, you’ve already heard from some of the world’s health organizations, its individual leadership, and the Justice League. But because there has also been a great deal of misinformation and rumormongering, let me take this opportunity to set the record straight for everyone within range of my voice.”

He stopped to adjust his cufflinks, lips twitching as if he were trying to lessen his scowl, tone down his sudden seriousness. Lois watched carefully, tapping her pen. Her tape recorder would be catching everything. She only had to write down her impressions.

“There is no apparent cure for this sterility. Now, thankfully we were dealing with an overpopulation problem before the blast, so it will be some time before the effects of this tragedy change our way of life. But they will. All our technological sophistication is useless without people to run it. So, for that one percent of people who weren’t affected, they need to start making babies. The traditional, monogamous method of reproduction is no longer conducive to the survival of our species. Traditional marriage is no longer viable.

“Polygamous marriage has now been legalized by every member nation of the UN. No one wants for there to be a breeding program, or to infringe in any way on the rights of those women who are still fertile. I realize how strange this sounds, and how much it goes against people’s upbringing. Which is why so much of the Justice League, and other superhero bodies, have been leading the way in multiple marriages to demonstrate to the general public that such relationships can and must work for humanity to continue. I myself, as one of the One-Percent-Fertile, will be doing the same. I hope you all say to yourselves that if Bruce Wayne can settle down and get hitched, anyone can.

Lois was first to ask the obvious question, interrupting the laughter before it began. “So who’s the lucky lady, Wayne?”

Ladies. As I said, no one’s a one-woman man anymore, not if they’re fertile. Which brings me to why I really called you here today. No, much as I enjoy your company, it wasn’t just to go over what you already know.”

This time, Lois let him get his laughs.

“When the Eugenic Bomb went off, the Justice League and allies were fighting with the Secret Society of Supervillains within the Evilutionist’s lair. As a result, virtually no superhero or supervillain on Earth was rendered infertile. For lack of a better term, that’s breeding stock that can’t be ignored. This morning, the UN passed a resolution offering blanket immunity for past crimes to any female supervillain who agrees to a child-rearing marriage.”

The press exploded into questions, and Bruce just set his hands on the podium to wait it out. Meanwhile, Lois wrote in her notepad simply: Holy shit.

That would cover it until she could get to her laptop and write about ten thousand words.

Again, Bruce did whatever mass hypnosis trick let him quiet down a crowd of curious reporters. In the silence, he said, “I believe in justice and I believe in the law. But these are the most pressing of extenuating circumstances. Most of these women are not evil, they’ve simply made the wrong choices. To some extent or another, they’ve all paid for them. Some would say they haven’t paid enough. To that, I can only reply that I hope these women will take advantage of this opportunity to earn the second chance they’ve been given. And the women I’m marrying I believe intend to do just that. They’ve been referred to by other titles, but from now on, I’d prefer if they were known simply as Pamela and Harleen Wayne.”

This time, even Bruce Wayne’s crowd control couldn’t contain the uproar.

Lois checked her phone. TMZ had gone live with the story already, with no more information than the big headline BRUCE WAYNE TO WED HARLEY QUINN AND POISON IVY. Other sites were following suit, the alerts filling up her inbox like a flood.

“No one has any questions?” Bruce asked wryly ten minutes later, when the noise had finally died down. “That’s alright. I know what you’re thinking. ‘Brucie, why would a guy who could have any woman in the world—‘”

(He nodded bashfully, eying Lois. Okay, so not gay.)

“—decide to marry two women who are so… ethically challenged?’ Well, that’s the reason right there. Pamela and Harleen are phenomenally intelligent, talented, beautiful, and passionate women. Due to the Joker and Jason Woodrue, two promising lives were derailed. I will use all my resources and abilities to help them reclaim the great futures that were stolen from them. It’s my responsibility as a man of wealth and fertility. And I hope that others will follow my lead and allow some of these wonderful women, these so-called villainesses, into their lives. Try as I might, I can’t handle them all on my own.”

Everyone was a bit too stunned by the roller coaster ride to laugh, so Bruce ended his stand-up routine on a cold room. Lois didn’t mind. She’d already filled the notepad with questions: When’s the wedding? Whose idea was this, yours, Ivy’s, or Harley’s? How will you deal with Ivy’s toxicity and/or pheromones? How soon will you wait before trying for kids?

And she’d already gauged the security system. She’d come back in an hour, break in, try to get an exclusive.

For now, she updated her schedule. She’d have to catch a later flight to Salt Lake City to cover the still-ongoing Mormon party. And Clark and Lana were supposed to meet her there, too. Lana was cooking. As wary as she’d been at the prospect of sharing her husband with a goddamn harem, the upside was that finally, someone in the house knew how to cook.

But her readers would have questions for Bruce Wayne. They deserved answers.

Not that she was convinced that Wayne wasn’t gay. The man virtually collected hot teenage boys. What was up with that? And how could Lois get in on it?


That night, the Gotham Museum of Natural History shrieked at the moon and stars. The underpaid security guards bumbled along to the tune of the alarm like an ant hill with a bootprint in it.

Response time from the Gotham City Police Department was fifteen minutes. Batman was there in three, finding Catwoman sprawled on the rooftop beside the open skylight and spinning a slender artifact in her hand like a baton.

“The Statuette of Bast,” Batman said gruffly, still pleased to be shaking off the high voice of his alter ego. “Thought that’d be a little cliché for you these days.”

Catwoman pouted noncommittally. “Sentimental value, perhaps?”

“I also heard it was a fake.”

“I heard that too.” She set it down. “We do have some time to kill before the police arrive. You could make the usual pitch for me to change my wicked ways, see things in black and white—or you could explain why you’re the meat in a psycho bitch sandwich. I mean, I’ve heard of the boyfriend and the best friend before, Bruce, but this takes the cake.”

“Ivy and Quinn aren’t your friends.”

“Don’t make me say frenemy. I hate using any word invented after 2004.” Catwoman sat up. “Pretend I’m your butler. Explain to me how you’re not insane.”

“Those two would’ve jumped on the deal, found some wealthy patsy, then killed him for his money. If I’m the patsy, I can keep an eye on them.”

“If they don’t kill you. That part’s kind of important.”

“I wasn’t lying at the press conference. Ivy and Quinn can be redeemed. It’ll just take more work than I implied. But think of the good they can do if they were rehabilitated.”

“They could give you a double blowjob.” Catwoman’s eyes flashed. “Or is that not the kind of good you’re talking about, lover-boy?”

“I’ll use every ethical method at my disposal to change them. But nothing will happen that they won’t want.”

“Kinky.” Catwoman pulled down her goggles to look him in the eye. “But you’re still not answering the real question.”

Batman considered throwing Catwoman’s jealousy in her face, but he knew it was only from years of partnership that she felt safe asking even this unspoken question. He stood there looking at her like she wasn’t in black leather and he wasn’t in body armor.

“Nothing would please me more than to ask you, but I know the answer would be no. You value your independence too much. You could never give it up.”

“True enough. Still, it would’ve been nice to be asked. Especially if I got to keep the ring.”


Catwoman cut him off. “The real question is, when’s the wedding? More importantly, when’s the bachelor party?”

Chapter Text

Gotham Cathedral had been damaged in a recent battle between Red Robin and Clayface, but it was reopened in time for the wedding to be held there. All the sunshine and wedding music in the world couldn’t do much to dispel the atmosphere of doom and gloom, but Bruce liked that. This wedding wouldn’t be a celebration. It’d be work, and hard work at that. Might as well start it off on the right note.


There were hundreds of guests. The event couldn’t simply be for friends and family. It was for the cameras, the city. The bachelor party, at least, had been for Bruce. He’d spent it with the League and his allies, going through Gotham’s underworld to rip apart the mobs as best he could. Leave them crippled while he was indisposed. He couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing.


Especially not waiting for what seemed like hours so that everyone could be seated and settled: Ivy’s park orphans and fringe environmentalist allies, Harley’s friends from the Arkham staff (she was exceedingly popular), and a fair bit of “rogues,” reformed or not. Edward Nygma had a bridesmaid cornered, and Cobblepot was criticizing the wine list.


At least the Joker hadn’t invited himself. At the GCPD’s orders, Arkham had put him under twice his usual dosage. Then, a friendly suggestion from Bruce himself had doubled that dosage. All kept under wraps, of course. The last thing he needed was for Harley to catch wind of it and go “liberate” her puddin’.


Excusing himself to go lurk in a confessional—the irony didn’t escape Bruce—he called Oracle on comms. “Barbara, are you there?”


Barbara picked up immediately. “Yeah, boss. I’ll be there any minute. Just waiting for my ob/gyn to give me a clean bill of health.”


Bruce supposed that he should’ve been surprised that Dick and Barbara both being one-percent-fertile was all that they needed to officially get together. Still, it was impressive how fast they had gotten married, gotten pregnant, and now toddler-proofed the entire Clocktower. Maybe Barbara was just waiting for a marriage that she could bring Dinah into.


“It’s not necessary for you to come. You can go to the Clocktower if anyone needs you.”


“Gee, thanks.” Bruce could picture Barbara straightening her glasses with a glare. The accompanying displeasure in her voice was that evident. “I want to be there, Bruce. And I’m going to be.”


“Acknowledged. Are you picking up Ivy and Quinn?”


He heard a rattle of computer keys. Pregnant or not, Barbara was never far from a computer. “Yeah. I’ve got streaming video, audio, and my Carnivore software is flagging every word they say. I’ll know if they plan to so much as use your toothbrush.” Barbara paused. She never had been comfortable with the idea of spying on Bruce’s ‘wives’, no matter the necessity. “Bugging their engagement rings. That’s cold.”


“That’s survival.”


“I’m just saying, marriage should be about trust. And sex. Neither of which you’re big on.”


Bruce managed a wry smile. “I don’t foresee sex being a problem.”


“Yeah, men never do. I’ll let you know if they plan to spike the punch. Unless it’s nonlethal.”


“Thank you.”




Barbara hung up and turned her attention back to the feed. With 3D imaging technology, a simple sensor within the rings could recreate a precise holographic record of everything within a thirty-foot radius of Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy.


Not that they were that far apart. In fact, Barbara didn’t think they could be any closer. Harley was leaning against a wall, her skirts almost over her head to make room for Ivy. The redhead was squatting between Harley’s legs, her face peeking out of all that lace like a flower surrounded by petals. The render wasn’t detailed enough to capture what Ivy was doing at Harley’s groin, or how many fingers she was using, but the way Harley’s head bounced against the wall gave Barbara a good idea of how fast she was going.


She probably shouldn’t have saved the video feed, but it would make interesting viewing during her next Skyping session with Dinah. A married couple should share similar interests, after all.




Bruce waited patiently at the altar, torn between his usual neutral expression and a nervously happy face meant for the cameras. He was used to waiting, and it was easier now that he was… off the market.


In board meetings or press conferences, he would usually think about how much he’d prefer to be hauling some super-criminal back to Arkham, or at least turning over a case in his head. But being here this time would make for one night, at least, when Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy wouldn’t be pulling a job.


The organ music started up. Bruce resented the way the crowd turned and gasped. Not in the trite way of a romantic comedy, but in the gaping manner of a freakshow.


(How many people had come here just to see if the villainesses would end up slamming a giant vine through the wall and robbing everyone blind? He noticed that there wasn’t much jewelry on display…)


Then they appeared through the massive double doors. Harley wore green. Pamela wore red and black. Neither wore white.


Bruce Wayne, of course, wore black.




Ivy left the church antechamber with Harley at her side. That was the only way she could participate in this bourgeois celebration of mammalian breeding. After a little persuasion, Eddie had ‘consented’ to give her away; she’d be taunting him with that forever. And one of Harley’s old henchmen—Kennedy Two-Bear, Ivy would know if she cared—was giving her away.


She went down the aisle, everything seeming to shimmer through her constraining veil. Yet another irritation. She couldn’t even see the massing hordes of Gotham so that she could properly despise them. Beside her, Eddie sniffled.


“I always cry at weddings,” he whispered.


Past him, Harley was wearing a big grin. Happy to be the center of attention, to have everyone trying to get a picture of her, to survey the literally hundreds of guests in the narrow pews all turned toward her and pick out people she knew.


Ivy herself maintained an imperious scowl, a goddess walking over common clay. Thank the Green that Wayne Manor was outside city limits. She’d spend the honeymoon surrounded by an old-growth forest…


Then, she found something that annoyed her even more than the general play-acting of being dressed up and sold off for a dowry. The aisle felt like the longest two hundred feet she’d ever walked. Despite everything, despite the fact that she was far more interested in the size of Wayne’s wallet than the size of anything else, this still felt real to her. Menage a trois or not, at the end of the day, she would still be married to Harley. And when she looked at Harley and Harley looked back, she knew the blonde was thinking the same thing.


Ugh. What she wouldn’t give for the Joker to pull his usual crap then and there, if only because bothering rich people would probably land him more than a slap on the wrist and a weekend stay in Club Meds. “Where’s the pasty-faced other man?” she asked Harley in a whisper.


“Oh, comedy’s all about the unexpected,” Harley explained jovially. “Everyone expects Mistah J to show up, so he won’t. It’d be hilarious if he crashed our third anniversary or something though, wouldn’t it Red?”


“Yeah. Hysterical.” Ivy glanced up the aisle at her groom. As far as the human male went, she couldn’t ask for a much better specimen. Appealing in an old money way, tall and handsome, tense with the importance of the date but not showing it, and filling out his black suit like it was a military uniform. She wouldn’t be able to stand being married to him, but she’d make a great widow.


She wouldn’t be cruel, though. She’d send him off happy. Even give him a fairy tale wedding. She glided into place at the dais, right beside Harley, and the priest said all the words that were expected to convince everyone that this wasn’t about meaty, juicy, animal rutting. Which it was. Why else would the wedding dresses show off their cleavages so well? Why else would the groom’s tie point so prominently to his bulge?


Harley kicked her foot. She realized that the priest was talking to her.


“Pamela Lillian Isley, will you have this man to be your husband and this woman to be your wife…”


It went on like that. The priest, experienced as he was, still stumbled through the change-up to the centuries-old declaration of consent. Even with Pope Francis’s quick changing of church doctrine, the three of them were probably the first triad to be married in Gotham.


Ivy grinned a little when she realized the priest had skipped the part about “forsaking all others.” According to the science boys, even triads wouldn’t be enough to perpetuate the species. As a rare male one-percent-fertile, Wayne would need to marry at least another six women to meet demand.


(Shame he wouldn’t get the chance. Sounded like it could be fun. Just throw him a sister-wife for the evening and she and Harley could have their fun with the other five.)


“…as long as you both shall live?” the priest finished.


“At least that long,” Ivy answered.


Harley had been looking over at her with a nervous grin, as if she was worried about a runaway bride. Now, relieved, she clapped a little. Ivy stared her down to listen patiently as the priest spoke to her. She agreed chirpily to stay with Bruce in sickness and in health.


Too bad for him he wouldn’t be getting sick. He’d be getting dead.




The groomsmen and bridesmaids were all Bruce’s friends; most of Harley and Ivy’s loved ones were still serving time. Selina Kyle was the exception, pulling duty as maid of honor. She gave a speech which referred to Ivy as a “cold-blooded slag who likes trees more than people, even Ryan Gosling” and Harley as a “deranged twit who couldn’t break up with her psycho ex if he fired a rocket launcher at her—I know from experience.” Then she toasted them, and wished Bruce good luck with the “psycho sluts.”


All the people who weren’t Harley and Ivy laughed like she was joking.


Dick Grayson was Bruce’s best man. He got up on stage and said, “Uhh… I have no idea what to say.” Then he displayed a notepad. “See? Nothing. I’ve been staring at this blank piece of paper for the last two months and I still have no idea what speech to give. Would anyone else like to talk? Anyone?”


Jason Todd was a groomsman. He was drunk. “Let me tell you about Bruce Wayne! Okay! Bruce Wayne is the kinda guy who—you get killed by the Joker—he doesn’t kill the Joker! What kind of friend does that? Fuck you, Bruce!”


That made Harley laugh. Ivy patted her hand.


Tim Drake tried to take the microphone next, for lack of anyone else wanting it, but bridesmaid Stephanie Brown pretty much tackled him to get to it. “I just want to say that I think it’s amazing how three people, who’ve been evil and dead and crazy and other stuff at one point or another, can finally find happiness together. And speaking on behalf of the youth of America—“


“Please don’t speak on behalf of the youth of America,” Tim interjected.


“I think polygamy is the coolest! Everyone should do it! Timbo, make an honest woman out of me and Cass. No, make two honest women out of us. Not one Frankenstein woman like that one time you grew a boyfriend clone in your basement. That was weird, but as your wife, I will support you.”


“Did you get into the wine coolers?”


“No!” Steph held the microphone away from him. “I brought some weed. I seriously did not expect this thing to be seven frickin’ hours long. This is not at all what it is like on any sitcom I’ve ever seen. Not one person has fallen into the wedding cake.” She brought the mike to her lips again. “Not one!”


Then the ringbearer, Damian Wayne, took the microphone from both of them. “When I heard that Father was getting married, I thought it was a waste of time. A simple breeding program is much more efficient. I was the product of a breeding program, and look how I turned out!”


“Yeah, short,” Stephanie piped up. “Who was running your breeding program, Peter Dinklage?”


“Silence! Despite your ample experience with pregnancy, you clearly know nothing of eugenics!” Damian cleared his throat. “Ttcht. As I was saying, Father, I thought it was a waste of time. Then I learned both your brides were career criminals, who had taken many lives over the course of their mad rampages through Gotham. Now I see that although girls are stupid, girls that can kill people are not as stupid.”


“So that’s your kid?” Harley whispered to Bruce.


“He lives with his mother,” Bruce replied.


Stephanie grabbed the microphone and yelled, “Bruce/Harley/Ivy OT3!”




That was about all the reception Ivy could take. Selina was monopolizing Bruce on the dance floor anyways, so she took her leave to the makeshift coat check room, where a little sigh had the coat check girl leaving her alone to attend to a frantic need to masturbate. Alone, Ivy held herself open before a stained-glass window, letting the glorious facets of light penetrate her translucent wedding dress. It was a meager pleasure—the sunlight was still mottled by Gotham’s pollution—but it reminded her that the Green was always present, even in this cesspool.


“I knew I’d find you here!” Harley cried, sliding into the room and kicking the door shut with her foot. “I just knew it! Four for Harley Quinn, you go Harl!”


Ivy grinned wistfully at the attempt to cheer her up—overbearing, even for Harley. “Married life. Just you, me, and a high-society twit. I suppose it’s about what crooks like us deserve.”


“Aww, Red, it won’t be so bad.” Reaching behind her back, Harley produced a bottle of champagne. “Look what I lifted already!”


Ivy grabbed Harley’s offer and checked the list of ingredients; ever since her transformation, she’d been very tolerant of watered-down alcohol. Then she decided to hell with it, and took a swig. It burned a little before it felt good, just like the rest of the wedding.


“That’s the spirit, Red! Booze it up!” Harley took a seat on the floor, all the better to gaze up at her beautiful Ivy with the light shining past her. “Now that you’re married, you don’t have to watch your weight so much.”


Ivy just stared at her. “That’s a five-thousand dollar dress.”


“Is it?”


“You’re sitting on the floor in a five-thousand dollar dress.”


Harley looked abashed before grinning. “I think it’s going to end up sitting on the floor anyway.”


Ivy snarled her way through another gulp. “Don’t remind me.”


“What’s wrong, Red? Don’t you like Mistah Wayne?”


“What can I say? I’m getting my seven-year itch early.” Ivy passed the bottle to Harley. She hated drinking alone. “I’ve never minded sleeping with men, but it helps a lot if I get to rob them.”


“We are robbing him! He’s gonna pay for our food, our drinks, our rooms, and what’s he gettin’ out of it?”




“Oh, right.” Harley leaned back. “I’m gonna be a wonderful mother. I can just tell. I’m great with my hyenas.”


“I don’t think it’ll be coming to that.” Ivy leaned against the wall over Harley, her shadow covering the jester girl like a blanket. “If anyone’s going to get you pregnant, it’ll be me. Whenever Wayne touches you, it’ll be for the last time.” Ivy licked her lips in pleasure. “And they call me poison ivy…”


“Whaddya talkin’ bout, Red?”


Ivy pulled up her skirt in reply.


“Aww, Red, we already did that! Shouldn’t we save a little for hubby?”


Fixing Harley with a stare, Ivy revealed her garter belt, and the small vial enclosed in it. “Something I won’t be giving to the next man to get married.” She held out the vial to Harley. “A custom-made STD by yours truly. The minute that man penetrates you, his days are numbered.”


“But, uhh—I kinda prided myself on always having safe sex.”


Ivy patted her on the head. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll just be a carrier. The virus will have no effect on you, and in twenty-four hours, it’ll pass through your system. You just have to bed our dearly to-be-departed husband before then.”


“Righto!” Harley saluted smartly. “Is it fruit-flavored?”


Ivy smiled. “Harl, you ask the most incisive questions. Find out.”


Harley obediently guzzled the fluid down. “Ick! It tastes like mold!”


“I only used a little. Wash it down, dear.”


Harley even more obediently guzzled down some wine.


“Good girl,” Ivy praised. “Now let’s go find Wayne and start our married death together.”

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne’s Lamborghini Veneno was possibly the first to drive with tin cans tied to the bumper and a Just Married sign over the license plate. Bruce proudly sat in the driver’s seat, swaying the wheel with a race car driver’s finesse, while Harley sat in Ivy’s lap in the passenger seat.


“Sorry again, ladies, that the honeymoon has to be postponed. I knew you were looking forward to Kooey Kooey Kooey, Pam, but the problem with private islands is that once one person steps foot on the place, it’s booked solid.”


“That’s okay, dear.” While Harley marveled out the window at the city blurring by, Ivy was leaning over the gearshift to rest her chin on Bruce’s broad shoulder. “I don’t need an untouched tropical paradise to be happy. I just need you.”


“Well, you’ll get me.” Bruce winked at her. “All the me you can handle.”


“You’re incorrigible!” Ivy giggled. Her own mask was as flawlessly concealing as his. “But speaking of… you, have you thought about trying a few pheromones for our wedding night? They can make you go longer, harder, faster… bigger.”


“I think you can trust Gotham’s most eligible bachelor not to need any help in that department.” Bruce went wide-eyed. “Wait—guess I’ll have to stop calling myself that.”


“Lots of guys use pharmaceutical enhancements,” Ivy argued. “And they don’t have two brides to please.”


“Sorry, my dear, but the board just won’t hear of it. Some foolish notion that if I didn’t keep getting my booster shots, you might control me.”


“Perish the thought!”


“And obviously, a billion-dollar company can’t just have their president vulnerable to that. Why, if they didn’t know better, they might think you brainwashed me into marrying you in the first place!” he teased.


“That’s a laugh!” she teased right back. She settled her head against a weighty bicep and rubbed his leg. “Oh, Bruce… you’ve been so good to us. I wish I could be just as good to you. I want to have you in this car, right now. But when I think about what Woodrue did to me… I’m just not ready yet.”


“Perfectly understandable, Pam. There’s a reason I didn’t drive a car with a backseat.” He kissed the top of her head. “You take all the time you need. I didn’t marry you for your body.”


“Oh?” Ivy asked, rubbing her breast against his elbow.


“Well… not exclusively.” He turned his head to let her kiss him. “I think you can do a lot of good in the world, dear. We can do a lot of good, together. In fact—I hate to bring up business on our wedding—but I’ve been thinking about what we can do, all three of us, moving forward. After all, you can’t just sit around Wayne Manor eating cereal all day.”


“We can’t?” Harley asked, sounding horrified.


“Not all day,” Bruce replied. “Harleen, I know you were stripped of your license, and even someone like me can’t convince your peers to let you work again. But Gotham does have a thriving film industry, and a lot of pictures could use a consultant.”


“You want me to be in pictures!” Harley cried brightly.


“Of course! You’d be a joy to work with. And you could advise them on psychology, medicine, the underworld, Arkham Asylum—I can see hundreds of films benefiting from your hard-won expertise.”


“I wanna meet Hugh Jackman! I wanna meet Hugh Jackman!”


Bruce reached across Ivy to give Harley’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll see what I can do. And Pam, Wayne Enterprises’ biochemical division could use a woman of your talents. I can’t just hand you a job, now, but I can get you an interview with Lucius Fox a week from Tuesday.”


She eyed him ruefully. “I could see myself doing that.”


“To say nothing of speaking on behalf of environmentalist causes and rehabilitation efforts. You two could be models of good publicity. With your handsome, debonair husband at your side, of course.”


“You know what that means, Red? Parties! Free food!”


Bruce chuckled good-naturedly. And suddenly, Ivy felt sandwiched between two people on an entirely different wavelength from her.


The sooner Wayne was dead, the better.




Bruce pulled up to the front steps of Wayne Manor to find Alfred waiting with a tidy stack of suitcases, as requested. After telling the girls he’d just be a minute, he hurried up the stairs to wish Alfred off.


Alfred, as could be expected, was not in the best spirits for a vacation. “Are you quite sure about this, sir?”


Bruce rolled his shoulders. “Not a hundred percent, no. But I can’t keep throwing these women in Arkham time and time again, letting their mental condition deteriorate each time. It’s time for a game-changer. If Selina can be brought back from the brink, maybe—“


“And is it necessary to… expose yourself as much as you’ve done? I could stay a few days.”


“The first few days will be the worst.” Bruce shook his head. “I don’t want you in the line of fire. Besides, you could use a vacation.”


“Dearly so, sir. As does Dr. Thompkins. And San Francisco boasts both a splendidly reviewed revival of Shakespeare’s history plays and a long-overdue tour of Master Drake’s new residence. I’m quite eager to finally be introduced to his friends in the Titans.”


A long-suffering sigh, as it usually did, signified that Alfred had acquiesced to his employer’s wishes.


“I have prepared several meals that simply need to be heated up; they’re waiting in the refrigerator. And tonight’s dish is in the slow cooker. I warn you—it’s vegan, in deference to Ms. Isley’s wishes. And there is canned soup in the pantry, the names of several quality restaurants by the phone, all of whom deliver—“


“I think I can manage,” Bruce said.


One withering look conveyed how much Alfred believed that.


“Also, Master Grayson has left some frozen pizzas in the freezer. If all else fails. Now,”—and Alfred lowered his voice significantly—“may I ask one last time whether you’re sure your customary death wish hasn’t simply escalated into a decision to go out ‘with a bang,’ as it were?”


Bruce gave a wan smile that Alfred thought only he and a select few had ever seen. “Oh, they’re absolutely going to try to kill me. I’m just not going to let them.” He slid his smartphone a few inches out of his pocket and displayed the screen to Alfred. “Barbara’s heading them off at the pass.”


That did not do much to quell Alfred’s worry. “Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?”


“Just one more thing.” Bruce tossed Alfred the keys to the Lamborghini. “Fill up the tank before you get back.”


For once, Alfred was shaken. “Sir, I couldn’t possibly—“


“Alfred, you can’t talk me out of dressing up as a giant bat and fighting psychopaths. Do you really think I’m going to budge on this? Here, let me get your bags.”




With Alfred safely departed, the three newlyweds faced the cavernous depths of their home. As many times as Ivy had seen the mansion during her ‘courtship,’ she still felt like gawking as much as Harley. It was hers now. A home that seemed so much more real than anything that the Broker could get her.


Bruce broke her out of her reverie. “Shall I carry you over the threshold, my lady?”


Ivy gave him a challenging glance. “I’ll carry Harley. You can carry the luggage.”


“No need!” Bruce exclaimed, wrapping one muscular arm around Harley’s waist. In a moment, to Harley’s squealing delight, he had gotten the blonde over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. Then he reached for Ivy.


Like a deer caught in headlights, Ivy allowed the audacious mammal to lay his hands on her and sling her over his other shoulder. Heads dangling down to an ass like a marble sculpture—and covered by Saville Row, to boot—Harley and Ivy were carried together onto the premises.


“He’s so… so strong!” Harley muttered joyously.


Ivy resolved that Wayne would die painfully.


After he’d set them down, Bruce let the newlyweds into Wayne Manor’s first extension in one hundred years. The south wing, as Bruce explained, was for them. As he was giving them a piece of his heart (“Oh please,” Ivy muttered), so too was he giving them a piece of his home.


There was a gym for Harley, a lab for Ivy, a pool with attached sauna and hot tub, a combination arsenal and panic room just in case any old friends (or exes) showed up looking for them, adjoining bedrooms just waiting to be furnished according to each lady’s own taste, and the piece de resistance—


“I put down on the wedding registry that you collect antique toys as well as action figures,” Bruce explained to Harley. “And since none of my friends knew what to buy me…”


He called it the toy room. When she saw it, Harley simply gaped for a moment. It looked like, quite literally, her subconscious. Water guns. Teddy bears. Barbie dolls. Masters of the Universe. She took a single step forward. “Is that a Teddy Ruxpin? Is that a goshdarn Teddy Ruxpin?”


“Still has the original tape in it,” Bruce nodded.


Harley hugged it, and him, in turn. Even Ivy made a vague sound of assent.


“Well, I’ll leave you two to get your bearings,” Bruce said, smiling despite himself at the sight of Harley making a sort of snow angel in a pile of stuffed animals. “Next time we get married, remind me to give the butler time off after he grabs our luggage!”


When Bruce disappeared, so did Ivy’s patience. She reached down and grabbed Harley by the wedding gown. “Remember the plan.”


“But, Ivy—look at how nice he’s being. Maybe we should give him a chance. I could take care of, ya know… all the wifely duties.”


“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you!” Ivy hauled the so-called Cupid of Crime to her feet. “You do all the wifely duties you want, just make sure it happens tonight. The sooner he’s sick, the sooner he’s dead. Then you and I can be together. Don’t you want that?”


“Course I do, Red! I just—okay. You’re probably right.”


“Of course I’m right. Go to him, without the dress. I’m going to burn mine…”




Bruce had been expecting Ivy to send Harley after him to make a play, but he didn’t know that she’d have so little patience.


As he returned to the south wing with their bags, he ran across Harley in one of the rooms set aside for their needs: a spacious office with posh leather furniture, a sprawling glass coffee table, and some unimposing antique artwork. The former ‘Clown Princess’ looked surprisingly well-fitted to the luxurious surroundings with her usual accoutrements replaced by the classy mint green wedding gown—a look in homage to her fellow bride.


There had been many reasons for Bruce to marry her, and he’d admitted most of them to himself. But there was one he hadn’t been honest about. She was beautiful; a contradiction every bit as intriguing as Catwoman. Her big blue eyes protested her innocence, while her dark red lips admitted that it was a lie. She took off her veil and held it in her hands to fidget with. Her blonde hair had been dyed with a red streak—another tribute to her best friend and lover, Ivy.


“Hey Brucie,” she said weakly. “Sure has been a crazy couple months, ain’t it? You springing us from jail and telling us we could turn our lives around and all. It’s been fun, ain’t it? Seein’ everyone running around like chickens with their heads cut off, tryna figure us out.”


“It’s been a real relief, thinking that I’ll have you two to keep me company from now on.” He smiled reassuringly. “Harleen, you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. As far as I’m concerned, as long as you’re not hurting anyone or breaking the law, you can stay here as long as you want. I won’t ever ask anything of you that you’re not prepared to freely give.”


Harley shook her head emphatically. “That ain’t it. You’re really nice. I should be with a sweetie like you. It’s just, ya know—sometimes it’s hard to tell if something is too good to be true or not. In Gotham, it usually is. So if you had a friend, a really good friend, who’s out to take care of you and make sure you don’t get played for a sucker, you should listen to her. Right?”


“Sounds reasonable.”


Tears brimmed in Harley’s eyes, and despite all the crimes he’d known her to have committed, Bruce felt the powerful urge to protect her from anything that saddened or scared her. Once divorced from the abrasively oversized personality that the Joker had foisted on her, the scars that had led her to her lifestyle were obvious. She was left soft and vulnerable, and he wished to God it were as simple as comforting her.


But she was like a wounded animal, likely to attack anyone who came near her, even if they were trying to help. He would have to tread lightly.


“Ivy… Ivy can’t make you happy right now, cuz a what happened with the Florence Man.” Harley was a horrible liar, but that just made her more endearing somehow. “But since she can’t—I know I’m not a looker like she is—but I really wanna make you happy. You never know, right? Tomorrow you could get into a car accident or something, and if we take the time for you to wine and dine me, then we’ll never get the chance to—“


“Can I be honest?” Bruce said, interrupting her clunky but startlingly effective seduction. She looked at him with clear eyes. “I’m not… just interested in your body, under the circumstances. In terms of what I find sexually appealing, I have this feeling that we have… similar interests.”


“Oh?” Harley’s lip wibbled, something in her responding to something in him.


He approached her, drawing his tie out of its knot. “Interests… appetites… situations where you’d be on the bottom and I’d be the top.” He drew the tie down into his hands like a whip cracking. “You’re not a stranger to that, are you?”


“Well, no… sometimes Ivy uses her vines and she ties me up and gags me and some of the vines have these big thingeys at the end…” Harley sounded excited. “But other times it’s just because she wants me to be quiet so she can do her ‘periments. And my, uh… ex-boyfriend? He did that stuff with me. I liked it, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes… if we did it, and I wanted you to stop, you’d stop, right?”


“Of course.” Bruce lifted her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Just say the word.”


“Oh, we need a word! I’ve never had a word before. Never needed one with Red. But, uh, since you’re new, how about… Batman!”


Bruce had an admirable poker face. Only his nostrils flared. “Your… safe word is Batman?”


“He usually stops me, so. You wouldn’t feel weird, hearing me say somethin’ silly like that?”


“I could get used to it.”


Harley bit her lip. “Aww, geez… just talking about this is giving me all sorts a feelings! You think I could—would it be alright if I sucked your cock some? I’m really good at it…”


Bruce put his hands on her shoulders, fingers tightening, eyes flashing dangerously. He hadn’t lied. He didn’t usually give vent to this part of himself—the urge to dominate, control—but it was there. He moved his hands to Harley’s neck like he meant to strangle her. “Harley… you haven’t earned my cock yet.”


“Oh. Don’t put out on the first date, huh? That’s good, my grans always told me to do the same. Unless a guy was really cute. Or had a lot of money. Or bought me a steak dinner--but it had to be good steak, not a steak burger--”


He shoved her onto a canapé. The leather squeaked under her as she landed, a ripping sound coming from somewhere on her dress. Bruce advanced after her, covering the space between them to tower over her. She looked up at him with a dazzling look of adoration in her eyes, reflecting her new submission.


As Bruce had expected, Harley would default to the dominant personality in her life. At the moment, that was Ivy, but with a little elbow grease on his part, she’d see him as her dom. From there, he could begin the process of rebuilding her fragile psyche.


First, though, she would have to trust him implicitly. And if she would continue to collate trust with sexual fulfillment, as she had in her relationships to Joker and Ivy, then he would just have to master her in that regard as well.


All while being careful to not expose himself to the virus that Barbara had informed him of. Thank you, Poison Ivy.


“Strip,” he ordered, rolling up his sleeves.


Harley obeyed instantly, if hesitantly. She undressed with slow, shy movements, first slipping her lacy gown up and off off her body. Bruce enjoyed the sight of her trim, delicate ankles, followed by the fittingly muscular thighs that crowned her slim legs. Her stockings were a virginal white, reminiscent of the white pancake makeup that she’d worn as a supervillain, while her garter belt had long since been caught by a displeased Tim Drake. It contrasted soothingly with the low-key tan of her athletic body.


“Happy birthday to you…” Harley crooned as she disrobed. “Happy birthday to you.” Predictably, she had some trouble snaking the dress over her head. Bruce crossed his arms to stop himself from helping her. The sub had to do it on her own. “Happy birthday, Mistah ohshitIjustrealizedicould’vesaidhappyweddingnight.”


The dress finally popped off Harley, her beautifully proportioned body finally coming into view. Inside her uplift bra, her breasts were small but incredibly perky, while her ass was similarly small and tight within her panties. They rode low, low enough to show off the tiny diamond she’d shaved her pubic hair into.


Again, the white seemed fitting. If nothing else, she was a virgin to him.


“Happy wedding night to youuuu,” she finished, a tad off-key. “And many more! Wait, I mean--phooey!” She cleared her throat. “A-heh-heh-hmmm.” Her affected speech impediment now replaced by the serious tones she’d used as a mental health professional. “What else should I take off, Mr. Wayne?” Bruce’s eyes swung from bra to panties, from the high heels she’d been teetering in all night to the wispy stockings that looked more like stiletto daggers’ sheaths.


“Nothing,” he said firmly. “Bend over. Over the back of the canapé.”


“The what?”


“The couch,” he explained, and gave her ass a brisk slap for speaking out of turn. Harley squeaked, then cooed a little as the pain faded.


She did as she was told.


“Now lower your hands all the way to the ground.”


She did, her obedience now well-ingrained in her. Bruce took hold of her slender wrists and bound them to a leg of the canapé with his tie. A bit tighter than necessary, knowing that she would enjoy it.


Then, there she was. Practically hog-tied, her ass up in the air for his inspection. He gave it a look. Unlike Ivy, she didn’t have a juicy Granny Smith apple of an ass, but one that fit her kinky little body, with all of its litheness and athleticism. He felt it out, finding it firm with muscle to the point of hardness. The kind of ass that he might bruise his hand on. For the moment, he just felt it, squeezed it, let his hand dimple the flesh despite its resistance.


“Do you like my ass, Mr. Wayne?” she asked, lapsing a little into her Marilyn Monroe impression. “You should! I twerk a lot.


“You’ve been a very naughty girl, Harley,” he stated the obvious. “Have you paid for being naughty?”


“No,” she said in a small voice.


“No what?”


“No, sir.”


“Good.” He squeezed her ass harder, to the point of hurting her, but she made not a sound. When his hand left her, her skin was flushed white. “What do you suppose we should do about your naughtiness, Harley? How can we make you a good girl?”


“I don’t know, Mr. Wayne. You’ll think of something. Please think of something. Hugs?”


“You’re not going to be punished for being naughty, Harley. But you are going to be taught a lesson. The only way you’ll learn.”


“Please teach me, Mr. Wayne. I want to be a good girl. Make me a good girl!”


If it surprised Bruce how quickly she had latched onto him as an authority figure, he didn’t show it. He’d demanded her submission, and he’d received it. Now he enjoyed it, bringing his hand up and then down with all the ceremony of a rabbit punch.


Harley gasped, the noise almost as loud as the sound of flesh against flesh had been. “Hey! What’d my bum ever do ta you?”


Despite her affront, Harley was glad for the manhandling. Before she’d met the Joker, no one had really known how to please her. A lot of guys, she just didn’t tell about her kinks; and when she did tell them, no matter how eager they were to play, they never followed through. Giving her soft little love taps like they were having a tickle-fight. Bruce didn’t play around. He gave her exactly what she wanted. A mercilessly hard spanking.


“Eek!” Harley cried, startled but pleased as her body instinctively wiggled to escape the pain, made her nipples hard to enjoy the pleasure. As if he’d gauged her response, the next slap Bruce delivered across her pert ass seemed to resonate into her clit. It throbbed like Ivy was testing a fresh batch of pheromones on her. She wiggled harder, trying to press her warming pussy to the canapé and get some relief.


Bruce wouldn’t allow it. With his free hand, he applied firm pressure to the small of her back, pinning her in place. Harley’s legs kicked, but he’d already gotten out of range, standing atop the cushions.


(One more reason to send Alfred away; he could tolerate a lot of things, but damage to the furniture was not one of them.)


“Why are you being spanked?” he asked gruffly, rubbing her pinking cheeks.


Harley had been biting her lip. It took her a moment to extricate her teeth from her lower lip. “Because I was naughty! A no-good-rotten-not-getting-presents-from-Santa...”


“No,” Bruce said, taking his hand away. “Really naughty girls go to Arkham. Why are you being spanked?”


She didn’t answer. He grabbed hold of her hair and jerked it up hard, the red streak flowing from his hand like a bloodstain. Harley whined in pain.


“Why are you being spanked?”


“So I can be a good girl!”


“Do you want to be a good girl?”




He rewarded her, smacking each of her cheeks in turn. She writhed under his strong hands, but her moans were from pleasure.


Bruce stopped again. “Do you want to hurt people?”




“Do you want to break the law?”


“No!” She was crying now, tears dripping down to the hardwood floor. Bruce ignored them for now. He had to be firm.


“But you’ll want to later, won’t you? And you’ll want to see the Joker again.”


Harley shook her head frantically. “Uh-uh, no way, nosirree—“


This time there was no wind-up. He swung with all his strength, hitting with the speed and force he’d bring to bear on a criminal. She clenched up as the pain shot up her spine, nearly rocking her off the couch. He had to steady her with the hand he had holding her down.


“Aaaaaaaah,” Harley let out, not quite pain and not quite pleasure, but definitely knowing Bruce was serious. “Okay, okay, I might!”


“No. You won’t.” He gave her butt a cursory pinch, the twinge of pain keeping her attuned to him. “Because whenever you feel naughty, you’ll come to me. And I’ll make you a good girl again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”


“Yes, please!” she gasped as his hand swept lower, over the pussy that he’d left dripping. “I wanna be a good girl! I wanna be your good girl! I wanna wear pretty dresses and play with kittens and dress as Disney princesses for Halloween and fuck, can I rub my pussy please? Feels so good…”


Bruce took a moment to lay his hand on her ass, marveling at the taut young flesh, swearing he could feel the blood thrumming under her reddened skin. Harley moaned into the contact, as if she too could sense the busywork of her skin, the veins constricting and the bruise forming, her very body preparing for another blow.


Harley let out a sob. It was painful, how close she was to an orgasm.


Bruce was shocked to realize that it was arousing him. Not the act of hurting her, but her reaction to it. The way she stopped just short of wiggling her ass to invite another blow, her cooing entreating him for more, her soft moans accepting and enjoying the submission.


This could actually work.


Harley sensed his hand rising, saw its shadow over hers like the Bat-Signal in the night sky, and looked back over her shoulder to see him regarding her with a reassuringly perverse smile. She inhaled, only to let it out in a scream when his palm came down hard on her upturned rear.


More followed swiftly, bending her double as she ducked her head and pitched her ass into the air. Her butt was reddening now, and she squeezed her powerful thighs together to try and hold onto the pleasure the spanking drove into her cunt.


Bruce noticed, and made a split-second decision that she’d had enough. He’d instilled as much as he could in her for this session; it was time to drive the lesson home with some positive reinforcement.


But he couldn’t let her forget who was boss. It was an easy thing to rip her panties off; he didn’t even need both hands. And as strong as she was, he had the leverage to force her legs open. The sight of her wet pussy, with its vivid pinkness just begging to be entered, made him painfully aware of how hard he was within the confines of his boxers. The way she automatically did the splits, her legs actually extending to either of the canapé’s armrests, made it clear they both wanted it equally bad.


But it was her own fault she couldn’t, mindlessly going along with Ivy’s schemes. He gave her a lightly admonishingly slap on the mound of her pussy, before he dipped his fingers into her. Her bark of pain trailed off into… singing.


“O say can you see,  by the dawn's early light, what so proudly we hailed…” Harley broke off into some very unharmonic groans as his fingers pistoned into her even faster, twisting smoothly inside her to stimulate her most sensitive areas. She felt his manicured nails rake over her G-spot, and her eyes rolled back in her head. Not only was he good, but every bit of pleasure he gave her was filtered through the pain of her red-hot ass, hitting her brain tinged with reminders of his power over her.


“Good girl,” Bruce said, his deep voice resonating in Harley like the explosive bass of a subwoofer. He petted her hair with his free hand, Harley now holding herself in place. “Come for me, Harley. You’ve earned it. You’ve earned your orgasm.”


“Call me—a good girl—again!” Harley squeaked out, her body bouncing rhythmically to the tune of his skillful strokes.


Bruce drew his fingers almost entirely out of Harley, bringing them to her clit—and pinching it tightly. Pain and pleasure blended into one for Harley. She came. Squirted, in fact, a blast like one from a water-gun. Her whole body shook with its passage, her small breasts jiggling into blurs.


“And the rocket's red glare! The bombs bursting in air! Gave proof through the n-n-n-nighttt…”  Harley trailed off as the flow slowed to a trickle.


“Good girl,” Bruce said distantly. Even now, the world’s greatest detective was analytical. He had always been suspicious what ‘changes’ Ivy had made to her partner in crime. Speed and strength, obviously, and he felt it was safe to say that Harley was immune to Ivy’s ‘toxic personality’. He wondered if this was another enhancement to Harley’s physiology.


Plants needed water, after all.


“--that our flag was still there,” Harley finished, her voice tiny and woozy. Her orgasm had left her sprawled over the canapé’s back like drying laundry, legs kicking like a dreaming dog’s and fingers unspooling from the tight fists they’d been in. Bruce patted her soothingly on her sore ass, letting the ever-so-slight pain remind her of his presence.


“Thank you, Mistah Bee,” she gasped. Then, she looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes, continuing in a bald-faded plea. “Can I have one more? Please, Brucie? I won’t try to kill you no more, and you know you wanna.” If she realized that she’d just admitted to attempted murder, it didn’t show in her continued begging. “Please give my hot little ass one last go? Pretty please? With cherries and sprinkles on top and peanut butter if you like that?”


He gave her offered ass an even lighter pat, like he would give a faithful steed. “No, Harley. You have to learn discipline. I say when you’re chastised, and I say when you’ve had enough. Understand?”


Her head dropped, but her voice wasn’t sullen. “Yes, Bruce.”


“Good.” He stroked her ass again, watching her shiver as the pain died away. “But since you were nice enough to heed me without arguing, I can do something else with your ass.” And with both hands on her bruised cheeks, he opened her up and inched his thumb toward her puckered anus.


“Wait, that’s not—I don’t want—Batman!” she cried at last, her eyes flailing about in real distress.


Bruce released her, holding his hands clear of her to show her that he’d stopped. “What’s wrong?”


Harley was breathing hard, almost having a panic attack. She bit down on her hip, mum as she calmed down, and he moved to unwind his tie from her wrists. She straightened up on the canapé and massaged her wrists. Although she was sitting on the ass that he’d just spent long minutes torturing, she gave no sign of pain.


“Nuthin’!” she said, with bright, false cheer. “Nothing’s wrong! That’s just for Mistah Jay, okay? You can’t use that or he’ll be reaaaaaaaaaal upset. Even Red doesn’t go in there.”


He smiled understandingly. “Alright, Harley. Consider it off-limits.”


She smiled crookedly, than her eyes dropped to take in his groin. Despite the safe word putting a damper on his arousal, his erection was still noticeable through his trousers. Very noticeable.


“Oh, Brucie, look what I done to ya! You’re all tuned up! Let Nurse Harley see.”


Lightning-fast reflexes had her hand back in her hair, holding her quite still. He didn’t know if she still meant to infect him or if she’d legitimately forgotten. Either way, it didn’t do to take chances.


“You don’t deserve to touch my cock. You haven’t earned it. But you will.“


She looked even more disappointed than she had when he hadn’t continued the spanking she’d so enjoyed. Her eyes flicked up to him hopefully. “Have I… perchance…” –she dropped it like a five-dollar word in a ten-cent conversation–“earned your cum? I really wanna know what your cum tastes like, hubby.”


Positive reinforcement, Bruce thought wryly. This wasn’t going to be much like training Robins. “Hands behind your back. Mouth open. Don’t move.”


“Sir yes sir!” She saluted, before remembering to cross her hands next to her reddened ass.


With her compliant, Bruce undid his belt and unzipped his fly. Then, with some difficulty, he maneuvered his hardness out. He knew better than to think that a big cock was the only thing that counted when it came to pleasing a woman, but it was still gratifying when Harley went wide-eyed and gape-jawed.


“Humina humina humina!” she exclaimed. “It’s so big! It’s so big and hard and big!”


On the rare occasion that Bruce couldn’t simply sublimate his desires, he practiced on efficiently dealing with his body’s needs. He gripped himself tightly and did what came naturally, even to him. And Harley watched, her eyes like a dog’s following a tennis ball, practically panting.


In rapid succession, she went from seductress to street whore. “Give me your cum. Please give me your cum? I don’t want to beg. I’ll beg. Cum on my face, Bruce! Let me have some make-up sex!”


Harley tried to look him in the eyes while she begged, but it was hard to stop staring at the sheer excess of meat hanging nearly vertical over her face. Was it just that she hadn’t seen one since the Joker–one of the villains too dangerous even to be used for the preservation of humanity–had been locked up? Because surely, it couldn’t be as big as it looked. Nothing could be that big. That… wonderfully big.


In a few moments, Bruce’s breath was labored, and his brow dotted with sweat. His hand traveled furiously over his cock, and Harley did her best to help him: talking about how he could make her come so hard with a cock like that, how even Ivy would come, how they’d be good girls for him, Bruce Wayne’s good girls.


And she rocked on her haunches and thrust her tits out and watched him gasp and tremble, the hand on his cock going faster and faster, his mouth falling open in satisfaction and his eyes falling shut, the motion reaching a fever pitch as Harley followed her husband’s example, closing her eyes and opening her mouth so wide…


A moment later, she opened her eyes in shock. Bruce’s penis still stood before her, dripping its excess and flagging only a little. She watched its hypnotic deflation as it settled, still amazingly substantial, against Bruce’s leg. Then she looked at herself.


Her breasts, still rising and falling to the beat of her breathless anticipation, were absolutely covered in sticky white ejaculate. She could feel even more of it on her face, like she’d just put on twelve layers of facepaint. It was warm and heavy, and when she licked her lips, it didn’t at all have the acidic tinge of the Joker’s seed. This was almost… yummy.


She looked up at him once more, thankful and overjoyed. “I always wanted a white wedding.”




As if a curse had been broken, Harley’s baby-talk awakened Bruce from his trance. The mission came first: his dry spell had been nearly as long as Harley’s, and without prison showers and Ivy to tide him over. He was shocked at how much he had enjoyed this.


Rapidly, he tucked himself away and excused himself from Harley. Thankfully, she was accustomed to her boyfriends’ post-coital showers. She waited until he had gone, and then ran a finger over her breast, coming up with a tower of cum. Harley could barely observe the uncanny sight for more than a second before she had her finger in her mouth, slurped clean.


Finally, she began to masturbate. After all, Mr. Wayne hadn’t said that she couldn’t do that.




Bruce charged into the bathroom and ripped off the NuLatex gloves that he had worn to mimic human skin. He had no idea just how contagious Ivy’s virus was; although he’d prepared for it, he’d started off the encounter with no clue that he would be fingering Harley.


Now, he dropped the gloves into the biohazard waste can that every room in the house had (as a billionaire, he could afford to be eccentric). Then, using his elbows, he turned on the tap and prepared to spend the next fifteen minutes scrubbing off his hands.


But first, he smelled them, and caught a distinct scent of peppermint. One of Ivy’s enhancements.


He found that it only whetted his appetite.




Still naked, and still fairly covered in jizz, Harley entered her new bedroom in a daze. Ivy had already redecorated, freeing the plants that Bruce had provided from their pots and taking out the wall between her room and Harley’s.


The shared bedroom now resembled a jungle, its roots flowing in and out of the windows that Ivy had so gleefully shattered. She was just as naked as Harley, though the usual assortment of leaves and vines conspired to preserve a modicum of modesty. She fully expected Wayne to barge in at any time, and had no wish to allow him to see her in all her glory.


“Well, that didn’t take long,” Ivy observed, her eyes turned to the setting sun. “Trouble getting it up? I have some herbs that would—“


Then she heard, and felt, a drop of semen land on her undergrowth. Ivy turned to see Harley with face and sex smeared with cum, Bruce’s on top and her own at bottom.


“Brucie threw me a surprise bukkake party. You should’ve seen my face.” She swayed there a moment, then fell face down on the bed. This exposed the red handprints tattooed on her ass.


“Harley!” Ivy ran to her. Sliding onto the bed like she was stealing home and turning her over. “What’d he do to you?”


“He made me cum,” Harley said dully. “He made me cum a lot.”


“Oh, you poor baby…” Ivy held out her hand. In a few seconds, a vine was there, secreting a lotion to soothe Harley’s battered bottom. As she rubbed in it, her sympathy was killed by agitation. “At least tell me you infected him.”


“Uh-uh. He didn’t stick it in. Anywhere.” Harley giggled. “He was a perfect gentleman!” She licked his cum from the point of her chin.


“Stop that!” Ivy slapped her hand away from her mouth. “Don’t you worry, Harl. Sleep. I’ll deal with this personally.”


“I think I’m in love…” Harley murmured.




In the Clocktower, Barbara began typing a text to Bruce’s phone, warning him of the plan that Ivy was even now sharing with Harley.


“Good thing they’re not comforting each other with sex,” Dick said beside her. He had a bowl of popcorn in his lap.


“Yeah,” Barbara said, somewhat wistfully. “That would’ve been awkward.”


Dick broke cheerfully from his disappointment. “On an unrelated note, think we could talk Dinah and Kory into mud-wrestling?”


Barbara shot him a look. “They’re your wives, booty wonder. You tell me.”

Chapter Text

The only thing Kory hated about coming home to the Clocktower was that she had to fly through a mile of subway to get to it. A scantily-clad superhero couldn’t be seen flying into Oracle’s secret headquarters, after all.

But after a few minutes of flying without sunlight, she came home, which was warmer by far. She flew up through the elevator shaft, and shot right onto Barbara’s floor.

Kory loved Dick with a fervor that was only equaled by her relationship with Donna, but it was possible that what she loved best about being married to Dick was his other wives. Dinah was so glamorous and lighthearted - like her - and they got along like sisters. While Barbara was smart and calculating, a bit like Donna and a bit like Dick had once been: the perfect project for Kory to work on and cheer up and make love to.

She walked through their shared loft. Though each of them had their own little quadrants in the vast floor that held their residences, the influences of one swept through all the others. Donna’s photography was particularly popular, as were her gifts of Amazonian artifacts, while the smell of Dinah’s cooking and taste in take-out cuisine could be detected just about everywhere. As for Kory herself, she had enjoyed teaching the others how to care for the Tamaranian plants that now tagged virtually every room on the floor. With proper feeding, they bore very succulent fruit.

Kory went to the corner of the library—of course, in Barbara’s building, the first room through the elevator doors was a library—and found her es’crul plant thriving in spite of Barbara’s earlier warnings about how she didn’t have time to care for a plant. Picking an edible petal from one of its flowers, she savored the taste of home.

Then she heard Dinah’s voice from behind her. “Are those safe for humans to eat?”

Kory swirled with a smile, perhaps using just a bit of her flight ability to give her hair-toss an extra kick. “Very much so—just like everything on Tamaran.”

Dinah smiled back at her, smoothing an errant lock of her own behind her ear. “Good. I’ve already had, like, twenty.”

Kory very pointedly widened her smile as she looked Dinah over. A certain part of her that went with her green eyes judged that Dinah wasn’t quite as curvy as her—but it was a near thing. And more importantly, Dinah unknowingly held to a high Tamaranian philosophy: if you’re going to defeat someone in battle, you should look good doing it.

Dinah looked very good doing anything.

“And do you still have an—appetite?”

Dinah licked her lips, her own eyes tracking Kory’s hand as it trailed down the cool metal of the Tamaranian’s armor. What little there was of it, anyway. Tamaranians had very few vital organs to protect…

“Now that you mention it… I’ve been wanting to ride you all day.”

“What’s stopping you, wife-fellow?”


“Babs, come ride Kory with me! It’s amazing!”

The bespectacled redhead didn’t look up from her computer, but she did look at the faint reflection on the monitor. Dinah was behind her, straddling Kory as the Tamaranian floated through the air while doing a joking breaststroke.

“Busy,” Barbara replied. Her terseness, as usual, signaled that this was not one of those times where she wanted Dinah to ‘persuade’ her to give up the keyboard.

Dinah pulled on Kory’s hair, reining her to a stop. “C’mon, Babs…”

You come on! Ivy just came up with her new plan to kill Bruce.”

Unprompted, Kory flew to stand beside Barbara, Dinah awkwardly balancing atop Kory’s six feet and four inches. “Will he be alright? What is it?”

Barbara could’ve blushed at how simultaneously scared and determined Kory sounded. Not an ounce of cynicism in her. She would love and defend anyone, especially the adopted father of her beloved Dick Grayson.

“Nothing too bad.” Barbara called up the relevant surveillance footage as Dinah pushed through Kory’s mane of reddish-gold hair to see it. “She’s been up all night breeding a new species of plant. Near as I can place it, it’s based on something that grows in Borneo.

She tapped on the monitor with her index finger, despite her hatred of smudges. If she couldn’t show off a little for her alien sister-wife, what was the point?

“The leaves are edible, and they’re the best thing to happen to penises since the blue pill. Just chew one and it doesn’t matter if you’ve gone ten rounds with Huntress, you’re instantly back—up.

Dinah kept hanging off Kory’s strong back like she was a baby in a papoose. “We could use some of that around her. Much simpler than getting another husband.”

“Yeah, unfortunately it has a hell of a kick. An overdose—and by that I mean about three—causes fatal heart failure. I’ve sent a sample to Dr. Holland in Louisiana.”

“Swamp Thing,” Dinah whispered to Kory.

“Ooh, I like him.”

He,” Barbara stressed, calling their attention back to her. She may not have wanted to give a briefing, but as long as she was, they would listen to her. “Is working on a safe version to swap out with Ivy’s.”

“Not to mention make a fortune,” Dinah added.

Kory nodded, which Dinah avoided by ducking her head. “Ivy would do far more good if she used her abilities for niceness instead of evil. Why invent such a thing only to use as a murder weapon? Why not patent it, sell it for profit, and use the proceeds to simply buy the woodlands she wants preserved?”

“Well, she’s a crazy person,” Barbara explained. “But we’re working on that.”

“Working hard,” Dinah giggled.

Suddenly, Bruce’s voice came over Barbara’s speakers. “Yes, Ms. Lance. Very hard.”

Barbara gestured to her headset. “Ladies, this is why you shouldn’t interrupt me when I’m working. Not even to ride Kory.”

“That wasn’t what it sounded like!” Dinah said hurriedly.

“Well, let’s not be hasty,” Kory countered.

Bruce’s voice steamrolled over them, cool and efficient. “Ivy’s antisocial behavior stems from the loss of control she felt when Dr. Woodrue experimented on her, leading to a pathological rejection of society in favor of identifying with nature. This went along with her developing a superiority complex; not helping was the fact that she truly is incredibly powerful. Egotism, megalomania, narcissism—all a defense mechanism. Think out her plan: she’ll offer herself to me, trusting I’ll find her so desirable that I’ll accept a strange drug from a known poisoner just so I can copulate with her repeatedly. To break through her defenses, I’ll have to allow her some measure of power over me—then demonstrate to her that the loss of power isn’t necessarily a negative experience.”

“And how will you do that?” Barbara asked.

He paused. “That’s a private matter, Oracle. Speaking of which, you didn’t happen to watch me during my engagement with Quinzel, did you?”

“Absolutely not, Christian Grey. Good luck with the green queen.”

“Luck isn’t a factor. Going offline. And Barbara—spend some time with your wives. Dick’s showing signs of fatigue on patrol.”

The line went dead.

Barbara straightened her glasses guiltily. “I don’t know what he’s talking about. And I saw Dick first anyway, so…”

Kory was too busy wiping the sweat from her brow to notice Barbara’s fluster. “Was it just me, or was that a little hot?”


First thing in the morning, Bruce showed up at Harley and Ivy’s room with breakfast. Harley, of course, took it in bed, drowning her pancakes in syrup. Ivy wasn’t hungry, except for the possibility of getting Bruce alone.

Naturally, he offered it like he was obeying her pheromones.

“Pamela, if you’re not busy, would you mind accompanying me to the greenhouse? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“There’s something I’d like to show you as well,” Pamela grinned, picking up her new rosebush in its cute little pot. The leaves were coming in quite nicely. “You first, husband dear.”

Gesturing her after him, they left Harley to lick the syrup off her nose by herself.

As she walked behind Bruce, Pamela desperately wished that she had a knife to put between his shoulder blades. She kept picturing him putting his meaty animal hands on Harley. And to think, he’d actually tricked the little fool into thinking she’d enjoyed it.

Well, they’d see how he enjoyed her. A real woman. A goddess.

“As I said, I think you could do wonderful things at Wayne Enterprises.” Bruce looked back at her as he prattled on, sparing barely a glance for the little potted plant she bore before her. “There’s one particular project that I think would be right up your alley. Tell me what you think.”

He pushed open the double doors. And like they’d been teleported, they were outside—the austerity and gloom of the manor giving way to a bright, warm greenhouse.

Ivy suppressed a shudder as she felt sunlight’s familiar caress on her green skin. Her wedding dress long discarded, she’d quickly resumed wearing her leafy costume. And people thought it was just what she wore. It was armor, as much as a Celt’s war paint or a soldier’s camouflage. But because it showed some skin, everyone thought it just meant she wanted to fuck them.

As usual, that was to her advantage. “Mmmm,” she moaned erotically, brushing the leaves down the slope of her cleavage, showing her breasts almost to her moss-green nipples. “The sun feels so nice in here. Tell me, Brucie, do you tan?”

“Not as much as I should,” Bruce confessed with a chuckle. “But please, we can sun ourselves later. I really have to show you this.”

“Mmmmm,” Ivy repeated herself, withdrawing some foliage from the back of her costume until she was practically wearing a thong. “I’d love to see anything you have to show me.”

There was another reason she wasn’t wrenching a knife out of Bruce’s body at the moment, aside from the difficulties that that would give even the most pheromone-happy inheritance judge. Bruce cut a sweet figure in that cerise-colored polo shirt and white slacks. She would enjoy using him up, having the sum total of his life and death inside her. There was a beautiful naturalism to the thought. She’d reclaim his cruelty and arrogance as waste water was reclaimed from the soil.

Bruce played at obliviousness, walking her toward one of the many attractions in the miniature forest of the greenhouse. This one looked like a rubber tree, but it didn’t feel the same to Ivy through the Green. It was oily somehow. Malnourished.

She resisted the urge to start fixing it. Later. When Wayne was dead, she’d turn his entire mansion into a jungle. A proper garden.

“I know how sensitive you are about the logging industry,” Bruce said, patting the trunk of the strange tree for a handhold like he was thinking of climbing it. “But it’s unrealistic to expect the whole world to just give up lumber to please you. So I thought, what if we can have both? Lumber, and healthy, thriving trees?”

“Co-existence?” Ivy sneered, and it took real strength of will to keep from laughing bitterly. The only way metal coexisted with the tree was when the tree simply grew around it, as she had done with Harley.

“Exactly. I thought of how trees shed leaves every year, with no harm to the plant, and how sheep are shorn without hurting them at all. Why can’t lumber be the same—ah!” He got his grip and pulled at the trunk. To Ivy’s utter surprise, a thick slab of wood came off the trunk, almost to the core. “Way.”

Ivy stepped forward, fingers clawing to send poison straight into Wayne’s bloodstream.

But through the Green she sensed something—the tree wasn’t sending out any distress. It wasn’t hurt. No more so than it would be with a piece of bark scraped off, or a twig snapped away. Already, she could feel the lost wood growing back, wanting to grow back.

“It’s not perfect,” Bruce said, setting the lumber aside. “It takes far too long for the wood to grow back and it leaves the tree weak. That’s fine in controlled conditions like the greenhouse, but in nature, it’d have to be much more resilient. Any input you could give us would be vastly appreciated.”

Ivy licked her apple-red lips to a sheen. Yes. Yes, this was perfect. Enough to earn him her beautiful murder. “It’s wonderful, Bruce. I think this must be your legacy. Your lasting gift to the world.”

“The first of many!” Bruce said, grinning like a clod. “Let’s give them to the world together.”

“Yes, Bruce. But first, something for us. Just for us.” Ivy set the rosebush down in a tree’s crotch. “I’m tired of being alone. I want you to have me, Bruce. And with this, you can have me so many times… so many ways.”


“After you’ve come inside me, just eat one tiny leaf and you can do it all over again. As many times as you like.” Her hands freed, Ivy ran them over Bruce’s muscular chest. “As many times as I like.”

“That’s thoughtful of you,” Bruce said, taking her hands in his and squeezing them. “But I’m sure I won’t need any… herbal aids. Not with a woman as beautiful as you.”

Pamela’s eyes darkened to a shade of viridian she let few men see—and less survive. “We’ll see.”

“Tell you what. After I come, if you want to keep going, I’ll try it. But I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised by my staying power. I’m no minute man!”

No, you’re a dead man. Ivy moved in close like a predator lunging, pursing her hands on his chest as she brought her lips up to his—and then shoved him back instead.

Bruce lost his balance, tumbling down among the thick buttress roots of an arjun tree.

Ivy was down atop him in an instant, losing the leaves from her body so that they fell away with her speed. She straddled him, gripping his wrists tightly and raising them over his head, pressed against the tree trunk.

Vines sprang from the wood and securely bound his hands, while more emerged from the roots to bind his ankles. She kissed him hard, running her hands over the lines of his face and then his broad torso, in ownership. He groaned, perhaps unwillingly, and shifted his hips under her. She abandoned his mouth, left him gasping, to suck on his throat.

And her ivy feelers crept up his pant legs to shred his trousers. Her slender fingers bunched in his shirt and ripped it open. Even as she gave in to his desire for her, she wanted him to know who the powerful one was.

Then, Ivy abruptly stopped, leaving an angry red hickey like a vampire’s bite on Bruce’s throat. So… mammalian.

She reared up atop Bruce, letting him take in her naked body. Before she had his life, she would have his awe.

And she had it. Her mint-green body was perfect, giving the appearance of being as carefully cultivated as a Japanese bonsai tree. Her hips wide and lush, her breasts seeming weightless despite their bountiful size, her legs endless. All leading inexorably to the perfect flower that was her face—red lips and jade eyes and blood-red hair burnished by some of the brown leaves that had fallen from her costume. A few more clung to her damp body, giving her a savage look. Nature red in tooth and claw.

The feeler that had started at Bruce’s feet reached his groin, its frond wrapping itself around the eye of his zipper and pulling it down. Bruce felt the slightly disconcerting sensation of Ivy’s plants maneuvering his manhood out of his underwear, followed by the somewhat tangy feel of the last of his clothes being reclaimed by nature.

Soon, he was laid bare before Ivy. A sacrifice offered up to a jungle goddess.

Ivy stared down at his cock, which had grown long and hard in anticipation—not that it had far to go. She raised a considering eyebrow, wondering if she’d even be able to take it.

Then she scoffed. It wasn’t that big. It’d just been a while since she’d last entertained a man, that was all. Why bother when she could get whatever she wanted from one with a few pheromones?

But no. She’d give Wayne the full treatment. Especially the dawning horror of realizing that his own pleasure had killed him.

She disdainfully petted the throbbing beast between them, like it was one of those forest creatures that knew its place. Then she lifted herself up, and eased herself down.

Even the notorious Bruce Wayne hissed through his teeth, his hands tightening on a branch overhead, as she took him inside her. Ivy felt almost as much pleasure at that as she did at the feeling of being parted, entered—surrendered to. Then, with a degree of worry, she realized he just kept going. There was more of him. Much more.

Ivy hadn’t been a virgin in a long time, although the only penetration she’d received lately had been from Harley… and those toys were quite undersized to offend disrespecting ‘Mistah J’. But it felt like she’d never had anyone so big inside her. He couldn’t really be as thick and full as he seemed, could he?

Unless he was still growing…

“You’re so beautiful, Ivy,” Bruce groaned as she came to rest with what seemed like—what had to be—all of him pulsing inside her. “How can a woman be so beautiful?”

She felt an echo of a blush at his compliment; most men lost all their charm as soon as they were inside her. But no, it was just flattery. She wouldn’t give him anything for being better at predatory maleness than his predecessors. In fact, she slapped him across the face.

“Not a woman. A goddess.”

And he smiled at her, one side of his face blooming red. “Yes, Ivy. Of course. How could I forget?” He bent his head in obeisance to kiss the skin over her heart almost chastely.

His show of respect merely angered her. She disliked the taste of being worshipped by him. Of course he was awestruck by her. How could anyone not be? But all she needed from him was his seed.

“Come for me,” she ordered him, her hips churning already, massaging his cock inside her, burying him within her.

And he was stiff, firm, unyielding. Nothing like the cold dead toys that had entered her before. He was warm and alive, his member full of pounding blood. It appealed to the animal in her; hitting just the right spots as she held it inside her.

She was having trouble denying how good it felt, having a man bow before her and offer up the homage she was due. Ferociously, she bit back the pleasure. This was about murder. Nothing else.

Arching her back, she drew him even tighter within her. And he did grit his teeth at that. She delighted in her mastery over him.

Then, Ivy belatedly realized that she was cooing. It really did feel good—much better than Harley’s overenthusiastic penetrations. Would it be so bad to enjoy this just a little bit? Already the sparks she burst with every sweep of her hips traveled her receptive body...

It wasn’t as if it was something he was doing to her. She was doing it to him! And he was very doable…

Ivy soon found herself enjoying it very much. His subjugation. Her conquest. Even the way he bucked his hips in perfect counterpoint to her receiving gulps was all in servitude to her.

She almost regretted the fact that she had to kill him, because now and forever, he was hers. Her servant and her acolyte and her whore. Even his last thoughts would be of her.

He gave all of himself to her when even Harley held back out of loyalty to her clown, and she took all of him. Everything he could—

Ivy’s tireless hips sang as she pushed them forward, hard, like she meant to swallow Bruce’s entire body within her own. Her flesh burned and burst, a cleansing forest fire that cleared what felt like acres of deadwood from her.

But at her center he remained cold steel… at least in comparison to her inferno.

It took her a few gasping breaths to realize what had happened. She’d come. He was still rock hard inside her.

She’d come. And he hadn’t.

In all her previous male encounters, Ivy had never come first. No matter how romantically her paramour presented himself, he always wound up rutting with her like an animal and lasting as long as a fruit fly. But Bruce was still there. A useful, well-cared-for, reliable… tool.

The man himself bent his head as reverently as a priest in prayer, gently kissing some of the dew from between her breasts. She knew from experience that it was sweet as syrup, without the tartness present in the sap between her legs. “I hope you enjoyed that, Ivy. Enough to repeat it, even.”

Ivy sensed a challenge in the smirk that he tried not-hard-enough to hide. A faithful tool, but one that didn’t quite know its place. She would teach it to him as he died, and on his grave she’d plant a mighty oak to commemorate his one real contribution to nature.


Once Harley had finished her breakfast, she thought of pushing her plate under the bed. That’d been her usual housekeeping method back when she and Ivy had stayed over at Eddie’s hideout. She would let the dishes pile up until Ivy yelled at her, or got one of her pheromone buddies to clean them up.

Now, though… it’d probably make Bruce pretty happy if he saw that she cleaned up after herself.

Wearing nothing but her Tweety Bird boxers and the top half of a standard-issue Arkham jumpsuit (she’d kept it because it was so comfy), Harley went over to the nearest kitchen, where she put her plate by the sink. Then she went to the pantry.

As she should’ve known, there was only boring, healthy food there… but there was also a grocery list hanging out in the open. She quickly grabbed a pencil and added every cereal she’d seen during the ad breaks of her Saturday morning cartoon.

Then she realized she could make Bruce even happier.

Rinsing her plate and silverware off in the sink, she scrubbed them clean and set them in the dishwasher, and then returned to the bedroom for Ivy’s. As Ivy hadn’t eaten her pancakes, Harley gobbled them down for her. Pam was an environmentalist, right? She would’ve hated waste.

Soon, Ivy’s plate and silverware had joined Harley’s in the dishwasher. Harley thought about how pleased Bruce would be with her when he saw how she’d kept his pad nice and tidy. In fact, she’d like to see Ivy make him that happy!


Ivy was determined not to give Bruce that power over her again. She would bring him to a quick, hard orgasm, feed him the leaf, and only then allow herself—allow him—to enter her.

She stood up (shuddering as her freshly-fucked pussy met the greenhouse’s damp air), and reseated herself in Bruce’s lap, crossing her ankles behind his back and nestling her sex against his still-erect manhood.

Like a potter at a wheel, she caught the snake in her hands. She felt it jump between her palms as she gave Bruce what amounted to a lapdance—grinding herself into his body until she was as close as moss to a tree, rubbing her hard nipples against his chest, even nuzzling the sides of his neck with her soft lips.

Finally, she heard the softest whisper of his breath quickening.

This was it.

Riding his thighs, she manipulated his cock over the outside of her pussy, its head poring over her labia and up to her inflamed clit. It was getting to him. She knew it. She could see the beads of sweat on his forehead as she sweetly caressed his cock with her sex, an electricity seeming to crackle between them—softly, gently building, a low-level hum that grew and grew.

“You’re going to come for me,” she announced, squeezing his powerful cock and feeling it almost resist her. She loved its heated, concentrated stiffness, but only because she took it as a sign of her power over him.

“After you,” he said blithely.

She pressed him firmly against her, parting her lips on his shaft, riding up and down over every little vein. At the tip, there was the slippery feel of his precum. She enthusiastically rubbed it between her palms like she was moisturizing. Rubbed them both, masturbating herself as she jerked him off, trapping his cock between their bodies as she rubbed them together, moaning obscenely as she fingered herself instead of letting him penetrate her. Hearing the strain of his bonds as he tested their strength.

He was weakening. A little more, a little more…

She was inches from his face, her lips parted, her eyes locked with his when he kissed her for the first time. His tongue in her mouth like that was all the penetration he needed, an incredible passion there, a power that she couldn’t contain, that she could only ride and shape and accept into herself—All too soon she felt her embers flaring into a roaring flame once more.

Ivy would’ve thought that her last orgasm would’ve left only ashes, nothing more to burn, but Bruce poured gasoline all over her. Her back went rigid and her groin bloomed with heat and when she finally went slack, it was only to collapse atop him.

His body was soft, oiled with sweat, a bed she could coil up on and indulge her sated weariness—all but his manhood, nudging insistently against the flesh of her thighs.

Bruce smiled sweetly. “Had enough?”

“How can you ask me that?” Ivy demanded, her impatience shining through. “You haven’t even come yet!”

“I can always do that with Harley.”

Face twisted into a snarl, Ivy grabbed him by the base of his cock and impaled herself on him.


After a round of Saint’s Row The Third, Harley decided to take an afternoon nap. When she woke up, she decided to go on Amazon and order some toys. If she didn’t spruce the place up, it could get awfully dull in Wayne Manor.


Now Ivy rode Bruce so hard that every swing of her hips rammed his back into the tree trunk. Leaves were falling down around them in pointed contrast to the violence of the coupling they surrounded. The tree itself groaned with the stress it was enduring. Ivy didn’t care. She had to conquer Bruce. He had to be hers, damn it!

She relented only to tease him, pleased with the fevered gasps her respite brought as her hips continued to roll on his pelvis. Then she raked her nails through his chest hair as she surged against him again, so hard that her breasts slapped against his face, going too fast for even their exquisite softness to be painless. She could tell his resistance couldn’t last.

Ivy’s eyes drifted close and her world became silence, just the staccato chorus of her jaw working its little exercises to try to contain the pleasure. It didn’t work. She let out a squeal that had her opening her eyes to see if Bruce had heard her. And he had. His face was grinning and filled with pleasure. She realized her own cheeks had pulled into a smile.

And so, either out of vexation with him or fear of her own growing response, she stopped dead. Every delicious movement of her body around his cock stilled. She waited for him to beg.

He didn’t, just sat there, evenly meeting her gaze, seeming to luxuriate in the tightness of her hot cunt without ever caring if she’d continue. So she rocked just a little, an idle motion designed to tease and tantalize. It certainly did for her, lightning shooting through her blood.

Bruce exhaled softly, but made no other reaction, content to enjoy her ministrations.

Her hands ran soothingly through the soft hair of his chest, trailing over the marks her fingernails had made. His nipples were as erect as her own, and she played them between her fingers. His head drifted back, a dreamy smile on his face as he rested against the tree—like she was giving him a massage.

It was maddening, insulting, unfair. She had power over him, but only what he gave her. Aside from that, he was immune to all her tricks, her poses, her ploys. He was her prisoner beneath her, but he’d chosen to be.

And it turned her on. That frightened her more than anything.

She could leave right now. She almost did, easing herself off his turgid erection, feeling her pussy tingle as it was abandoned. Every perfect inch of him left her one at a time. And the fire in her belly that had done nothing but spread and spread began to die.

“Nnnnnh!” Ivy cried, throwing herself back down onto his cock, her head thrusting back in the ecstasy of sudden fulfillment, her crimson hair falling back to tickle at the small of her back. It was impossible to resist. Her hips darted up and slammed down, taking even more of his relentless cock inside herself.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Ivy,” Bruce moaned out, the first chink in his armor, an admission of weakness that threw fuel on her fire.

Losing all her composure, Ivy’s mouth dropped open and her eyes bugged out in the O-face that Harley had so much fun teasing her about. Her orgasm fired inside her, but wasn’t enough. In rapid succession, Ivy bounced herself atop Bruce’s cock another half-dozen times, then dropped her hand between her thighs and frantically flicked her clit until a second explosion took her. This time, she felt a liquid rush and heard a gushing splatter as her sap squirted from her, all the way to Bruce’s chest.

Yessssssss,” Ivy rasped, sweat dripping from her heaving breasts as she lost her balance, having to throw an arm back to support herself as she floated down from her climactic high.

Bruce’s cock was angrily hard inside her, pinning her in place.

“Satisfied?” he asked, a tranquil smile greeting her when her eyes finally opened.

Ivy’s voice emerged from her afterglow sickly sweet. “Not until you are, husband.” She assumed her sarcasm was lost on him.


Awake from her nap, Harley went to some of her favorite forums and whittled away the afternoon responding to those who criticized her by posting aggressive .gifs. Stupid Bronies had no idea what My Little Pony was all about.

It was only when she sighted one of those pop-up ads asking her to take a survey about Bruce Wayne’s double wedding that she thought of where Bruce and Ivy had gotten to. Probably doing something boring, like going over their pre-nuptial agreement.


In the greenhouse, the quiet was almost tranquil. The screaming orgasm and frenzied mating of the last bout had been forgotten. Ivy had decided that this time, she would allow herself one gentle orgasm from Bruce Wayne before she really got down to the business of killing him. And so her well-rounded ass moved in gentle, rhythmic circles, around and around in a perfect O, letting her feel all of Bruce inside her. First here. Then there. Everywhere.

The meditative sounds of the greenhouse’s few machines and those of the animals that had been permitted inside melded with the liquid sound of Bruce’s cock within Ivy’s dripping womanhood, with the fleshy rasp of their thighs rubbing together, with the low purr of Ivy’s breathing as she absorbed the pleasure Bruce gave her like a plant would take in water.

“Oh yes,” she muttered in a loving litany. “Oh, that’s it. That’s it. Just like that. Just like that…”

Bruce’s chest worked like a bellows, his strong breath gusting out of his body and rumbling back in. With Ivy twined around his torso, staying where she’d collapsed the last time, each breath shifted her body around, lazily moving her lips to new place to kiss and suck. She found his mouth on one pitched intake of air, cutting off that steady breath with her soft, wide lips, her hands playing at his neck and hair.

His passion was—pleasing for her to contemplate. The way he seemed hungry not just for a beautiful body, but for her… reminded Ivy of Harley, in a distant way.

Soon, his kisses left even her breathless. Breaking free and clutching the back of his neck, she forced him into his cleavage, where he kissed each nipple as they were offered up, caressing her breasts with his mouth. When she centered him on one, he sucked on it so hard he might’ve been trying to devour her. Even Harley didn’t usually lavish such attention on her breasts, not once motorboating them ceased to amused her.

It felt so good that she had to push him back, running her hands from his thick arms to his flat stomach—now noticing the muscle, the occasional scar, all the little pleasures of his body. And he kept looking at her, bold and unafraid, but respectful. Loving, even. “I’ve never been with a woman like you before. You’re so gorgeous… and you’re so amazing. It’s like a dream. I’m fucking the most beautiful woman in the world. I’m fucking Pamela Isley…”

She kissed him and his body came alive, jumping to plunge his cock deep into her, driving her up like he meant to crash her into the ceiling. He was only allowed the one kiss, then she returned him to her breasts, where the rough stubble of his cheeks and hard suction of his mouth had become quite pleasurable. She watched the ripple of his muscles as he drove himself into her; the transfixing thought that all that power was hers to command. He’d given it to her. His wife.

Suddenly, for all her power, all her control, she found herself paralyzed. Unable even to moan out the orgasm that possessed her. She sat atop him, her throne, panting and trembling while her body was racked by spasms. She could only imagine how he felt, his manhood inside her battered by pressure and violent warmth, her arms hugging him violently as he pumped furiously into her cunt. At last it was over. She could fill her limp body with breath. He rocked her from side to side as she came down from her latest climax, her penetration a persistent reminder of his victory.

Ivy ended up staring over his shoulder into nothingness, her heavy breasts stirring against his chest with labored breathing. Her arms and legs useless, her body sucked down against his like kelp after the floodwaters had receded, she wondered if perhaps she hadn’t approached this the right way. Clearly, he had some issues with giving up control. Perhaps if she let him take the wheel—just until he died, of course—that would do the trick.

“Bruce?” she asked, cloyingly sweet. “Would you like to be on top?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“No, no--not just this once.”

She didn’t remember she had tied his hands until he’d ripped free of them. Then he had her in his arms, so powerful she felt trapped but also something else as he rolled, forcing Ivy under him. She landed on her back, the powerful buttress roots under her shoulders and knees like the armrests of a throne, and Bruce kneeling between her legs. He lifted her endless legs, kissing each as he draped them over his broad shoulders, then took hold of her hips and pulled her onto his waiting cock.

What did it matter if I screamed? Ivy would think, when she was capable of thought a few minutes later. It wasn’t like there was anyone around to hear her.

Then a heated kiss would break through the last of her walls, leaving her defenseless against the onslaught of pleasure that crashed down on her like a flood. Her hips bucked like a wild animal and her fingers dug into the rich soil under her as she wailed his victory over her, louder even than her cry of penetration had been.

When she was capable of thought, more than a few minutes later, she would try not to think about that.


After another nap taken in the aftermath of her midday sugar rush, Harley awoke with a hunger for more than SweetTarts. Calling the pizza number next to the phone, she delighted in discovering that the local pizzeria delivered pizza, cinnamon sticks, breadsticks, crazybread, chicken wings, chicken poppers, soda, and very big cookies. If only the pizza place delivered high explosives, she’d never shop anywhere else.

Harley ordered one of each, and a veggie pizza in case Bruce and Ivy wanted some. Veggies. Yick.


Ivy stretched happily and reclined under Bruce. When she felt his cock brush against her leg, she took it as a comforting promise. “What are you waiting for, hubby? You haven’t come yet.”

"You said just once."

"Did I? You must’ve misheard me.”


Harley remembered a dark time in her life, when she’d had to watch her weight. Then Ivy gave her a shot that let them play together. There were some minor side effects, like superstrength and enhanced agility, but mostly, Harley could eat as much as she wanted and stay flat as a pancake.

“Guys, pizza’s here!” she announced after having three of everything. No answer, even to that. She decided to go look for them. They were probably wondering where she’d gotten to anyway.


Ivy lay under Bruce, burning and ice-cold and everything in-between. She gasped when she could breathe at all. She knew she’d had an orgasm recently—she could still feel fresh come on her inner thighs—but had no idea how long it’d taken her to recover from it.

Had it been dark out when they started?

“That was alright,” she stressed, reaching a hand up to caress his chiseled face—he hasn’t even broken a sweat. “But next time… harder and faster, okay? And rough. Very rough.”

“I could hurt you.”

“Oh, do try.”


Skipping through the halls of the mansion, it occurred to Harley that the reason Bruce didn’t want pizza might be the only reason someone wouldn’t want pizza. She broke into a run. Hopefully Ivy wasn’t killing him without her!


Facedown on the grass, surrounded by the claw marks where she’d gouged at the earth in her ecstasy, Ivy looked over her shoulder and saw Bruce regarding her with smug concern. Screw it. He had the right to feel smug after that.

“That all you got?” she asked hoarsely.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to break for lunch. I could bring you some refreshments if you’d like to rest a moment.”

“Fuck that. Get down here and do your husbandly duties. And don’t stop this time.” She licked her lips. “Not until I scream.”


As Harley had expected, being a smarty-pants, they were in the greenhouse. Harley could hear Ivy yelling, even if the actual words were muted by the glass walls. She hoped Bruce hadn’t forgotten to water one of Ivy’s plants. That always made Ivy yell at her.

Harley opened the door to the greenhouse and stepped inside. Pushing aside a few palm leaves, she stopped dead. Struck deaf and dumb by what she saw.

Ivy laid flat on the grass like a throw rug, spread-eagled, her hands gripping tree trunks on either side and her legs shooting straight up like a Rockette routine. Bruce laid atop her, naked, pumping himself up and down like it was exercise. He buffeted Ivy’s voluptrous body with unrestrained violence, each time sending ripples through Ivy’s generous curves. Her ass rippled, her breasts bounded, even her hair flew as her head shook in ecstasy. Her lips joined the act too, bursting out “Yes!” and “Fuck!” at every penetration. And Harley could see why.

Almost a foot of Bruce’s moisture-coated shaft dropped into Ivy with each thrust, though the thick base remained untouched no matter how wide Ivy’s legs spread. She was getting the cock—long, thick, and decidedly hard—that Harley had been denied the other night. And Bruce was kissing the moist lips that Harley thought were all hers, his hands sliding over Ivy’s writhing body like he owned it.

Harley felt a shock of betrayal, an urge to run to her room and cry into her pillow—if only she could talk to Mistah J. He’d understand.

She couldn’t stay. If she stayed, she would only be hurt more by what she saw. She kept watching, though. She had to see how far the betrayal went. Would he fuck Ivy’s tits? Her mouth? Her asshole? Harley had to know…


Far away and understandably unnoticed, the house phone rang and rang. Finally, the answering machine got it with a cheery recording Harley Quinn had already programmed into it. After the self-made radio jingle was over, beep!

“Hello, Mr. Wayne? Vicki Vale, Channel 5 News. Sorry to bother you at home, but as a fellow One Percent Fertile, I’d love to know your thoughts on the ongoing infertility crisis. My viewers are dying to know if you intend to marry more women, and if so, who? Perhaps I could interview you over dinner…?”


Harley felt a little itchy and a little squirmy and a lot hot, unable to stop thinking of how Bruce had disciplined her even as he did the opposite to Ivy. Ivy liked to talk about how she hated men, but she was enjoying every moment of this, bouncing underneath Bruce to meet his cock like she was on a trampoline.

Harley watched her hug Bruce with her legs, crushing him to her in a desperate attempt to intensify her own orgasm. Harley had to be impressed by how Bruce had made Ivy come even harder than Harley could with her joy buzzer and special plant. And not that Mistah J was a bad lover, but Bruce didn’t need a rubber chicken.

He let Ivy lay back on the grass like she was going to make snow angels, the sunlamps revitalizing her sweat-soaked skin. Harley distinctly went eep! when she saw him exit her. He looked even bigger than he had the other night!

As Harley watched, Bruce stroked himself, gathering their comingled fluids in his hand and feeding it to Ivy. She eagerly sat up to suck the juices from his fingers and lick his palm, then collapsed back to the ground and opened her legs in obvious invitation. Bruce had expected nothing less. He was already guiding his cock back to her womanhood. Harley gasped in unison with Ivy as it went in. She could already see the beginnings of Ivy’s next orgasm in the heaving breath she took.

Harley knew Mistah J was the love of her life and Ivy was her BFF. Still, she had to ask… could Bruce make her come like that?


Beep! “Hey Bruce, it’s Selina. About our little chat the other night—I’ve been having second thoughts. After all, if you were my husband, you couldn’t testify against me in court. If you want to talk about it, be at the Gotham Natural History Museum after hours. We can discuss that, and whether I should steal the Cat’s Eye Emerald or not. I’m in the pro column myself.”


Harley had always been an impulsive sort of girl. Without much in the way of conscious thought, she dropped her boxers to her ankles. Ivy had her ankles locked together at the small of Bruce’s back and was pumping Bruce deeper into her, clearly about to come. All Harley could think about was doing the same. She couldn’t stand Ivy finishing while she went without release.

And she wouldn’t. Bruce stopped, plunged to the hilt inside Ivy, who went mad with lust at the cessation. She threw herself up against the billionaire, kissing him frantically all over his face, her green lipstick covering him like camouflage. Bruce acted as if she weren’t there, staring directly at Harley, whose eyes were open very wide.

“Uh… hi there,” Harley quailed nervously. “We have pizza.”

“DON’T STOP! DON’T STOP! YOU BASTARD, HOW CAN YOU STOP?” Ivy was screaming, desperately rubbing herself up against Bruce to try to cajole him into continuing.

“I don’t recall saying you could touch yourself,” Bruce said calmly, as he idly kneaded one of Ivy’s plump tits. It did little to sooth her, judging by the way she grabbed his hand and forced it to her mouth, where she sucked pornographically on three of his fingers.

“I, ah, I… uhh… we have pizza?” Harley muttered. She crossed her slender arms over her chest, then dropped them down to try to pull the bottom of her shirt over her incriminatingly wet pussy.


Quite casually, Bruce put his hand over Ivy’s mouth. “Harley, I want you to sit down with your hands behind your back for an hour, saying nothing. If you do that, then I’ll allow you to touch yourself.”

Harley felt her juices trickling down past the ability of her shirt to cover. “Okey-dokey…” she nodded, shifting her weight with more than a little unease. She knelt down, biting her lip.

Bruce turned his attention back to Ivy. Taking his hand away, he drew himself out of her. Ivy shook her head in mute panic, opening her mouth to scream again when Bruce dove back into her. She went deathly still and all that came from her wide-open mouth was a gentle groan.

As Ivy came, Harley realized she didn’t need to touch herself. She had climaxed without even one finger in her cunt.

And Wayne wasn’t even finished.


Beep! “Mmm, Roxy Rocket here. Heard you liked to live on the edge, Wayne, but two psychos at once? That's just fun. Maybe you could let me get in on the action. A three-on-one fight is just my kinda odds. Don't bother calling, I'll be dropping by soon enough. And don't bother turning your security system off, either. I love a challenge. Let's see if I can crash that big, busy bed of yours, lover-boy. And don’t worry, I like it rough.”


“Oww!” Ivy cried at her most undignified, feeling the tender flesh of her sex stretching painfully. For a while now Bruce’s thrusting had caused pain and pleasure in equal measure, like the thorns on a rose, but now, as she raced toward orgasm, it became unbearable. “Stop! It’s too big! It hurts!”

She flailed and Bruce grabbed her by the shoulders, holding her still as he gently withdrew from her, trying not to cause any more pain. Her crotch was flushed red, and Bruce’s air of confidence was replaced with concern. “What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“Yes—yes,” Ivy grimaced. “It’s never lasted this long before. You—you fucked me raw.”

Of course, that brought a half-smile to the playboy’s stupid face. He leaned down to her ear. “Then where else can I put it?”

Ivy took his meaning instantly. Even Harley did. Ivy looked over to her friend and saw that the Cupid of Crime was quaking and making mouth-shut ‘ooh! ooh!’ noises like a kid in class who the teacher wouldn’t call on. Catching Ivy’s eye, she nodded her head ardently.

Her cunt still aching, sending jolts of pain through her body, Ivy rolled over and got on her elbows and knees. Her ass was presented for Bruce’s inspection, and she felt him do just that, eying it aesthetically while she laid with it up in the air, like a common whore.

It made Ivy feel dirty. A good sort of dirty.

She heard him spit, felt his fingers lubricate her asshole, stretch her out—it felt so good—then his cockhead sliding over her anus, seeking purchase. She groaned… already it felt far bigger than the brief intrusion of his fingers… she’d let Harley finger her ass before, but only when she begged and pleaded and stayed on her best behavior for weeks, and even then it was only Harley’s dainty little fingers, not… that.

But she couldn’t let Wayne win. She had to… get him to… do the thing… whatever it was.

Letting him fuck her in the ass would accomplish that, though, she was sure of it.

He ran his hand over her back, stroking her spine for a few moments as she felt his cock take hold. Then his hand flattened between her shoulder blades, almost like he was holding her facedown in the grass as he mounted her. She gasped as her asshole went taut, pushed to the limit. Then past it.

She had never taken anything so big and it was just the beginning, as Bruce let his body weight take over and drill him down into Ivy. Ivy bit down on the flesh of her forearm as her resistant asshole started to give, the pain intense but the pleasure more so, something deeply taboo tingling in her mind. This wasn’t something humans, animals, were meant to do, and that made it perfect for her.

Ivy groaned as her anus stalled him, but just for a few moments against his unrelenting pressure, then she felt him inside. Bruce let out a satisfied moan, like he’d just taken a long, cold drink after a day in the sun. Ivy clenched at him, her body trying to keep him out more than she was, but her twinges of discomfort were easy to overcome. Steadily, he worked his way inside, stopped when he heard her grunts become more pain than pleasure, waited as she accommodated him, then worked on her with a few short and slow thrusts. Ivy let out a long, pained exhale.

“Easy, easy,” he told her, petting her hair and soft back, brushing some of the leaves away. His strong, assertive voice calmed her. He could feel her relaxing. “It’s mine now. I’ve got it. You’ve given it to me.”

She accepted it, but still whined in drawn-out protest when he shifted his weight to her once more, squeezing into her tight ass. She buckled underneath him, dropping her head into the grass, but he was unstoppable. Her hole fought him every inch of way, but he moaned exaggeratedly to let her know he enjoyed it, and finally, she couldn’t resist anymore. Ivy felt her stretched asshole take all of him, his cock shooting inside her like a piledriver.

She screamed. Later, Harley would tell her she’d been saying “YES!”


Beep! “Wayne, this is Calendar Girl. Couldn’t help but notice such an eligible bachelor taking up with two tacky whores named Ivy and Quinn. And then I couldn’t help but wonder, out of all the villainesses this city has to offer, why them? It finally came to me, Wayne. You think they’re prettier than me, don’t you? But all pretty girls know how to do is lay there and look pretty. Ugly girls can use more than looks to please a man. Mark your calendar, loverboy—you’ll see me soon.”


“OH NO, NOT AGAIN!” Ivy yelled.

Bruce had had her by the hips and was dragging her anus onto his cock as her breasts swung heavily under her and her ass jiggled with each blow. Her toes were curling, her lips were pursing, her skin was sweating, her eyes were closed and she was about to come from being fucked in the ass. In fact, her arms had just given out and she’d slumped to the grass, her ass only staying in place because Bruce held onto it. It was all part of the best orgasm she’d ever had since the last orgasm she’d had, when suddenly Bruce stopped. Again.


Bruce ignored her, though his cock was hard and immense in her well-punished ass. “Harley, it’s been an hour. You can touch yourself now.”

Harley had been sitting down like she was in a trance, squeezing her thighs together in an attempt to match the pleasure Ivy was receiving, but at his word, she dropped both hands between her legs.

The results were instanteous—they hit so fast that Harley had to lie down to avoid going completely unconscious. The greenhouse swam before her eyes until she turned to Ivy and saw Red clear as day. She was coming too.

Bruce had started fucking her again.


Beep! “Bruce, are you there? It’s Dick, pick up if you’re there. Pick up, pick up, pick uppppp! You’re not there. Okay, Bruce, look, I broke my leg in one of those ‘skiing accidents’ our family keeps having, so I’m going to come over to your place to rest up. Don’t worry, I’ll be ‘downstairs,’ you won’t even notice I’m there. Sorry to impose, but I just can’t stay at the Clocktower for at least a week. Man, you had the right idea, Bruce. Start out small, marry two women. Even if they’re crazy, there’s just two of them. But Babs didn’t want all her girls to be single while she got hitched. I thought they were all lesbians! I was just supposed to be a beard! Now Zinda’s pinched me so many times I’m gonna have scar tissue on my ass! I just need to go a few days without a threesome, that’s all. Don’t tell Barbara where I am, she has nurse outfits… where are you, anyway? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours…”


Harley’s arms were covered with gooseflesh and it felt like her legs couldn’t hold her weight, even though she was sitting down. She was watching Bruce punch his cock into Ivy’s ass, enjoying the strained noises they both made. Ivy was grunting and moaning with every one of the short, powerful thrusts Bruce made into her ass. The restrained, impetuous goddess Harley had long-known was gone. This woman was like Harley. She enjoyed being fucked.

Harley was circling her clit with her fingers—it was hard to pin down, slippery as it was, but she enjoyed the chase, the electric tingles as her fingers slid around it. She watched as Ivy did the same: meeting her eyes, Ivy reached down between her own legs. Red loosed a ragged gasp as she made contact; echoed by Harley as the blonde found her clit. Bruce was speeding up too, feeling all of their sensations combining and overlapping. Harley watching Ivy, Ivy watching Harley, him watching both of them. He went hard and fast into Ivy, leaning down close to the tangled nest their lovemaking had made of her hair.

“I’m gonna come,” he whispered into her ear, and her hand quickened on her cunt and clit.

Harley sped up too, fingers dancing inside her.

Ivy’s body was clamping down on Bruce, now seeming to want to keep him inside forever. There was no pain, just the feeling of the full measure of his cock, all the way inside up. She was actually compelled to push back, feel even more of him inside her.

Harley came first, so eager to please that she picked up on the urges of the other two and gave vent to them. Her head fell back, mouth open, drooling, legs spread to display her pussy to the world as it quivered in orgasm.

Then Ivy. She screamed so loud her voice went hoarse, her hips driving back against Bruce so violently that she actually moved him several inches. Then she came with thundering finality, her nectar so plentiful that Harley could see it coat her fingers anew every time she stroked herself.

Finally, Bruce buried himself in Ivy’s ass, his cock virtually disappearing inside her to loosen an ejaculation that a dam couldn’t stop. As soon as it hit Ivy, she was in its grip. She felt a second orgasm on top of her first, her mind no longer remotely her own, but a puppet being moved by the strings of Bruce Wayne and her own treacherous, well-pleasured body.

Finished, Bruce stood, his exit prompting an avalanche of jism to flow from Ivy’s ravished ass. He looked down at Ivy, dazed and barely conscious, her holes gaping and her weak body still shaking with pleasure. A few meters away, Harley was in much the same state, her hands still clasped between her legs like she was trying to hold in the ecstatic sensation.

As for Bruce, his cock laid limp between his legs. “Now I think I could use that leaf of yours,” he said. “If you’re up for it.”

Ivy rolled over, her heavy-lidded eyes struggling to focus on them. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she demanded, before passing out.

Before he let, Bruce picked up Harley and deposited her limp body beside Ivy. The two women instinctively curled up into each other, Harley first, then Ivy.


Naked, Bruce walked to the kitchen. After sublimating his desires for so long, coming out of it meant he was famished. He drank the entire jug of orange juice in the refrigerator, then saw that someone had ordered pizza, even if the leftovers weren’t to his liking.


It surprised him, but he had to admit he’d taken pleasure in his time with Ivy. He hadn’t been able to let himself enjoy it too much, but there’d been a definite satisfaction there. After so many years of Ivy trying to seduce him, her pheromones toying with his system, her body paraded before him as a constant temptation—it’d felt only right to finally take her. The same way he’d enjoyed Harley.

He’d always thought of this part of the marriage as an obligation, something he’d eventually trust Harley and Ivy to take care of on their own. But now that he was partaking, it occurred to him that this was a definite side benefit. No wonder Dick did it so often. It was wonderful for morale.

Bruce was just reaching for another slice when a hand grabbed it from him. Past the slim wrist, it was defined by a silver bracer.

“Interesting dinner attire,” Diana, princess of the Amazons, said before taking a bite.

They looked each other over without a hint of self-consciousness. Bruce had no wish to hide what he’d been doing, no sense of modesty in either of them to be offended. Diana’s costume had always been one-part the frame around the painting, designed to showcase her beauty as much as defend it. Even if that wasn’t the note Bruce usually tried to strike, he wouldn’t pretend it wasn’t gratifying for the sight of him to be enjoyed by a beautiful woman, just as it had been with his wives.

“If you’re here to object, I believe you’re in the ‘forever hold your peace’ timeframe.”

Diana swallowed her bite. “How could I object? The Amazon way has always been victory through love, not violence.”

“You could be a great help to me then.” Diana took a considering bite, breaking the tension of the proposal. Bruce did not take this as dissuading. “With you as my wife, riding herd on the others, we could focus on real threats. Talia al Ghul. Red Claw. Cheetah. Circe.”

Diana smiled fondly at him. “I know you mean well… but that’s exactly the reason I can’t. The pressure I feel when you make that offer. Millions of women look up to me as a role model, and I have to show them that even if they’re in the One Percent Fertile, it’s alright for them not to take a husband. Not if it’s something that isn’t right for them.”

Bruce cleared his voice of rancor. “I was under the impression I could be right for you.”

She touched his cheek. “Bruce… you asked me to marry you so we could be parole officers together.”

Her hand stayed at his face. “Funny. I was just thinking of how I’d changed. Harley, Ivy… they’re exceptional women. Any man would be lucky to have them, provided they don’t kill him. Maybe… I think you know more about being a good husband than me.”

Diana pursed her lips. The Amazons did not take wives, but there were some who had found their way into her bed time and time again. She treasured them all. “I don’t know Quinzel and Isley as well as I’d like. But underneath all the wars you’ve waged with them, they’re still people. You can bribe them with your riches and rule them with your psychology. But eventually, they will need love.”

“That’s never come easy to me.”

She leaned in to kiss his cheek. It felt oddly like a promise. “Let it come and it will. Underneath your wars, you’re human too.”

When he looked at her, she was more beautiful than ever. “Those women who look up to you… do you also intend to show them that a woman can change her mind?”

“My mind is made up. I won’t marry the Batman. But if Bruce Wayne asked…” She left the rest unspoken. “Now, I’d never suggest you don’t have a situation under control, but is there anything I can do to help?” Her eyes darted to his ring finger. “Besides that?”

“I’ve never had a head for gift-giving, but could you pick up something appropriately extravagant for Master Patel, my yoga instructor from some years ago? Bill it to me, of course. If he asks, tell him it’s in gratitude to him for teaching me the Kantic Trance. It came in very helpful just recently.”

“Oh? You needed to meditate under any waterfalls?”

There had been a good deal of moisture involved. “Something like that.”

Diana bowed formally. “I’ll see to it. Thank you for allowing me to dine in your house, and my apologies for intruding without permission. I was merely concerned for your safety.”

“No apology is needed, princess. You’re always welcome here.”

“And it’s always a pleasure. Tell Harley that she may not have trained with real Amazons, but I would be glad to consider her a sister, if she wishes to go down that path. And let Ivy know that she may consider herself a god, but I’ve fought deities before. When my friends were threatened.”

With a tight nod, Diana took flight. The skylight was open in the open room.

Bruce watched her go and thought about her words.


That night, Ivy woke up to find Harley wasn’t lying at her side.

She was in Bruce’s bedroom, traipsing with all her stealth through his door. She’d left her boxers back in the greenhouse—a fact that, unbeknownst to her, was causing Ivy a great deal of consternation—and her shirt billowed loosely about her body as she tip-toed toward the bed.

In it, the sheets parted to reveal Bruce. He sat up, naked body still gleaming faintly from the shower he’d taken before bed, and regarded Harley as she froze solid.

“Can I help you with something?” he asked with a smile.

Harley put her hands behind her back. She smiled at him, endearingly nervous.

“Brucie, how is it I could get to have earned your cock?”

Chapter Text

Her leather snug around her athletic body, Selina alighted onto the roof of the Gotham Natural History Museum precisely at the strike of moonlight. As she’d expected, the Bat was waiting for her in the shadow of a turret, back turned, the moonlight only displaying the tips of his horns and the furl of his cape.


Selina crept up on him, boots winding silently across the gravel of the rooftop in a testament to her skill. In a few seconds, she was upon him.


She’d actually done it. She’d actually snuck up on the Batman. Lips curved in a smile, she sunk her claws into his shoulder as her mouth warmly licked where his ear would be beneath the cowl. “Hello lover,” she whispered, now sucking half on his neck, half on the border of his armor.


He stood there as if stricken, groaning gently. She clapped her hands down on his muscular thighs, then trailed them up, up, up until she was rubbing at his codpiece. Not as big as usual. Either he’d just had a run-in with Mr. Freeze or he’d stopped padding his trunks. Either way, Selina gave the hard lump her fondest regards.


“I knew you’d be here. It’s fine if you like fucking crazy bitches, but Harley and Ivy are downright sane compared to me.”


Getting a good, firm grip, Selina kept rubbing as she ran her other hand up the usual abs, as she licked wildly at cowl and skin. Until her hand felt something a lot bigger—a lot softer—than the expected pectoral.


Selina spun the figure around, into the light, to find the wrong Bat facing her. “You’re not Batman!” she said, somewhat unnecessarily, but hell, she was a sneak thief. Dialogue wasn’t a forte when speaking at all meant you’d been caught.


“No,” Batwoman replied, breathing a little heavy for Selina’s tastes. “But that doesn’t mean we have to stop.


Just like Bruce to skip a date. Probably needed to test whether he could do jumping jacks on a bed of nails, or something equally torturous.




Harley’s body was flushed, her sweat burnishing it, her breath working like an old car trying to hit 80. She laid on the back, trapped in Bruce Wayne’s embrace like an iron maiden. His left arm was a steel band around her breasts, while his right hand was locked between her legs. She could feel his cock through his pajamas bottoms, denting her pert ass. Its hardness continued the metallurgical theme. No matter how she moaned and squirmed, she wasn’t allowed to move. Just spread her legs wider.


“I’m gonna come! Brucie, I’m really gonna come!”


“No, Harley.” Tauntingly, his thick, callused fingers continued their deep motion within her cunt. They were as cool and implacable as his voice. “Not until I say you can.”


Harley groaned in abject frustration. She’d been pulling at Bruce’s arm over her tits, trying to deal with her stingingly hard nipples, but she couldn’t budge him. All she could do was throw her arms back and feel Bruce’s back muscles as he held her tight.


“Brucie… Mistah Bee… please. It’s been five whole minutes!”


Bruce was cold to her pleas of mercy. All he did was vary the routine, pulling his wet fingers out to rub over her smooth slit. Harley trilled as they approached her clit. She’d tried to touch it before, but Bruce had caught her wrist and twisted it painfully—that had almost been as good.


The cool enamel of Bruce’s fingernails ran over Harley’s clit, sending an electric shock through her, before his fingers abruptly reversed direction. Harley groaned aloud, close to tears.


It wasn’t fair that he could make her feel so good, so fast. Ivy could do that—almost—but she usually had to be begged and cajoled into fucking Harley, and then she used the vines to get Harley off quick, so she could get back to ‘more pressing matters’. Bruce took his time with her. He drew things out. It sucked.


As Bruce whispered softly, soothingly in her ear, his hand slipped down to Harley’s perineum, where her juices had flowed from his inexhaustible efforts. He massaged the space gently as Harley begged for his fingers in whichever hole he wanted.


“Shh… shh…” Bruce rasped into her disarrayed hair, where his face was set. “I’ll make you come. All in due time.”


“Please, Brucie! You’re my husband! It’s your job to make me come!”


“The divorce rate would be much lower if that were the case.” He left her sex all together, moving to her right thigh to tenderly massage it. Harley sniffled. Bruce rubbed at her other thigh, the intimate contact keeping her on the brink, but taking her no further. “What do you want, Harley?”


“Wanna come!” she whined, infantile with need.




“You rubbin’ my clit…” Harley’s hands ran up Bruce’s back to nestle in his hair and rub the back of his neck. “Please, Brucie? It’s right there. Even a guy could see it.”


Bruce could see it. It was practically begging for attention, engorged with hot blood, just waiting to be touched and rubbed and stroked until the end came. Bruce idly brought his hand to it and gave it a tiny flick, leaving Harley with a long, low groan to blow out her mouth.


“And why…” he asked, with a soft kiss to her bared throat, “would I do that?”


Harley hummed in disappointment, kicked her feet in frustration, her eyes pinched shut. She’d given in, wasn’t even trying to fight, but that wasn’t good enough. Bruce took his left arm off her cleavage, the sudden impact of the room’s charged air with her bee-stung nipples making the blonde shudder. He brought his left hand to her face, gently tilting it up so his next kiss landed on her lips.


Harley moaned into it, a surprisingly deep sound. She was staring into his eyes as his freed hand rolled lovingly over her belly and dipped between her legs. It rubbed, gently but insistently, at her clit as his right hand entered her cunt with three fingers.


Harley gasped her way right to the cusp of orgasm. He’d been giving her two before, and three of his thick fingers stretched her small pussy to an almost painful degree. Bruce had come to suspect that one of Ivy’s enhancements to Harley was that her vagina never loosened for long. No matter what Ivy stuffed into it—and Bruce had some suspicions on that as well—it always returned to an almost virginally tight state.


Harley seemed to greatly enjoy the reversal of that process, her cream flowing freely to ease the way, her legs spreading to the width of an acrobat, stretching from one side of the bed to the other. She squirmed, rubbing her ass against his crotch, trying to suck his fingers into her.


“Why?” he asked again. “Why am I doing this?”

Harley’s eyes were tightly shut, girded against the pleasure of the dual assault. “I dunno! Fuck! I don’t care!”


“Answer me and I’ll let you come.”


Her eyes popped open. “I… I… fuck me, I don’t know! I don’t fuckin’ know!


He kissed her, prompting another long, dreamy moan deep in her chest. “Think about it, Harley. You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”


Bruce rubbed her clit and fucked her with his fingers, each second making Harley jerk a different way and sound off in a different pitch. Even he had to smile, watching her enjoy herself so much. It didn’t matter if he gave her permission or not, she was practically coming already.


She bit her lip so hard it was a wonder she didn’t draw blood. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, DON’T STOP! Don’t stop fucking me with your hand, Brucie!”


“Then tell me why I’m doing this.” Bruce slowly dragged his fingers off her clit.


“No! No! It’s because… cuz…” For all the dumb blonde routines she put on, Harley had been a psychologist once, and smart enough to keep up with both the Joker and Poison Ivy. She could be smart when she wanted to be. And even with her brain fogging over with pleasure, she could think of what Bruce wanted to hear. “Because you love me?”


Bruce gave her a fourth finger. Like a key had turned in an ignition, Harley’s hips started gyrating hard, pushing her cunt desperately against Bruce’s hands. He obligingly held his fingers in place for her to mash her clit against.


Her whole body trembled, then tensed into paralysis—the only movement a warm gush of fluids to coat Bruce’s hand. Then she convulsed as her numbed brain was shocked by intense pleasure: breath knocked out of her lungs, heart pumped up like a tire, sweat flying off her body.


Through it all, Bruce slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her, leaving her clit alone to keep the experience from going too painfully intense, just prolonging her pleasure as she relaxed out of her orgasm. When he felt her unclench, he took his hand away. His fingers dripped with her pleasure. He brought them to Harley’s face and she obediently sucked them clean.


“That’s right, Harley. That’s absolutely right.”


Harley slurped her way off his pinky. “You love me,” she smiled shyly.


He nodded gently. She dropped her head, bashfully, and saw the tent in front of his pants. He didn’t stop her as she reached inside and brought out what had to be a foot of stiff prick.


Seeing it in open air, Harley felt a wonderful sense of pride. She’d done that to him. As much as he’d made her come, she’d made him hard. She couldn’t get the Joker interested in her unless he was in one of his moods, and she couldn’t get Ivy to give her a second look some days, but Bruce… Bruce she’d filled with lust. Never mind that he’d done far more to her. It seemed like an accomplishment.


“I wanna make you come,” she said plaintively. Her voice shook, even.


Bruce’s response was quick and ready. “Go to the nightstand. Open the drawer.”


Harley obediently went, padding across the mattress on all fours. Inside the drawer was what looked like a stun baton—who would’ve figured Bruce for the self-defense type?—and a box of condoms.


She really hoped he wasn’t going to fuck her with a baton.


“Take out a condom and bring it here.”


Hands shaking, Harley took one from the box and wriggled back across the bed to Bruce, lying down perpendicular to him as she ripped open the wrapper.


Bruce laid on his back, hands behind his hand, cock erect, a picture of unselfconscious masculine confidence. “Put it on me.”


That, Harley had experience in. Even if the Joker didn’t use condoms, all her college boyfriends had. And she’d had a lot of boyfriends. Being a psychologist meant taking a lot of classes, after all.


Bruce’s hips only jerked slightly as Harley fit the condom snugly onto him. Then she turned her eyes eagerly to Bruce.


“Suck it.”


Harley’s face fell. How come Ivy got it inside her—even in her ass?—and she didn’t even get to blow him without a condom? She at least wanted to taste him on her tongue when he went.


But, submissively, she ovaled her lips…


“Wait,” Bruce called.


She looked back at him with eager eyes.


“Come here.”


On all fours, she traipsed over his prone body to his head. He caressed her cheek, cupped her chin in his hand, and pulled her mouth to his. Her tongue flicked out to meet his, softly pushing together in their joined mouths for a long minute, their heads turning from side to side until Bruce broke away entirely.


Now,” he said.


Feeling much better about it, Harley snaked back down his body until she was lying on her belly between his legs. His cock jutted up before her. She took one more second to marvel at it, at her effect on him. She could smell its powerful aroma. It still smelled of Ivy.


Harley raised her head, opened her lips, and lowered herself down to slip Bruce’s warm cock into her lips. 


She was surprised to feel his hand again, gathering up both her pigtails and pushing down on her head. She unresistingly let him push all of his cock into her mouth, her throat, neither of them stopping until his wiry pubes were tickling her chin.


It wasn’t like with Ivy. She didn’t have to think about how to please him, what he wanted. He showed her. As she sucked, he moved her head from side to side, back and forth, sunk his hips back as he pulled her away, pushed forward with his cock as he pulled her in.


When her head was pulled back, she licked at the tip of his cock and the sensitive collar of his helmet.  When she was pushed back down, she sucked hard. He let go of her hair and she kept up the rhythm. She moaned softly to herself as she did it.


Bruce looked down at the young woman kneeling on all fours before him. His wife. He stared hard at her pale lips gripping his cock in tight, desperate need. Harleen Wayne-Quinzel. She looked so right sucking him off. He could tell she was liking it.


He had always pitied her somewhat, but perhaps some people were born to be submissive. That was Diana’s belief. It wasn’t good or bad—just a question of having a good master, not falling prey to a bad one.


He watched the light hit his cock as she pulled away from it, leaving its entire length slick with saliva, then saw it disappear back between her lips. Even he wouldn’t be able to last much longer.


Bruce ran a finger over the nape of her neck, alerting her to his attention. “Stroke it. Rub my balls.”


Harley nodded eagerly, his cock still in her mouth—slightly awkward, that—then fondled his heavy balls with her left hand. Her right squeezed his cock at its base. As she hefted his balls with one hand, the other slowly started to pump his cock. Soon, she was jacking him off into her mouth.


“Yes,” Bruce said, with tight approval, the word almost becoming a groan. “Very good.”


Harley beamed with pride. He could see her resolve to do even better. Her head bobbed on his dick, tight lips sliding from his glans almost to the root. He’d grown in her mouth too much for her to fully hilt him anymore, though Harley wished he would grab her hair once more and push his cock into her throat until she couldn’t take anymore. Still, she kept her hand on his cock and stroked what she couldn’t suck; dragged her tongue along his underside when his cock went in and locked her lips around his collar when he slid back to keep him from getting away.


Soon, she noticed his cock was swelling even more, seeming to fill her whole mouth. Harley worried that she’d have to unhinge her jaw to keep blowing him. She didn’t stop though. Not when he was stroking her face with his hand, wordlessly telling her how proud he was of her.


Her softly sucking mouth smothered his cock, milked it, finished it off. His engorged cock throbbed one last time, then a spasm ran its length, preceding a flood of hot cum that shot into the latex that had so frustratingly stood between Harley and the true taste of his prick. Harley could almost feel it coating her tongue, practically taste it, but it all flowed into the reservoir of his condom, denied her.


Hungry for cum, Harley licked and sucked as best she could, hoping to somehow break the seal of his condom and guzzle down her reward. But though she felt Bruce’s cock soften in her mouth, the condom stayed intact. Bruce needled his forefinger on her brow and pushed her away with a limp groan.


“Well done,” he gasped, his brow lightly dusted with sweat. “Now take care of it.”


Obedient to the last, Harley rolled the condom off him, tied its end, and dropped it into the wastebasket by the bed. Bruce rolled over—easy now that he didn’t have a railroad spike jutting from his loins—and opened the nightstand drawer further. In the carefully sorted bric-a-brac was a lighter and a carton of cigarettes. He opened the carton, neatly extended one of the cigarettes and offered it to Harley.


She obligingly leaned forward to clench it in her teeth, then watched him bring the lighter to her and flick it on. She moved to light the cigarette in her mouth, but he pulled the lighter away. Harley looked at him in acquiescence, and he lit her cigarette.


Puffing contentedly on it, she let herself be folded up in his arms, slackened and content. “Thank you, Brucie. Thank you…” Her next drag took a long time blowing out of her mouth. “Was I a good girl, Mistah Bee?”


“Yes, you were, Harley. Very good.” He moved a strand of her hair out of her face. It’d all come out of her usual semi-pristine pigtails, a ruffled mess now that looked exactly as it was: like she’d just been fucked. Seeing her so grateful, so piteous, he felt a stab of affection for her. Even with all the crimes she’d committed, all the hurt she’d caused, he had no desire to chasten her. “Tell me something, Harley.”




“How can I be a better husband?”


“You’re the best, Brucie. Look at me. I just came, like, a billion times, between the spanking and the touchy-feely and the really touchy-feely…”


“I know. I know you’re happy. But what do you want me to do, when you think about what you want me to do?”


She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes, the cigarette almost like a lollipop in her dolefully set lips. “Welllll… Red, she always holds me. Always-always. Even if I have to beg and plead for her to whammy me, she’ll take a half-hour longer than she has to, just cuddling with me and snuggling me… and Mistah Jay, sometimes he let me hold onto him really tight, that’s almost the same thing. Like, if he’d be pacing, he’d let me hold onto his legs and drag me across the floor for a while. That was great. But also Ivy, we always sleep in the same bed, even if we don’t do nuthin’, because I love hanging onta my Ivy. But it’s okay if that’s not your thing. It’s not really Mistah Jay’s thing either. You know, sometimes when he kicked me out, I’d go to Red and she’d hug me and stroke me and tickle me all night. Not that I liked getting kicked out, you understand, I’m not some vixen, but it was almost worth it, havin’ her pay so much attention to me…”


It was funny, body language. He’d learned its ins and outs, all the academic information, but he hadn’t really known it until meeting Cassandra Cain. It’d gone from a dead language to a live one for him. And he’d seen how Cass was with Tim and Steph, how she asked to be held, to be soothed, to be touched. It was what Harley was asking for now, far less eloquent, but no less imploringly.


She was on his right when he gathered her up in his arms, so he ringed his left arm under her knees and put his right arm under her back, lifting her against his chest like she was weightless. Harley squeaked, a spot of ash flying from her cigarette, then relaxed into his closeness.


“You’re right, Harl. I should’ve let you had a cooldown after I punished you the other night. It was irresponsible not to.”


“Ah, don’t beat yourself up.” Harley stopped to purr a little as he ran a big hand down her spine. She squirmed around, happy as a clam. “But, if you really wanna make it up to me…” She ran her hand down his stomach.


“I don’t.”


“Okay!” Harley said, moving her hand quickly back to his chest.


“And is there anything else you’d like me to do differently next time? To make it better for you?”


“Mmm? Yeah. Yeah, I think there is.” Harley reached across him to stub her cigarette out on the nightstand’s ashtray, her nipples brushing against his chest. “Next time you punish me—spank me harder.”

Chapter Text

The black-haired alien cursed and spat. She was harsh-faced and lean-bodied; one of many differences from her sister Kory. Blackfire was, however, just as strong. If it weren’t for the power-drainers installed on the restraints that held her, Starfire wouldn’t be able to frog-march her forward. As it was, she still could barely keep hold of her fellow Tamaranian, but this was due to concern for Blackfire’s well-being and not an issue of strength.


“Do you have to drag that bitch through the living room?” Helena asked. She was sitting on the couch reading a magazine, having already moved to put on her mask when the Clocktower’s system announced an uncleared visitor.


“Your living room’s in the middle of a superhero hide-out. There will be supervillains,” Kory replied calmly while hauling Blackfire another few feet against her most determined efforts.


Blackfire managed a few words of English when she wasn’t spewing alien curses. “Perfect little Kory with her perfect wedding and her perfect lovers. How many do you even have?”




“Greedy--!” Blackfire cried, as Kory gave up and manhandled her through a doorway.


In the other room, Barbara waited behind a wall as Kory forced Blackfire into the isolation-pod designed for high-risk metahumans captured in Gotham. As soon as Blackfire was sealed in, unable to see the outside world, she wheeled herself into the prison chamber. It probably should’ve been further away from the living quarters, but when Barbara designed the Clocktower, she hadn’t foreseen the Birds sprawling throughout the complex like in-laws who never left.


Kory looked on as Blackfire, now uncuffed, pounded on the one-way glass, shouting muted threats. “Siblings,” Barbara said, taking place beside her. “Why do they always have to copy us? It’s not like becoming supervillains is so much more original than being a superhero…”


Kory looked at her, vast green eyes taking Barbara in as a warm friend rather than as a rival. It took getting used to for both of them. “Thank you for using your own uncomfortable circumstances to try and cheer me. I’m afraid it is still less than effective. I believe I will go beat some rocks, if criminals are unavailable, and then go to Donna for sex.”


“Okay,” Barbara said, as always, a little put-off with Kory’s unconventionality. “Have good sex.”




 Kory walked around the room, took a last look at Blackfire, then crossed her arms and came back to Barbara. She said nothing, but Babs could’ve smiled. It was nice to realize that whatever kind of home this was, Kory didn’t want to leave.


“So how’s The Real World?” Kory asked. So the girls had taken to calling Bruce’s living arrangements with Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy.


“Pretty good. More kinky bondage sex—“


“I had wondered where Dick got a taste from that,” Kory reminisced. Barbara made a face.


 “And now Bruce is off doing an interview with the Gotham Gazette. First one since the honeymoon. They’re paying him a cool hundred thou, which is going straight to the Policeman’s Ball.


Kory’s thick eyebrows raised. “We should check on the criminals. As part of our duty, of course. Who knows what they might be getting into on their own?”


“I think just each other,” Barbara said wryly.


Kory innocently kneaded her hands behind her back. “I believe Batman would want us to be one hundred percent certain!”


“We’ve gotta do something about these voyeuristic tendencies of yours.”


I have a voyeur habit? My bathroom has cameras in the shower head and the drain.”


Barbara blinked. “I’m sure those were there before you moved in.”


“I’m not angry, Barbara. I would simply like a little warning the next time I try to use the massaging showerhead.”


“Yeah, the camera’s—camera’s not built for that.”




Harley had made pancakes for breakfast. She also might have made a bit of a mess, but that was why God invented butlers. When Ivy came into the kitchen, hair still a frizzy mess from her sleep, Harley was quick to slide a tall stack of wheatcakes before her. Unfocused, Ivy sat down before it.


“Eat up, honeybun! Harley Quinn is serving up tasty and dishing out nutritious!”


Ivy watched dispassionately as Harley drowned her pancakes in maple syrup, topped with a stick of butter that floated forlornly atop the Canadian tide. She’d clothed herself in tree-bark armor, covering all but her face with prickly wood. Harley didn’t notice or didn’t mention it.


Taking a fork, Ivy neatly pared a square of pancake out of the stack and ate it. Her gums smacked. She looked at Harley with bleary eyes that still managed to be accusatory. “Where were you last night?”


“I wuz thinking, Red. I was thinking—“


“What were you thinking?” Ivy interrupted, her tone taking Harley off-guard.


“Well, just that—“ Harley pressed her forefingers together, bending and straightening them against each other. “Brucie’s like the richest guy ever, and if we take him out, there’s gonna be all sorts of people going after his dough. He adopts kids like I catch Pokemon. They’re all gonna say we killed him.”


“They’ll never be able to prove anything,” Ivy said, simple and cool, her eyes locked on Harley.


Harley winningly brought her a cup of tea, freshly brewed. “Yeah, but, but, they won’t have to. They’ll just smear us and do a lawsuit and BOOM, there goes our inheritance! Then all we’ll have to show for this is some really great sex.”


Ivy stared harder at Harley. Her eyes were like pits being dug deeper and deeper into the earth. “If you like that sort of thing,” she said dangerously.


“Hear me out,” Harley pleaded, picking up a platter of bacon from beside the oven. “What if, instead of bumping him off like everyone’s expecting us to, we get knocked up!”




“Me. I mean me. I’d be a great mom.” Harley cupped the bacon in her arms like a bundle of joy.


“Some greedy little monster always demanding attention and the right to suck on your tits?” Ivy mused dismally. “It’ll be just like having the Joker back.”


“Hey, I never thought of that! We could name him Jay!”


“Go back to being pregnant,” Ivy said. “That’s your Plan A?”


“How hard can it be? You eat as much as you want, you lie around all day, everyone treats you nice and tells you how pretty you are, then you take a bunch of drugs and pop the little jerk out!”


“You’ve put some thought into this,” Ivy said sarcastically.


“Yeah! And with a biological child in our pocket, they’ll have no choice but to give us all Brucie’s dough when he kicks it!”


Ivy nodded along with the far more enthusiastic Harley. “Well, Harl, I’ve always held that great minds think alike. Apparently yours does too, because I had the exact same thought during the night. When I was alone.” She smiled icily. “Unable to get to sleep.”


“You—you did?”


“Yes. That’s why I laced the ink of Wayne’s morning paper with a potent aphrodisiac. Forget about the Rihanna nonsense. The next time he sees you, you’re getting a baby.” Ivy got up to pet Harley’s hair. “But I’m so glad we’re on the same page now. It’ll make things so much simpler.”


Harley’s eyes clicked around as the meaning of Ivy’s words occurred to her. That meant—Ivy had wanted her to be a mommy all along! She really was a good friend!


“Oh, Ivy, I’m so happy for us!” She pulled Ivy into a hug. “I can’t wait until he gets home.”


“Gets home?” Ivy repeated.


“Yeah! He went out to get interviewed by some reporter lady. He’s been talking about it all week. Don’t you remember?” With wide-eyed innocence, Harley continued. “Of course you remembered. It’s not like you’d make some silly little mistake. That’s what I do. You wouldn’t be so rude with me if you made mistakes too…”


Ivy sipped her tea. “It’s part of a larger plan. Which I won’t tell you about because you’re being so horrible.”


Harley turned on a dime, hands clapping together in prayer and eyes going full Bambi. “Aww, c’mon, please!”






Kory pursed her lips thoughtfully as Harley and Ivy continued to bicker over the open line.


“So, does Bruce know he’s going to have a chemically enhanced erection while he’s being interviewed?”


Barbara kneaded her temples. “No, Kory. I think it’s safe to say he would’ve rescheduled if he were aware of that. Unfortunately, eavesdropping only works if our bad guys talk about their nefarious schemes, not if they just do them.


“Then you should call to tell him. He’d probably like to know.”


“I’ve been calling him. He’s not picking up. The interview must be underway already.”


“Well, the interviewer will probably understand. Gar used to get erections around me all the time when we were teenagers, I never held it against him.”


“Bet he wishes you had,” Barbara mumbled, trying Bruce’s number again.


“I just mean to say, the man interviewing him most likely won’t think it’s that big a deal.”


“He’s being interviewed by a woman, and I’ve seen him naked. Trust me. It’s a big deal.”


“What woman?”




Vicki Vale walked the length of the room. Her attention never strayed either to the amazing view the fifty-five-story windows gave of Gotham’s skyline or to the flawless reflections that greeted her in her apartment’s ample supply of mirrors. She was entirely focused on the Dictaphone she spoke into as combination self-affirmation and first draft of her coming article.


“I walk. No, hell, I strut. And with every step, I wonder what my life would be like if that skank Lois Lane wasn’t so jealous of me and I’d gotten that job at the Daily Planet.”


Her sashaying strut carried her to the far end of the room, where the window’s one-way glass picked up her reflection. A cavewoman at heart, she’d entered into a state of undress as soon as she’d gotten home. Her stockings were still on, as were her panties, but she’d pulled her bra out from under her cotton shirt and now it plainly showed her nipples. Her blonde hair was almost long enough to cover them. Interesting idea for her next byline photo.


“It’s just that Metropolis has a Man of Steel—a Boy of Steel for those who like their meat a little tender—even a Girl of Steel. If you like that sort of thing.”


She cocked her head, tossing her hair at her reflection. Her reflection looked stunning. As always.


“Even Lex Luthor, if you’re not too particular about hairstyles. And what do we have in Gotham? A handful of furries and Bruce Wayne, who is now taken.”


She did a model turn and strutted in another direction, watching her reflection on its way to meet her in another mirror.


“Hey pretty. You know what you’ve got? Yeah you do.”


She turned to look over her shoulder, eyes on her reflection’s ass. Shameless, the way it looked in that thong. She kept walking, wishing she could see how it looked as she walked away, but too restless to really care.


“You have my sympathies, ladies of Gotham. We’re all in the same boat. But where the Highfather closes a door, he opens a window. At least we get to gossip about this clusterfuck. And Gotham’s most eligible bachelor shacked up alone with two very wanted criminals? Oh yes, clusterfuck is the right word.”


Her lovely face turned, her hair flowed, as the apartment’s buzzer went off. She hated that. Made her want to jump out of her skin like a reject from the Teen Titans.


“Why do they have to make door buzzers so loud? What’s wrong with this town? No decent men, no decent anything.”


But at least it meant that Bruce Wayne had arrived to pick her up. And as much as she sassed him like it was her job—which it was—the man was roughly as hot as the sun. The thought of him made her skin melt. In certain places.


“Bruce is here to give me all the juicy details himself. He’s waiting downstairs right now, which means I have thirty minutes to get ready. On behalf of the women of Gotham, let’s pay him back for all the sexual frustration he’s given us over the years.”


Leaving the Dictaphone spooling on her coffee table, Vicki went to work. She fussed through clothes as she applied mascara and lipstick as she ditched clothes she didn’t like as she fussed through clothes she did like as she checked herself in the mirror as she thought of what to say. She was a multitasker. You had to be, surviving in this town.


Finally, she’d accomplished her mission. Let Ivy have her pheromones and Harley do anal. She knew she looked good. She knew she looked hot. And she was ready to prove it.


Turning off her Dictaphone, she packed a few last essentials into her handbag, set her phone to vibrate, then sent one last tweet. Having a date with Bruce Wayne how cool is that :)


Dress zipped up, bag closed, body perfect as always, she calmly walked to the elevator. She had a feeling this would be a night Mr. Wayne would never forget.

Chapter Text

L'enfermer was the hottest restaurant in Gotham. The waiters were curt, the food was good but expensive, and the wine was also good—but more expensive. The reason it had succeeded where restaurants that fawned more over their patrons had not was because it was run by Lyle Bolton—the reformed Lock-Up. And he guaranteed the safety of every man, woman, and jewel that entered his restaurant, whether it be from laughing gas, killer plants, or Lazarus Pit bombs.


In the lobby of the skyscraper L'enfermer was located in, his specially trained waitstaff/guards carefully scanned everyone with a dinner reservation to the point of invasive procedures—something like the TSA with competency. Only afterward were guests admitted into the express elevator that took them to L'enfermer, with the elevator operator a black belt in karate.


Finally, they reached the roof of the building, where dining was done in individual ten square foot cubes of mirrored glass. Inside each cell, there was a passable view of the city, and no way to tell who or even if someone was inside one, aside from the muted noise of conversation (the cells not being truly soundproof; something Lyle was working on).


Bruce and Vicki submitted to the security measures, rode the elevator up making pleasant conversation with the operator, then were taken by the maître d’ and led to their cell, all the while having it explained to them how absolutely impenetrable the material of their dining area would be. For Bruce, who had seen Superman punch through battleships, it was a bit amusing.


Bruce wore an unremarkable business suit, coordinated mainly with the dull gleam of his wedding band, and with enough obvious expense and tailoring in it to make up for its unobtrusive style.


Vicki, on the other hand, wore the make-up of an expensive courtesan and a few pieces of jewelry that, if they hadn’t come from affluent admirers, had most definitely cost a great deal of her salary. Her fingernails were long—a change from Ivy and Harley, who kept theirs short for obvious reasons—and filed carefully to a common curve, painted the same dark red as the toenails visible at the end of her high heeled pumps.


She was a tall, slim girl, toned, but far more curved than muscular—another refreshing change from the women Bruce usually encountered, who threw a punch more often than they checked their make-up. And she was enough in tune with her sexuality for Bruce to take notice, in far more than a deductive sense. Her hips swung like a pendulum as she walked, and she made sure to walk in front of him on her way to the table.


Maybe it was his interludes with Harley and Ivy. For a while now, he’d been using sex not even as stress relief, but as another aspect of the mission. Now it seemed a lot harder to repress certain urges than it once had been.


They sat to read their menus. Vicki sat on the side of her chair, long legs crossed, and in full view of Bruce—not hidden under the tablecloth. Bruce tried to distract himself by paying careful attention to her hair—golden blonde, but dyed at some point. He recalled her being a redhead in the recent past. Her hair was feathered, though more in a European style than that of seventies nostalgia—clearly the work of a skilled coiffure. And she smelled heavily of perfume. Delicious perfume…


Bruce took out his smartphone to check if he had any messages. You never knew when the JLA might need you.


“Can I take your coat, madame?” asked the maître d’, who had never set foot in France in his life, but did know forty ways to kill someone with a three-inch blade.


“Thank you,” Vicki said, shrugging it off. “It is rather warm in here.”


It did not take Bruce long at all to notice what she was wearing. When he did, he put his smartphone away.


Her Jill Stuart strapless ruched silk evening gown plunged between her cleavage, while still being tight enough to show the curve of her belly  and the firmness of her breasts. Those seemed far too large to wear with such a revealing garment, especially without a bra on, and her innocent look just made it worse. Bruce found himself riveted to her cleavage, which stretched her bodice nearly to the point of bursting with each jiggling breath, but was too well-tailored to come off as classless or obscene. It was simply an excessively gilded frame on a beautiful painting.  


Bruce did manage to look away, and caught the maître d’ staring down Vicki’s décolletage from where he hovered over them. At a throat-clearing from the billionaire, the maître d’ hastened away to await their order.


“Mmmm,” Vicki said, eying the menu and Bruce with equal hunger. “Everything looks so good; doesn’t it?”


Bruce found himself coughing. He never coughed. “Yes. Reasonable prices too,” he added with a touch of irony.


Vicki let her menu flip down to the table, totally revealing her bosom once again. “Hard to know where to start, isn’t it?”


With a deep, mediatory breath, Bruce forced himself back under control. “Perhaps I’ll order for the both of us. I can’t imagine you have much taste for haute cuisine on a reporter’s salary.”


“I wouldn’t know about that. I have a few book deals…”


“I insist. It’s my treat; I feel obliged to make sure you don’t have an unsatisfactory meal.”


“Just as long as whatever you feed me tastes good.” Vicki grinned, steepling her forearms under her chin and leaning forward. His view of her cleavage becoming enough to make any man drool.


The maître d’ was kind enough to return then. Bruce suspected they would normally be tended to by a simple waiter, but for ‘madame’s’ neckline. Normally, Bruce would’ve been offended, but he himself was having a tough enough time keeping his eyes off Vicki’s burgeoning bodice.


Bruce ordered for them, sending the maître d’ off with a curt nod, and Vicki fished her Dictaphone out of her clutch. She set it on the table between them, her fawning hand and coy stare making it an erotic a gesture as her passing him a condom. “Shall we get started?”


Bruce took a deep breath, ignoring her perfume. He had to retake control, of himself and the situation. Vicki took it as assent, reaching to press Record, but Bruce intercepted her hand over the recorder. He gave it a subtle squeeze.


“What would you say about having this interview off-the-record?”


Vicki laughed in surprise. “Mr. Wayne, my publisher is paying your charity a great deal of money for an exclusive interview. It needs to be on the record.”


“I’m aware of that. But what say tonight we just… get to know one another a little better. Feel each other out. We can have an interview anytime.”


He saw her eyes whirling with quick calculation and could almost guess her thoughts. She needed his answers. She needed something she could print. But… he was effectively offering her two interviews for the price of one. Almost a practice run to get her bearings before she really got started. But could she trust him to give her her second interview?


Her desire to assert herself battled with her desire to put him at ease, and finally she decided to go with the first rule of interviewing a reticent subject: always roll with what they’re running.


“Of course. If you don’t mind me camping out on your driveway to get the official statement.”


“I promise not to make you sleep on my driveway.”


Vicki’s nipples were hardening.


She uncrossed her legs and set them under the table, just as their wine arrived. They toasted, Bruce declaring something in Arabic he promised to explain to her later, and drank. Like all wine, Vicki didn’t get much out of it beyond a tickle under her nose. She’d never be a connoisseur.


Bruce’s laser-focused eyes scaled her body again, like there was something he could’ve missed on his last dozen passes. Vicki enjoyed the scrutiny. It wasn’t like it was any secret what some women were willing to do for a scoop. I spent the night with Superman, anyone?


“So, how’s life with the terrible twosome?” Vicki asked, dangling her wine flute from an outstretched hand.


Bruce smiled in consideration. “Interesting.” He tilted his head to the side. “Challenging.”


“Very specific. Not a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of specific.”


“Mmm.” Bruce crossed his legs, clenching his hands atop his knee. “Well, if you must know our sleeping arrangements—“


Vicki leaned back in her chair, inviting another examination she graciously endured. She wondered which he liked best. Her tits seemed a bit obvious; she always felt her slender calves and smooth legs were underrated. And her sultry face in its halo of honey-blonde hair… there was a reason all her books had it up front and center. “I must, I must.”


“Pamela and Harleen share a room in the same wing of the manor as mine.”


“You don’t sleep together.”


“I didn’t say that. But we have differing sleep cycles; I’m something of a night owl. It’s an issue of comfort. When I proposed to the two of them, it was knowing that we’d all have to work to accommodate each other.”


“But it is a sexual relationship?”




Vicki blinked at Bruce’s forthrightness. “I’d always understood that Ivy and Harley were more interested in their own company than—forgive me—some man.”


“Depends on the man, I suppose. I certainly don’t have any complaints.”


“And do you… take turns or…?”


“Off the record?” Bruce asked again. Vicki gave a nod. “We do whatever works.”


“Such as?”


Bruce smiled. “You seem a bit fixated on our bedroom, Ms. Vale.”


“Call me Vicki. Since we’re off the record.”


“Only if you call me Bruce.”


“Certainly. You do rather roll off the tongue.”


Vicki slipped her feet out of her heels. One set of toes felt the chill of the one-way glass they were dining on. The other stretched under the dinner table to press lightly on the toe of Bruce’s shoe.


He rapped his fingers on his knee as if he wasn’t even aware of her foot. “Harleen and Pamela are my wives in every respect. But they’re not harem girls, and I didn’t marry them because I wanted them in my bed. First and foremost, they’re my guests. I want to see them happy and healthy. I don’t want there to be any danger to either them or to anyone around them.”


“Spoken like a press release. Come on, Bruce. You can’t tell me a man with your reputation wasn’t thinking at all about the side benefits of being married to two attractive women, both bisexual, neither strangers to—” Vicki lightly drew her instep up Bruce’s calf, finding it shockingly firm with muscle. “—whatever.”


“What’s next? Are you going to suggest I had an ulterior motive in asking an attractive reporter with a certain reputation to dinner?”


“What reputation?” she insisted, even as her toes climbed his thigh.


Bruce was trying very hard to understand his reaction to her. He wanted to tell her about Harley and Ivy—turn her on with all the sordid details of how he’d fucked them both. More than that, he wanted inside her. His cock felt like a sword hot from the forge, demanding to be cooled in the soft waters of her sex. Already it strained at his boxers. All he could do was decide whether to go with this sudden, errant impulse or excuse himself, go to the bathroom, call the Watchtower and have himself teleported up—


He couldn’t even think further than that. Not when Vicki’s tits were right then, begging to be looked at and demanding to be touched. He couldn’t think. He could barely breathe, locked in the stiffness of his resolve. All he could do… was leave the decision up to her.


“I hear you were roommates with Summer Gleeson in journalism school. And you shared a lot more than clothes. Not to mention all the times you’ve been taken hostage by Calendar Girl, or Nyssa al Ghul, or Magpie—never any male villains…”


Her eyes flashed. “Are you insinuating I’m ‘easy’, Bruce?”


“No. I think you’re difficult. I’m just good.” He spread his hands. “Two wives.”


“How good do you have to be when they sleep with each other?”


“How good are you when they stop sleeping with each other?”


Vicki decided to find out. With her massage of his thigh not making him move an inch, she pressed on and touched the bulge between his legs.


The muscle there was hard too.


“Is there anything wrong, Bruce? You seem a little… stiff.” With impressive control of her body, she leaned forward even as her foot stayed exactly where she wanted it. Her creamy breasts pillowed up and out of her bodice, showing their curvature all the way to the areola.


Bruce watched her without any apparent enthusiasm. As he hid his anger, his hatred, so he hid her lust for her so deep that it had all the room in the world to grow. “Nothing’s wrong, except you’re going to knock the wine over with your tits if you don’t keep that flimsy dress pulled up,” he said, voice monotone.


Then, very calmly, he undid the top button of his trousers and slid the zipper down as far as it would go. The sound was inaudible to Vicki, who stared at his poker face for cracks. Hidden under the table, Bruce soon had his cock free from its prison. With his other hand, he gripped Vicki’s foot. Quite naturally, he brought it against the swollen shaft of his erection.


Vicki’s leg tensed up, then released as she realized what hard, naked flesh she was touching. She saw nothing wrong with flirting a little with her subjects; it was one more tool in her reporter’s arsenal, and if male reporters could use their male privilege, she could use her feminine charms.


But going all the way? Not a handjob, not brushing her tits against his arm, but actually having him inside her? Wouldn’t that make her a whore?


No. It’d make her a woman who had sex with Bruce Wayne and maybe even got a story out of the deal too. For that, she’d get Whore tattooed right on her.


“Oh, Mr. Wayne, I’m ever so sorry!” she said in sweet apology. “How inconsiderate of me! I’ve let you see so much of my great big tits that you’ve gone and had an erection, haven’t you?” She moved a theatrical hand to her mouth. “I’m sooooo sorry. That was very rude on my part! I just have to make it feel better. Let me kiss it and make it better…”


She slid under the table, happy to lay eyes on just what a long, hard present he had for her. Pulling her hem out of the way, she knelt down and placed a kiss on the purpling head. His manhood vibrated in anticipation of more.


“Did that make you feel better?” she asked, looking up Bruce’s lap. His erection nearly blotted out her view of his face.


“It’s a start,” Bruce told her, setting a firm hand on the crown of her head. He was cold as a glacier and about as implacable, his very lack of response presenting a challenge to her that she couldn’t resist.


She lapped at his shaft now, teasing it for no other reason than she wanted to know just how big it could get. Already, he looked bigger than the largest man she’d ever deep-throated. A big dick and a billion-dollar inheritance. The guy must’ve been the Pope in his previous life.


“So,” Vicki asked, “does Harley Quinn do this for you?”


Bruce’s silver-blue eyes bore into Vicki until she was almost ready to admit defeat. “Yes. She does. And if you’d like the juicy details of what I do with her…” He pushed down hard on her head. In the direction of his upright phallus.


The reporter opened her mouth wide, placing it at the tip of his cock. His steady pressure on the back of her head worked her over his first few inches. Vicki knew she had a small mouth, but he was truly gargantuan. Her jaw was stretched so far it was aching. But Vicki had to admit, there was nothing wrong with the heady taste and pungent smell of his aroused manhood.


Once she was sure she could take the flaring head, she vacuumed down the broad inches of his prick, pulling him down her throat as fast as she could. She shut her eyes as she went down on him, wanting to focus only on the presence of his meat between her lips.


Bruce’s expression might have been carved into stone. Aside from the steady pulse of his nostrils, not one muscle twitched in his impassive face. He simply clamped his hand on the back of Vicki’s neck and applied even more pressure, the veins on his forearm standing out as he forced Vicki’s willing mouth down on his cock.


The reporter almost gagged as the tip of his staff lodged in the back of her throat, smearing precum in her gullet, but she thought of other reporters he’d been seen with: Summer Gleeson, Lois Lane, Cat Grant. She was determined to do better than them!


Tears swam in her eyes, but she gave into the pressure he exerted on her and allowed Bruce to feed his cock not only into her mouth, but deep into her throat. Bruce didn’t stop his descent into that satin-soft, vice-tight grip until her nose was flattened against the wiry hairs of his pubis. Then he looked up and greeted the returning maître d’.


“Oh! Where is Ms. Vale?” the maître d’ asked once he’d come through the door, not seeing her under the tablecloth.


“Something came up that she had to attend to. I’m sure she’ll be back shortly,” Bruce said, with all the emotion he’d put into a discussion of the Italian cinema.


A waiter pushed in a tray containing the varied entrees and dishes of the meal, which the maître d’ described in detail as each was unveiled and presented on the table. Vicki didn’t hear what was vegetarian and what wasn’t. Bruce’s thick, coarse fingers were in her hair, ruining the elaborately effortless coif as he pulled her up and down, forcing her to bob her head on his huge cock again and again. Vicki tried not to suck too nosily, even if it meant her saliva ran down over his manhood, forced out by each pump she made on his shaft.


The maître d’ finished and departed, clearly disappointed that he hadn’t been given another opportunity to leer at Vicki. Bruce bid him and the waiter adieu, then calmly sliced up his steak tartare. He took one bite, then another, chewing politely as if Vicki were sitting across from him instead of between his spread legs, her head rocking upon his cock.


Gently cupping Vicki’s head again, he pulled her off his cock. It sprang up from her mouth as soon as it left it, hitting her in the nose. Vicki was left gasping for air, his cock looming over her.


“You really should try this; Chef Boussard has outdone himself,” Bruce said, offering her a forkful of the steak tartare. “I think I detect a hint of black pepper. Tell me what you think.”


Vicki took the bite he offered her, chewed distractedly, and swallowed. “It’s good,” she reported dully.


“Maybe we should get on with the interview. I’d hate for your food to get cold.”


Vicki stared at his intensely erect cock, offended by his continued tumescence. “I want your cum!”


“Well, they have Hollandaise sauce.”


Almost growling, Vicki tried to stuff his cock back in her mouth. It’d gotten bigger since the last time; her lips were pulled so far apart by taking him inside that she felt like they would snap. But she loved it. As much as he played it cool, him being even harder meant that he was responding to her overtures.


Vicki went down on him with all her might; his cock came rushing into her mouth and she cradled it with her tongue, massaged the underside of his shaft. She let her own lust propel his cock down her throat like a battering ram. It jerked and bucked in her gullet; she knew she was getting to him.


If only her mouth could accept such a big dick. If only she could breathe. It’d been months since she’d given a blowjob; between journalism and her book deals she hadn’t had time for so much as a one-night stand. She just wasn’t used to deep-throating such a massive slab of meat, and when her world turned black and red at the edges with no more to show for it than a steady trickle of precum, she pulled herself off him.


His cock came out and out and out of her mouth, resuming its flagpole vigil over her, now dripping with her saliva almost—but not quite—to the root. Vicki spoke almost as viciously as she gulped in air. “No way is that fucking Juggalo Quinn better at this than me! What does it take to get you off!?”


Bruce looked down at her apologetically—as falsely sorry as she had been to provoke his erection. “I’m sorry, how rude of me. You were asking what I did with Harleen for sex. It’s this.”


His strong fingers tightened in her hair, almost hurting her. Powerfully, he pulled her back down to his cock. She sucked on him, but not fast enough for his liking. Bruce forced her into the rhythm he desired, slamming her down on him and pulling her back up with no regard for her sputtering gagging, her lost breath. She couldn’t escape his grip and she didn’t want to.


Again and again she was flung onto his prick; it drove into her throat with more speed, more force, always more. And yet her lips formed a perfect O around the swollen circumference of him. She even let her teeth clamp down, raking over his cock to leave fiery red in their wake. Bruce moaned for the first time; a low and broken sound.


As if angered by his own passion, he pulled on her hair so demandingly he almost ripped it out by the roots. Distantly, Vicki wanted to slow down, wanted to savor his engorged cock being buried in her mouth, but she also wanted him to have his way with her. To satisfy his every desire with no more than her mouth.


His hips jerked uncontrollably, further gagging her, and when she managed to focus enough to look up at his face, she saw his stony façade was crumbling to reveal the unrestrained lust underneath. He was her prisoner now: trapped in her sucking mouth, controlled by the pressure of her tongue. Now she wanted him to come.


Her tongue dragged roughly over the tip of his cock when he pulled out, reached for his balls when he was embedded in her. And when he moved, Vicki let the very tip of her tongue drag over his underside, setting him bucking between her lips like his phallus was electric.


Bruce exhaled, hard enough for her to hear, and that was it. She found her mouth filled with burning hot cum. She swallowed; she just had to. And immediately, her mouth was once more stuffed with his salty ejaculation.


Bruce took a deep breath. Then fucked her mouth, hurtling into her throat, letting loose a gulping blast, then slowly retreating. She suffocated the exploding cock, gave it all the tongue she had, sucked as hard as she could. He groaned, engulfed his phallus in her throat once more, and she felt another stingingly hot load traveling directly to her belly.


After three or four repetitions, his fingers went limp in her hair. Bruce’s hips went still. The torrential downpour dwindled. She tapered her mouth up his slackening cock and sucked hard on the head. Another rope of cum fired into her mouth, this one belonging to her tongue and cheeks and the roof of her mouth. She wanted him to know he’d had a goddamn professional between his legs.


Vicki milked another barrage of seed from his cock before releasing him. His cock became flaccid only slowly, painstakingly slow; she licked it all the way down. Sucking up every drop that was left in his balls. Even as Bruce said nothing, she washed his cock clean. And when she was finally done—when his cock and groin and balls were all shimmery with the dew of her licking—she looked up at him, lips wet with cum. “Not bad, huh?”


He smiled benignly. “Maybe I should’ve married you.”


Vicki got off her stiff knees and resumed her seat, washing down his prodigious cum with the remaining wine in her glass. Then she started on the food.


For a few minutes, they ate in silence. Vicki’s mind seemed to flee from what they had done; she prided herself on returning to a journalistic mentality with the taste of cum hot on her tongue. Once more she went over the questions she had prepared for him. She was so engrossed in her planned conversation that it took her a moment to notice the nudge of Bruce’s foot against her calf. As the caress continued, she pulled herself back to reality and looked across the table to Bruce, vibrantly enjoying his meal.


You slut, she thought. Two wives and you still can’t get enough.


She pressed her leg against his wandering ankle. That slight pressure, she had to admit, was reawakening her pussy so fast… Christ, what was wrong with her? Even in journalism school, with Summer Gleeson for a roommate and a campus lecture from Lois Lane, she hadn’t been this slutty.


With utter contrivance, she brushed her salad fork off the table and then, with the false apology they’d come to share, bent to pick it up.


Under the table, Bruce still had not replaced his cock in his trousers. And it was not the limp beast she had killed five minutes ago. It jutted up from his groin like a monolith, the knob at the end larger than ever, visibly pulsing with his need for her. She was both fascinated and revolted by the sheer degree of lust he possessed; to be so hard after fucking her in the face so recently. Vicki’s mixed feelings were surprisingly arousing for her. She wondered if birds felt this way about snakes. Hypnotized whilst on the verge of being utterly devoured.


She sat back up, the salad fork forgotten, and Bruce gave her a knowing smile when she realized its absence. His foot now rested on Vicki’s chair, up under her dress, toes stroking her groin. His sock and her panties stood between skin contact, but that just made it worse. She thought of how it’d be to be skin to skin with him like she was planning a three-part article on it.


Vicki ate faster. She was now distinctly worried about her food growing cold. Bruce was pressing into her pussy with inexorable rhythm: pushing in steadily, then silently withdrawing. She could’ve almost ignored it if it weren’t truly pleasurable.


Her cunt was now soft and wet inside her panties, her body similarly warm with lustful hunger. Vicki’s thighs spread wide. She pushed her sex into the ball of Bruce’s foot. It felt…!


Bruce’s grin was not smug. More like he’d been working out a thorny problem, and now come up with an acceptable solution.


“Shall we…” Vicki was surprised by how her voice shook. “Shall we continue on with the interview?” Her expression begged him, but even she didn’t know for which answer: yes or no.


Bruce finished his wine. “Well, that was what I do to my wife Harleen,” he said conversationally. “Now, would you like to know what I do with Pamela Isley?”


Slowly, deliberately, he fingered his salad fork off the table. Crawled under the tablecloth to retrieve it.


Vicki felt a tug at her legs, as soft and irresistible as the undertow to an exhausted swimmer…




It was most unusual, the maître d’ thought. He’d returned to deliver the check to his esteemed guests, only for both Mr. Wayne and Ms. Vale to be missing, their food half-eaten and their salad forks on the ground beside their chairs. None of the waiters or bathroom attendants had seen them about.


He was sure they’d turn up, of course. Such an august personality as Bruce Wayne wouldn’t think of pulling a ‘dine and dash’ like some common fratboy. For now, he simply put the check on the table and left.


He hoped the food had been satisfactory. His mission in life was to ensure everyone had a satisfying experience at L'enfermer.


As soon as he shut the door, the table gave a wobble. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Wayne,” Vicki breathed. “Your cock’s still so big and hard and it’s all my fault! Let me take care of that for you—“


Then the table really shook.




A plate of foie gras worth more than a month’s salary in some jobs crashed to the ground. But even if Vicki had noticed it, she would’ve had far more important things to worry about.


Her dress, for one thing. It had cost a thousand dollars and she was sure Bruce had ripped it in his haste to grope her breast. Her make-up could probably do with a touch-up; if one of Bruce’s nearly painful kisses hadn’t smudged it, then having her face smushed against the floor as he took her from behind most definitely had. Her hair certainly needed a comb; Bruce had pulled at it even more, to the point that she wondered if it was a fetish with him. And of course, there was the business of the condoms in her clutch—she hadn’t gotten them. Having Bruce Wayne inside her had seemed much more important than seeing to it he was wrapped in latex first.


Not that she was worrying about any of these things, any more than she was about the foie gras. No, she was only concerned with the white-hot blasts of pleasure that went through her every time Bruce pumped his thick cock inside her, the hoarseness of her throat as she screamed explosive ecstasy into the gag of Bruce’s hand, and the hot juices flowing around the sides of Bruce’s cock that she would’ve taken for his ejaculation if he didn’t just keep wracking her with thrusts straight from his loins. Which meant they had to be hers. Oh well.


Bruce hadn’t spoken—for an interview, he hadn’t said much at all—but he did grunt and groan and start a roaring sound that didn’t make it to his lips, but rumbled in his chest like the raging water behind a dam. And as he gripped Vicki tightly by the hips and pulled her violently to his monstrously stiff cock, lifting her clear off the ground each time, lips wet with her sweat approached Vicki’s lustfully contorted face and he made words that, to Vicki, seemed intrinsically linked to his shaft’s expansions and orgasmic convulsions—just like a speaker vibrating as it pumped bass.


“Look down there,” he said. She knew he was staring over her shoulder, down through the translucent glass floor/skylight to the dining room below them. The milling business of waiters bringing meals up, cooks preparing them, customers waiting for tables, all on transparent display. Another of Bolton’s security measures. “Imagine if they looked up. Imagine if they could see through this floor.”


Vicki whimpered as she felt electric shivers of lust working their way through his powerfully built body, making his cock quiver inside of her. Another hellish drag of her sex against his unyielding manhood and she whimpered even louder.


“They’d see what a slut you are, Vicki. Would you like that? Everyone seeing how much you love being fucked? Men? Women? Would you like them to know how hard you’re coming?”


“Yes! Yes! Oh God, yes!”


Bruce came thick and hard, deep into her hungry pussy, and he didn’t stop until she was filled up with fresh cum. His delicious brutality finally cooled, becoming a slow, luxurious dance of his hips, in and out of her, as the blast of his seed tapered off inside Vicki.


They ground to a stop, Bruce rolling off her and Vicki limply dropping beside him, against his body, laying her head on his outstretched arm. They were still connected, and she moaned with regret as he dwindled inside her.


Vicki hadn’t come when he did. But then, she’d already orgasmed six times. Seven seemed excessive.


“Ivy,” he said gently, “loves it too.”




Bruce finished his meal, but Vicki seemed to have lost her appetite—at least, for the food. She still hadn’t quite recovered after Bruce paid the bill; fainting into her crème bavaroise. Bruce picked her up and wiped her face off with his napkin. A little too much wine, he explained.


Then he escorted her down to the limo, letting her rest her head on his shoulder and clutch firmly to his arm. Her legs didn’t seem able to support her. But finally the limo was brought up to the curve and he loaded her into the backseat, where she tipped over, exposing the white cream trickling down her thighs.


He righted her, then went up to the driver’s window, slipping him a hundred. “Her apartment’s on 320 Baxter Street; the valet will know the apartment number. See that she’s tucked in safe. I’ll make my own way home.”


“Very good, sir,” the driver said, rolling up the window.


Bruce went back to Vicki. She’d slipped off again, but at least she was upright this time. Smiling half apologetically and half not—which seemed to sum up their relationship—Bruce slipped her panties out of his pocket and hid them in her hand. “You’re probably be needing these… If it’s any consolation, I promise to have that second interview with you very soon.


Vicki groaned dreamily. Bruce shut the door for her. Watched the limo speed off.


Someone had tampered with his biochemistry. He hadn’t been sure before, but it was obvious now. He was lucky he’d been with someone so open to—relieving him.


That, or very, very unlucky. Hard to tell sometimes.


Planning his next move, Bruce did not notice the shadow breaking off from the night sky and speeding down, pulling up at the last moment and skimming over the traffic outside L'enfermer’s lobby. He might not have noticed it at all, owing to his semi-drugged condition, except a lasso shot from it as it rushed past. The rope coiled around him, pinning his arms to his sides in an instant. In another instant, the line went taut and he was dragged right off his feet. Bruce had a sudden sympathy for Vicki Vale having been yanked around so thoroughly by him over the course of the evening.


Only he didn’t think he would enjoy this half as much.


“Come on loverboy!” Roxy Rocket called back, pulling up on the rocket before she could be smeared by an oncoming semi. Dangling behind her, Bruce narrowly avoided the same. “You’re flying Roxy Air now!”

Chapter Text

Ivy slept with Harley vined around her. Usually, she thought of herself as a mighty oak, with Harley perhaps a tart fruit growing from her vines. She didn’t feel that way now. She felt rootless, unmoored. When Harley cuddled her, her body stung. The sting made her nipples tingle.


She detached herself from Harley, fleeing guiltily into the spacious bathroom. She closed the door behind her, able to breathe once more. Occasionally she could hear Harley’s heavy snore coming through the door. She was safe. Alone with her memories. Her breath was coming quicker.


She turned to the massive mirror and pulled her nightie from her shoulders, letting it fall down around her shapely hips. Her eyes were aglow as they examined her reflection—the viridian sheen of her chlorophyll-body marred by the darkening bruises of bodies crashed together. Her stingily puffed lips were also from Bruce. She should destroy him for blaspheming the perfection of her body, but she couldn’t think about that now. She could only think of how the little hurts excited her.


She stared at her large breasts, their perkiness making them seem to softly thrust upward in the night air. She cupped one and lifted it before letting it fall free, to quaveringly float before her. Finger and thumb pinched her nipple again; she watched it swelling to life, becoming pointed and tight, as if her arousal were gathering in it.


Both hands went to her breasts. Her mouth opened slightly, her eyes half-closed: she dug her nails into the tender flesh of her cleavage, her nipples coming thrillingly awake. She wondered if Bruce could do this: be rough with her as he had been, but also loving, like Harley was; like Harley said he was with her. She wondered if that cold, calculating man could touch her roughly as part of their lovemaking. Her hands shook as she helped her nightie off her voluptuous ass, letting it pool on the floor.


In the mirror, her bare thighs squeezed tightly together, sending her body into a spiral of needy spasms, lewd excitement. Her sex was swollen, moist, a fire that needed to be quenched. Being naked wasn’t enough. Having an orgasm wasn’t enough. She needed to be fucked, defiled, not just once but over and over again. Maybe by a man—maybe by more than one man. Maybe by Bruce…


She imagined her reflection in front of Bruce… she imagined him telling it all of the horrible, loving things he was going to do to Harley. She imagined watching them together. She imagined Harley watching as she was used—her body used—used until she was a screaming, writhing mass of need—until they both were puddles of fulfillment—until Bruce was satisfied with them.


It wasn’t her. It was her reflection.


“What’s your name?” she asked the mirror.


“Pamela Isley.”


Ivy went back into her room, not caring if she was loud enough to wake Harley, not caring if she left the bathroom light on and it spilled onto the bed. She went to her dresser and retrieved one of her strap-ons and threw it onto the bed, hitting Harley in the face.


“Oww! Red, what the—this isn’t Bruce’s, is it?”


“No, Harl, it’s red. Put it on. I need you to fuck me.”


If she had known, right at that moment, that her erstwhile husband had been kidnapped, it’s hard to say what her reaction would’ve been.




They flew for long enough that even Bruce was disoriented, dangling from Roxy’s rocket-cycle. He wasn’t particularly worried. Roxy was an adrenaline junkie, not a killer. Whoever hired her wouldn’t be especially dangerous. He had already activated the tracking device on his belt buckle, but only one click—telling his soldiers to hold back and let him handle things for now.


They landed at a farmhouse outside the Palisades, one of the many that had dried up over the years. No one wanted produce that might’ve been tampered with by Poison Ivy or the Joker. Roxy dismounted her parked rocket, pulling a flour sack from a compartment on its side. Bruce laid nearby, his arms still pinned to his sides by the cable Roxy had lassoed him with.


Roxy looked good as ever. Her flame-red hair shot out from under her cowl and glasses, leading down her flight jacket and black tanktop to a pair of the nicest, firmest breasts Bruce had ever seen. Following the smooth line of her body down to her black tights, brown leather boots, and gunbelt, he saw a perfectly flat belly of obvious musculature, hips that curved seductively into slender thighs, and a pair of runner’s legs. There was a reason she was a stuntwoman and not a beauty queen actress—her body was clearly built for speed, not just sex—but Bruce had to admit, in a city like Gotham, she was the kind men would literally kill to get their hands on.


She pulled the sack over his head, blinding him, and jerked him up. She had strength in her limber frame. He cooperated as she shoved him along.


“Sorry about this, handsome. You might’ve been fun for a playdate, but rocket fuel ain’t cheap. Move it!”


He was barreled forward, catching a shift from exterior to interior, creaking floorboards under him—closing, locking doors behind him. Finally, he was seated roughly. The sack flew off his head, Roxy carrying it away with her.


The inside of the room had been filled with mirrors, interspersed with cut-out pictures of himself from magazines and newspapers. Both were sporadic, a frieze that circled the room from waist-level to a man’s height. Bruce stared at his lonely reflection, real and photographed.


“This whole wretched society revolves around you. White. Male. Young. Rich.” The voice was haunting, familiar. Serious. “A standard of beauty entirely constructed to serve you, which women have to slave under. And now, thanks to the Evilutionist, your sexual desire counts as clemency. Women like Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn are now beholden to you for their freedom—all because they give you a hard-on.”


“Nice work if you can get it,” Roxy muttered.


Bruce followed the direction of her words to a woman in the shadows. He hadn’t seen her in her dark clothing, but now she was removing it, revealing a luscious body, creamily soft flesh deliciously accented by black bra and panties. She was a slender woman, her curves modest, her limbs delicate, her musculature sleek. A model. Near-naked except for the white kabuki mask that covered her face, a sharp delineation of femininity.


Page Monroe—the Calendar Girl.


“I hired Roxy here to help teach you a lesson. Roxy?”


The stuntwoman drew a switchblade from her flight jacket. Working fast, she cut Bruce out of his clothes. Even he had to wince at the speed with which she moved the blade, but she was good. Didn’t even nick him as he was stripped nude.


“I love this job,” she muttered.


“You’re going to answer for your crimes, Mr. Wayne. I’m going to parade you before all the women you slighted by choosing a pair of deranged fantasy objects over them, and you’re going to explain to each one why they weren’t worthy of your Republican dick. Starting with me.”


Bruce was thinking fast, as always. He grasped the dynamic at play. Roxy had the money as an excuse, but there was also the added payback of revenge; the slight of Gotham’s premier playboy being on the market for a villainess and not picking her must’ve rankled. Page, though—she was far more unstable. Her delusional mindset had already compelled her to crime; the world’s new circumstances had coupled with her own rejection complex to engender a vendetta against him. He was now all the men that had rejected her, the face of her own neurotic ostracization. The solution was obvious. He had to embrace her.


“The truth is,” he said haltingly, “I chose Ivy and Harley because they’re… they’re not you. You’d be too much woman for me.”


The mask tilted to one side. “Do you think we’re going to trade witticisms? This is serious business, Wayne.”


“I know it is. But Harley, she’s harmless. A fruitcake. Submissive. And Ivy, we all know she’s not interested in men. I don’t have to—please her. Someone like you… you’d overwhelm me. I wouldn’t be in control with a woman like you around. I’d need you, and even though my body screamed how much it wanted you, I tried to deny myself that. I was right to. Being in the same room as you is too intoxicating.”


“Don’t mock me, you scum!” She strode right up to him, clasping his broad shoulders in her hands, leaning over him. “I know how men like you look at me. A freak. A circus attraction. Hideously deformed…”


“You’re not. You’re beautiful. You make Harley and Ivy look like—silly little girls. You’re a woman.”


“Oh, I see—how typical. As long as I have the mask on, you can dehumanize me. Make me into a piece of meat for your consuming gaze. If I took it off, I know how you’d scream. You couldn’t stand the sight of me.”


“Take it off then. Show me. You hide behind that thing to avoid judgment, but you have nothing to fear. Without it, you’ll only be more beautiful.” Bruce had total control over his own body; now he exercised it. He imagined how exquisitely tight her sex must be, after she’d deprived herself of companionship for so long. He thought of wedging himself in her, feeling her searing heat and silky moistness. His cock stirred restlessly and began to grow.


“Whoa mama,” Roxy said. “I think you’re getting to him.”


Page looked down at it, and even through the mask, Bruce thought he caught an answering flicker of surprised lust. “Do you think that intimidates me, Wayne? What if I took you up on your offer? Took off this mask and ravished you—as you begged me to stop, as you were forced to look at the hideous visage your society has forced on me. Would that satisfy you, Wayne? Would you be so lustful then?”


He lowered his voice, starred into her eyes. How Selina would’ve loved to see him use her tricks. “I want you to.”


She undid her mask’s straps from her sable-black hair. Her face was as close to perfection as it had ever been: big hazel eyes, pert nose, pouting red lips. The face that had been worthy of billboards, magazine covers, TV commercials. The only defects were in her mind. A scar through her eyebrow from when a punch had shattered her mask; it was only an inch long. Another cut on her lip, long since healed.


Bruce made his own balls ache, his erection was so stiff. It took very little concentration.


“I want you, Page. I need you. I love you. Let me have you, kiss you—“


“Shut up!” She slapped him. “How dare you mock me! I was thinking of letting you off with a warning, but now--!” She peered down at his throbbing cock. Her eyes were glassy. She continued in a strained voice: “Now your cock is mine.”


She grabbed his cock, soft fingers going hard. “I’m going to fuck you, Wayne,” she rasped. “Just like you people used to think of fucking me. You all laughed about my tits and my cunt and you boasted about how hard you’d fuck me. Well, now you’re going to have to follow through. You’re not gonna get me all hot and then quit on me. No. Now that you’ve got me this way, you’re going to do something about it. I’ll make you do something about it!”


In a flash, she was ripping off her bra and panties. “Look at my pussy! Look how wet you made it! That’s what you do—you like your women weak and helpless, so you tease her, tease her until she can’t help herself, then you fuck her brains out and make her like it! You won’t like this, Wayne! I’ve made your cock hard! Now I’m going to use it!”


She grabbed his cock again, hard enough to make him gasp, and held it still as she shifted her hips over him. He could taste her excitement as she placed his cockhead against her sex. With exquisite slowness, she descended on him, her entire body wracked with pleasure as she swallowed up his cock. Bruce tensed, finding it actually difficult to keep from coming as the supermodel settled atop him, her nervousness and excitement opiates to his sex drive.


“Oh God—you’re even more beautiful… even more beautiful when you smile,” he gasped, not finding it hard to fake his adrenaline rush.


Page wiped her unconscious smile off her face. “Bastard!” Her soft hair hung in front of her face, giving her a feral look as she dug her fingernails into his ribs and began to work herself over him, mewling gutturally. With his member ensconced inside her and the rhythm set, she leaned back, moving her body in a serpentine dance, eyes locked with his.


“So beautiful… the joy in your eyes… the smell of your perfume—it’s all gorgeous…”


With a roar of exertion, Page jammed her breasts into his face, rubbing them over the sharp lines of his cheekbones as her hips worked tirelessly against him. “Suck them!” she commanded. “You bastard—like to use your mouth so much—ooh!“


Bruce bit down hard, the pain cutting into Page’s pleasure, multiplying it. Her nipple spiked in his mouth, making it an easy target for his lashing tongue, and he felt her pussy churn violently around his cock in retaliation. She bounced up and down on his shaft so hard that the wooden chair legs creaked underneath Bruce, the floorboards under themrattling. And when she looked down at his face, she saw his eyes staring up at her, unabashedly meeting hers, full of love and softness and desire. And no matter how brutally she fucked him, Bruce was aptly equipped to take it.


Slowly, her mask of anger was replaced with one of raw lust. Her face drifted back, briefly escaping the weight of his stare, but she still knew its warmth. It reminded her of the old days, before the violence, when she could command a man’s heart with just a look—


She leaned back so far that Bruce’s mouth was free. He spoke in aching need: “Page…”


Her orgasm burned across her like a forest fire whipped by the wind. All of her weight slammed down on Bruce and she shrieked like a banshee, expelling all her confusing wants, her aching enjoyment. She cursed as she came, again and again, a raw, searing catharsis deep inside her.


“Fuck you!” she screamed as if in agony, her pelvis slamming against his with a twist of pain that neither of them felt. “Fuck you! Fuck—fuck me like an animal! You made me an animal! A bitch in heat! Fuck me like one! Give me your cock!”


And now Bruce started to move, all his muscles working to push him upward. As Bruce Lee would move his fist six inches and deliver a devastating punch, so Bruce Wayne rammed up into Page with incredible strength. She whooped joyfully, suddenly riding a bucking bronco.


“Yes!” she squealed. “That’s it!” She hung limply backward from his lap, hair reaching to the floor as his cock continued to drive into her straddling hips, whipping her hanging torso around. For long minutes, they were just cunt and cock, thrusting, receiving, taking pleasure and giving it. Until finally, they were sealed together as one animalistic orgasm.


“Bastard… you bastard,” Page whimpered, slumping off him, wet with his climax. Her hands clenched at her groin as if trying to hold it in, contain the pleasure she still felt. “You made me come—how dare you make me come like that—how am I supposed to be good when you make me come so hard…?”


Through Bruce was still bound to a threateningly groaning chair, Page was on the floor, her legs open, her face dazed and baffled. And Roxy was still watching, her eyes alight with great interest. She had taken off her jacket, the better to feel her ripe nipples through her tanktop, and her pants, the better to masturbate, and now that Page was disposed of, she saw Bruce’s cock in the air, flagging hard-hard.


“My turn.”


Stepping over Page, she threw herself down on it, trapping it between her fondling hands and flapping tongue. Her hands fluttered over his ass, her tongue ran over the bottom of his scrotum, caught one of his balls and clasped it in her sucking mouth. Bruce groaned as he began to grow hard once more. With his endlessly trained endurance, he could easily sustain himself through multiple sex sessions if he didn’t make his body grow limp as an ordinary man’s would. Somehow, he didn’t think to do that while Roxy was pumping his cock with her leather-gloved hand.


“You know, I did a little porn before I got out of the stuntwoman business,” Roxy said. “Good for some cheap thrills, but no real money in it. Never had a guy go soft on me when he wasn’t supposed to. If he did, wouldn’t that come as a blow?”


Page dimly raised her head. “Get away from him, you slut, he’s mine!”


“You had your go. It’s my shot now—take it out of my fee if you want, this is worth it…” Bruce moaned as Roxy lapped at him from the root of his cock to the tip, her tongue seeming to stretch him out, back to full hardness. “Wait, no—you having failure to launch wouldn’t come as a blow. This would!” And she drew his prick into her sharp mouth.


Bruce exhaled nosily. He had to get kidnapped more often.


Roxy smacked him on the ass—he automatically jerked forward, driving his cock deeper into her throat. Roxy laughed around his prick as she kept spanking him, forcing Bruce to shove his cock in and out of her mouth—fucking her throat. Until finally, she heard him groan desperately. Then Page just held her mouth open and waited.


Bruce’s cock jerked and lurched and finally, savagely, it fired into her mouth to be greedily caught by her throat. She sucked and gulped, sucked and gulped as he filled her mouth many times over, his body straining off the chair he was tied to. Only when Bruce collapsed back down did Roxy lift her wild mouth from his spent and shrinking prick.


“Whoa! What a ride! But I think I’m ready to get in the cockpit now!”


Bruce was gasping. Vicki and Page and Roxy, in one night… he wasn’t used to exerting himself this way. Obviously, he would have to train harder. “There isn’t anymore.”


“Oh yeah?” Roxy wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand. “I know what’ll get you hard. Same thing that gets all you guys hard. C’mere, Calendar Girl—you wanna show him us chicks don’t need men, I know the perfect way to. Uncle Warbucks is right… you are one swell gal…”


Page suddenly found herself surrounding by clinging curves, Roxy’s lopsided grin in her face—everything she turned, lust-warm flesh, groping hands, fingers at her breasts and sex and ass and nipples. Sinuous words flowed into her ears, not letting up any more than the hands did, whispering all the ways Roxy liked to ride…


Bruce found himself responding to the sight, letting himself respond to it…




The SWAT commander’s gruff bellow eased off as he and his men absorbed the sight before them, the broken door they had rammed through swinging idly behind them like a flag in weak wind. Bruce Wayne was tied up, naked, his cock flagging and smeared with his own semen. On the floor, the naked Calendar Girl and the bottomless Roxy Rocket were wrestling each other, so engrossed in each other’s bodies that it took a moment for their wanton moans to cease.


“Officer,” Bruce said calmly, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding—“




Five minutes later, Bruce was wrapped in one of the ambulance’s blankets. Harvey Bullock was taking his statement, though he was doing far more talking than listening.


“You’re telling me you just got married to the only two women to make the Maxim Hot 100 with a body count, and now you’re stepping out on them to role-play being kidnapped and used as a sex slave?”


Bruce nodded. “The missionary position gets a little old.”




Bruce jerked his head to the women, who were not handcuffed but were being closely watched by the assembled officers. “You wouldn’t?”


Bullock paused, toothpick dropping out of his mouth. “You got me there. Alright, get the hell out of here. And next time keep it behind closed doors?”


“I do apologize for the confusion, Roxy got a little overly enthusiastic. What is going to happen to my—friends, anyway?”


Bullock took out another toothpick, the habit of a reformed smoker already needing another expression. “The Rocketeer’s free to go. Calendar Girl has some outstanding warrants—blew up a couple Macy’s, luckily before the sales started. She’ll be coming with us.”


“That’s out of the question, officer. I’ve asked Ms. Monroe to marry me. You’ll set her free immediately, of course.”


Bullock lost another toothpick.




Ivy was about to beg Harley to ram the dildo into her again when the blonde kissed her lips passionate. They both grunted as Harley lifted her hips and slammed the strap-on home, the whole length of it forcing Ivy violently open.


“Do you want it like this, Red?” Harley asked, punching it into Ivy’s wet pussy. “Is this okay? Am I fucking you with my big dick like Mistah B does?”


“Harder!” Ivy demanded. The dildo was much bigger than she had remembered—had she really been using something that big on Harley all this time? She wailed, her passion building, climbing—


“I’m gonna give it to you!” Harley warned. “Give it to you even harder than Brucie!”


“Good!” Ivy wailed. “Just make sure I—come!”


The phone picked then to ring. It kept ringing and ringing, and after the machine got it, it started ringing again. Ivy growled as she pushed Harley off her, rolled over, and crawled to the phone on the nightstand.


“WHAT! What the fuck is it?”


Selina’s sultry voice oozed over the line. “It’s twelve PM. Do you know where your husband is?”


“Windsurfing! What the fuck is it to you?”


Harley, seeing the tempting target of Ivy on her hands and knees, walked on her knees to the presented green backside.


“Windsurfing. Hunh. Well, the way I hear it—from my source in the GCPD—Bruce is out proposing marriage to Calendar Girl. Fucking Calendar Girl.”


“Wha--?” Ivy demanded as she felt her sex once more entered. She looked over her shoulder to see Harley’s face curled in concentration, tongue poking out the side of her mouth. God, she looked cute. God, it felt good.


“I could understand if it were Silver St. Cloud or someone, I like her, but that ivory-faced goon? The reason I let you two idiots marry the big lug was that I trusted you to keep him satisfied. I don’t want to marry him, but if I do, I don’t want to be the johnny-come-lately to a fucking harem!”


“Fuck me harder, Harl! Fuck me!”




“It’s nothing, you caught me—“ Ivy hissed in sublime pleasure as Harley did as she was told. “Right in the middle of something!”


Harley clutched Ivy’s voluptuous body and began to throb, getting off on pleasing Ivy.


“Ivy, you useless lesbian. Fine. I’ll handle it myself.”


“Fuck off, housecat. Wayne is our… our… our mark!” Ivy almost wanted to stop, but the pleasure was too much. She grunted and preened her ass to the invading strap-on, spasming to the command of Harley’s bursting ecstasy.


“Not for long,” Selina replied, though Ivy barely heard her as she came long and hard.


Then she hung in the afterglow as Harley hugged her from behind, the dildo still scrunched up her sex. “No more waiting,” Ivy breathed. “Who cares about the inheritance? Let’s just kill him and ransack the place—there must be enough jewels in this heap for us to make it to Bolivia…”


“Yes, dear,” Harley said, thinking she’d be happy to kill Bruce.


Just so long as she got his dick first, same as Ivy had.




They took Page to lock-up to wait for the paperwork on her marriage. Behind her white mask, she was silent. Roxy, meanwhile, took her pay-out from the job and immediately went to Josie’s Bar. It was a low-down den of scum, but she was fine either finding someone to drag into an alley or finding someone to try and drag her into an alley. She’d already gotten laid, she could use a good fight.


She wasn’t expecting to walk into a war zone. The crowd of ex-cons and prospective dirtbags was laid out, Batman standing in their midst, not even winded. With the lights knocked out, he was mostly shadow.


“I’ve been expecting you. Come with me.”


Roxy followed. Batman was the only man she’d ever found who’d been able to keep up with her for any stretch of time. She’d give him a shot.


Back out under the night sky, in an alleyway of twisted fire escapes and decrepit furniture being cannibalized by some mutant strain of moss, he towered over her.


“I’ve been allowing you to run free. That was an oversight. You’re a thrillseeker, Roxy—harmless enough, in your own way, but it’s only a matter of time until you get pulled into something more sinister and someone really gets hurt.”


“Look who’s talking,” Roxy replied.


He wasn’t amused. “You can keep going with your present lifestyle, knowing that sooner or later you’ll either be in jail or have blood on your hands, or you can go another way. I can offer you an outlet for your—urges.”


“Yeah?” She eyed him. He was kinda cute, in a Dracula sort of way. His jaw was almost as square as Bruce Wayne’s.


“I have operatives. You know the sort of work we do. Catching murderers, stopping robberies—exciting enough for you?”


“Maybe. What’s in it for me, though? Rocket fuel ain’t cheap, bud.”


“So I’ve heard.” He flipped her a card from his glove. It wasn’t paper, but a very slender sort of smartpaper. Currently, it displayed an address. “Go there if you’re interested. One of my associates will meet you there. If you do decide to go through with this, I’ll expect you to obey my orders at all times—and treat my team’s orders as if they were my own.”


“So who’s my friendly? Nightwing?” she asked hopefully.




“You’re pawning me off on the boy wonder? What about fighting the League of Shadows with you?”


“Prove to me you can handle a night with him.”


“And if I can?”


“I’ll see about more dangerous work—and reimbursing you for your services.”


“Yeah, all those Batman dildos they sell, bet you’re just loaded.” Roxy strutted off before he could pull a disappearing act, flexing the card curiously.


Batman observed her passage, silent and watchful. “Dildos…” he grumbled. He raised a hand to his cowl, starting up the communicator. “Wonder Woman,” he vocalized, and the Justice League system patched him through automatically.


Diana’s rich voice came through, always sounding a little clearer than anyone else’s did over comms. “Bruce. Lovely to hear from you. Need the number of a good divorce lawyer?” she quipped.


“Just some help from an old friend. When could you make it to Gotham?”


“I’m a little tied up at the moment. Say, tomorrow? Day or night?”




“Ah, so it’s not the Bat that needs my help. Interesting. I don’t suppose this has anything to do with you getting picked up by a woman?”




“Like they say in Man’s World, ‘this I gotta see.’”




Page Monroe sat in her cell. Even Bruce Wayne couldn’t compel the courts to set an escaped convict free simply on his say-so, but she was being treated with kid gloves. She’d even been allowed to keep her mask. That was good. Perhaps Bruce thought she was beautiful, but the others—they saw how ugly she was.


She thought of his offer. Marriage. Mrs. Bruce Wayne Number Three. There’d be press. It’d be just like Kate Middleton. Overnight, she’d be a celebrity again, a fashion icon, interviews, magazine covers. She could put together a look on short notice—rustle up a wedding dress. Something slinky. Something hot. Hideous as she was, if she were Bruce Wayne’s bride, they’d all have to look at her. She’d shove herself in their faces with a wedding ring even better than she could with a gun and a bunch of himbos. And—the honeymoon…


Perhaps Harley or Ivy would think she was beautiful too.

Chapter Text

Tim stood atop the Time-Warner Building, one more gargoyle on the Gotham skyline, his cape shifting and flowing with the night wind. He only ever took a little joy in looking like a badass—maybe a little more when he was with the Titans, and he dropped out of the ceiling with a plan and a good one-liner, and they all reacted with shock and awe. In Gotham, though, he was about a head shorter than anyone and generally in the same area code as his girlfriend. That would take the winds out of anyone’s sails.


Steph’s voice trilled from his cell-phone. It just looked bad, him holding a smartphone instead of some nifty little earpiece… “So are you done brooding or what? There’s a new store opening at Lakecrest Mall, everything’s going to be fifteen percent off. Cass is really excited.”


“Cass isn’t ‘really excited’ about anything.”


“Not true! There’s Halloween candy, Ariana Grande music…”


Tim sighed. “Listen, Steph, it’s like I said. It’s best if things stay professional. I can’t operate worrying about someone, let alone two.”


“Are you pushing-us-away-for-our-own-good again? God, that is so emo. I thought you were through your emo phase two emo phases ago!”


He raised his voice. “It’s not a phase, Steph! I gotta go, Batman wants me to patrol with someone else.”


“Just whatever you do, don’t start to care about them in any way,” Steph said bitterly. “Might lead to you having normal human interactions with someone.”


“I have normal human interactions with plenty of people!” Tim protested. “Kon. Me and Kon do stuff all the time.”


“Are you getting blowsies from him? Because I could take you being gay, it would actually explain a lot—“


“Goodbye, Steph.”


“Bye Tim, I’ll just be out on patrol myself, doing my duty while also having a valid emotional connection to you. So hard!”


He hung up, tucking the phone into his utility belt, switching to the OS in his visor to check for crimes in the area.


“That your girlfriend?” a voice came from behind him.


Tim swooped around, hand diving for his bo staff, when he saw it was the woman Batman had sent to him. Roxy Rocket, her ride hovering in the air with a muted jet wash he could now discern.


He ignored her question. “You’re pretty stealthy for someone with rocket in your name.”


“I set it to Quiet. Handy when you steal stuff. So you’re Robin, huh? Thought you’d be shorter.”


Didn’t get that a lot. “’Nother Robin. I’m Red Robin.”


“Oh, there’s more than one of you? Just like there are a couple Batgirls?”




“So am I a Robin too or do I have to be a Batgirl? I could be Robin Rocket. Keep the alliteration thing going.”


Tim could see impressing the seriousness of their job on her was not going to be done in thirty seconds. He checked his police scanner again. “Hostage situation on Fourth and Ninth. You up for that?”


“As long as we’re not negotiating. I let Betsy here do the talking,” Roxy said with a slap to her mount.


“It’s Two-Face, so no, we’re not negotiating. Follow my lead.” Tim threw out a zip-line and took off, his swing dogged by Roxy following with a strangled thrust from her rocket.


“It okay if I give you a ride? Might be a little faster than the Tarzan thing.”


Tim landed and, gritting his teeth, fired his grapple-gun again. “I’m fine.


“Suit yourself. I’ll go on ahead. Do some recon.”


“Roxy, wait--!”




When Tim got to the crime scene, Roxy was waiting for him, parked on the neighboring rooftop. The flash of police lights surrounding the storefront came up to bathe her in red and blue. “What took you so long?”


Tim landed on an AC unit beside her, crouched. “If he’d seen you, he could’ve executed hostages.”


“Well, he didn’t, hot stuff. Besides, I’m another crook, remember? He’d probably just think I was doing a job nearby.” Roxy chewed on the toothpick in her mouth, which did not much to endear her to Tim. “But don’t lose the attitude, small-fry. I think it’s kinda cute. Little Mormon schoolboy fantasy or something.”


“I’m not a Mormon.”




It was a simple deal. Two-Face was holed up in a jeweler’s, the staff and customers held hostage while the police tried to negotiate him from twenty million down to two. Tim had a simple plan. He’d get into position, moving through the air ducts to where the hostages were grouped together. Roxy would burst in and cause a distraction. He’d free the hostages, then leave the mop-up to SWAT. No one dies.


It didn’t go that well.


Tim was crawling through the ceiling when Roxy broke in over the communicator he’d given her. “Two-Face is flipping a coin. He says if it comes up heads, he’s going to kill a hostage.”


“He’s posturing. Were those his exact words?”


“I’m going in.”


“I am in the ceiling.”


“Relax, I could take this guy by myself. His superpower is having scars.


“Roxy, no—“


Distantly, he heard glass breaking.


Why did Gotham get the crazy women? The Teen Titans were full of smart, capable, sane women—and Ravager. Why couldn’t just one of them have been born in Gotham…?


He triggered his staff, letting its expansion break open the air duct he was in. It came down through the ceiling, spilling him out in a hail of plaster, and he landed in an acrobatic crouch. Roxy was in the center of the store, riding her rocket like it was a bucking bronco. She threw off concussion grenades which pockmarked the store, sending double-masked goons flying, and breaking display cases with their shockwaves. Tim ignored them, making a beeline for the break room where the hostages were locked down. Some gun-toting thugs were in the way. He flung out a pair of discuses that brought them down, darting between their falling bodies to shove himself through the door.


Inside, three goons, armed with crowbars and baseball bats. Why was it only some henchmen carried guns? Was the economy getting so bad that even mooks couldn’t afford to be strapped?


One swung at him. Tim blocked, feeling the reverberation trill up his arms, lanced out with a kick, then was ducking, dodging, as the other two charged in. He rolled across the room’s cheap table, cape sweeping up empty soda cans, and landed—accidentally stepping on a cowering prisoner’s hand. “Sorry,” he said as he kicked the table into the two standing goons. He ricocheted a staff blow between them, then flipped the table with one hand to step in under it, getting close, finishing the pair off with one elbow, one punch. Same arm. The guy he’d kicked at the beginning was rallying, so Tim brought the staff down on his head. He stayed down this time.


“Everyone out!” Tim yelled, leading the hostages out the door. The two henchmen he’d felled with discs were staggering—he tossed a flashbang at their feet to further disorient them before landing two precision finger-strikes, sending them down. The hostages streamed out after them. They knew the score: keep low, move fast.


In the middle of the store, Roxy was a whirling dervish. She spun her rocket around, pumping the jet wash to send a mook flying, then rearing it up so a volley of gunfire from Two-Face only splashed off her heavily-armored undercarriage. Then she hit the afterburner and the rocket careened through the store, bouncing off a wall and crashing through a display case to send glass and jewels flying, knocking out the gunman who’d been taking cover behind it. She flew over Tim’s head, laughing wildly, and he tossed smoke-pellets that he kinda hoped she’d inhale.


Twelve seconds to run to the door. One of those small eternities Tim got. He threw discs at anyone who breathed funny, but it was Roxy who took out Two-Face, side-swiping him with her rocket and crunching him against the wall. It wasn’t that bad. The plaster wall gave more than his body, but a swipe of Roxy’s boot KOed him. Tim hit the sidedoor, kicked it open, and SWAT was waiting to usher the hostages out.


He gave the building another sweep, checking for anyone still on their feet, but anyone not nursing a concussion had their hands up. He went to collar Roxy. Two-Face he handcuffed thoroughly.


“Why, Dent?” he asked, noticing the former DA’s handsome face wasn’t scarred, but tattooed down one side, piercings giving him horns. “I heard you took the deal. Got plastic surgery, got married—to two women, actually. Why go back when the therapy had finally taken?”


He held up his coin. “I was only using dollar bills. Then I saw this on the edge of a table. I didn’t mean to flip it. I brushed it with my hand and it fell to the floor.” He showed the scrawling marks he’d made on one side. “It landed heads up.”




They were back on the rooftop—a dark, tall one made for skulking. Perfect vantage point to watch the cops leading Two-Face and his men away. Not that they were watching.


“You think one of his balls is normal and the other is scarred?” Roxy asked, giving her cycle a quick going-over with a spray-bottle and rag. The bullets hadn’t dented it, but they had left some nasty stains.


Tim seethed inwardly. And, not so inwardly. “That was reckless and stupid. You could’ve gotten yourself—“


“Oh, can the responsibility speech. I got it from Steven Spielberg, I don’t need it from you.” Roxy took off her jacket, throwing it across the rocket’s saddle. “That was fun, wasn’t it? Charging into danger, dodging bullets, thrashing bad guys! Fuck, I am energized—better than cocaine!”


Tim’s trained eyes tried to shy away from where her nipples pressed erectly through her tanktop. “This isn’t some thrill ride.”


“Oh, that’s exactly what it is—don’t play Batman, kiddo, you’re too young for that. In fact, you look just ripe, barely legal, and all you’re doing is parroting some middle-aged nonsense. What kind of nerd bullshit is that?” Roxy peeled off her flight cap in a waterfall of auburn hair. “Don’t you feel alive! Don’t you wanna fuck?”


“Wait, what?”


With almost a roar, Roxy grabbed his hands and brought them to her breasts. He felt her hardened nipples get harder under his palms. Helplessly, his fingers clenched on her flesh, squeezing them through bra and tanktop. Roxy heaved a sigh—“Oh yes, YES!”


Tim felt a strange tension rattle his belly. “You still—still shouldn’t be reacting to criminal activity in such an uncoordinated—“


Roxy bent down and covered his mouth with hers, Tim’s eyes going wide as her tongue flew against his. His grip tightened on her breasts and Roxy moaned into his mouth. She raised her face. “Don’t tell me you don’t need a fuck sometimes after you’ve beaten the hell out of a half-dozen crooks, jumped off rooftops, outrun an explosion--!” Her hand was gripping his chin. “Give me your tongue!”


Tim obeyed. The next kiss was longer and hotter, Roxy sucking on his tongue, moaning softly because it felt so good in her mouth. She lifted her face again. Now she peeled off her tanktop before offering her bra-clad tits back to Tim’s sweaty hands. He smoothed his palms over the hot flesh, his leather gloves feeling deliciously cool on her bare skin.


“You know why girls suck on a boy’s tongue?” Roxy asked, luxuriating in the feel of his exploratory groping.


“Why?” Tim replied, helplessly curious.


“To show him how we’ll suck something else.” And she slipped her hand down to his groin, where she was delighted to find a zipper waiting for her. Roxy had always wondered how superheroes went to the bathroom. She unzipped it and he came right out, his youthful hard-on hot and stiff in her hand. Feeling her fingers curl around him, Tim’s face went red.


“Want me to suck something else?” Roxy asked, smiling prettily, rolling her thumb over his cockhead and finding it damp.


Tim blurted out “Yeah!” as he thought about it. Not realizing he’d said anything, he thought that Dick had Kory, that Bruce had Selina, that he had Ivy and Harley too in fact, not to mention Talia, Silver—why shouldn’t he have some relief? It wasn’t like he cared about Roxy, not like Steph or Cass… a casual hook-up would be just right for him. He looked to Roxy to tell her his decision, only to find her on her knees below him, taking his prick into her soft, sucking mouth.


Tim gasped like a girl, feeling the throbbing in his erection replaced with a pulsing, muted softness. It felt nice. He couldn’t believe it was happening to him. It felt really nice. He’d never had a girl given him a blowjob before. It felt great! Why hadn’t he gotten a blowjob before? Ravager would’ve given him one…


His cock grew longer and thicker in Roxy’s mouth as his arms grew heavy, his legs weak, so Roxy was sucking the strength out of him. He fell back against Roxy’s cycle, his upper body twisting on top of it as if in agony. He grabbed hold of the saddle and nearly ripped it off as Roxy nearly tongued him out of his mind.


Roxy put a hand on his chest, feeling the trim muscles thrumming with power. She pushed him back, bending him back over the cycle as she knelt between his splayed legs. Tim grabbed hold of her head, not concerned with falling over, just with her stopping her suction. His hands stayed tepid in her hair, not daring to force her into the rhythm he needed. When she pulled her mouth away, his hands trailed off his face, half-clenched into fists. Roxy laughingly hid from his gaze behind his cock, sticking straight-up and shimmering wetly with her saliva.


“I love a big cock in my mouth,” she told him, pushing his cock to one side so he could see her flashing him a smile. “But I also love having one in my pussy, and I don’t think that’s going to happen if I keep sucking you off.”


Tim raised his head. “You want to—you’re going to…?”


“Fuck, yes.” Roxy undid her bra. Her breasts were the best Tim had ever seen—about the only ones he’d ever seen. “Your hard cock’s the only thing keeping me from humping the hell out of my cycle. You can make me come harder than a rocket, right?”


“Yeah, sure,” Tim said, watching her hands cup those ripe tits. “How hard could it be?”


Roxy unzipped her jodhpurs. Tim’s eyes went wide. She wasn’t wearing underwear. Roxy brought her hands to her face, smoothing them down her body from her jutting breasts to her hips, where she ran them down her legs and took her pants with them. Naked, she put her hands on her waist and canted her hips. “Play with it.”


Tim’s communicator vibrated to indicate an incoming transmission. Tim hurriedly muted it. “How?”


Roxy’s smile widened. “Give me your hand, flyboy. I’ll show you how.”


He held out his hand dumbly. She took his glove off, dropping it to the ground, then guided his hand down between her legs. Holding his wrist in both hands, she maneuvered his palm over her labia and clit, winding her hips around as she did it so everything flowed and burned together. Roxy gritted her teeth, hissing out air.


“Now we’re getting somewhere! Put your finger in. Put in it! It won’t bite! Yesssss,” she breathed, feeling herself parting. “That’s it—push it all in. There’s a place inside, right—there! Rub it! Now slide your finger in and out. Yeah, that’s good! More! Oh, more! Fuck, you’re making me horny! Fuck, keep going!”


She kissed him again. This time, he sucked her tongue.


Roxy barely pulled away from him. She reached down to her pussy and opened herself up for him. “Do you know what this is?” she asked him, touching something small and pink with her fingertip.


“Your clit,” Tim replied.


“That’s right, babe. Make it feel nice. Make a girl’s clit feel nice and you can do anything you want to her. Now rub it with your finger.” Roxy grimaced. “Squeeze it, just a little—ohhh, yes, like that… like that… stop!


Tim froze, wondering what he’d done wrong. Would she make them stop? Would she tell Batman what he’d done?


Roxy pulled Tim to his feet. “I am not coming without a cock inside me!”


She grabbed hold of his flagging cock, skimming her hand up and down it until he was back to full, painful hardness. In seconds, he looked so tasty that she wanted to suck him off again. After, Roxy thought to herself.


She laid back on the rocket and spread her thighs. “My pussy needs that sweet cock.”


Tim hurried between her legs, his cock huge, shaking. He grasped it, the pressure of his grip almost enough to set him off, and lowered himself to her cunt. There, he hesitated. He didn’t think of his virginity, just that whenever he chose, he could shove himself inside her. He pushed forward, watching her labia part.


“Put it in, big boy,” Roxy purred. “Fuck me now!”


He rammed his cock into her.


“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Steph cried.


“He’s fucking her,” Cass explained helpfully.




Batman had been needed elsewhere, but he’d tasked Cass with keeping an eye on Tim in case the partnership with Roxy went south. She’d had no compunctions about bringing in Steph, who seemed to have a better handle on Tim’s… Timness. And when Tim hadn’t reported in after the hostage crisis, they’d gone looking for him.


Needless to say, they hadn’t expected to find him balls deep in a naked redhead (although Cass did consider saying it).


Roxy clasped her smooth thighs around Tim’s sides, hooking her heels behind him. As he pumped into her, she arched her back and tossed her head from side to side, burning hair flowing through the night air.


“If you could just give me a moment here—” Tim said, jaw clenched, somehow not able to stop delving into Roxy’s sweet depths.




Roxy laughed hysterically. “Sorry, girls—oof!—but Robin’s spoken for. He needs a real woman, oh! Not a pair of little girls in last fall’s fashions!” Roxy reached down between them, spreading her fingers over her groin to feel Tim fucking in and out of her. From there, she reached lower, squeezing his balls lovingly as if trying to pump the cum out.


Tim fucked into her harder and faster. Cass’s head darted from side to side as she followed their coitus like the ball at a tennis match.


“STOP FUCKING HER WHILE I’M YELLING AT YOU!” Steph yelled, fists clenched at her sides.


“She means nothing to me!” Tim argued as he fed his desperate thrusts into their fuck like a stoker shoveling coal into a blazing furnace. “I think it’s best to avoid attachment—“




Indeed, Tim plowed into Roxy with such force that her pelvis was tilted up and down, thrown about on his cock like a ship on a raging sea. She felt the thrill of it building rapidly inside her, making her wail with the joy.


“Tim, is that your name? Come in me, Tim!” Roxy shouted, feeling his balls swell in her hand, his prick balloon inside her. “Shoot your cum all up in me, you sweet little bitch!”


“THAT’S MY SWEET LITTLE BITCH!” Steph screamed at the top of her lungs, flinging a Batarang.


In her present state, her aim was a little off. The Batarang hit Tim in the head, knocking him out cold, and he fell on top of Roxy, both of them tumbling off the rocket, which itself fell over. Steph brought her hands to her mouth at the carnage.


What is going on here?” Bruce demanded.




Cass explained. “Robin was having sex with rocket woman. Steph got mad. Threw Batarang. Missed. Hit Robin.” She shrugged understandingly.


“I thought I saw the Joker,” Steph explained.


Striding to the wreckage, Batman hoisted Roxy out from under Tim. “Get him out of here,” he demanded of the Batgirls. “And expect a long, long talk.”


Cass and Steph hastily helped with Tim, taking one arm a piece and helping him over to the zipline that would take him down to the motorcycle-and-sidecar they rode around in. Tim would take the sidecar, Cass would ride bitch.


On the street, Cass zipped Tim up. Usually, she would ask Steph if that was alright, but it didn’t seem appropriate.




“What are you looking at me for?” Roxy demanded. “He was all over me!”


“I hired you for a job,” Batman replied. “Not to seduce my partner.”


“What can I say, I needed a fuck and he was willing to be seduced. I get you not wanting me to ride around Gotham stealing shit, but now I can’t get laid either? What kind of thrill is that? I might as well go back to crime!”


Batman took one stride forward, Roxy wincing back as he towered over her.


“You want sex, then.”


“You can’t tell me you’ve never got a hard-on after wrestling Catwoman. Scuse me for relieving myself.”


“If you need it that badly, then you should have it from someone who knows what he’s doing.”


“The kid knew enough. Why?” Roxy’s eyes dropped to his trunks. “You have something more… substantial to offer me?”


“That depends.”


“On what?”


“How do you feel about marriage?”




Tim woke up preternaturally aware that he was in Cass’s satellite Batcave, deep below Gotham itself. He could tell by the flavor of the air, the hiss of the mechanicals. He just couldn’t figure out why he was on a gurney, or why he was strapped down. He opened his eyes, looked around—sure now that he was in the secondary cave—then nearly choked.


Cass and Steph were standing before him. Cass was naked again, but Tim’s eyes were all on Steph in her purple dress, light and translucent enough that he could almost see the nothing she had on underneath. Steph the petite blonde, with smooth lines that it seemed would inevitably become generous proportions—her pregnancy as a teen had already left her with surprisingly ample breasts. She was the same height as Cass, but not as tightly knit. Cass was lithe, every muscle defined and delineated, while Steph was softer and more rounded.


Tim couldn’t look away. His eyes traipsed over the roll of her rounded hips and the fullness of her thighs. With her turned away from him, he was free to leer at her back, from the gentle curve down from her silky shoulders, to the dip at her waist, then the outward bloom of her ass. Tim let out a strangled sound. She had the kind of ass that could stretch a jean’s seams to the breaking point.


Steph and her friend turned around, her nubile breasts bobbing happily along with the gleeful smile that played across her rosy lips. Cass smiled at him too, but it was Steph’s sparkling eyes set in her pert face that made him think of some mischievous spirit harboring a secret.


“Hey Tim,” she greeted. “Sorry I hit you with a Batarang. I felt really bad about that, so I decided to get you a present and had Cass shave my pussy. You should feel it! It’s so smooth… oh. Wait.”


“He only has meaningless, no-strings-attached sex,” Cass ‘remembered.’


Tim wriggled his hands, trying to stretch his thumbs to the catch-springs of his cuffs. “Why am I handcuffed?”


“Impromptu escapology test,” Steph said, walking beside his gurney. “Don’t interrupt Cass.”


“Steph,” Cass said after a pause, “can we have meaningless, no-strings-attached sex?”


“Yes!” Steph said, smiling seductively at Cass and at Tim and back again. Holding the smile, she climbed onto his gurney, standing over Tim. She took her dress up and over her head. Tim looked up at Steph’s smooth, pink pussy.


“Where did you get this idea, a fanfic?” he scoffed.


Steph let her dress drop to the floor, then turned around, displaying her front to Cass. Her soft hands played with her asscheeks as she said “Hey, Cass, do you like how my pussy looks with no hair? I think my ass looks better…”


Tim fought against the feeling of his cock stiffening, throbbing, jerking excitedly. It was just that he hadn’t gotten to finish with Roxy when he’d been so close. “It’s not that I’m not attracted to you, Steph. Or you, Cass. It’s that I can’t get close to anyone without compromising myself…”


“We understand!” Steph stressed, posing for Cass, who seemed hypnotized. She raised her hands to the back of her head, plying her naked body around before lowering her hands to her breasts, circling the pink nipples. “You’re so smart, Tim. We should have meaningless, no-strings-attached sex too! Don’t you think, Cass?”


“Yes,” Cass said, coming closer.


Steph sat down, straddling Tim’s groin, and he groaned feeling her weight on his erection. “Of course, you wouldn’t want to join in, would you Tim? Since you don’t want to form an emotional connection to us…”


“No,” Cass answered for him. “He wouldn’t.” And she reached out with her fingers.


Steph groaned instantly, feeling Cass’s touch on her newly bared pussy. She grabbed Cass’s hand and pulled it tighter to her sex. “Finger-fuck me, babe!” She flashed a dangerous grin. “No strings attached.”


Cass didn’t answer. She just pulled her hand free, easily overcoming Steph’s best attempts to hold it, and replaced her touch with her mouth, lips scraping over the stubble of Steph’s pubic hair. Steph moaned even louder, feeling a tongue reach impossibly electric into her slit.


“Tim, you don’t mind if we do this on top of you, right?” Steph asked. “Since you don’t have any icky emotional connections to us…”


Tim’s erection was becoming painful in the confines of his trousers. “It’s like with Batman,” he argued. “I can’t let my perspective be clouded. I have to be able to assess anyone, mistrust anyone—give orders that could lead to your deaths and how can you expect me to do that if we’re…”


“You had your chance to join in,” Steph replied, jerking delightedly every time Cass’s tongue moved an inch inside her. “Then we wouldn’t have been lesbians, we’d just be having an orgy. Too late now. Cass and I are total dykes. We’re going to wear army boots and cry about webseries.”


Then Steph was incapable of speech, only moans as Cass reached into her with the fingers of either hand, spreading her sex open, then forcing her mouth forward like she was trying to cover her whole face in Steph’s cunt. Steph felt her clit run over the bridge of Cass’s nose, then Cass seized it with her teeth, her grip easy but firm.


Steph fell backward, her short height landing her head on Tim’s chest, staring up and upside-down into his eyes as she grabbed Cass’s head and tried pulling her inside a cunt that desperately needed to be filled. Her nipples were large and hard on heaving breasts. Steph spared one hand to take a nipple in her fingers and squeeze like hell, the yielding of her flesh feeling so good that it hurt, and she tortured herself for that wonderful intensity.


“If only your hands were free, Tim,” Steph moaned. “You could suck my hard nipples…  handle my tits… wait, no, because Batman doesn’t do any of that…”


“I… I… shit!” Tim let out a rare curse. “Could you just unzip me? It feels like I’m going to break in half!”


Steph was grinning, possibly more from Tim’s admission than Cass’s diligent tonguing. “What do you think, Cain? Should we let this random co-worker who has no emotional connection to us whatsoever take his dick out?”


Cass looked up, chin wet. “Nightwing’s here?”


“No, Cass, his… you know… like our strap-on?”


Cass looked at Tim’s crotch as if noticing it for the first time, noting the half-formed tent of his erection trying to press through the armored fabric. “A real one?”


“Well, I wouldn’t know. Would I?” Steph gave Tim a look. “Maybe you should ask Roxy Rocket…”


Cass was ignoring her, pulling on his tiny black zipper instead. Halfway down, his cock burst forth from his fly like a rocket, snapping straight up, quivering with tension. Cass gazed at it in abject surprise, the unflappable martial artist seemingly perplexed by his length. “Bigger than strap-on…”


I wouldn’t know,” Steph reiterated. “But since my boyfriend is committed to fucking everyone but me, I guess you would find out first. How’s that sound, Timmy? Would you like to fuck Cass? Take your big—“ she looked twice at it, “big cock and ease it into her. I’m sure she’s a lot tighter than me. So tight, you’d have to be careful or you might hurt her. You better not hurt my friend, Tim!”


Cass was still ignoring her. Forefinger extended, she swiped at the head of Tim’s cock, picking up some of the white fluid gathered at his hole and examining it under her nose. It smelled nice. She moved her finger toward her mouth…


“Cass, get up here!” Steph demanded. “Stop consorting with the enemy and let’s sixty-nine!”


“Good number,” Cass replied, acrobatically swirling into place. Tim’s eyes widened dramatically as he saw Cass’s sex widen for Steph’s tongue, the blonde taking a mouthful right in front of him.


Steph fingered Cass as she scoured for her clit with her tongue—hard to find with Cass upside-down—and trying to ignore Cass’s heated mouth at work between her legs. “Where are you, ya little bastard?” she asked, every word, every breath making Cass jerk in response. Steph broke off to momentarily enjoy the flutter of Cass’s tongue on her own clit, kissing at Cass’s muscular thigh in thanks, then returned to the search.


“To the left,” Tim said, and Steph immediately felt it with her tongue. Her eyes narrowed. Sometimes she hated how smart he was. Steph sucked hard on the little candy and Cass burst out with a moan, soaking Steph’s fingers. Then her mouth. Then Tim’s face.


She’s coming on me, Steph thought, laughing as she smashed her face into the ejaculation and tongued it until the flow ceased, leaving behind only a strong, pleasant taste to be licked away.


Cass’s squirting was driving her crazy. She bit into Steph’s clitoris, making her cry out long and loud and a little afraid that Cass would hurt her. But she kept whipping her scorching wet sex into Cass’s mouth, making Cass lick her until she had her own climax—not nearly as wet as Cass had proven.


Steph dropped her head to Tim’s pounding chest, shaking and trembling, her fingers still knuckle-deep in Cass’s sucking cunt. Steph pulled free of her, then held her hand up to Tim’s face. Felt his breath on her fingers before he took them in his mouth, tasting Cass, then kissing down Steph’s scarred knuckles to her pulse point, the sweat on her wrist, tasting her as well.


Steph rolled over, shuffling under Cass, to lay facedown on Tim’s body. She looked up into his eyes, feeling his heart pounding up into her jawline. “I lied. Cass and I have an emotional connection. As in, I’ve been screwing her pretty regularly. So how about it, Tim? Wanna show us how it’s really done?” she taunted.


Tim worked his hands out of the cuffs. He’d picked the locks two minutes ago. For two minutes, he thought about everything he’d given up for the privilege of getting the crap kicked out of him on a nightly basis—the police occasionally sicced on him—the odd bout of crippling mental anxiety.


He’d lost his mother. His father. His girl. His best friends—both of them. He’d gotten some things back, but like a closed wound, the scars still remained. All of that, and he still had to prove himself by taking some vow of celibacy? He was hard, goddamnit! He was rock-hard! Maybe Bruce could think about the icy tundra of Tibet and meditate his erection down, but Tim wasn’t Bruce.


He wasn’t Bruce. He was never going to be Bruce. He didn’t want to be Bruce. He wanted to love and cherish these two amazing women who had been nothing but kind and considerate of him. He also wanted to fuck their brains out. And the fact was, he was never going to get the kind of distance he would need to tell them to take a bullet for Gotham, or suspect them of being in cahoots with the Joker, or just not give a shit about either of them. He had more feelings than Mr. Spock, except he wasn’t a fucking Vulcan.


He didn’t just have sex every seven years.


“Why not?”

Chapter Text

Harley was sleeping soundly next to Ivy, and Ivy was sleeping soundly next to her. But even if they were sleeping very, very lightly they wouldn’t have heard Bruce as he entered the room.


His footfalls were absolutely silent, blending into the whispering sounds of the pipes, the air conditioning, their own breathing. He went to the two women and gently uncorked the vial in his hand. In a moment, its liquid contents had reacted with the oxygen in the room, creating a colorless gas. Bruce kept it well away from his face, even with his breath-mask securely affixed.


He dosed Ivy first. Her gentle snoring stopped, her REM dwindling to nothingness; her already sound sleep becoming something deep and dreamless. Then he did the same to Harley.


The clown was absolutely insensate as he corked the vial once more, replaced in his pocket, and picked her up as easily as he would a sack of grain.


Ivy hogged the covers more tightly, suddenly feeling a little cold.




In a dingy, dimly-lit apartment deep in the Flattops, Roxy Rocket smoked a cigarette as filthy as the rest of the place.


Imagine. Batman trying to set her up at Bruce Wayne’s Home for Wayward Bitches. The would-be Playboy Mansion of the Secret Society of Supervillains Set. Like she would let herself get tied down to some ball and chain. Maybe she’d give it up to Batman; he looked like a good fuck and so did his twink friends. But Bruce Wayne? Wasn’t he gay?


She’d said as much to Batman. Well, she hadn’t said anything to Batman. He wasn’t the kind of guy you contradicted. But she had laughed off his little arranged marriage. Bruce Wayne! What was she supposed to do with all his money, buy things? Where was the thrill in that? What would she buy, anyway? Vibrators for Ivy and Harley to use on her? That seemed about the only good thing that could possibly come out of her going on pussy parole.


Her laptop beeped. Roxy sat up on her couch, the motion putting one more lump in it. A new job? Maybe Calendar Girl again? That bitch was crazy, and crazy chicks made the best lays.


She opened it up, looked at the video suddenly playing on her screen. She hadn’t even opened an e-mail. It was just going.


And it looked a lot like Harley Quinn there in the middle…




Harley woke up confused in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Something was different. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She was naked, and there was a straitjacket holding her, and Ivy was gone…


Oh, it was that Bruce was there. That was it. The room was like a small dentist’s office, with white padding covering all the walls, and a gurney in the middle of the room dominating it. A big black window which showed only reflections took up the better part of the far wall. It almost looked like one-way glass. And Bruce wasn’t dressed in a leisure suit or anything. He wore… a robe.


His legs were hairy. His chest was hairy. He was naked underneath.


“It’s time for you to earn my cock, Harley.”


Harley shivered, a sympathetic tremor suddenly going through her. “Yes, Mistah Bee.”


He petted her hair. She strained for more of his touch. She’d seen what it was like for Ivy, getting fucked by him. She wanted that. She wanted that so bad. “I just need you to answer a question for me.”


“Yes, Mistah Bee, anything!”


His hand ran down her straitjacket, picking at the buckles like he was thinking of releasing her. Harley almost couldn’t help herself. She struggled and Bruce put his palm flat on her chest, effortlessly holding her down. She moaned helplessly.


When she fell still, Bruce continued. “Are you ready for the question?”


His hand went lower. Down to her cunt. She was so wet already… Harley nodded frantically.


“The question is… am I better than the Joker?”


Harley froze. All except her eyes. She couldn’t stop blinking. “Buh… better?”


“Yes, Harley.” He toyed with a finger in-between her labia, like he was curious at how her folds felt. “Am I better than him?”


“Well, at-um, at what? Because he’s pretty good at killing people, I’ll tell you what! Not that you’d be bad at killing people, if ya really wanted to… Mistah Bee…”


Still more casually, Bruce reached up and touched her clit. He seemed almost bored by it. His clipped, calm strokes seemed nearly disinterested in how he was bringing Harley to the brink of orgasm. “Am I better than the Joker at making you come?”


“Well, I mean…” Harley’s eyes were wandering, slowly going cross-eyed. “I mean… I mean, that’s not really fair… I can’t really say… haven’t earned your cock yet…”


“You’ve had my finger,” Bruce said, his voice almost distant now. “Hasn’t my finger made you come?”


“Yuh… yeah… I…” Harley gasped suddenly. He’d pushed down, hard, on her clitoris. “I guess so! But it’s not the same… same…”


“Has Joker ever made you come?”


“That is—“ Harley grinded her eyes shut. “That is a very private… a lady does not… would you want me to tell him if you make me come?”


“Say I’m the best you’ve ever had and I’ll make you come like I did Ivy.”


Harley remembered. She remembered how Bruce had been behind Ivy, like a dog with a bitch, and then he’d lunged forward with all the power in his big, muscular body. Ivy had screamed and yelled like she was on fire, feeling her ass expand, then yield—Bruce’s cock inside her where no man had ever been.


Harley remembered seeing that tender little asshole, that had never taken anything bigger than a little feeler vine or Harley’s tongue, suddenly many times its normal size. Suddenly just slightly bigger than Bruce’s impossible cock. She’d heard Ivy gasp in pain, but her bestie had also jerked her hips back to take even more of his dick.


Harley imagined Bruce fucking her in the ass, pushing into the clenching confines of an asshole that had never taken anything bigger than Ivy’s fist, then fucking in and out of her. Her pink muscles clinging to his cock as he pulled out, then being pushed back in as he thrust into her. Every time going a little deeper into her ass. Every time, a new, low moan of masochistic pleasure. She’d come so hard. Even harder than Ivy had.


“You’re… you’re good—soooo good, you’re great!”


“I’m better than the Joker,” Bruce told her.


Harley formed the words with her lips, but couldn’t quite say them. “You’re… better… than… Red!”


Bruce picked her up, only to put her down on the gurney. There were straps hanging from the sides of it. He began to buckle them, tying Harley down.


“You’re so much better than Poison Ivy!” Harley said. “I’m not even gay, I’m not even gay! I’m straight! You’ve made me straight as an arrow, that’s how good you are! Not even a green arrow, we all know he’s gay for Green Lantern, but, like, uh, a different colored arrow? Is Red Arrow married to a lady? That’s how straight I am! I mean, not that I’d be married to a lady…”


“I’ll ask you again tomorrow,” Bruce said, as he picked up the gag. Harley started to scream in dismay just as he clamped it over her mouth. “I understand it’s not fair, asking you to judge before I’ve had you. Maybe if you see how I do, then you’ll be better able to decide.”


He flicked a switch on the wall. The glass tinged translucent, letting her see through it darkly. On the other side was Calendar Girl, in civilian clothes but still with her mask. And sitting on the bed of the bedroom beside her was Wonder Woman.


Oh, she wore a chiffon and sandals and not even a small tiara, but Harley knew it was her.


She screamed into her gag again, but Bruce was already closing the door behind him.




As she relaxed, and watched, Roxy’s hand dropped to where her skirt folded between her legs. Not really aware of it, she pulled the hem up, up, up her thighs, until she felt the room’s cool air on her panties. It didn’t feel right. When she’d taken her panties off, it was much better.


The laptop’s view changed to that of another room. Bruce Wayne was in there now. There were two other women with him.




“Good, you’re here,” Diana said. “Now we can begin.”


She favored Paige Monroe with a soft smile, but the effort was wasted on Paige. “I see. You want to mock how ugly I am! Well, you didn’t have to go to all the trouble of getting Wonder Woman here to show me how a woman’s supposed to look like. I know how hideous I am.”


“That’s not it at all, Paige,” Bruce said, sitting down on the other side of her from Diana. “Diana’s a close personal friend. I thought maybe you’d listen to her about a few things.”


“That’s right. I don’t think you belong in Arkham, or in Blackgate either. You belong on a pedestal, where you were once before.” Diana touched Paige’s thigh. Her touch was warm and soft. “I’ve read up on you. You did such good things. Charities, fundraisers, relief efforts. You even used her private yacht to rescue people from floods. You really wanted to use what you’d been given in a positive way. What’s changed?”


“Nothing!” Paige hissed. “The world hasn’t changed at all, it’s still the way it’s always been! I just thought it was beautiful, but really it’s ugly! Gruesome! Just like me.”


“You’re not ugly, Paige. You’re beautiful,” Bruce said.


“Stop condescending to me! I know your act! Thinking you can get a fuck out of me! Even if my face is fucked up, there’s nothing wrong with my gash, is there?”


“We’re not lying, Paige.” Diana reached down to her belt, uncuffed it. Drawing it out into her hands, its coils began to glow. “You know what this is?”


Paige stared at it, her coldly white mask lit up. “The lasso…”


“No one can lie when they’re touching it, Paige. Not even me. Would you like to know how I think you look?”


“I know how I look.” Paige grabbed the lasso, held onto it like her skin was melting onto its gold. “I’m deformed! A freak! A monster! The only way people would still pay money to see me is if I were in a sideshow!”


“That’s not true,” Bruce insisted. “That’s what you think, but it’s not the truth.”


“It’s not even what you think,” Diana added. “It’s what others have thought, others have said. They’ve said it so loud, about so many people, that you’ve believed them, but they are not worth listening to. We are. We’re your friends.”


“Friends!” Paige sneered.


Diana held up her end of the lasso. “I want to be your friend. Do you, Bruce?”


Bruce took up his end of it. “I do too. Well, Paige? Is that what you want?”


Paige let go of the lasso. “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter!”


“Paige…” Diana said her name sweetly, carefully, like it had infinite value. “When was the last time you made love?”




Finally, it’s getting good, Roxy thought, her pelvis beginning to hunch against her rubbing hand. She moved her palm in a circle, making herself moan, but it wasn’t enough. Then she let her fingers in. That almost scratched her itch.


It still wasn’t enough, though.




Paige jerked away from Diana as if scalded. “Who cares? I don’t know—who would? Look at me!”


“I am,” Bruce said. He put his hand on Paige’s forearm. It tensed, but then relaxed. His grip was firm, but warm. Sure. She liked it. “I think you’re beautiful.” He held up his other hand. Wrapped in the lasso. “Really.”


Paige stared at it in confusion. How? How could he be lying? Then Diana touched her chin, gently, lovingly, turning her head back to focus on her. “You’re not a villain, Paige. You don’t have to be. There’s a loving, beautiful, sensual woman inside you. And you’ve kept her locked up for too long.”


“No! There’s nothing left of you, they, those men, they destroyed her!”


“You’re only destroyed if you let yourself be destroyed, Paige. I think…” Diana leaned in, her chiffon yawning open, her cleavage beckoning up to Paige’s eyes. “Given the chance, that woman… that lovely, lovely woman… will come out in a big way.”


“We want to meet her,” Bruce said, leaning in even closer, until his lips were brushing against her shoulder. Paige gasped. His lips were so warm…


“Let us see you,” Diana urged, her hand on the bed between Paige’s legs as she leaned over even farther, kissed Paige’s neck. Paige moaned aloud, the noise echoing weirdly inside her mask.


Bruce reached in, caressing her cheek, down to her soft throat, two fingers plying upward, slipping her mask up just enough for him to kiss her chin.


“I’m hideous!” she begged, begged them to just admit it.


“You’re beautiful,” Diana countered, pulling at the mask from above, just enough, now kissing Paige’s lower lip, sucking it into her teeth.


“So beautiful.” Bruce pushed the mask to the side, sucked at her ear, kissed her cheek.


Paige vibrated as her mask came off all the way. It seemed for a moment that she would explode, she shook so hard, but Bruce and Diana’s hands were on her, stroking her, caressing her, holding her strangely still.


“You have such perfect lips,” Diana said. “I want to kiss them forever.” She got started.


“Your eyes,” Bruce said, meeting them.


“Her nose,” Diana added.


“Cheekbones are nice.”


“I love her neck. Her slender little neck.” Diana drew her fingertips down it, into the buttons on Paige’s blouse. They clicked open, one by one. “What do you think of her breasts, Bruce?”


“I love them. I love everything about her.”


“Yes,” Diana agreed. “I could kiss them forever too.” She moved down, as Bruce moved up, kissing Paige with so much passion, so much hunger, that Paige could almost believe he was attracted to her.


Then, she did believe. “Show me how beautiful I am?” she implored them.


“We’ll show you,” Bruce said. He shrugged the robe off. His cock was hard, beautifully so, and Paige grabbed it impulsively. Felt it throb in her fist, harder than it looked, hotter than seemed possible. As long as she had it trapped, Paige fell forward, down onto her knees, to suck at his stiff tool.


Bruce threw his head back, but even as it was coming back, Diana was drawing herself into his lap, kissing him suddenly. “You’re beautiful too,” she told him. “And now I know what you taste like before you taste like Paige.”


Paige very much liked the way Diana said her name. Before, she had preferred Calendar Girl. Her head bobbed swiftly up and down, taking Bruce into her mouth and back out again, deeper than seemed possible. He was giving off little teasers of precum, delicious to the taste. Paige was so hungry for them, she almost hated how Diana came down beside her, wrapping the lasso around them both.


“What do you want, Paige?” she asked, and Paige was compelled to lift her mouth from Bruce, settle for jacking him with her hand.


“I want him to cum in his mouth. And I want him to fill my pussy just as full. And to shoot it all over me. And I want you to have your share too.” She smiled nervously, like she wasn’t sure if it would fit on her face. “I want everything.”


“Everything…” Diana said musingly, before kissing Paige’s lips and Bruce’s cockhead in quick succession. “I’ll see what I can do.”




Wanting even more, Roxy took off her skirt. She turned over on the couch, hoisting her ass in the air, supporting herself on one arm and splayed knees. Her hand shook as she brought it to her pussy from underneath, playing with her wet lips for a moment, then unable to resist just pushing her fingers inside, all of them together.


As the video kept playing and they ripped Calendar Girl’s clothes off, she flopped down onto her back and plunged four fingers into her cunt, all the way to the hilt.




Diana kissed Paige again, this time on her breasts, sucking the nipples so savagely that Paige had to love it—first the sharpness of her bite, then the sweet consoling laps of a gentle tongue to soothe away the hurt. Paige leaned over her to suck Bruce’s cock again, and as if in reward, Diana sucked harder, pulling the tips of Paige’s breasts into her mouth.


When she wasn’t suckling, biting, or kissing, she had her face between Paige’s hills, enjoying the sensation of being pressed into Paige, near to her heart and warmth. But then she was pushing forward, conversely pulling Paige away from Bruce. And she’d gotten his cock so hard…


“It’s time for you to feel beautiful,” Diana said, picking Paige up with ease, laying her down on the bed beside Bruce. “Inside and out.”


Bruce simply had to roll over, on top of her, and he’d plunged himself in her almost all the way to her cervix.


Paige didn’t know about beautiful, but Diana had certainly made her feel wet.


“Yes! So good, so good, so good!” Paige yelled, bucking up against Bruce, him inside her hard and strong and fast.


He gripped her thighs, working them up and down harder than she was moving. Paige soon felt her juices rippling in her cunt, spasms of pleasure from every thrust of Bruce made. She moaned, wailed, tried to clutch him with her thighs, but he wouldn’t let her. And soon, she found the way he held her legs, owning them, to be even more pleasurable.


Diana played with her hair as Bruce fucked Paige like an animal, his cock going places she hadn’t known were inside her. She hadn’t known any of this was inside her; she felt like a new person, someone who had come through crime and tragedy smelling like a rose. Or like a wet pussy. Christ, she could smell her own cunt… Bruce’s cock ramming in and out of it, his body piled upon hers.


Then a hand streaked across her face with the light touch of a thief, fingers dancing on her eyelids, the tip of her nose, the fullness of her lips. Diana had seemingly no greed for her own orgasm. She only wanted Paige to enjoy hers. Paige found herself looking at the princess with love and gratitude. She felt like Diana had created her, this woman who could take such pleasure, this beautiful woman…


Seizing on Paige’s sudden outpouring of affection, Diana leaned in, her lips coming to rest on Paige’s, and Paige kissed her as best she could when every thought in her was of the fuse burning down in her cunt, the tightness in her lower belly that was about to become an explosion.


Diana kissed her, all warmth and passion, and Bruce fucked her with strength and power, she had Diana’s tongue in her along with Bruce’s dick, both of them thrusting, stroking—it was too much. Her body lifted, legs forced out of Bruce’s grip to tie around him in a knot she wished would never come loose, as Bruce fucked his way into the core of her, filling her with sensations torn from her innermost places. Paige came with her whole body.


Diana’s kiss was on Paige’s lips throughout the climax; Paige doubted she could’ve endured it otherwise.




Roxy used her thumb, rubbing her clit as hard as she could as her fingers sloshed through the copious juices she was spilling. On the verge of orgasm, she lifted her legs, pushing her feet as hard as she could against the couch’s armrest as she fucked herself. Her hand swam in a sea between her legs.


Then she saw what happened next and her cunt was flooded with sticky warmth, an unbelievable ecstasy that started at her clit, took over her cunt, conquered her body. She came again and again. She never wanted it to stop.


And she knew that if she did as Batman wanted, it never had to.



While Paige was still shaking, Diana raised her eyes to Bruce. “Have you come yet?”


“Not yet,” Bruce replied laconically. “Give me a sec.”


“Give it to me,” Diana commanded, holding Paige securely as the woman thrashed and moaned. “Let me taste it. Let us taste it.”


A tap on Paige’s knotted thighs and they went limp, allowing Bruce to free himself. He shot up, straddling Paige’s body, nearly slipping off her sweat. Though Paige’s eyes were out of focus, she still caught sight of his cock a few inches from her face. It would’ve been hard to miss from across the room.


She stuck her tongue out, desiring, hungry, and Diana watched proudly as Paige caught him in her lips, mouth fitted over his head, then throat fitted over his shaft. She didn’t choke, didn’t gag, just sucked like a whirlpool, like a wet dream, like his pleasure was something she could pull out of him and she did. Now it was his callused hands stroking through the hair on her bobbing head.


“That’s how good you taste, Paige,” Diana whispered in her ear.


But finally, Paige had to breathe. She couldn’t, even through her nose, while Bruce was so deep in her throat. She pulled off him, just to gasp, tried to go back but Diana was there first. As soon as he was in her mouth, her lips plummeted down to his root, her throat gulping and gorging at him.


“Let me,” Paige begged. “Let me, let me, let me, I wasn’t finished!”


One of Bruce’s hands nestled in her hair while the other rested on Diana’s head, putting a subtle pressure on her until she reared off his cock, looking up at him imperially.


“Both of you,” Bruce said simply, and Diana licked one side of his cock and Paige tongued the other.


They ran their mouths up and down his cock, sometimes tapering off his engorged peak, meeting each other’s lips, craving each other as much as Bruce. Diana’s tongue dove into Paige’s mouth and she sucked it as she’d sucked Bruce, until the craving grew in one of them for cock once more and a woman broke away, to gag herself on Bruce’s manhood, the other woman doing the same, for his balls, his base. Five or six times they went from kissing to sucking to kissing to sucking, until Bruce wouldn’t let them up, holding their heads down on his cock as his hips jerk, thrusting his cock into their lips, his teeth gritted, his chest red.


“It’s time,” he said in a guttural voice, then pulled back to give them time to pull away. Neither did. They presented their faces as he came, embracing the storm of his cum, the hot thick flow that erupted onto them and ran down their faces like lava, drenching them, soaking into them. Soon, the Calendar Girl had a new mask.


Then, Paige felt the glide of Diana’s tongue over her skin, drinking Bruce’s cum from her face. It was a long, loving process, Paige scintillated and shuddering for the whole of it, right up until Diana’s mouth locked itself to Paige’s and she returned Bruce’s cum to the mouth that had once claimed it. It was tasty and hot and Paige’s whole body felt warm, feeling it oozing down her throat. She sucked down all she could, as well as Diana’s tongue, until Diana took charge of the kiss, making their lips become soft and relaxed together.


Then, tongues cleaned in each other’s mouths, Paige rose, led by Diana, to follow suit with Diana in kissing Bruce. One after the other. With all three of them slowing down from the orgasmic rush of the orgy’s final moments, Bruce fell to the bed with Diana and Paige to lie in a pile of bodies, touching but barely feeling.




It was just because of the straitjacket, Harley knew. If it weren’t for the straitjacket, she could touch herself and close her eyes and think of Mistah J. But she couldn’t. She could only watch them. Only watch them and squeeze her thighs together. Only watch them and think that maybe Bruce was that good.




Already, Paige was starting to long again, a longing to make up for lost time, to be part of the world, of their world. Her nipples were tense once again.


“That was beautiful,” Paige said.


“Yes, it was,” Diana replied. She held up the lasso, held it up to Paige. “But what made it that way?”


Paige grabbed the lasso. The truth came easily. “I did. I’m beautiful. I think. Aren’t I?”


“If you can’t trust Diana…” Bruce began.


Paige glanced at him and saw a surprise between his legs. “You’re still hard!”


“He does that,” Diana assured her. “It’s a tantric thing.”


“Like Sting?”


“Very much like Sting.”


“Would you like to go again?” Bruce asked her.


Paige’s cunt demanded it. The rest of her was sore and weary. “I couldn’t. Not so soon… but… maybe…”


“Yes?” Diana asked, eager to help her.


“The two of you could,” Paige suggested. “While I watch. It would be…”


“Beautiful?” Diana suggested.




Bruce looked at Diana.


Diana looked at Bruce.


“I could stand some more,” she said.


“I could give it,” Bruce said. “Princess.”


An eyebrow raised. “Rich boy. Admit it. You’ve always wanted to know if you could handle me.”


“No. I’ve always known I could handle you.” In a sweep of motion, Bruce bore her down to the bed. “I’ve just wanted to prove it.”




Prudence Wood—somewhat better known as Pru, not that she was the type to be known to more than a few people—ran a hand over her freshly shorn scalp, the skin smooth as a baby’s bottom. Meeting with Tim again, she wanted to look her best. Not just because he was fucking sexy, but because that annoying stalker of his, the Brown girl, had gotten the drop on her once and broken her fucking nose.


Obviously, Tim would frown on Pru teaching her some manners, as Pru so desperately wanted to and was more than capable of doing. But, there was nothing stopping her from stealing eggplant-girl’s man. Sex and revenge: two great tastes that tasted great together.


Three great tastes. There was also the matter of business, and if anyone knew how to get shit done, it was Pru. Even if it had to be with rubber bullets. The League of Assassins was on the move, and they most definitely didn’t use rubber anything. The Bats had to know. Tim was the only one of them she could stand. And he still hasn’t found the bug she’d planted on him.


Odd enough that his signal wasn’t coming from any operational base of his that she knew of, but judging by how long he’d been immobile, it had to be some sort of fucking lair. Maybe it was his bachelor pad. The Bats had to have some place to take their pussy. Look at Nightwing. No way he took that alien supermodel of his to a Motel 6.


Ignoring the sound of a subway train passing by, Pru judged that she was close enough to the cave or whatever it was. She pulled a pair of thermal goggles from her pack and switched them on to scope out the place. Not a convention center or anything—just two heat signatures she could see. At least two; they were all blurred together.


Christ, had someone beaten her to Jason Todding the Virgin Wonder? Pru pulled off her goggles. She’d just have to look and see.

Chapter Text


Cass and Steph had just a moment of being nakedly pressed together in Tim’s shadow before he fell upon them, his mouth ravenous for their bare breasts, his fingers desperate for the soft flesh of their thighs. All three of them were on the ground, Tim still costumed except for his cock, standing long and proud from his undone fly. It throbbed madly, felt like it would burst as it rubbed against their silky skin, so different to the eye, so alike to the touch, Steph sharing her moisturizing secrets—though that didn’t do anything to hide the occasional ridge of scar tissue his rutting found on Cass.


“Mmmm, maybe it was a good idea, letting Roxy suck that big cock, if it made you this horny!” Steph laughed, dodging kisses from both Cass and Tim before she pressed the two together, Cass hungrily tasting Tim’s lips.  “Because that’s just what Cass needs. A great big cock to make her an un-virgin.”


Tim blinked in surprise, distracted as now Steph joined in, both women kissing at him, wrestling him to the ground to get their lips on him. “You’re a virgin?”


Cass canted her head to the side. “Tore hymen in fight. Fucked Steph plenty. Not a virgin.”


“C’mon, Cass. Take it from Ms. 16 & Pregnant.” Steph laid a self-deprecating hand on her chest. “The first time with a boy is different. He comes in you, for one thing. Don’t worry, Boy Wonder, I’ve had her on birth control for the past few weeks. I was going to wait until you’d rocked my casbah a couple times to share the wealth, but since you’re such a great big slut, I guess we’re jumping straight to an Eggplant Sandwich. Sounds yummy, huh?”


“But, you’re like, a percentage a virgin,” Tim reasoned—well, hoped he was reasoning. “And you want me to be your first—boy?”


“I only want you for your body,” Cass told him, then dropped her gaze to her sex and the massive slab of cock Steph had maneuvered over it.


Tim slid forward, his cockhead pressing into her damp sex. She turned her head to the side and gave a loud cry of surprise. Her mouth stayed open. It was in. It seemed unreal, it had happened so fast. Steph had talked about it, said she wanted to see it, now it had happened. He was fully engulfed in her, throbbing in her, making her whole sex feel like something huge and hulking and powerful. It had to be, to hold him.


“You’re… going to fuck me?” she asked. Her voice was barely a whisper. “You’re… going… to fuck me?”


“If you want,” Tim said, forcing his eyes open, forcing himself to look down at her slightly flustered expression when all he could think of was the note of friction between the underside of his shaft and the slick lips of her pussy.


“Of course she wants you to.” Steph had crept down their bodies, down between their parted legs, and now was face to face with Tim’s cock. “And I want to watch.” She nuzzled at Tim’s balls, feeling them nice and warm against her face before she licked them. “Now fuck her.”


Tim felt his girlfriend’s warm mouth, heat buzzing in the hair of his balls, and he had to tense hard to keep from blowing his way. He thrust into Cass, almost to get away from Steph, and she screamed outright, feeling him gouging fully into her, pushing his balls to the crack of her ass where Steph licked them further, kissing them and Cass’s tight ass, letting his nuts heave in peace as she lowered herself to Cass’s anus and tongue-tickled the tightly constricted little circle.


Cass moaned in pleasure louder than she ever had in pain, feeling both Tim’s cock and Steph’s tongue, the mingling of the twin sensations indescribable, but too unique to ever be forgotten. In the immediate aftermath of the pain came a swelling, a convulsion, a grip of pure ecstasy on her insides.


“In, in!” she wailed at Tim, grabbing his ass to pull at. “Fuck me! Shove! Shove it in me! Fuck!” Her words no longer made sense; her body still screamed her need. Thankfully, even someone as deaf and dumb to her language as Tim could understand what to give her.


He withdrew himself slowly, leaving Cass to Steph’s tonguing, stopping when only the tip of his ballooning cock was still inside her. He waited, felt Steph lick off Cass’s cunt and up his prick, tasting Cass both a la carte and table d'hôte. When she was done, her mouth only being used to deliver a breathy sigh, Tim plowed right back into Cass even harder than before.


“You want my body?” he asked her, as she groaned, as she gasped. “Take it!” Then he fell forward to devour her small breasts, sucking her nipples up to the roof of his mouth as he punched in and out of her cunt.


And while he did, Steph lifted his balls, feeling them throb in her hand, and watched. Fascinated and maybe a little grossed out by how her boyfriend was completely skewering her bestie.


She could see Cass’s honey running out the bottom of her slit. Steph darted her tongue under Tim’s pounding cock and tasted what Cass’s flavor was with a little musky precum added to it.


“Oh, yeah,” she muttered, nuzzling Tim’s balls once more. “Fuck her good, Tim. Fuck her hard. Work that little pussy open once and for all. I wanna be able to fit a Batarang in there when you’re done!


Tim froze, feeling his climax pressing in on him again. He pushed in against Cass’s shocking tightness, felt her clench around him, held himself in her oppressive pleasure to give Steph a chance to gulp down his balls. As their boiling heat baked the back of her throat, she jabbed at her cunt, slipped fingers inside, felt waves of release loosening her knotted body.


“MMPH MMM MMF!” Steph said as she fucked herself to orgasm.


“What?” Cass asked. With Tim still, she was kissing him like she was addicted to it, moving her hands over the novel hardness of his lean body, pulling at his ass and sweat-soaked hair to make him kiss her, fuck her, pleasure her.


Steph slurped her way off Tim’s sack. “I said fuck her quick so you can fuck me!”


That finished him. Tim threw himself into Cass with all his might, feeling himself hit the back of her canal, a scream from Cass as she clenched tighter than ever, then he came, feeding the powerful hunger he felt in every inch of Cass’s passage. He writhed atop her savagely, pushing her a foot across the cold floor as he came and came.


“Take it!” he grunted. “Take it right up to your virgin brains!”


Cass gave a final, defeated gasp as her body slowly began to descend. She rubbed her hands over his back, wishing only that he was out of his costume and she could feel his flesh against hers. It had been amazing; his clothes were her only regret.


“Shit, why couldn’t you have taken my virginity?” Steph asked.


Tim looked over at her. “Well, I think there are still some things we could do for the first time.”


Steph colored, but got over it quickly. Her boyfriend was quite the perv, she thought, and she could roll with that. “Say, when Roxy was polishing your pole, did she happen to mention how it tasted?”


“No. It didn’t come up.”


“I guess she wouldn’t know.” Steph smiled dangerously. “I wanna know.” She parted their conjoined bodies with both hands, eyes aimed at Cass. “I wanna us to be the only ones who know.”


She dropped her face between Cass’s legs, the martial artist moaning anew as Steph gathered Tim’s cum from inside her. Then she pulled herself up Cass’s body, lowered her mouth to Cass’s, and poured Tim’s seed inside to begin their kiss. As Cass tasted him, she felt a hunger that was difficult to explain, but easy to compare. It’d been the same way when she ran her tongue inside Steph’s slit.


“I want more,” Cass moaned, when she wasn’t letting Steph kiss back the cum she had just shared. “Gallons.”


“How about right from the source?” Steph asked, looking to Tim. His cock half-hard still… or already…


Tim opened his mouth, then twisted his neck as he heard Cass’s computer let out a shrill beep. “That—might be the perimeter alert, I should—“


“It might be the smoke alarm needing its batteries changed, God, Tim.” Steph gave Tim a shove, landing him against the gurney he had just escaped. Sluggish with orgasm, he could barely resist as she bolted his wrists back into their manacles.


“Wait, wha—“


“You’re going to be our crash test dummy. I’m gonna use you to teach Cass how to give a decent blowjob. I don’t want you grabbing her skull and face-fucking her like you’re Peter North. “ Dropping down, Tim’s cock gave another lurch as he thought she might suck on him, but she was only catching his legs in another set of straps.


Still, Tim was on fire with lust, just from watching the two women trade his cum back and forth. He couldn’t imagine those mouths on him instead.


“Cass, are you watching?” Steph called. “Pay close attention. At first Tim seems too big to take, but I’ve had bigger—“


“You have?” Tim asked. “Where?”


“Shut up, both of you. Just watch. First, I relax my jaw…”


“Fuck yes, let’s all watch the master at work…”


Steph looked up sharply, Cass looked up sharply—Tim was a little bleary. They all saw Pru saunter into the cave, dressed as punkish as ever. Shaved head, studs in her ears, stripped arm warmers flanking a tanktop thin enough to reveal her braless nipples, and a pair of jeans that was already minus one knee. Her nose had healed, though it still bore the crock of her first encounter with Tim.


He’d had to break it; not his preferred choice, but better than letting her shoot him. Since then, he’d saved her life numerous times and she’d returned the favor by not killing him. They weren’t quite allies, even by Gotham standards, where Harley Quinn could count as a hero just for not being the craziest person on the block. But Tim wasn’t too reluctant to trust her.


Still, there was trust and then there was letting someone see you get a hummer. Tim rattled his chains. He thought Steph might’ve let him get loose last time. This was—really well done. And he might’ve dropped his lockpick during the menage a trois.


Seeing the intruder, Steph quickly draped her arms over her breasts and sex. Cass just glared. Tim tried wiggling his hips, but that only drew more attention to his manhood, not less. “This is why when the computer beeps, we look at it.


“Relax, fuckos,” Pru said. “I come in peace. It’s a good thing you’ve gotten your sodding rocks off, because if half the things I hear about the League of Assassins are true, there won’t be any time for knob-polishing in the next few—“


She stopped suddenly, barely able to keep herself from gasping aloud. She’d been an early bloomer, running with the gangs in Liverpool. Used sex to keep boyfriends, score drugs, whatever. It wasn’t her only currency, and she knew that rarity increased its value, but it hadn’t been currency she’d been reluctant to spend. As she climbed the ladder and her skill with a piece grew, she’d had less and less call to give a blowie or let someone dog her for what she wanted. She could just buy it, or point and click with one of her growing arsenal.


Then the League of Assassins had scooped her up, and that had taken up the rest of her brief adult life. Not much time for love then, just some incest-y fuckbooks for her to use while she flipped her gash the bird, the occasional bit of internet porn when she had a spare moment, which was not often between training and assignments.


So though she was far from a virgin, she’d never seen a cock quite like she did when Cass shifted out of the way and she could see Tim’s. It was gargantuan; the biggest she had ever seen in real life. Even the ones she had seen that size in porn had either been special effects (she assumed) or black guys. But Tim looked to be hung like one of the stallions Ra’s al Ghul put to stud.


“Hey!” Steph cried, realizing what had happened to prompt Pru’s awkward pause. She quickly stepped in front of Tim, tightening her grip on her own modesty. “That is off the menu! Maybe Tim had time for skanks like you back when he was being all emo, but now he’s us to ‘polish his knob.’”


“What, Teen Mom and an Asian side chick?”


“Better than a tranny version of Captain Picard!”


“Somewhat offensive,” Tim said.


Pru crossed her arms, realizing it was going to be like that. “You’re the bitch who broke my nose, aren’t you?”


“Is she talking to me or you?” Steph asked Tim.


“I think you might’ve been projecting a little,” Pru continued. “Because if anyone here needs a nosejob, it’s you.”


“I have my mother’s nose, she’s Jewish, this is part of my heritage!” Steph protested. “And you’re a fine one to talk about having work done.”


“What… going on?” Cass asked. “Why are you shouting when you’re… so horny?”


That was the one thing she could’ve said to absolutely push Pru to the next level. “What the fuck are you talking about, Sailor Moon?”


Cass checked the cant of Pru’s hip again. “Definitely horny.”


“The only thing that’s making me horny, motherfucker, is the thought of taking that bitch friend of yours and bouncing her around this cave like the fucking boulder in fucking Indiana Jones!” Then, Pru snidely smiled at Steph. “With the way you’re retaining water, I can definitely see the resemblance.”


“Alright, cow, that’s it!” Dropping her arms to her side, Steph launched herself at Pru, who went for her guns.


She didn’t get to them before Steph was tackling her to the ground. They weren’t only fighting, they were fighting dirty. Pru aimed a knee at Steph’s kidneys, but Steph was too fast, yanking down Pru’s pants so that her legs were locked together. Then she started slapping Pru with heavy palms that slammed her face to one side, then the other.


Pru grabbed hold of Steph’s long blonde hair to break free, jerking her around by it like a dog on a leash until she had Steph thrown to the ground. Then she leapt on Steph from behind, reaching around her to grab her breasts and squeeze them as hard as she could. Steph gasped at the intense sensation of having Pru’s fingers digging into her tits. She threw her head back, Pru always dodging, until she went with her elbow instead, nailing Pru in the ribs and throwing her off.


Twisting around like a startled cat, she threw herself on Pru again, forcing her breasts into Pru’s face. Pru made a muffled noise as she was smothered, Steph holding her arms down against the ground, digging her knees into Pru’s belly to paralyze her lower half. Pru kicked as best she could with her pants around her knees, but it was totally in vain.


“I’d like to see those bird tits of yours do this,” Steph hissed, grinding her chest into Pru’s face to keep her air supply cut off as Pru wiggled around, trying to get some air. “And they called me Robin…”


Then she felt Pru biting, teeth snapping at first harmlessly, then managing to close on some flesh. Steph moaned—it hurt kinda nice. Then Pru got her teeth on her nipple. That really hurt, but still sent a flare straight to Steph’s pussy, which she began grinding against Pru’s stomach. Abs and ratty tanktops had the most interesting texture…


It was the fuck, the fight. Steph was just too keyed up to turn her body off. She kept rubbing against Pru even as the skinhead realized what was happening, making muffled sounds of protest as Steph continued to grind on her. Cass and Tim watched in confused arousal, Tim’s half-hearted erection growing much more eager. Without looking, Cass reached out and began to stroke it.


“Hey!” Tim cried, once more testing his bonds.


“You’ll need it,” Cass told him as she rubbed him briskly into hardness.


Steph was quickly forgetting she was in a fight. It felt too good, too right, for her to remember anything but the wonderful sensation she got rutting against her victim. She closed her eyes in pleasure and that’s when Prudence struck.


She’d stopped struggling, but slowly, stealthily, she’d wiggled her pants down her legs and kicked them off. Now, clad only in her panties, she jerked her knee up and struck Steph clearly between the shoulder blades. Steph faceplanted, and Pru whirled to her feet, raising her boot to stomp on Steph’s face when she heard, quite clearly—


“Cunt,” Cass said.


With a roar of rage, Pru wheeled on her and charged. Cass let her come, but at the last moment, like the world’s fastest matador, she slipped out of Pru’s way, tripped her, caught her, and slowed her fall as she came down, open-mouthed, on Tim’s cock.


Pru was wide-eyed as she inadvertently sucked down Tim’s shaft. It seemed to take an eternity before her wide-spread lips were even halfway down his shaft. Even Cass was surprised. “Where… does it all… go?” she wondered.


“Right here,” Steph said, coming up behind Pru to hold her down with one hand, while touching between her breasts with the other. Cass captured Pru’s arms, holding them still as Steph groped her breasts, squeezing them as hard as Pru had done to her. She ripped Pru’s shirt away to get at her nipples. “And there must be plenty of room for it, without any tits to get in the way. What are you, an A-cup? No wonder you’re not wearing a bra, Kiera Knightley; bet you don’t even need one.”


Pru tried to say something suitably profane, but her lashing tongue only hit Tim’s dick, making him exhale hard.


“Ha! I like your mouth much better when it’s being fucked instead of saying ‘fuck’.” Steph nodded to Cass. “Move. I got her.”


As Pru struggled vainly, Steph slid behind her, locking both Pru’s arms in a full nelson and splaying her hands on Pru’s bald head. With her new grip, she began to force Pru up and down on Tim, launching another explosive sigh from him.


“Take his cock,” Steph ordered, pulling Pru up and then slamming her back down. “Deep throat my great big boyfriend cock!”


Pru didn’t have much choice in the matter. As far as Steph was concerned, Tim didn’t want her lips or her tongue. He wanted her throat, and he wanted to fuck it as hard as any pussy had ever taken it.


“Uh, Steph?” Tim said. “There might be a little too much surprise in this sex, if you know what I mean.”


“Relax, Timbo, I didn’t slip you a mickey…”


“Not me, her.” Tim looked down and gasped in shock, seeing Pru gulping his entire shaft into her throat, nibbling at his pubic hairs. “Shit, first try too…”


“She wants it,” Steph assured him. “Doesn’t she, Cass?”


“Body begging for it,” Cass confirmed. “Cunt too.” She reached down into Pru’s panties, the girl wiggling to get away from her touch before giving into it, breath pitching dramatically on Tim’s manhood. Her eyes rolled back in her head as Cass felt her, then took her hand away to a dismayed moan. “See? Wet.”


“Cass, lick his balls,” Steph ordered as she bounced Pru up and down on Tim’s cock. “Now that Tim’s finally being a good boyfriend, I want to reward him with getting his cock sucked as much as possible.”


“Then you do it!” Pru retorted, though her muffled words only succeeded in convincing Tim to buck himself deeper into her hot mouth. She gagged.


Steph began pulling her off Tim’s cock, willing to show a little mercy, but Pru made frantic, negative noises. It was only when Steph pushed her back down on Tim that she relaxed. Gave in. Took him all like she was built for his prick.


As Pru’s mouth temporarily came off Tim, Cass gave his dick a last, longing look, then knelt down beside the gurney. She took one of his balls in her mouth, saw it fit, then took the other. They throbbed inside her cheeks and she ran her tongue between them, exploring the contents of his scrotum, feeling his seed readying itself inside.


Pru was now bobbing her head up and down furiously, Steph’s hands only resting on her scalp. Steph actually had to make an effort to stop her from fucking her mouth on his dick, but she succeeded in holding Pru still. “Well, Tim? How do you like being our boyfriend-slash-boytoy?”


“It’s pretty great,” Tim said, feeling awkward about having to rate it.


“And how do you like having your big dick sucked and fucked?”


“I’m… a fan…”


“And what about having Cass lick those great big balls you’re packing while you fuck this little whore’s face?”


Pru shot Steph an angry glance as best she could with Steph behind her.


“Uhh—I think calling her a sex worker might be a little much.”


Steph rolled her eyes and shoved Pru down on his cock again. “Just come down her throat. You’re the one guy in Gotham who needs to watch more porn; you just cannot make smalltalk.”


She wrestled Pru up off his cock, until only his cockhead sat on her thin lips, and Pru Frenched the purple-headed monster, drawing her lips tight on the knob, sticking her tongue against the slit. Steph released her and, uncaring, Pru worked her way down his shaft, lovingly throating herself with him.




Cass was haplessly sitting on the floor; Steph sat down in her lap, crushing their breasts together, cunts pulling against each other like magnets. The blonde kissed Cass, working one of Tim’s balls out of her mouth, taking it for herself. Together, they sucked and slurped on his bag, rutting against each other as they did so, feeling out every inch of bare flesh they could. Pru was gagging herself on Tim,  his cum was throbbing like a heartbeat in his balls and in their mouths, the loose skin of his scrotum now as tight as a drum.




Pru only noticed that Tim would come soon and that her hands were now free to touch herself. She did, finding her orgasm waiting for her in her cunt, already building heatedly. She fingered herself as aggressively as she throated Tim, plunging her fingers in from the tip of her fingernails all the way to the palm, her hips pumping against her own hand like she was trying to take its virginity.


She went faster and faster, crouching deeper, spreading her legs further, cupping her breast with her free hand and trying to squeeze it as hard as Steph had done. Her whole body was full of a boiling, burning, churning sensation and whenever she seemed filled to capacity, there just seemed to be more of it. She was going to cum and Pru knew it would be like nothing she had ever felt before.


“You’re better hurry!” Tim said, seeing what she was doing. “I’m about to—“


His words became a shocked groan of raw pleasure, a sudden sharp cry that filled the room. His cock expanded almost painfully in Pru’s mouth before Pru felt him, wet and hot, in the back of her throat. Pru quickly pulled herself from around his cock, exiting with his cum still steaming atop her tongue. He pulsed again, his scalding seed deluging her face.


Pru ignored it, only aware of her fingers sawing in and out of her, only knowing that she needed more. As Tim showered her breasts with cum, her free hand clawed at one cheek of her ass, outstretched fingers probing into her anus. There was a moment of doubt, then her own urgent pleasure, her need and the lewd taboo of the moment pressed her on.


Her fingers pressed against the tight ring, parted it, filled it, the sphincter closing tightly around the two fingertips she had used. It felt like an orgasm waiting to happen.




Feeling his balls tightening, Steph released them from her mouth and raised her head between his legs, opening her mouth as she blocked his spurting dick. He came in her hair, her face, her mouth, and as Steph laughed excitedly, she grabbed Cass’s hand and pulled the other Batgirl to her, palming Tim’s cock to the side to come on Cass’s face. Cass opened her mouth and he unerringly landed on her tongue. It glistened there for a moment before she swallowed, sliding it into her stomach where she rubbed at it, surprised by how aware she was of its sluggish heat.


Tim’s hips were shaking, his face contorted. “Somebody suck me—there’s still more—fucking suck me!”


Kneeling before him, Steph turned her face down, took him in her mouth, and slurped up all that was left. He came upon more and this she didn’t swallow, instead letting it boil between her cheeks. When she was sure he had stopped, she used her tongue to gather up the stray precum that had run down to his balls, lapping at his cock until it glistened, and then moving to kiss Cass. As she did, she carried Tim’s seed on her tongue.


“Mmmmmm,” Cass moaned approvingly, eagerly accepting more of the sweet delicacy Steph had introduced her to. She swished it around her mouth, had a swallow, still had more on her tongue. She kissed Steph, who excitedly sucked it away in turn.




Pru was still fucking her fingers in and out of her ass and pussy, her breath hissing out of her. It seemed to be another person who chanted “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” as if she were begging for something. Sweat covered her body underneath her ravished clothes; she realized that she was covered in cum and it only increased the volume of the mad thoughts, fantasies, that ran through her head. She thought of Tim and Steph and Cass with strap-ons, all fucking her in every time of her holes, Tim in her mouth again, about to fill her belly with all the cum it could hold—


In a fit of pure, urgent need, she shoved another finger into her anus, into her cunt, into her ass again, feeling like she would fist herself, fist-fuck both her holes and that thought more than anything else made her come, made her finally, wonderfully come—






As she’d masturbated, Cass and Steph had kissed Tim’s cum back and forth between them as it dwindled down their throats and smeared on their lips, their faces, until finally their hunger was just too demanding. With a great smack of their lips, they sucked as much as they could between them and drank it down.


More,” Cass moaned, putting Steph in mind of high school and Oliver Twist book reports. She almost laughed, Cass just sounded so forlorn.


Cass looked to Tim with a sudden purr in her voice. “More?”


He was panting. “Yes—more—but not just yet. Have to wait a while.”


“Don’t like waiting,” Cass replied. “Steph doesn’t make me wait. She just comes and comes and—“


“He gets the idea,” Steph interrupted. “Cass, boys aren’t like girls. He’s like a—a cum-factory. It takes him a while to make more.”


Cass’s eyes went to Tim’s balls, which did look smaller than they’d felt in her mouth. She fondled them, not hearing Tim’s groan. “How long?”


“Not long,” Steph said. “I’m sure all this hot lesbian action is doing a real number on him!”


“Yeah,” Tim said, stifling a yawn. An all-night patrol followed by an hour-long fuckfest was not easy on his sleep cycle. “I just… need a minute.”


Want more now.”


And that’s when Pru came so dramatically.




As one, Cass and Steph turned to look at her, the girl who had taken the first of Tim’s load—the most of Tim’s load.


“Holy shit,” Pru said, laughingly licking the fingers that had so recently been making themselves useful between her legs. “I think I broke something… I don’t know if I can ever fucking come again!”


“We’ll see,” Steph said.


Tim watched as her and Cass molded their bodies to Pru, the skinhead putting up a token resistance before giving into the two tongues traveling her body. His first impulse was to join them.


His second impulse was to go back to the sleep he’d been brought out of by Pru’s screaming orgasm.

Chapter Text

Bruce would only focus on one part of Diana at a time, only take in what was presented to his lips. First, the delicate curve of her ear. Then the crisp line of her cheekbone. The softness of her cheek, perfectly straddling a supermodel’s hollowness and a pin-up girl’s fullness. Then her neck he tickled with the tip of his tongue. Diana was not one to respond lightly; she merely fluttered her eyelashes, even as his mouth came down the strong slope of her chest, down a firm breast, onto an erect nipple.


Paige was far more vocal, watching. Her hands flexing on her thighs. “Oh yes… suck them…” she said, her silky voice caressing Bruce’s ears with its aroused purr.


Diana’s flesh was hot underneath his fingers, her nipple strikingly hard amidst the softness of her breast. He lashed it with his tongue, the little nub so hard that it tried to resist bending, but it was finally left trembling with pleasure. He sucked on it, hard, pursing his lips around it, not stopping until it had swollen in his mouth. He sucked so hard that saliva ran from his mouth, trickling down her breast until he could feel it sticking between his groping fingers.


“She’s going to come,” Paige moaned. “She’s got to come!”


Diana just smiled wryly. She wasn’t as easy a lay as the Calendar Girl pictured her, and she wouldn’t give in to any but the best of pleasures. If she didn’t see sex as a battle, it was certainly a competition. An opportunity to prove her mettle. She wouldn’t make it easy for him.


Bruce lifted himself up. His need for Diana was already so great that his body seemed to cling to hers, but inevitably he was above her on stiff arms, looking down at her perfect body, cunt wet and clit throbbing. She spread her legs, almost challengingly, and he speared into her. Diana let out a yipping cry and looked guiltily about herself, before he wedged himself into her again, coating his belly with her wetness.


“You can feel it inside you!” Paige moaned jealously, almost incoherent with desire. “Oh, his wonderful cock… fuck her with it, Bruce, fuck her! She needs to come!”


Still driving in and out of her sex, Bruce retreated even further, moving his arms under Diana’s legs instead of over them, resting them on either side of her firm thighs so she was bent double underneath him. Her powerful calves were propped against his chest, her dainty feet falling from his broad shoulders with toes curling. He drove straight down into her, with her upturned cunt catching his thrusts.


Grabbing her lasso, Diana slung it around the back of Bruce’s straining neck, holding on with both hands like a bronco buster in the saddle. And as Bruce leaned over her, forcing her into a serpentine curl, crushing her warm thighs into her own breasts and smelling her cunt inches from his mouth, he found himself compelled to speak.


“Love your cunt,” he gritted out. “Love it. Need to fuck it. Fuck you. Make you come. Come like you deserve to.”


But the glowing lasso blazed in Diana’s hands as well, as she squirmed in pleasure, pulling on it no harder than Bruce could resist. “So deep! Great Aphrodite, you’re in so deep! So big!”


Grunting animalistically, Bruce hoisted her hindquarters up, cradled underneath him as he literally mounted her, Diana now upside-down on her shoulders. His hands locked onto her curves, bulging arms straining against the back of her legs as he hammered into her with all his weight and force.


Diana held herself up with preternatural balance, hands on the headboard, even Paige rushed to help her, body pressed against Diana’s muscular back. Bruce drove in until he could go no further, then pulled all the way out, only to unerringly jam himself back inside. Diana breathed hard, from pleasure, not from effort. Every time Bruce’s cock came out, it was dripping with her budding orgasm.


“Hera, give me strength!” Diana yelled, pulling the lasso between her teeth. She bit down hard as Bruce literally pile-drove her, all grunting determination, and only the pleasure of the fuck. The lips of her melting sex tensed on his cock. “Aphrodite, make me come!”


Bruce grunted louder, her cunt climbing his cock. He slapped at her ass, knowing she liked her pleasure cut with bondage, pain. Diana growled into the lasso with each hit. Her cunt was spilling, a river over the crown of her belly, down her rippling abs. Bruce stopped, legs akimbo, and picked Diana up altogether to ram her onto his prick.


Her gray eyes exploded open, staring with open disbelief at her own liquid cunt. It was suspended in the air, split open just inches above her face. She could see how widely his manhood had stretched it. Square jaw slack, eyes glazed over, she watched herself being fucked.


Bruce spanked her again. This time, on her clit.


Diana screamed.


“She’s coming!” Paige cried. “Don’t let her stop! Keep fucking her!”


Diana’s eyes were still wide open, seemingly vacant as she soared at the height of her orgasm. But she saw him thrust into her again. She saw her own sex rebel, melt, become a wild geyser of liquid pleasure that crashed down onto her own bountiful breasts, joining the sweat and saliva their sex had already left there. Her lasso glowed bright.


“I love it!” she groaned, eyes shutting as his pumping cock forced her squirting onto her face. “Your cock—going in and out of me—making my cunt go wild—making me come—great Hera, I’m coming!”


“I will too,” Bruce promised, cool but under pressure. “Come in your cunt, where it belongs, come hard, give you what you deserve.” He could feel his own orgasm, hot and leaden within himself, a tightening ball of piercing pleasure. He thrust in and out of Diana, feeling the friction change as she clamped down with her climax. She’d accepted his cock readily, but now her tensing folds were tight as a virgin’s.


Paige’s eyes were wide and white with excitement. “It’s amazing… amazing!”


Bruce was groaning aloud now, sweat running freely down him, his thighs almost sore with tension, his cock harder than ever. He slammed himself into Diana’s bent, supplicating body, reaching after that elusive final sensation that would make him truly lose control. Not just orgasm, but give into Diana. Whatever their contest was, he didn’t want to win. He just wanted his best. An animal fullness of Diana’s cunt, to satisfy her, to show worth. It only made sense on a subconscious, warrior level.


“Get ready,” Bruce grunted at her, pounding his hips against hers, meeting her thighs’ undulations with fierce stabs of his cock that met all the resistance of warm butter. The color had drained from Diana’s face. Coming so hard almost seemed to hurt her.


Wave after wave of sensation washed through him, testing him, pushing him to his limits. He tightened down, forcing away the growing strength of his orgasm. He thrust into Diana viciously, anxiously, jackhammering her head into the mattress. “Soon!” he announced with an air of warning.


“One more time!” Diana begged, demanded. “Don’t stop now!”


Now Bruce roared, fixated only on giving her what she wanted, proving himself to her. He picked Diana up once more, all of her, hands like vises on her waist as he dangled her off the side of the bed. She hung upside-down and he forced her against gravity, beaching her on his cock again and again. She thrashed, legs kicking wildly, and Paige could see the look on her face as she bobbed up and down, onto Bruce’s cock and off. There were almost tears in her eyes as she grated against him. Her greed for orgasm was utterly debauched.


“Coming again!” Diana moaned, fingers dug into her breasts until the knuckles whitened, her grips turned red. “Oh, thank Aphrodite!”


“Thank me!” Bruce roared, with her cunt on fire, his cock like steel in a forge, giving himself through the molten lead of her orgasm.


And Paige watched it all between Bruce’s legs, fingering her pussy, her own ass, coming harder than she ever had in her life and still wishing she could be climaxing like Diana. “Thank you for making her come, thank you so much--!”


Diana finally got her body under some control—wrapped her legs around Bruce’s waist, sat up, faced him as she hung from her leglock. “Come inside me! Claim my cunt! I love you so fucking much!”


“I love you too!” Bruce panted as he came, thick surges of pleasure coursing down the length of his cock, evidence of his orgasm pumping into the depths of her body.


Through the haze of her excitement, Paige saw his balls swelling. She reached out and cupped them in her hand, feeling the sweet fullness of his ejaculation, feeling how much cum it took to fill Wonder Woman up. “Thank you, thank you!”


Diana joined their orgasms, swept away by the current of it, feeling the hot gush of Bruce’s seed inside her. “I’m still coming! I can’t stop! I won’t stop!” She fell back, suspended by his hands on her hips, her legs around his waist, and his spewing cock deep inside her.


Bruce shot powerfully into the swallowing softness of her, until it seemed like she was drowning in him. But her sex was insatiable, sucking away his essence with sheer hunger. They seemed to duel for an eternity, his orgasm trying to match itself against the velvet squeeze of hers. It took a long time for him to soften, for her to relax her tenacious hold—then he eased her down to the floor, hunched forward one last time, to drive his weakening member into the puddle between her thighs, and for Diana to ground and squeeze herself against him in one last embrace, one last kiss.


“Marry me,” he offered, begged, ordered.


“Yes,” she said, even more terse than him.


Then he pulled out of her, Diana resting upside-down, legs in the air, him sitting heavily on the mattress. Paige fell forward, exhausted just from watching, to rest her tired head between Diana’s legs. The musk of Bruce’s seed surrounded her. The man himself fell heavily atop her, just lying there, breathing hard, feeling their mingled fluids spreading out over the mattress.


“I wanna get married too,” Paige yawned.


Bruce kissed behind her ear. “Then clean that up,” he said, nodding to Diana’s open, saturated cunt. “I’ll want to use it soon.”


Obediently, Paige lapped at Diana, ensuring the Amazon had even sweeter dreams than usual.




Roxy kept watching, but she was no longer sitting down. Now she straddled her rocket, revving the engine without triggering the ignition, the laptop balanced precariously in front of her. She held it in place while squirming her bare sex against the rocket’s cool metal chassis, right on the roof of her building where anyone could see. She hoped Bruce would get back to work soon. Some licking and fingering was nice for warm-ups, but she really loved feeling some power between her legs.


She revved the engine harder, making the rocket kick against her cunt, wanting to take off. Soon. Soon. Already, she could see Bruce’s cock reviving. But as long as it was half-hard, she checked her computer.


The livefeed was recording right to her hard drive, though she didn’t yet know what she’d do with a couple hours of Bruce Wayne fucking anything that moved.


After all, she couldn’t take her laptop into the shower with her.




A vibrating cell phone made Bruce aware of the morning sun filling the room, the sheets that had tangled to connect him to Paige, the disappearance of Diana. He was surprised that Diana had managed to slip away without waking him, but if anyone could manage it, she could. She’d left a note on the nightstand, the words in ancient Greek. He answered the phone as he read it.


Bruce. I meant what I said. But I need to take care of some things. We’ll discuss this further.


They had more in common than he would’ve thought. Bruce folded the letter up. It was Tim on the other end of the call.


“Timothy, anything to report?” he asked in his socialite voice, though the operative word was the last in the sentence.


“Yeah, uh, Pru came by, you know, Prudence? She’s back in town and we had a talk… I mean, me and Cass and Steph… Cass and Steph helped… we all had a talk, just talking and she said, in our talk, that Talia and Nyssa al Ghul are on their way to Gotham.”


Paige was coming awake, wrapped around his waist. She looked up into his eyes and he let them soften, regard her appreciatively, Paige smiling as she received his look. “Any particular reason?” he asked, his tone still light.


“Apparently Ra’s is pissed about you marrying someone other than his daughter, not being his heir, so they’re going to personally kill us all, burn Gotham to the ground, you know, the usual.”


“That does sound tricky. Let Barbara know, make sure all our divisions are prepared for a hostile takeover. I don’t want to lose anyone to the competition.”


“Will do,” Tim said with a salute in his tone. “And Cass and Steph and I just talked to Pru.” He hung up.


Bruce regarded Paige as she pulled the sheet away from her body, a little bit of sweat still glimmering on her.


“Show me how beautiful I am again.”


Bruce picked her up, carrying her to the mirror on the wall.




Harley came awake to see Paige’s flesh pressed against the glass, her breath fogging the mirror as it was pumped out of her by Bruce’s thrusting, demanding cock.


She was getting more turned on watching them than she ever had servicing the Joker.




Pinned to the mirror, Paige cupped her succulent breasts in her hands and squeezed them gently. Her nipples were so swollen they seemed ready to burst.


“Look how firm my tits are!” she said with surprise at her own attractiveness.


“Your ass isn’t so bad either,” Bruce told her, as she felt his finger slide up her puckered hole. Fucking her pussy even more feverishly, Bruce jammed two fingers up Paige at the same time, wiggling them inside her.


“You’re gonna fuck my tits next?” Paige groaned, the tanned cheeks of her ass tightening together, asshole closing around Bruce’s jabbing fingers. “Maybe my mouth?”


“I’ll fuck you anywhere I can,” he promised her, and Paige moaned in delight.




Through the mirror, Harley could see Paige’s throbbing asshole grip at the third of Bruce’s fingers to be added. Bruce pushed harder, his fingertips going all the way up Paige’s ass. When Paige came, it was so hard that flecks of her juices hit the glass.


Then Paige was asleep again, slumped against Bruce’s body. Harley supposed it made sense. She hadn’t gotten much sleep during the night, after all.


Bruce carried her back to the bed, setting her down, his cock slipping out of her still enough to make her moan. Then his gargantuan erection was bared to the air, standing straight out from his loins, dripping with her juices, almost majestic.


He went to the door, unlocked it, and stepped through. Harley shivered, vibrating just to be in the same room as that hardness.


“You’re better than the Joker,” she told him, words squeaking their way out of her, burning in the air, cutting their way out of her like metal.


Bruce approached her. His cock was still wet. So was she.




Tim walked through the jewelry store, actually semi-confident in his choice. The League of Assassins were coming to kill them all. He was dating Steph, and by extension, Cass. He might as well make it official before, most likely, they were all murdered by swords.


Of course, he still had doubts about the choices. He thought Steph would like an amethyst ring with an almost gaudily sized gem, but what kind of ring would Cass want? He kept thinking he should let Steph decide—Cass was more her girlfriend than his. But then, Steph could be pretty traditional about this stuff. She’d want him to figure it out.


So, something that wouldn’t get in the way of Cass punching someone, maybe something silver, with the gem inlaid? What did they call that, a princess cut? Would Steph care if she got an amethyst and Cass got a diamond? Probably. So should he get Cass an amethyst too? But then that would make Steph’s seem less special, and more like he just had a thing…


“So, who’re the lucky ladies?” Vicki Vale asked, casually pointing a voice recorder his way like she was holding him hostage.


Tim snapped shut the ring boxes he’d been examining, as if that would help. “How do you even know I’m here?”


“The most exclusive jewelry boutique in the city? They text me whenever someone famous so much as uses the restroom. Now, I have a feeling that one of those is you finally pulling the trigger on Tam Fox, but who’s the other one for?”


“Tam and I were never getting married. That was just a silly rumor.”


“Uh-huh. So, she gets frozen out completely? Not sure that’ll sit well with her in our interview later today. I say our interview, but it’s not like you’ll be there… how about you tell me just one of the affianced and I’ll play softball?”


“Maybe they’re nipple rings. Ever think of that?”


“Tim Drake has pierced nipples. Not the hottest scoop, but I’ll—“


Vicki stopped suddenly, looking around the jewelry store, finding a waste bin tucked into a corner, running for it before falling to her hands and knees to retch violently. Tim went to her, digging an 8-ounce bottled water out of his jacket. When she was done, he handed it to her, and she rinsed her mouth out.


“You alright?”


“Yeah. Stomach bug. Shit!” Vicki gargled and spat into the bin. “First I miss my period, now this!”

Chapter Text

He was big, he was so big, and he let Harley know it, too, going into her with an almost teasing slowness, keeping her eyes wide with anticipation, her body quivering with need. The tidy globes of her breasts jiggled as she vibrated with excitement, desperate for more, but holding still out of her submissiveness.


Her eyes got wider, wider, as he just kept pushing into her, filling her to a point she hadn’t known she could be. Even Ivy only gave her so many fingers, so much tentacles. But Bruce was just so much… more.


“I think it likes me!” Harley said in a feeble attempt at joking, feeling him throb inside her.


Bruce ignored her, like she wasn’t even worthy of attention beyond the tightness she provided his cock, and Harley thrummed at the thought. She was just his bitch. His tight little bitch for him to fuck. And she loved it. Sure, it was nice to cuddle and play and kiss with Ivy, that’s what gal pals were for, but if she was going to be fucked—and fucked hard—she needed someone who could treat her that way. Like someone who needed it. Like a dirty, filthy addict that just needed their fix.


Bruce groaned, feeling her tighten on him. His hands purred up her flat belly, to the slopes of enticing flesh that led to her stiff nipples. Harley bit her lip as he dug into their softness, molded them to the contours of his hands with hearty squeezes. He kneaded and tugged her tits as if they were bread dough rather than sensitive flesh, grinding his callused fingers into her nipples, tugging, then flattening them down to her chest.


Harley moaned from deep in her throat, her nipples fattening to dark little targets for his hands. Noticing their erection, he found and fondled them, pinching and rolling them between his fingertips. Pulling on them, almost hurting her before the tight flesh slipped from his fingers and slapped back to her chest, where they glowed with pink warmth from his affection.


Then he slapped her left tit, spanked it really, making certain his palm connected with her already stinging nipples. Harley threw her head back, gargling in a way that had nothing to do with making herself appealing, everything to do with pleasure. He slapped her right breast, equally hard, and Harley’s back arched. Presenting her heaving breasts for more.


She squealed as Bruce picked her up, forcing her breasts to his mouth as though she were weightless, sucking on them vampirically. She moaned, her cunt pulling tighter, tighter, as his mouth ravenously devoured her aching tit, giving her pain spiked with pleasure.


Then, holding Harley up to his face with one arm, Bruce took his free hand and brought it down on her ass, her thigh, her hip, making Harley’s body bloom with two fires at once. She was moaning, groaning, going cross-eyed even before he ate her other breast. Then she was just breathing heavily, forcing air in and out of her lungs with the concentration of a monk.


She didn’t even notice him putting his hand on her head until he pressed down, an inherently demeaning gesture, forcing her to take his cock right up to the base. Harley’s eyes became two small moons as she discovered she could have an orgasm with a man.


“You’re the best. You’re better than Mistah J.”


He hoisted her up, holding her to his chest with a hand pressed to the small of her back, and she instinctively wrapped her arms and legs around him to keep his cock inside her as he stood.


“You’re the best.” Harley crooned, his cock jostling in her pussy as he walked out of the room. “You’re better than Mistah J.”


She kept up the litany, nearly cataonic, as he carried her back to the bedroom she shared with Poison Ivy.




Ivy was enjoying a very nice dream before she woke. She had Batman trussed up, splayed helplessly between her vines, and naturally she had removed his utility belt so he couldn’t use it to escape. Next, she’d strip off his armor to make sure he didn’t have any tricks left to him, then she’d kiss him to put him down for good. But—where to kiss him?


Abruptly, Ivy jerked awake. Harley was elbows and knees on the bed, her sleek, petite ass up above her pillow for Ivy’s inspection, the same tawny paleness as the rest of her. Ivy was about to yell at Harley not to start a pillow fight while she was trying to sleep, when suddenly she noticed the pink lips of Harley’s cunt glinting through her dark pubic hair. They were moist.


“Take me from behind!” Harley panted. “Get up on me like a kid on a supermarket ride!”


“No,” Bruce replied, eying her trembling ass. “Like a dog takes a bitch.”


Ivy watched, eyes only open a crack, not sure she wasn’t still dreaming as Bruce edged up behind the trim woman, hands grabbing Harley’s ass, pressing hard into the vulnerable flesh. Squeezing it to an all-too-pleased redness. Harley whimpered with delight, hiding her face in the mattress as she thrust her ass even higher in the air. Bruce’s grip tightened, turning Harley’s slightly arched back to gooseflesh. Ivy couldn’t believe what she was seeing.


Relinquishing his hold on her ass without hesitation, like he hadn’t been enjoying it at all—he had, from the mammoth shadow growing between his legs—he ran his hand down Harley’s legs, first the outsides of her thighs, then behind her knees, then up her inner thighs. They spread to his touch, Harley’s ass now bearing down to press her cunt to his touch. He curled a finger, letting it be devoured by Harley’s slit. Ivy could see how easily he slid inside. Harley was hot and wet and ready. Needy.


“Good girl,” Bruce said. “Gooooood girl.”


Her gripping folds sucked at his finger like a kiss, but nonetheless he pulled it free from her flooded channel, grabbing his cock, the feel of his own wettened finger on his length whetting his appetite. Gripping his full, throbbing length, he packed himself into her, Harley unable to keep from throwing herself backward as he drove in, slamming her ass against his cement-hard abs.


“Hard!” she grunted, loud enough that Ivy was sure she would’ve woken if this were a dream. “I got you so hard…”


“Yes,” Bruce said, reaching up to run a hand through her hair, tapering it comfortingly down her back, her spine, her ass. “You did.”


Harley’s months without a man, her years without a giving male lover, had been long. She was bisexual, polyamorous, and Ivy could satisfy a great deal of her urges, but as a sub, Harley needed a strong master to feel complete—or at least, so her diagnosis went. And honestly, Ivy was something of a pushover. Harley could top from the bottom with far too much ease to take Red’s domination of her too seriously. They were equals, and Harley knew she should like that, just like she shouldn’t like the Joker, but it just didn’t quite fit her.


She’d had to content herself with table scraps of the Joker’s affection for years to get the approval and attention from him that she craved. Now, caught between Bruce’s care, his affection, and his casual mastery of her and sexual prowess, her body lit like a fuse.


Harley covered her head with her hands, screeching into the mattress, kicking her feet as the pleasure continued unabated. She didn’t want it to be over so soon. She expected that, even if Bruce was no Joker, this would still be like it often was with Ivy.


Ivy could be hella affectionate, but she could also get irritated with Harley, expecting cuddles on demand then running back to the Joker, and punishing her with the bare minimum she could give to keep Harley around. Just throwing Harley down on the floor, plowing into her, making her come just once with the ease that came from dating such an easy lay, then telling Harley to scram and going back to her work.


So it was with some surprise that Harley found her waist being encircled by Bruce’s thick arms again, his fingers roughly pulling open her pussy as if it needed to be any more spread with his dick already penetrating it. Just as hastily, his fingertips probed her stingingly hard clitoris, and as Bruce’s cock enjoyed the heated softness of Harley’s cunt, he gave her clit the attention it wanted.


Harley came helplessly. Usually, the Joker didn’t even notice he’d given Harley an orgasm—because he was asleep or looped out on pain meds from having his teeth knocked out again—and that negligence got Harley off just fine, but having Bruce fling himself into her dampness, his rough fingers grating on her swollen bud, it was like he was forcing her to have an orgasm, demanding it from her, not willing to settle for any ol’ sigh or grunt she might make. No, he needed her to scream.




Ivy had no choice but to open her eyes in the face of that outburst. And she’d just thought she’d be able to touch herself under the sheet without them noticing.




“Harl!” Ivy gritted out, growling through gritted teeth. She couldn’t get the image out of her head; her and Bruce and Harley and the rubber chicken. If only that stupid clown only hadn’t blown her cover, she could be fucking herself right now!


Bruce jerked away from Harley, shoving her down on her own pillow as he withdrew from her. Tears instantly filled Harley’s eyes. “Uh-uh, uh-uh!” she moaned, driving her pussy into the mattress like she could conjure him back inside her.


“You want another orgasm?” Bruce asked, lying back on the bed. His cock loomed above his groin like a monolith. “Come and get it.”


Harley scrambled up, throwing herself squealing onto Bruce. As he laid there, resting his head in his hands, she fucked herself on his erect shaft. Pushing and pulling, groaning and groaning, embedding his manhood deep within her, then yanking away from him, then throwing herself back to him. Trying desperately to replicate the age-old rhythm she had found with him, not quite succeeding, but it felt far too good to stop.


She leaned down, rubbing her breasts on his broad chest, peppering his face with kisses, even taking his hand and moving it to her ass, which he graciously groped. Harley bucked and twitched and twisted herself, trying to match the desperation of her lust to her final release, to fit it inside her lanky frame. Until, violently, wantonly, she was able to abandon her mind to the fire she stoked inside herself. Bruce kept a hand on her hip as she came, holding her down so she didn’t throw herself from her straddling of his lap.


Then he switched places with her, rolling on top of her, pinning her down beside Ivy, her hair sticking to the sweat on Ivy’s legs. “One for the road,” he told her, more hard, driving thrusts seeming to destroy her pussy, replace it with bites and aches and pure, soaring pleasure. This time when she came there was no holding back. Her legs flew up, her hands flew out, accidentally slapping Ivy across the jaw as she gave Bruce everything she had.


He returned the favor, letting the heated load in his balls finally go free. He jetted into her grateful hole, Harley becoming gloriously aware of her own sex as he filled every inch of it with his seed. Then she collapsed under him, all the rigidity gone from her body, all the bones soft and formless, her collapse seeming to draw him down on top of her, to pant and moan and tremble with her in the fulfillment that held them.


His kiss was long and loving, and Harley rutted against him as he gave it to her, feeling his wilting cock inside her, his cum dripping from her, his marks on her breasts and ass and now, on her bruised lips. She was his. Wonderfully, amazingly his.


“Yes,” she said simply, for once, her head crashing back against the bed. “I love you.”


“I love you too. You’re the best,” he whispered meaningfully, before pulling out of her, leaving an empty vessel to enjoy being empty for a little while. Rising up on his knees, Bruce turned to Ivy, offering her his cum-soaked prick. “Open.”


Stunned, overwhelmed by what she’d seen, the sheer magnitude of Harley’s surrender, Ivy gave in instinctively. Without any preliminary licking, any kissing or handling, she opened her mouth into a gaping O and surrounded his cock with it.


“Clean it off,” he told her, and watched her pouting lips inch forward toward the base of his cock.


Leaning back on his haunches, he relaxed, letting this damp sheath claim his prick, one hand caressing Ivy’s cheek, the other reaching over to pet Harley like she was a cat sprawled across his lap. Together, they watched his cock disappear into Ivy’s mouth, bludgeoning her with its sheer girth, jerking and jumping as her eager lips sucked and sucked. Cupping her chin, Bruce could feel the swirling lashes of her tongue under his fingertips.


Coming back to herself, Harley winded her slender arms around Bruce, pulling him back into her embrace and throwing her leg over his waist to spoon him. Bruce moved his pelvis back, as if dropping back from Harley’s weight, and Ivy’s eyes followed the escaping length of him that emerged from her clinging lips.


She sucked and licked more desperately, tasting the precum welling up from his glans to tease her, but he gathered her fiery hair in one large hand and held her still as he himself eased back into her mouth. Much as he might like to thrust his hips forward, fuck those exquisite lips or let himself be fucked by them, he didn’t. Just glided into the sweet, caressing tenderness of her mouth at the pace he set. He was in control of the situation. They all knew it. Enjoyed it.


As he pumped in and out of Ivy’s mouth, Harley peeled herself away from him. His free hand collared the back of her neck, pulling her in for one last demanding kiss, then he released her. A look between them told her he knew what she wanted to do and approved. Harley slipped down the conjoined couple—her husband and wife—pressing herself to Ivy’s back as the green woman laid on her front, prostrate before the blowjob she was giving.


Harley’s fingers teased Ivy’s lips, like she would taunt a dog with a bone, and like an angry dog Ivy gave Harley a warning look. Harley’s hand went to Bruce’s balls next, feeling them thrumming with fresh cum for Wife No. 2, and she squeezed it lovingly before reaching downward. Over the soft slope of Ivy’s back to the dark, hunter green of her ass. She found the puckered anal opening, teased over it as Ivy relaxed into her sucking—then drilled into it, burying her finger in Ivy’s ass.


Bruce saw it, felt Ivy grunt and jerk forward so his cock was crammed roughly down her throat. Ivy groaned, but continued to suck, eyes closed to savor both the taste of him and the feel of Harley’s finger wiggling and tickling in her anus. Harley was fucking her, Bruce was fucking her face. She groaned and shuddered with every movement in her holes, the void in her cunt somehow enhancing the feeling, not overwhelming her with pleasure but simply allowing her to feel each individual sensation to its fullest.


Bruce could be heard breathing, hard, as Ivy swirled and sucked over his stiff length, his hands on Ivy’s cheeks, gently letting her move through his grip as she bobbed up and down on him. The pressure in his groin was returning to the breaking point. His thumbs wiped tears of joy from Ivy’s cheeks. Harley’s finger rasped in Ivy’s ass and Bruce’s cock burrowed into the warmth of her throat. She realized she was coming just as Bruce erupted in her mouth.


The next thing Ivy knew, the bed beneath her thighs was wet and everything tasted of men, except for the tiny ginger snap of Harley kissing her. Hungry for the mark Bruce had claimed her with.


“That’s what Harley’s pussy is going to taste like from now on,” Bruce said, wiping his cock off on Harley’s blonde hair. It had no cum on it. Just Ivy’s saliva. “I plan to come in it every night.”


Ivy wondered if, before she killed him, she could breed a Ferak with a cock at least half as big.


And if she could get its cum to taste right.

Chapter Text

Bruce had returned to his room without another word and Harley had passed out, totally, completely, utterly spent. Leaving Ivy all alone, with the taste of cum in her mouth and a lump of Harley in her lap.


She stayed like that for a while, remembering the plan, reminding herself that this was all for the plan. An important step had been taken, with Bruce taking Harley as a lover, and that was worth any indignity.


Slowly, Harley faded back to consciousness. Ivy could tell by how she snuggled deeper into Ivy’s body, smiling serenely, her body glowing from Bruce’s usage of it. Which piqued Ivy. Only she loved Harl enough to give her the kind of pain that crossed over into pleasure, the tough love that left Harley feeling vines still rubbing inside her for days on end.


Still, Harley always had been a little idiot. Scatterbrained. Susceptible to any man who strutted around with his dick in the wind. Ivy didn’t mind. The girl was a mammal, after all, and beholden to all her warm-blooded biology. Ivy could let her fall for the man, enjoy her dalliance with him. In time, she would be the responsible one and kill him.


First, though, they had to get Harley pregnant.


“That’s enough dallying,” Ivy said, shoving Harley off her lap. “You’ve had your rest. Go to Bruce, get him to come inside you. I want you knocked up before the day is out.”


“But Red, don’t you think—“


Now, Harl!”


Harley obeyed, already too chastened by Bruce for any great defiance. She paused only to dress herself from the pair’s communal clothes—a Save The Whales T-shirt from Pam’s Greenpeace days that, on Harley’s petite frame instead of Ivy’s voluptuous one, traveled to mid-thigh. Thus semi-attired, she quickly pelted down the halls to Bruce’s room.


The sun was only just coming up the horizon, trying out its colors for the day. The room was a sort of purple when she went inside, Bruce under the sheets, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other locked in the sheets on the other side of his voluminous bed. He was asleep, tangled sheets migrated to just below his waist, his morning hardness cutting across his thigh. Even through the silk sheet, Harley was transfixed by it. Not just by its size; now she knew how it felt inside her.


She went to him. Pulled back the sheet and there it was. It still smelled of her, like Ivy tasted after she’d gone down on Harley. Harley picked up its soft, substantial heft. A great big water balloon in her hand, half-full of blood, just waiting to go to a hundred percent and turn into the clenched rod that left her feeling like she’d just ridden a stallion across the Great Plains.


She’d wake him up with it inside her, just like she did for Ivy sometimes. Catch her sleeping and lick her awake. As irritated as Ivy could get, she always gave in, the warm licking turning into fingers and vines and biting. She wanted to see what Bruce would do under similar circumstances. How he’d punish her.


First, she had to get him hard. Harley licked at his cock—her own scent was strong on it. She must’ve been so wet... Bruce stayed soft, though, his cock stirring but not following through. Dropping her jaw, Harley prepared to blow him. She slotted the oversized head between her lips and leaned in, dropping him into her mouth. He didn’t quite go in; his crown clocking her teeth. She stretched her mouth wider, feeling a clicking in her jaw, a soreness, and managed to get him.


She sucked. Now he responded. She felt the flow of his blood quicken, his presence in her mouth stiffening, expanding, filling her and reaching for her throat. She suckled harder, putting her hands on his washboard abs, feeling the muscles twitching, firing as he took the pleasure she gave him. She moved her hands higher, to feel his lungs pumping and his heart racing, as his cock moved deeper into her throat. Claiming it.


Her cheeks billowed, her lips stretched, her teeth grated over his feverish length as she pitched herself down on his cock, trying to throat him. She never reached the base of his cock. Though his cockhead just managed to get into her gullet, she literally couldn’t swallow it. No matter how hard she tried, his cock was just too big, jamming up the narrow confines of her throat.


But the motion of her lips and tongue, even over only a portion of his great cock, had his balls alive and girthy. She held herself down on his manhood until it was hard to breathe, his cock blocking some of the air her lungs were increasingly desperate for, and when it was clear she still wasn’t going to make any headway, Harley let up.


Tried to.


Three callused fingers had landed on the back of her head, holding her neatly still, the way a man would mark his place in a book. Harley tried to heave off his cock, but his strength was too great. She was locked in. She felt the air in her lungs turn toxic—the stretch of her cheeks become painful. His cock was straining in her mouth, pinning her tongue down, pushing the roof of her mouth upward. She could feel it throbbing, pounding, cum inside roiling and heating.


She gagged, choked, coughed, but couldn’t get his cockhead out of her throat, not with those three fingers forcing her to keep sucking. She pulled desperately at what little air flowed past his prick, vacuuming up the musky scent of his phallus. Tears were in her eyes now as his hips began to roll, offering up his cock to her submissive throat, gently ushering it toward her stomach even as her body cried out for oxygen.


Her eyes rolled back in her head; everything dark, like him. All she could see was his scarred, muscular weapon of a body, effortlessly controlling her, owning her. His belly undulating as he danced his cock as far inside her body as he liked. She had reached a point of total submission, obedient past the point of death. She kept sucking even as the world blurred and grayed. She would please him even if it killed her, because being killed by him would feel so good…


His abs clenched; he exploded right into her needful mouth, his cum bombarding her furiously. It coated her teeth, spray-painted her cheeks, her eyes opening and closing and then staring wide as she felt his quivering cock shrink with the exit of the cum engorging it.


She swallowed in cum what she couldn’t in cock, every gob of hot sticky seed, gagging on it but keeping it down, feeling no choice in the matter. He let go of her head, stopped pumping into her mouth, but she kept his prick inside her. For the longest while, she let it keep her mouth. Then it slipped out.


She held it tenderly. Kissed it all over, then his empty balls, then she massaged his softening penis to produce one last bead of cum. She popped it onto her face like a beauty mark.


“Good morning to you too,” she said, returning his cock to its resting place on his thigh like it was some ancient artifact.


Bruce said nothing. He laid there, barely breathing, as still as he’d been when she’d entered the room.


“Mistah B?” Harley asked, coming up to her knees. Her oversized shirt slanted, exposing her bare sex between her thighs.


No response. Playing hard to get, huh? Harley slapped him on the ass. “C’mon, Brucie! I know you’ve still got more in the tank! Fuck me already! My cunt’s as good as my throat! And if it’s about gagging me, you can use whatever you want!”


He didn’t move. Harley grabbed his cock, finding it still a little hard, a little lusty. Even so, she cried—tears of frustration and anger. He could get just as hard as before, but it wasn’t enough. She needed him, her husband, to make it good. “Please, Brucie, honey, I earned it, you said I earned it!”


Bruce didn’t even crack an eyelid. He could feel the delicious tightness of her small hand pumping his big cock, his balls swelling up once more, his cock growing even tauter than before. She was going to mount him, he knew it. He’d let her. It was important for her to know she could enjoy herself even without being used.


“I need to get fucked! I need your cock!” Harley sobbed, licking at his cock, slapping at it, none of her efforts budging the pillar of flesh that seemed to mock her with its complacent hardness.


She couldn’t take anymore, having his cock throbbing in her hand but not her cunt. She needed this beautiful hunk of cock inside her, one more time. Maybe that would be enough to satisfy her once and for all, to end her burning for it.


She climbed atop him and lowered herself onto his cock. By then, it was standing up, aimed at her cunt like it was hungry for her. She was so wet, she took it easily. It conquered her cunt in one gulp.


Harley came, her pussy hugging Bruce’s cock tighter than it ever had the Joker’s. Bruce felt hot rushes along his prick and knew Harley’s slippery tightness had brought him right up against orgasm himself. He waited another minute, Harley squealing and jabbering nonsensically, till finally her head stopped spinning and she quieted down a little, satisfied that his cock wasn’t going anywhere. It would stay deep inside her for a long time.


Then, cooing with relief, she saw Bruce’s eyes watching her.


“Mistah B.”


Bruce shot up, coming to her in an effortless sit-up, devouring her breasts as his hips pumped wildly, actually bouncing her in his lap with the thrusts of his deeply embedded cock.


“Mrs… Wayne,” he replied, feeling Harley’s cunt twitch in a transcendent climax.


Then he hugged her to him, pumping into her, his cock shooting with every thrust. His own long-awaited orgasm pumped out of him, rushing along the well-used walls of her cunt, running down his balls. Harley was slack-jawed, feeling his cum stuff her, fill her even more than his cock had. She wrapped herself around his shoulders and held him until the strength had gone out of her arms. When he was done, she slid off him, falling back to the mattress with his cock soft and warm inside her.


Harley opened her eyes, burning up with his cum still flowing out of her. “Love me?”


“Yes. Proved it, in fact.” Bruce scooped her up in his arms again, staying inside her as he situated them both on the pillows. Reached over to the nightstand and drew out a pack of cigarettes. He shook one loose. “Just the one for both of us,” he said, lighting it and passing it to Harley.


She dragged in deeply, her eyes never leaving his. They were so warm. But so piercing.


“You’ve got a little something,” he said, running the butt of the cigarette over the corner of her mouth before putting it between her lips again. She tasted him once more. She guessed his cum was all over her mouth, like a messy eater.


“I was really thirsty,” Harley explained.


“And I was a geyser. You bring out the beast in me, Harley. I’m glad you can be in love with that.”


“Ivy wants to know if you can take us shopping.”


“Shopping with two supervillains. Sounds boring,” Bruce joked. His voice was almost a purr.


“The more time you’re with me, the more you can use me.” Harley smiled kittenishly. “Or I can use you. Depends on how you look at it.”


“As long as we both enjoy it, who cares?”


“Yeah.” Harley watched as Bruce took the cigarette back, puffing on it contentedly. “I guess maybe I’d kinda enjoy… being the one to use you. You wouldn’t mind, would you? Fucking me a lot?”


“I think I’ll manage.”


“Especially if we do it bareback. Like just now.”


“I can handle that. As long as you’re not worried about getting pregnant.”


Harley flushed. She hated lying to as nice a guy as Bruce, but—“I’m on the pill. We won’t have kids until… things is more settled, I guess.”


“But it wouldn’t be so bad, would it? I think you’d be a wonderful mother.”




“Really.” Bruce stubbed out the cigarette. “But if we’re going to go shopping, we can’t do it like this. Anyone in an eight-block radius could tell what we’ve been up to.”


“Let ‘em know!”


“They do. I just don’t want to be obvious about it.” Bruce rolled away, finally leaving her cunt, and Harley winced as she felt his warmth turn instantly bitter. She needed more of it. Much more. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Harley. A nice, long bath.”


Memories of an unhappy childhood, a slavedriver mom, rose up to accompany her emptiness. “Don’t wanna.”


“A shower, then. C’mon. I’ll help.”


As he stood over her, Harley turned big, beaming eyes at him. “And maybe… when we’re done… if there’s still some hot water?”


“Well, I wasn’t planning on taking a cold shower. Not with us being married.”


Bruce picked her up and Harley coiled around his embrace. A fuck in the shower, then they had the whole drive to Gotham for his balls to fill with cum again.


She’d be pregnant in no time.

Chapter Text

Zinda hadn’t come in a week. She blamed society.


Back in the day, she’d had real men. So many real men that she could afford to be just friends with most of them, the boys of the Blackhawks. When she wanted something more, she just went to a watering hole and let one light her cigarette. That was that.


Nowadays, real men were light on the ground. All guys wanted to do was cry in public and wear tight jeans and diet. Oh, they called it being vegan, but it was dieting. Big Barda was more of a man than most of them, and she was all woman. Had a bigger cock too. Oh, she called it a Mega-Rod, but it was a cock.


Getting married to Grayson had seemed like a sweet deal for that. Sure, the boy had the hair of a greaser, but it was the perfect arrangement. When she wanted him, she had him, and when she didn’t, the rest of the Birds of Prey could kick him around. She didn’t even have to feel guilty about it; for most of the gals, Dick was just there for when they got tired of being sapphists.


She hadn’t counted on just how lusty she could be. She considered herself to be far more interested in engine parts and joysticks than any male anatomy—a boy was just for when she couldn’t get her hands on a good socket wrench. But she knew how chickadees were—ought to have, at least, being one herself.


Having Dick around got her motor running, and having a bunch of other wildcats just as hot and bothered as her after him just made her want him all the more. Especially when he was keen to reciprocate. She’d gotten used to having him thrice daily. And being watched by Babs, the big voyeur. And hearing when he was with Starfire, whose screams needed no translation from their original Tamaranese.


Now he’d been gone for more than a week, off on some secret mission for Batman, and it felt worse than when she’d given up ale. She needed to scratch that itch. And she had to admit, when it was Starfire and Troia, that big orange dame screamed just as loud as she did for Dick…


But that would only be a last resort. Zinda was into misters, not sisters, and though she was a big fan of gals helping gals, this was something she would feel better about doing on her own. Lucky for her, the 21st century was just as perverse about that as it was about everything else. She’d heard Kory screaming all on her lonesome, overheard Babs talking about taking matters into her own hands back when group marriage was something that only happened in Utah. As soon as she had the Watchtower to herself—Barbara and the others out dancing, probably going to have an orgy in a handicapped bathroom stall—she went to Barbara’s room.


It took some searching, but when it came to hiding things, Barbara wasn’t as thorough with her massager as she was when it came to her secrets, her emotions, and pretty much everything else. Zinda guessed that, being a bisexual nerd control freak with a voyeurism fetish and a bunch of ladies who worked under her and did everything she said, Barbara considered her masturbation an open secret. The dildo was in her nightstand.


Zinda laid in Barbara’s bed, still smelling of lust while Zinda’s only smelled of the crap she put in her hair before sleep. She laid the dildo beside her on the double mattress, like it were a man, and curled herself up into a little ball, facing it. Her skirt, short under any circumstances, had stroke up the curve of her ass. When her hand crept between her legs, it touched only silky skin, not fabric. She stroked herself with her knees drawn up, as if hiding her own selfish pleasure. She thought of Dick.


Later, Zinda would feel mollified about her own guilty stimulation, knowing that she’d blushed as her body opened up to the caress of her own fingers, clit growing and hardening for no one but herself. She felt a burgeoning warmth inside her pussy, inviting something to touch it. But it was answering no one, male or female.


Zinda could hardly believe she had these things inside her. It felt like she was flying, the roar of the engine and the wind screaming past and the chatter of her machine guns all swirling together, kicking against her cunt. She felt like a pervert, but she was undeniably aroused. And equipped to do something about it.


Zinda laid on her back, stretching her long stems down to the foot of the bed. She pulled her skirt up over her ass. Its hem straddled her belly, leaving her bare from the waist down. Her golden tuff of pubic hair was in the full light of day. She picked up the dildo. She hadn’t come in a week, but she’d make up for it today.


She held the dildo up to the light, wondering how much of it she could fit inside herself—she was able to take Dick’s manhood, after all, but the man got her so wet—when “I wondered where that had gotten to.”


Barbara stood in the doorway, supporting herself on her cane, thumb rubbing at its head.


“I was just—“ Zinda began. “Aww, hell, Babs, you know how I get! I have needs! And I can’t just use a showerhead or a tongue like you other gals! I need something hard and fast and you were the one who got me used to Dick on a regular basis! Ain’t right to get a girl hooked on that and then make her go cold turkey!”


“It’s been hard on all of us,” Barbara said, thoughtfully closing the door behind her so no one else could see Zinda’s shame. “But I know you’ve been hit the hardest. Helena, Dinah, even Kory—they don’t need Dick for a good time.”


“Exactly!” Zinda cried. “It ain’t fair!”


“So go on then. Stick that big thing in. You do know how to use it, right?”


“I… I…” Barbara was watching her, those coy eyes behind those chilly glasses, so damn curious.


“I can show you.” The cane ambling across the floor, Barbara seeming to fly off its landings. She still wasn’t a hundred percent after the operation to restore her spine; she would never be. But just like Zinda couldn’t quite miss the forties, Barbara didn’t seem to miss being Batgirl.


She shoved Zinda down onto her back, pulled her legs into the air, pushed her knees to her breasts. Zinda was splayed before her; the dildo ripped from her hand.


“Just so you know, skipper, I ain’t no kiki. If I don’t get much out of it, that’s not on you.”


“Bull,” Barbara told her confidently. “It’s just physics, really. Biology. Gender has nothing to do it. Just watch, okay—watch.”


Zinda watched. Trying to remember this to do it to herself later. Trying not to think of doing it to herself right now. It was just because Barbara had surprised her while she was already so turned on thinking of Dick.


Barbara didn’t take long to undress. She wasn’t wearing panties. Before Zinda knew it, the dildo was slipping up and down Barbara’s crotch.


“Don’t think of it as a thing, a dildo,” Barbara told her. “It’s yours. It’s your cock. And you’re using it—uhhh.” Her hips were jogging back and forth, pushing at the dildo as it pushed at her. She took a deep breath. “You’re using it on another woman. A woman who looks just like you. A woman as horny as you.” Barbara’s voice coarsened. The dildo seemed smaller. Some of it—Zinda didn’t know how much—was inside her. “You’re fucking her just like you’d like to be fucked—that hot, juicy bitch with her hot, juicy cunt…”


Zinda felt something touch her cunt. It was her own hand, her own fingers. They felt good.


“I don’t just like to watch, Zinda. I like being watched too. I loved putting on a tight spandex outfit, yellow high heels, cape too short to hide my ass, and having everyone look at me.”


Barbara closed her eyes, her hips pounding the dildo, and Zinda saw Barbara fucking that beautiful redhead from the file footage. Her fingers touched her cunt again. She felt it, warm and wet. Juicy, like Barbara had said.


I’m watching you, she thought, a little ashamed, a little liking being ashamed.


“If it makes it easier,” Barbara chuckled. “Imagine Dick’s here. He’s watching us. He’s taking his cock out and he’s jerking it—oh!—and with his other hand—ah!—he’s filming us! He’s gonna make a movie!”


Zinda tried to fuck herself as hard as Barbara was, but she couldn’t. Not without the dildo.


Barbara’s eyes were still closed. “He’s making a movie and he’s gonna show it to Dinah, and to Helena, and to Kory, Donna—they’re all gonna see it! They’re gonna be looking at us and fucking themselves! They’re all gonna see!”


Zinda moaned. She was wet. So wet. But she wasn’t thinking of Dick. She was thinking of Barbara.


Barbara’s eyes opened. Met Zinda’s. “Did you know,” she said, “that this is actually a double-ended dildo?”


Zinda spread her legs. She showed Barbara how wet she was.


Barbara liked watching her get even wetter.


She pressed her lips to Zinda’s and the other end of the dildo to her cunt, waiting to put it in until she’d pulled back from the kiss so she could watch Zinda’s face as the dildo rode into her. Zinda wrapped her legs around Barbara, pushed her pelvis into the thrusts Barbara gave her.


“Ride my cunt!” Zinda demanded. She expected the same top-of-the-line performance from a lover as she’d get from a finely-tuned engine. “Fuck my coot! That’s what I want! Yee-fucking-haw!”


And Barbara fucked her frantically, embracing her, kissing her, her eyes shutting as she wished she’d set up a camera first. “Imagine Dick’s standing over us—jacking off—coming—shooting all over my ass!”


“I like your behind just fine as is, skipper!” Zinda exclaimed, grabbing a handful of Barbara’s seat. It’d toughened up from exercise, but was still chiefly big and soft from her years in the chair, the way Zinda’s thought a woman should be.


“And I like your tits!” Barbara ripped Zinda’s tunic open, buttons clacking apart to reveal Zinda’s white bra. Here, at least, Zinda appreciated modern technology. Helena had gone shopping with her to buy a brassiere that was anything but military regulation. “Can’t believe I’ve only seen these while Dick was fucking them!”


Zinda laughed as she looked down at her own breasts, watching them bounce the same as Barbara. With Barbara softly pistoning into her, her cleavage was steadily undulating, like the tide on a rockless shore. Zinda liked her tits. Nice and big, like a woman’s should be. And they were on fire. She needed someone sucking them, like Dick had, but cripes, she couldn’t tell the skipper something like that.


But they were so big…


As Barbara watched, Zinda leaned her head down, took her own stiff nipple inside her mouth, and sucked. And Barbara wrapped her lips around Zinda’s other nipple, sucking it even harder as their hips waggled like two wings of the same jet, dildo between them.


The exhibitionist was sucking and moaning triumphantly, grabbing the pin-up figure ass that Zinda showed off with every swish of her skirt, and she sucked hard and she drove the dildo deep into Zinda, over and over again, until Zinda couldn’t take it anymore, she screamed her way off her tit and threw her head back and as Barbara fucked her again, she said “Dick’s seeing what a little whore you are!”


Barbara thrust again, the dildo dwindling between them until it was Zinda’s wet cunt against Barbara’s, Babs forcing Zinda to come with her, writhing on the bed together in an orgy of pleasure. They shoved and kissed and squirmed even closer, until their clits met, fingers clawed at each other’s flesh, their simultaneous orgasm exploded, Zinda demanding ever more of her lover, just as she did from her rides, and she got it, just as she did from her rides.


“He’s seeing us being whores together!” Barbara cried as she fucked Zinda like it was for the whole world to see. “You’re going to help me, Zinda! We’re going to find more women—heroines—villainesses—we’re going to rehabilitate them—all the bad girls—we’re going to make them watch—see how happy we are—and we’re going to fuck them!”


“Yes, anything! Anything you want!” Zinda screamed, impaled, coming, imagining Helena seeing her like this, Helena and all the rest—


“Oh, shit—you can come just as hard as I can!” Barbara said in triumph. She shoved Zinda’s end of the dildo in even deeper, pulling herself off her side of it.


“Don’t leave!” Zinda pleaded. “It’s no good without you!”


“It’s even better with this,” Barbara said, limping hurriedly into a neighboring room, one of many connected to her bedroom for the ease of her harem lifestyle. When she came back, Zinda was trying to fuck herself and Barbara had a strap-on, even longer and fatter than Dick’s cock. It was the only thing she left on as she stripped her blouse and bra, her skirt, until she was all heels and hose and garters, black as the dildo protruding from her groin.


“I turned the hidden cameras on,” Barbara said, pulling away the first dildo, putting a pillow under Zinda’s ass. “It’s live-streaming to the others’ phones. Dinah’s gonna watch me fuck you. She’s gonna watch and she’s gonna remember how I broke her in, how I broke Helena in, how I made them all my bitch just like you.”


Zinda opened her legs so wide that her skirt fell back down around her thighs. She had to hold it out of the way as Barbara entered her. As much as Zinda winced, it still felt better than leaving her cunt burning as hot as it had been.


“O-h-h-h-h, Toledo, it’s so big!”


“And that’s only half!” Barbara chuckled, seeming to relax now that she was sharing this with her wives. She grabbed Zinda by the chin and made her look with Barbara at the blinking red light of one of the cameras. Somewhere on the other end of it was Dinah, Helena, Kory. All the women Zinda knew and loved, respected. Seeing her get fucked.


“Only half? I wish there was more!” Zinda grabbed Barbara in turn, forcing their eyes together. “Yes, I’ll help you! I’ll help you seduce more subs for your harem, you alpha bitch pervert. I’ll fuck them for you to watch while you get off on it like the power dyke you are. But you’re going to fuck me like this every night! I’ve got to have a cock like this one every night! I need you to fuck me!”


Barbara showed her agreement with actions, not words. Driving Zinda right off the pillow with hard, powerful thrusts. Zinda had to pitch her hands against the headboard to keep from being smashed into it headfirst. She took Barbara’s cock and begged for more, Barbara giving her all she had. Orgasms bursting inside her, only spurring her to fuck Zinda harder, not satisfying her. She was insatiable.


They rolled end over end on the bed, Barbara showing off all of Zinda’s submitting body, her own physique sweating with effort. The cameras picked up a dozen views of Barbara’s big black dildo plunging into Zinda’s snatch, its base riding hard on Barbara’s clit. Zinda screamed and shouted her climax. Barbara grunted and sweated hers.


She would’ve kept fucking Zinda until the others came home, to watch in person, to smell the sex in the air, to join in. Barbara’s favorite afterglow: watching the young, hot bodies of her acolytes pick up where she had left off. But one of the straps on her dildo broke. The thing was meant only as a showpiece; a threat Barbara used while domming others. Even Kory had been cowed by it.


With the breakage, Barbara’s momentum crashed, her exhaustion catching up with her all at once. She held the dildo in place for one last orgasm, making Zinda come as surely as she’d order her to do anything else. Then she rolled onto her back, Zinda panting at her side.


She turned the cameras off. This was hers alone. Zinda’s surrender, and her pleasure in being used. It was a sacred thing, and though they’d all submitted to her—Dick, Dinah, willful Helena, even haughty Koriand’r—it was still private.


She held Zinda’s hand as their breathing evened out. It took even longer for Zinda. She may have been in better shape than Barbara, but Dick hadn’t halfway prepared her for being fucked so hard.


“Would you really want to do that?” Barbara asked. “A rehabilitation program for supervillains? Kory keeps telling me how—love might work where Arkham Asylum doesn’t. And you saw what it did for Helena. That was kinda on accident, but—same principle.” Barbara closed her eyes, gasping in more breath. This was why she liked having orgies. Always someone with enough energy to go get her some Gatorade. She felt like there was not one electrolyte in her body.


“Well, shit, I just found out I was bisexual the hard way!” Zinda smiled. “The very hard way! Ways I see it, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do!”


Barbara rolled over and kissed Zinda. “We’re going to be doing plenty of that. Let Dick stay lost. Making a dyke out of you is going to be my number one priority.”


“It’ll have to wait. My cooch is so sore I can’t hardly touch it.”


“There’s a lot more to it than that.” Ignoring the twinges in her legs, Barbara worked the strap-on off. She stuck its length under Zinda’s nose.


“Mm. Hope all the dames smell as good as I do.”


“I’d settle for them tasting as good,” Barbara said leadingly.


And, feeling Barbara’s eyes on her, Zinda took the dildo between her lips and began to suck.


“And this is also good practice for when Dick gets back,” Barbara said, leering victoriously as she slid the cock in and out of Zinda’s smacking lips.

Chapter Text

Hot water hissed powerfully from the showerhead that loomed over Bruce and Harley, flushing their skin a light shade of red with its warmth, plastering the clear shower stall glass with condensation, filling its interior with billowing steam, mortaring Harley’s pale blonde hair between her shoulder blades as Bruce took her savagely, ruthlessly, the pristine white tiles of the shower wall creaking ominously as Bruce bombarded them with Harley’s ruthlessly taken body.


Harley was caught between clinging to Bruce’s powerful body, arms and legs affixed to him too tightly for even his slickly wet flesh to slip away from, and throwing her head back to try to vent the feverish pleasure he produced in her. Her young, submissive body was responding to Bruce’s fucking like it had a mind of its own. She rode his cock like a bucking bronco, toes splayed and feet twisting even as her fingernails dug into his back, her face upturned into the heavy shower stream, the water gargling her cries.


“Ohhh yesssharbbjb, more, Brucie, moreblblb!” She spat, face twisting downward, blonde hair webbing across her own face as her body orgasmed for him yet again. “I want your gorgeous cock so baaaaad!” She threw her head back once more, in a scream silenced by her open mouth filling with water.


Bruce stopped suddenly, wanting more from her than just her possession in this single way. Harley was powerless to hold herself to him when he didn’t want her to. Carrying her across the puddled floor of the gargantuan shower, he threw her against the foggy glass and entered her from behind, leaving her body pitched up against the glass. He thought Ivy would like to see her tits and well-used cunt pressed up there for her jealous eyes, if she checked in on them.


Harley adapted quickly, eager to fulfill Bruce’s urges. She tossed her head from side to side, trapping new, errant strands of hair against the glass as her cheeks pressed against it, while her tight ass slammed back against Bruce’s cock. Bruce just stood there, picking up a bar of soap from its dish and casually lathering himself up as Harley desperately fucked herself for him. When he was done, he began sudsing Harley’s back. She spat out the water she’d had obliviously stored in her cheeks, splattering it down the shower door as she instinctively enjoyed his strong touch.


Feeling the suds drip down her wet body, splash down between her splayed feet, Harley had something of a heretical thought. She hoped Bruce would come soon at the same time she wished that this would never end. Such irrational thoughts were par for the course to Harley. This was actually more reasonable than most. She knew Bruce would be able to start fucking her again very soon—perhaps after she’d played with Ivy, or with the redhead joining in. And if Bruce came, she’d feel his creamy load inside her, warmer and more satisfying than Wayne Manor’s endless hot water could ever be. She needed it desperately. She needed everything Bruce could give her, from his warm, soothing coddling to his stern, masterful dominion of her.


Meanwhile, so enthusiastically did Harley slam herself back against Bruce’s cock that she slipped right off the glass he had her pinned to. Now she bent down, as if to touch her toes, but really bracing herself with her hands on the tiled floor, her ass now the highest point of her body. She could look up and see how his huge cock breezed effortlessly through her swollen labia, watch as well as feel herself tensing the trained walls of her cunt, trying to please Bruce as much as he pleased her.


“Holy moly!” Harley moaned as Bruce reached underneath her and almost carelessly began to soap her cunt. But she almost got more pleasure from seeing a throbbing blue vein running the underside of Bruce’s cock. She felt like it was hers; a symptom of Bruce’s lust and love for her.


Harley reached even lower, grabbing Bruce’s ankles where he stood behind her, holding herself tightly still for his fucking. Every time his prick fucked into her, her tight walls expanded—almost unwillingly—to allow room for his size. And when he pulled out, her walls skillfully contracted, clenching and unclenching, milking Bruce as hard as he fucked her.


She was actually facedown on the comparatively cool tiles surrounding the drain, her feet on tippy-toes to keep her pussy high enough for Bruce, when her husband lathered a washcloth with soap and prodded it into Harley’s ass. Inside the washcloth, Bruce’s middle finger pushed into Harley’s small, tight hole, fucking it in perfect tempo with her cunt smashing down on his cock.


“Ohhh, yes, Brucie, that feels great! I’m so fucking hot!” Harley screamed.


“You want me to turn the water down?” Bruce asked sardonically, but for once, the joke was lost on Harley.


His almost dispassionate cleaning of her had Harley moaning loudly in orgasm, her tongue lolling out onto the shower’s grout, not even tasting the soap-tainted water flowing past as she was overwhelmed with the orgasms Bruce gave her from effectively fingering her ass. Bruce actually had her dominated so completely that the combination of physical pleasure and mental distance was running Harley through a series of multiple orgasms, her entire body shuddering, juices from her cunt running down her upside-down stomach to be lost in the shower stream. Likewise with her overjoyed tears.


It took long enough to tax even the mansion’s water heater, but finally, Bruce felt his balls churning below his rigid cock, felt the cum traveling the length of his prick. Sweat pouring from his body, only to be swept away by the water raining down on him, he let his cock jerk and twitch inside Harley’s cunt.


“Done!” he gritted out, and Harley felt the hot rush of his cum filling her slick, clasping pussy to overflowing, so tight that each new ejaculation pushed jism out of her small cunt to run down her trembling legs in thick, creamy rivers. The shower washed it away like so much soap scum. Harley licked the drain to taste the smallest part of it.


Harley was still, but Bruce wasn’t done yet. He gripped her asscheeks firmly, squeezing her trembling ass as he fucked into it hard and fast, pumping cum in and out of her cunt. Harley was so turned on by the sensation of his fucking cock and shooting cum that she thought she would pass out for sure. “Yesss, Brucie, yessss! Give me all your cum, Mistah B! Ohhh, how can you have so much after last night?”


“Always more for you,” Bruce grunted, though he himself was shocked at how furiously he was thrusting into Harley, how much jism he was shooting after so recently ejaculating. The climax he got from fucking Harley Quinn, of all people, was turning out to be one of the great ones of his life.


Just as she’d expected, Harley came again as Bruce’s hot cum spilled out of her, actually splashing down onto her own face. Bruce was hunched over her with his orgasm, Harley desperately glad that his body blocked the shower spray. His cum, mixed with her own juices, was all hers. She nearly ripped her tongue out of her own mouth, licking it from her cheeks.


Bruce pulled back slightly, about to withdraw from Harley, but she stopped him by hugging his ankles tight.


“The only way you get to take your cock out of my pussy,” Harley squealed, “is if you promise to put it in my ass!”


Bruce gave her apple ass a spank. The slight blow was enough to knock Harley off even her gymnastic balance, and she moaned in dismay as she fell over, his half-hard prick popping from her cunt. Still, she looked a vision, sprawled below him on the shower floor. Bruce was reminded of a porno he’d shut down for ties to organized crime, concerning a cheerleader who had a gangbang with the football team in the locker room. Today, he’d been the football team.


“I’ll put it in,” Bruce told her. “But later. After all, we just got your ass clean.”


Rolling over, Harley kissed his foot.


Bruce wondered if he’d had any cum on it.




Harley came away from her shower dressed in daisy dukes and a halter top, her hair still wet and her legs still trembling. Ivy gave her a look when she came out of Bruce’s room. Harley gave her a shaky thumbs up.


Bruce came out with his hair neatly combed, slacks and a turtleneck giving him a casual vibe that turned intimidating again on his chiseled face and steely eyes. “Would you like to change?” he asked Ivy. “We’re going into town.”


“This is fine,” Ivy said. A creeping example of her namesake winded up one leg, covering her pubis and breasts in flowery shoots before ending, twined around her neck and hair. It was a look as intimidating as Bruce’s, in its own unconcerned way.


Bruce nodded. They went to the garage. A collection of classic cars that would make Bruce the envy of Speed Racer, though he bypassed them all for a sleek electric concept car that wouldn’t hit the open market for another two years. Seeing it, Ivy was unimpressed. She sniffed disdainfully at the gas-guzzling Aston-Martins and Lamborghinis that lined the walls of the structure as ostentatiously as wine in a cellar.


“Are they going to go green as well?” she asked.


“Think of it this way,” Bruce said. “With me owning them, at least no one else can drive them.”


Harley hummed at his logic. Ivy dead-eyed her as the clown got into the passenger seat, Ivy having the backseat to herself.


They breezed into Gotham. It was a weekday and well after the morning rush, thanks to Harley’s long shower. The road was a straight shot from Wayne Manor to the high-rise district of Gotham, not having to go through the slums or deeper into the more dystopian districts. In short order, they’d arrived at the Mall of Gotham.


It was no Cinnabon-infested multistory supermarket, but a zealously guarded temple to commerce. Sales boutiques and high-class salons took the place of Gamestops or Best Buy outlets, with armed security that had more in common with stormtroopers than Paul Blart, and food-trucks-without-wheels that only sold artisanal cuisine. One place sold only cheeses. That was all. Just cheeses.


The black-visored, would-be SWAT officers eyed Ivy menacingly as she sidled around in the same attire she might’ve worn to hold the place hostage, arm’s length from the happy couple of Bruce and Harley—her arm locked around his as neatly as wrapping paper on Christmas morning.


Bruce had a plan for the outing. While Harley oohed and aahed at the spectacle of the monumental building, and Ivy tsked at the swampland that had been drained to build it, he led them to a particular boutique—not as flashy or upscale as some others, but with a stronger work ethic, deeper roots in Gotham rather than being a fly-by-night outfit from Metropolis or Paris. The owner’s father had been behind his mother’s iconic dresses.


Inside, the proprietor, one Anthony Merkap, greeted Bruce with a warm kiss to either cheek and gushed lovingly over his wives’ looks before breaking down and pleading with Harley to let him give her a less ‘paparazzi shots of an actress going to Wal-Mart for yogurt’ aesthetic. She agreed, after first looking to Ivy and then getting an encouraging nod from Bruce.


The boutique had ridden the wave of gossip from Man of the Year Bruce Wayne marrying two murderous, if chic, supervillains. The latest fashion line mixed Harley’s colors and literally motley motifs with green looks inspired by Ivy. She sneered, but still took an interest in dresses made of living moss or lingerie of intricately woven grass; clothes that were watered instead of washed.


Harley disappeared into the dressing rooms with an armful of options reminiscent of laundry day left to the last second. “Mistah B? Think you could help me into this?”


“Excuse me,” he said, stepping into the dressing room.


Harley had on one hell of an avant-garde look. The tailor had modified a purple and red boyfriend cardigan with a diamond pattern into something a Tamaranian might wear, open at the front with only brown leather straps buckled to hold it over her breasts. The slope of her cleavage was still largely exposed. Her lower body was left entirely bare by the cardigan, modesty preserved by purple briefs, purple and red leggings that continued the diamond motif into shin-high black boots. Her pigtails framed her lovely face, made more alluring by a chic domino mask and a dangling necklace of a skull jester.


“You seem to have the situation in hand.”


Harley preened. Her modest breasts, framed by the impossibly tight ‘bolero vest’ of the garment that revealed more than it obscured, were made positively succulent. He had no difficulty in seeing either their wonderful curves or the cleavage in-between. “Oh, did I say I needed your help getting into this dress? I meant I needed your help getting out of it!”


Bruce turned. Over the closed door to the room, Ivy had drawn Merkap away to barter with him. When he turned back around, he caught his breath again. Harley had turned around as well, and the hot pants hugged her rounded buttocks like a glove, the line that divided her luscious cheeks extravagantly detailed by their tightness, while the soft initial curving of her ass was tantalizingly visible between the ‘coat tails’ of her cardigan, drawing attention with jingle-bells at the end of each tail. Especially with a translucent lace panel topping the back of her bottoms. She wagged her ass at him. Ringalingaling.


“Think you could take this off of me? It’s sooooo tight!”


She twisted to look at him. He saw her left nipple inside her vest. It was full and erect. Then she spun back onto her tiptoes, facing away from him, thrusting her buttocks back, bending over to make them even more prominent. Bruce’s cock was fully erect, smothering inside his boxers. He reached for her panties.


“Your ass this time,” he said. “Like I promised.”




“Anything in leather?” Ivy asked Merkap as he followed her sheepishly in rummaging through his stock.


“Well, yes—“ he admitted sheepishly. “Sorry, I know you’re one of those PETA types…”


“Oh, no, I’d love to wear a dead animal. Show me what you’ve got. And make sure it’s in black.” If Wayne thought he could dom Harley better than her, he was in for a rude awakening.


“OH FUCK!” Harley cried suddenly, her shrill voice rising well above the store’s gentle orchestral background music.


“Good heavens!” Merkap spun around. “Do you think everything’s alright?”


“She’s fine,” Ivy said without bothering to turn. “Probably just trying to get into one of your clearance items. Something’s just too damn tight.”




Harley was bent over the pile of clothes she had brought into the changing room, her unbuckled cardigan now thrown over her head, leaving her bare from her shoulder blades on down. Her teeth grinded on one of the coattails that had so recently hidden her ass. While it had only accomplished that goal halfway, it served far better at muffling Harley as she repeated her recent outcry of pleasured violation, now at a level only Bruce could hear.


And he quite enjoyed hearing it, kneeling behind Harley, forcing himself inside her quite possibly virgin asshole. It was a tight fit, but his lubricant was ample, and his fingers had been forceful in opening her up. His complete taking of her ass was a virtual certainty.


Though Harley’s face was hidden from him, Bruce saw a bell fall to the ground. Snipped off by Harley biting through her coattail.


His back strained to maintain his rocking tempo, while his cock tried desperately not to give into her tiny ass’s tightness and warmth. Harley tightened her canal, rolled her ass, winding his cock inside her like a crank and screwing her empty cunt against thigh muscles as hard as boulders. She was trying to rub out the fire that had burnt her body down to raw nerve endings.


“Oh, Brucie, it’s coming… it’s coming!”


Putting up a leg so that he was on one knee, and thus more erect, Bruce reached under the cardigan to find Harley’s head and pushed it down into the floor. She obediently raised her ass in counterpoint, and with much greater ease he pushed his cock in and out of her ass.


Bruce could feel his self-control coming to any end. His balls were tensing, expanding, counting down to an explosion. He felt Harley’s open lips, screaming against his palm. As he slid a finger between them, Bruce thrust his cock in with all his might, watching as the entire shaft disappeared into the tiny opening between Harley’s taut cheeks.


He could feel Harley’s tongue flapping as she tried to form words. “Oh Jesus!” and “I’m coming!” and of course, “Fuck me hard!” He pulled on her cheek like he was reeling in a fish, his hooked finger yanking Harley’s head back, forcing her to stay aware of what has happening to her even as she came. Then, sure she was his, Bruce let a great shudder of carnal fulfillment go through him. His swollen balls boiled over, thick, heavy streams of cum diving for Harley’s bowels.


The leaden warmth filled an emptiness Harley had never known she’d had, triggering another delirious response from her. She raked her nails across the carpet, screaming with unabated lust into the three fingers Bruce now had stuffed into her mouth. Bruce groaned for him, feeling her anus suck at his still spewing shaft, already hungry for more of his seed.


Still he fucked her. His hips pounded against her ass with such force that the slapping sound stung the air around them. Even though his cock was slowly softening, Harley had lost none of her enthusiasm for it. She tightened her anus, trying to revive it, rolling forward and rocking back, grinding her hips around, anything to eke some last little pleasure from his deflating cock.


“Fuck me!” Harley babbled with the ringing ecstasy of her satisfaction. “Fuck my ass!”


Bruce tried to, for her sake, but his cock had met its match for now. He let Harley keep squeezing it, massaging it in long rippling waves, until it slipped out of her now gaping asshole. Her sweaty body, weighted down by the load of semen in her ass, fell into a limp heap like it was one more empty garment piled onto the stack.


Bruce sat next to her, his aching cock completely flaccid, smeared with cooling sperm. He patted Harley’s ass for a job well-done.


“So,” he said, wheezing breathlessly, “do you like the dress?”




They bought it. They bought jewelry, they bought hats, they even bought furs, just because that was Harley’s idea of what rich people wore. It reminded Ivy of a few years back when they’d dosed Wayne with pollen and gone on a holiday season shopping spree. They hadn’t used him for sex though. They’d only needed each other.


This time, though, Harley carried all the bags. Bruce had a telephone call. Ivy kept eying him as they waited in line for pretzels. The last time, they’d made Bruce pay for everything. Now, Ivy paid for their lunch. She’d pay for the movie, too. There was a nature documentary starting at the Cineplex in ten minutes. Plenty of animals for Harley to look at.


Bruce hung up his phone, walking back to join them. “That was Lucius Fox.”


“A talking fox?” Harley cried.


Ivy rolled her eyes. She didn’t think getting fucked nearly constantly was doing anything to help Harley’s attention span. “What’d he want?”


“Just something that’s come up at Wayne Enterprises. It won’t take an hour. Would you care to join me? Wayne Tower has quite the spectacular view.”


“Sure!” Harley chimed before Ivy could say anything.


She huffed a sigh, but then gave an agreeable shrug. Bruce hadn’t bought her affections, but he had bought a lot of nice things. The least she could do was make his last few days on Earth congenial.


“Would you mind driving?” Bruce asked her.




Ivy hadn’t even turned the key in the ignition before Bruce was on Harley. He tailed her into the backseat, sitting down pressed against her, reaching down the front of her briefs and popping a finger inside her like someone would feed themselves a bit of candy.


He glided it in and out of Harley as she tangled her hands in the seatbelt. Arched up for his finger with eager excitement, and hunching over his hand in little surges that fucked his finger as much as it fucked her. Ivy looked in the rear-view to see Harley pulled down Bruce’s zipper, his hard cock springing out, her fist catching it, caressing it.


“Drive,” Bruce told Ivy, and she forced herself to think of the way to Wayne Tower.


“Oh, we’re gonna miss the movie!” Harley moaned, tugging harshly at Bruce’s prick.


Bruce was suddenly pulling her down to the seat cushions, climbing on top of her, the grinding of his hips opening up her drenched thighs. “We can catch the next showing.”


“Promisssssssss!?” Harley’s question turned into a sob as Bruce jabbed into her, pumping instantly. Harley was immediately clawing at his back, wrapping her legs around his waist, taking all of his familiar cock and crying out for more. “Yes, Brucie, do it! Give it—give—ahhhhh!”


Harley reached upwards, planting her palms against the window of the door Bruce’s thrusts were in danger of driving her into His cock pounded inside her, full of violent need, filling her too full for her to have enough room to catch her breath. He drove the breath out of her in shaky gasps.


Ivy kept her eyes on the road, right up until they hit one of those long Gotham lights—one more thing to hate about the shithole. And the light turned red just before her turn in line. She was stuck there.


“I love this so much!” Harley said, striking Ivy with the simplicity of the sentiment. Obviously, Harley was ever one for simple-mindedness, but…


“I love it too,” Bruce huffed, cruel mouth giving her a respite from the hickeys he was inflicting on her neck. Ivy wondered how many Harley would have by the end of the day. “I want you to keep giving me that juicy little cunt. I need it.”


“It’s all yours!” Harley moaned over and over.


A honking horn behind them. The light had turned green. Ivy hit the gas, eyes front just as Bruce arched his back and fucked himself even deeper into Harley’s cunt. His loaded balls slapped wetly against her ass. Harley loved it all.


But she needed more. She was totally wanton, she knew it. Sluttier than she’d ever been with the Joker. A bitch in heat. She just couldn’t get enough of Bruce’s huge cock inside her.


She would have to, though. Soon, Ivy would take him out, and then Harley would just have to remember what it felt like—having a guy fuck her like she’d actually imagined a guy would fuck her. Maybe they could make a sex tape—


An orgasm abruptly shook Harley’s cunt, so sudden it was like the car’d been rear-ended. Her legs kicked out, actually making the bulletproof glass of the window on Bruce’s side flex outward as she pressed against it. Her hands were doing the same on her window, but she just managed to pry one away and wrap it around Bruce’s back clutching him even closer to her writhing body. He was like a magician who practiced a trick, each time refining it, doing it faster, better. Only his training was her. His trick was giving her multiple orgasms where otherwise she might be lucky to get one.


Somehow, though, despite how pleasurable it was to come for him, it wasn’t satisfying. Every time she climaxed, she needed to come again and again. And everything she needed, Bruce gave her.


Ivy drove, eying alleyways, parking garage, tunnels. Anywhere she could hide the car for a while to—


She turned on the radio. Even pathetic mammalian bleating was better than listening to Harley… come.


Bruce fucked furiously into Harley’s pussy. He groaned with pleasure every time her cunt tensed in orgasm. Her head was drifting from side to side, eyes rolling back in her head, and he gripped her by the hair to force her to look at him. As he did so, he saw his wedding band, glinting as if reflecting the light of her ring where her hand was splayed on the window. It occurred to him that he was damn lucky to have such a beautiful, charming bride. And that she fucked like a high-priced whore.


Harley was drooling now. Deciding she’d had enough, Bruce let himself come. Harley cooed as she felt him gush inside her, her strong arms unwinding to run through his hair, over his face, lovingly caressing his features as he watched her with equal warmth. Then Harley’s eyes blinked shut.


Bruce pulled out of her, tucked his wet cock away, and straightened Harley’s dress over her lower body. As soon as he’d sat up straight, Harley followed him up. Eyes still closed, she curled up with her head in his lap. Bruce let her rest. They were halfway to Wayne Tower.


There’d be more to do when they got there.




Just before they reached Wayne Tower, Harley woke up from her nap. She got up, stretched, and went right back to resting her head happily on Bruce’s shoulder. Ivy could feel her hands trembling on the steering wheel. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for this. She should’ve been in the backseat with Harley, eating her out—well, having Harley eat her out—letting Bruce see what he couldn’t really have, what soon he’d never have again.


They pulled up to the guard station, rolling down their windows. Seeing Ivy driving, the guard instinctively drew back, one hand going for his taser, the other reaching for the silent alarm, but Bruce leaned out of the backseat window. “It’s alright, Cary. They’re with me.”


“Oh, right—you all got… married,” the guard said sheepishly. Belatedly detaching his hand from his holster, he buzzed them in. They got a similar greeting from the receptionist, but she was quick to hide it under a sunny smile, ushering the three to the express elevator. As it so happened, they’d arrived just as a suite of executives were returning from their lunches, so a group of about half-a-dozen piled into the fortunately spacious elevator, Bruce and his wives in the back.


The executives were gracious about Bruce, but somewhat scared of him—moreso the women. Bruce was amused to find them trying to ignore him after they’d gone up a few floors and exchanged some pleasantries. Everyone was facing front, checking their phones, finishing off drinks. Harley was standing in front of him. He looked down her body. There was a rip in her briefs already. He just got into such a hurry to take them off…


The elevator dinged its arrival at the accounting floor, two getting off, one getting on. Bruce brushed aside Harley’s coattails, staring openly at her ass. She turned her head slightly. He could see her blushing. The black briefs hugged her ass incredibly tightly: he could see where it curved, where it divided. Harley gave her ass a wiggle. It was a nice show.


The elevator stopped again. More off. More on. Then it jolted into motion once more.


Bruce reached forward. He groped Harley’s ass, squeezing both cheeks with one hand, his middle finger rubbing up the stem between her sex and her anus. It rose higher, coming to her asshole, which flexed hard against his callused fingertip.


Harley’s jaw dropped. She pushed her ass against his hand. He pushed in with his finger, the tip stretching her briefs, pushing it inside her hole. It felt warm. His cock felt cold.


Ivy happened to look back. She saw Bruce fondling Harley. Probing her. First she saw Harley biting her lip, then Harley’s erect nipples, then Bruce’s hand almost between her legs. Then she watched as Bruce pulled down Harley’s briefs—not all the way, just the back, tucking them under the dimple where Harley’s buttocks met her thighs. He unzipped himself.  


Ivy looked away hurriedly. But Bruce could see her shifting her weight. He could read her body language. He knew by the way she craned her neck that she was trying to hear it when he maneuvered himself being Harley’s silky thighs, once more found himself in Harley’s juicy little cunt. It was wetter than ever.


Harley was trying to stay quiet, he knew, but he also knew by the cocking of her head that she was about to cry out. Quick as a flash, he seized her mouth, shoved his hand down to the front of her crotch to still her writhing crotch, then forced her onto the skewer of his hard cock. He penetrated her slowly. Deliciously. Quietly.


He felt her low moan against his hand. He didn’t hear a thing. He took his hand away. Eased himself in further. Harley clamped her lips together, trying to stifle her cries of pleasure with all the sanity she had.


Everyone was still facing forward, and if they glanced around, no one looked down below waist level, where all the action was happening. That just excited her more, being fucked in public, just where anyone could see—like when she was pulling a job and wore a disguise, walked among people who didn’t know how dangerous she was. Now they didn’t know what a dirty, dirty girl they were ignoring.


At last he was all the way in her, his cock hitting home inside her, Harley feeling so damn content having him inside her, but also feeling the slow hunger of needing him to fuck her. She knew he was the same way. He was just savoring the moment, his manhood throbbing against every inch of her fiery sex.


Then, Harley got a text. Her head jerked up in confusion. She’d been lost with Bruce in their own little world. Her phone buzzed again. People were starting to stir, check their pockets to see if it was them. Hurriedly, Harley fished her phone out, meaning only to silence it. Then she was who it was from.





He had one hand on her hip, holding her steady as he undulated against her, while his other worked his phone. Harley could use both of her hands to respond, and she did, creaming like crazy, feeling like at any moment her cunt would overflow.






The elevator stopped again. Some got on, some got off. Most didn’t even notice Bruce and Harley. Ivy was standing in front of them, her ample curves more than distraction enough, her expression enough to scare off most inquiries.


As soon as the elevator was in motion again, Bruce was fucking Harley—slow, sensuous thrusts that brought her inexorably to the boiling point. She wanted to bend over and take his cock as deep as it would go, but she knew she had to stand still, to take her fucking without a word. She was Bruce’s good girl. Later, she could be bad. She could make him punish her.


LET ME IN DEEP, a new text read.


The screen of Harley’s phone smeared with sweat as she replied.  OHH H YEA FUCK ME HONET FUCK ME AL NIGHT LONG




But right now, they couldn’t. They’d be at the top floor soon. They’d be able to have this one fuck, but that was all. Harley had to make the most of it. She took one hand off her phone, reached down, and found her clit demanding her touch. Just like the elevator car, she was rising steadily upwards. And just like that bomb she’d set once, when she got to the top, she’d explode.


Harley looked up, checking to see if anyone had noticed yet, almost hoping someone had. She barely stifled a gasp when she saw Ivy looking back at her. The redhead was making a point of checking her make-up in her compact, but really she was watching Harley’s face as the girl tried desperately not to give away how close she was to orgasm. Harley grinned helplessly at her. In the mirror, Harley saw Ivy smile back. It wasn’t a nice smile. In fact, it was the kind Harley had used to get when she was about to end up wrapped in vines.


She liked those smiles.


She heard another phone rattling, but it wasn’t hers. It was coming from behind her. Bruce reached past her, holding his phone, showing her the message he’d received. It was from Ivy.




Harley closed her eyes as she came, leaning back against Bruce as her clasping cunt brought him off. Once more, she felt the burning wetness of his ejaculation inside her.


She didn’t know how she’d ever lived without it.


Finished, Bruce pulled her briefs back into place, trapping his cum inside her. The front turned dark from their mingled fluids, the coat-tails dangling in front not enough to obscure the wet spot. Anyone who looked at her crotch would know what had happened.


She tried to take a step away from Bruce, further covering up their actions, but lurched unsteadily, having to grab hold of the elevator’s hand-rail to keep upright. She got a few glances from the executives, and a knowing one from Ivy. Green eyes darted down to her wet spot. Harley pressed her thighs tight together. She could still feel his cum inside her, dripping into the panties no matter how hard she squeezed her thighs.


The elevator dinged. This was their floor.

Chapter Text

Kory was bent over the bar, broad shoulders hunched, waiting for her pitcher of beer to be refilled. “I miss Dick,” she said seriously.


On her left side, Dinah instantly turned to shush Helena, who refrained from laughing, but gave Dinah a broad grin. Yeah, Dinah admitted to herself, it was kind of funny.


Then she patted Kory on the back, because she was a good sister-wife and not kinda an asshole like Helena. “He’ll be back,” Dinah told her. “But hey, at least we have each other.”


A pretty cool thing about being a superhero and friends with superheroes was that you could walk into any bar in Gotham and not worry about trouble. Dinah doubted Bizarro was drinking there, after all. The McBain wasn’t annoying enough to be a yuppie bar, but it was still pretty clean, with a hint of danger. Some of the braver frat boys were dredging there, and their leers were the most dangerous thing about the place—the regulars were crooks, yes, but knew enough to stick to their drinks. It helped having Kory with them. Seven feet tall, built like a Greek statue, and glowing green eyes. Even someone dumb enough to live in Gotham was smart enough not to mess with her.


Helena was still kinda disappointed no one had started a barfight, gotten them all started on a wild adventure. They really were just having a night on the town. She sidled against the bar backwards, spine against it, legs open on her stool. “Stuck in a relationship with Barbara Gordon, though. That’s not much better.”




“What? I like her. But you gotta admit, Dick’s exhausting, Babs is controlling—maybe a little sympathy for us, having to put up with them both just because the sex is great.” Helena eyed the bartender refilling Kory’s drink. “Move it along.”


“I like Barbara,” Kory insisted. “She’s a queen. She rules to make us happy.”


“Yeah, well—I didn’t sign up to be a peasant.” Helena reached behind her for a shotglass, brought it unerringly to her lips.


“You’re a knight,” Dinah told her. “Just like me. Just with less of a classical, timeless aesthetic.”


“What, fishnets? We’re talking about fishnets here?”


“I know what you’re doing,” Kory said, lifting her pitcher for an enormous gulp. “You don’t have to banter with each other to distract me. I’m fine with Dick being on a secret mission—somewhere. Our reunions are always sweet. I just grow tired of waiting for them. I know absence makes the heart grow fonder, but how much fonder can my heart be?”


“Awwwww,” Dinah cooed, leaning over to hug Kory. Kory returned the embrace, patting her on the small of the back.


“So you’re not pissed at him for booking?” Helena asked.


“No, of course not. I believe all must follow their feelings, and if his feelings lead him away from me for a time—“ Kory faltered. Dinah rubbed her back. “They will, in time, lead him back. He should not be with me, with any of us, out of obligation. But I believe he truly loves us. All of us.”


Helena leaned back along the bar, putting her feet up on Kory’s lap. Kory rubbed her calves with the easy intimacy of a Tamaranian. Where banter had failed to distract her from her troubles, the closeness of her friends—her wives—was properly warming her. “Well, I’m gonna be pissed off at him for you. You’re, like, the perfect woman. You just wanna give him blowjobs and punch people with him. He should appreciate that. I don’t care if Batman has him in Nanda Parbat, he should at least be sending you a Dick pic.”


“I do miss the sight of my Dick.”


Kory’s head going downcast gave Helena another opportunity to flash Dinah a grin. Dinah mouthed something rude to her.


“I know what’ll cheer you up,” Helena said, gently butting her toes up into Kory’s rock-hard stomach.


“Another round?”


“Nah,” Helena waved dismissively. “Dinah, your Canary Cry—how strong is it, exactly? I’ve seen you take out robots, so—it’s robot strong?”


“Depends on how loud I scream.”


“Mmmm,” Helena agreed. “But you have the low-level for disabling people-people, and the high-level for maybe getting in a shot at Amazo?”


Dinah shrugged good-naturedly. “I just pour it on when everyone’s shooting laser beams or throwing Batarangs and hope it’s a help.”


“But what would the low-level do to, say, Wonder Woman?”


“Nothing, I don’t think—“


Helena danced her heels on Kory’s thigh. “And Kory, I’ve seen you get into a punch-up with Wondy. You’re pretty strong.”


“Not that strong,” Kory corrected her. Her smile left no doubt about this being false modesty. “Just well-trained.”


“But you could take a pretty big hit.”


Kory smiled at her. “I might even like it.”


Helena smiled right back. “So Kory—Dinah—if BC here were to use her Cry on Starfire, she would feel it, but it probably wouldn’t hurt her?”


“I don’t think so.” “I suppose not.”


“And it’s sonic, right? Vibrations? Just a really powerful, intense vibration…”


Kory’s big green eyes got bigger. “I like vibrations.”


Dinah tossed a wad of cash on the bar. “I like people liking vibrations.”




Kory flew them out of Gotham, one on either side of her, arms wrapped around her and feet atop her big boots. The humans had to stand on tiptoes, but they made it work. Outside the Gotham County Line, they landed in the miles of swampland that surrounded the city, safely alone on a cozy little island.


Helena liked flying Kory Air. She was loyal to Zinda Air, of course, but it was a bit harder to grope the pilot with all the controls in the way.


On their nice little island, Kory stripped. Her normally skimpy clothes—her short skirt and tight T-shirt and crop jacket—didn’t even hint at the amazement of her truly naked. She was all curves: big teardrop-shaped breasts held strong against gravity’s pull by her superhuman flesh, but not with artificial stillness—with fleshy abundance that jiggled at the slight provocation. Her ass was large and voluptuously curved as well, but toned with her warrior’s training. It begged to be touched. The rest of her was equally tempting, hard and soft in a perfect beguiling mix. Her wide, open face and soft waterfall of fiery red hair were matched by the hearty bulge of the muscles in her abs and biceps, her strong thighs curved with muscle as well as decadence.


And more than that, she was just so unabashed at being naked, joyful at having her nudity observed and appreciated by those she loved. She grabbed Dinah and Helena both, giggling, and pulled them into another group hug, spiced with hungry kisses to both their lips.


“God, Princess—“ Helena muttered, her own nipples standing out strong and proud through her tee. “I really wanna see you get off.”


“I want you to see that too,” Kory informed her, seriousness leavened with good humor. She laid down on her back and crooked her finger at Dinah.


“Just fuck her up,” Helena said to Dinah, watching as the blonde got down on all fours. She wasn’t dressed quite as skimpily as Kory—Kory’s skirt seemed to sizzle up her golden upper thighs with the slightest breeze. But though Dinah’s V-neck blouse and fully zipped jacket were modest enough, her hot pants and fishnet stockings were pure sin. It was pornographic to see that ass laid down atop Dinah’s folded legs, the lovely creature herself kneeling in the V of Kory’s spread legs. Helena popped the button on her jeans—crazy that she was the most modestly dressed of the three, even with her belly-baring top—and saw Kory’s face fill with anticipation as Dinah lowered her face to Kory’s shorn sex.


Kory’s face went funny as Helena grabbed herself through her pants, a low whistle filling the air—but not as effectively as it filled Kory’s cunt.


“X’hal!” Starfire exclaimed. Naturally.


“Did I hurt you?” Dinah asked, raising her head. All concern. “That was as quiet as I could go…”


Kory put her hand to Dinah’s bleached-blonde head before Helena could. “Then you have to go louder.” Kory smiled fiercely. “Very much louder.”


Dinah smiled too, just before she opened her mouth again.


“X’HAL!” There was no mistaking the delight in Kory’s voice now, even mixed as it was with shock at just how good it had felt. Dinah trilled between her legs, a wild, savage pleasure that shot through her body like a live wire had been touched to her sex. Kory dug her heels into the earth, pushing up mounds of it as she struggled to absorb the pleasure Dinah was feeding her.


Helena sidestepped Kory’s kicks, kneeling down behind Dinah. With her head down between those scrumptious thighs of Kory’s, her ass was corresponding high in the air. Helena enjoyed taking the opportunity to give it a few slaps, Dinah quailing, struggling to keep the high note she’d hit as her ass swayed from side to side, wincing from Helena’s hits. Then, smiling even more wickedly, Helena pulled Dinah’s pants down off that lovely peach of an ass.


“Perfection,” Helena purred, staring hard at Dinah’s tight, pert ass, its well-toned petiteness hidden away not at all but just enough by the fishnets that climbed to her waist. Like a cat at a scratching post, Helena raked her fingernails across that fine mesh of holes as she kissed the sweet curve diving to Dinah’s anus.


The Canary Cry rose in pitch. Kory’s hands flew to the side, stiff fingers cracking rocks and earth on the ground she laid upon, digging into soil that burst as soon as she squeezed. Finally, Kory flung her hands upward, grabbing hold of a tree trunk a foot from her head. The wood managed to resist her grip long enough for her to center herself. She looked down her own magnificent body to see not only Dinah’s beautiful face upon her sex, but Helena’s behind Dinah’s upturned ass. It didn’t take Kory much imagination to figure out what the Huntress was hunting for at the moment.


“Fucking X’Hal!” she swore, “X—“ She broke off. She could no longer form words. Not in the midst of her orgasm.


Helena watched Kory’s hips pitch upward like an oil derrick, seemingly hard enough to take Dinah’s head off, but Dinah would no longer be denied. She stayed at Kory’s sex, no longer Crying but suckling and licking at the delicious taste of Koriand’r. Even that was a comedown from the deliciously agonizing sensation Kory had just endured.


Helena puckered her lips again—wouldn’t Babs be jealous that someone else was getting their ass kissed for a change?—and then left Dinah with her fishnets hanging in tatters down her hips like a broken spider’s web. That was sufficient to rip Dinah away from Kory’s flavor, as she looked up to see Helena stepping over her, lying down beside Kory instead.


“Make her come again,” Helena challenged, “and I’ll go back to you.”


Helena’s last kiss had been just above Dinah’s cunt.


Dinah parted her lips, the dangerous look in her eyes showing she was considering simply unleashing her power on Helena, but instead she bent between Kory’s legs once more and the high-pitched scream of her Canary Cry was blunted by Kory’s body. Indeed, it seemed to travel through Kory, to open up her mouth and find release in Kory’s own insatiable scream, her whole body shaking with the effort of containing Dinah’s pleasuring, breasts shaking wildly, hair in a violent flurry as her head ripped from side to side, eyes starkly wide as she struggled to understand what she was feeling. How could it be an orgasm when it felt like so much more?


Helena splayed herself atop Kory like she was holding down a seizure victim, catching Kory’s oscillations with her own wide-spread thighs around Kory’s midsection, kissing Kory in-between the high, gasping cries Kory needed to release, rubbing her own breasts against Kory’s larger, warmer ones. When Dinah looked up, she could see Helena’s ass in jeans so tight they could’ve been painted on. And she probably thought she wasn’t dressed like a hooker. Dinah pulled her hand back and delivered a stinging bitch slap to Helena’s posterior. She was rewarded with a swearing moan of pleasure from Helena. Christ, where did Babs do her recruiting, Subs R Us?


“X!” Kory began again, only to interrupt herself with a passionate kiss of Helena, hips pumping into Dinah’s Canary Cry as if it were an actual penetration—instead, like a wet finger gliding along the rim of a glass, altering their position changed the vibration inside Kory, making it feel like one massive tongue licking her everywhere at once, shifting its focus to press hard there, or there, or there, a steady touch that restlessly drove her to a clenching, squirming orgasm.


Her ass returned to the dirt, grinding down as Kory processed her obscene amounts of pleasure. Dinah watched with some pride as Kory’s backside actually drilled into the earth with her getting off.


“…Hal,” Kory finished. Then, she swore in her adopted language. “Oh my. Oh…” She giggled. “My! That certainly was—oh, Dinah! You are truly gifted! I am so very fortunate to be your friend… so very… oh my sweet X’Hal…”


She pulled Helena tighter as she shook, the throes of her release driving down, now briefly flaring up again as her body was relieved of some of its orgasmic juices. Dinah watched in astonishment as Kory ejaculated, flowing like wine from just below her clit down to the lowest point of her jewel-like sex, then dripping down to the ground. Then Dinah rushed in to kiss at Kory’s wet, literally overflowing pussy, the taste of her cum far sweeter and more decadent than even her womanhood had been.


“I think Dick’s been punished enough—not being able to see that…”


“I don’t know,” Helena said, for once enjoying Kory’s puppyish crushing of her. “I kinda like the hate sex thing. You gals can be all lovey-dovey with him. I like kicking his ass.”


“Speaking of ass,” Dinah said. “I can go louder. If Kory thinks she can take it. And if Helena’s ready to stop playing and join in.”


“Oh, I am.” Helena grinned wickedly at her, then whispered in Kory’s ear. With her own fierce, joyous smile, Kory flipped herself so that she was on all fours atop Dinah. Helena had already broken away from the aliens. She shimmied her ass as she walked over Dinah once more, straddling her, eying Kory’s now upturned ass.


“It’s dirty,” Dinah needled her, realizing Helena had no intention of making this a daisy chain.


“I like it dirty,” Helena replied, pulling open Kory’s cheeks to reveal her hole was as clean and tasty as she could hope for it to be. Then she eyed Dinah. “You don’t like it, Blondie, give me some of that old-time religion. Fuck me up right through Kory.”


Then, thoroughly ignoring Dinah, Helena moved to eat Kory’s ass.


It wasn’t for the first time, but it was just as fulfilling as ever, Kory biting her lip and squirming as she felt a talented tongue in a place where Earthlings were rarely willing or able to offer pleasure. She loved everything about how Helena tongued her asshole, from the single solitary kiss Helena began with to the just-right tightness of her fingers holding her cheeks open. Then she felt another set of fingers on her ass, almost interlaced with Helena’s. Dinah was pulling herself up to Kory’s cunt.


Her mouth opened. Kory forgot all about Dick.


Despite Dinah using her Canary Cry as loudly as she could, this was the quietest of their couplings. Her scream was completely absorbed by Kory’s more than receptive body, and Kory’s voice utterly failed to yell out the orgasm she was instantly gifted with. Her mouth opened in a soundless scream as she fell forward, supported by the Birds’ unconscious teamwork in holding her up and pulling her up. Her large breasts and oversensitive nipples rolled through the mud her own copious sweat had created as she fought for a handhold, callused fingers raking the ground, digging for support. She didn’t think to fly. It was almost possible that she was held up by the sheer force of Dinah’s Cry between her legs.


Then, pinned in place by her two lovers, Kory slapped her muddy hands to her own face, painting her cheeks and caught strands of hair with loam as she realized her orgasm had not ceased. It was going on and on, a high note sustained by Dinah, underscored by Helena as that horrible, beautiful tongue irresistibly owned her ass every bit as possessively as a cock would. Kory’s hands coiled into fists against her jaw, her mouth opening wider than ever to release every octave of her still voiceless scream, and she came for both the mouths pleasuring her. Or came again. Or kept coming. Her juices flowed down Dinah’s swan-like neck, down the collar of her jacket as Dinah frantically unzipped it, began massaging Kory’s copious honey into her breasts. The wet T-shirt between just seemed to make it warmer.


Finally, the plateau Kory had ascended dipped again. She came one last time—if it had ever been anything but one long, continuous climax—her latest spurt of ejaculate directly hitting Dinah’s Canary Cry, broken by it so drops of her honey flew everywhere, splattering Kory’s own body as well as Dinah’s face, even Helena.


Then, Kory’s mouth finally, firmly shut. She collapsed forward, boneless with weight too much for even Dinah and Helena. Kory fell directly into the mud, unconscious, hips stirring like a toy just after the batteries were pulled out. Then they, too, settled.


Kory turned over in her sleep, naked body caked with mud in asymmetrical artfulness, a savage, proud, satiated goddess. “X’Haaaaaaaaaal,” she muttered—a word of thanks—then her head lulled to the side.


She began to snore.


“Now how do we get back to Gotham?” Helena wondered. 

Chapter Text

Ivy walked the halls of power. She’d never seen them intact before. Ripping through them with her vines, yes, but not like this. It was fascinating, anthropologically speaking. Here was where old men decided how long the Earth should live once they were done with it, where forests were reduced to numbers and those numbers subtracted, divided, zeroed. Where all noises of conscience echoed on soundproof walls, fading away before they were ever heard at all.


And at the head of it, Wayne. A puppet, perhaps, but a puppet by choice. She watched his smug swagger as he approached the boardroom, Harley nipping at his heels like the beta she was, needing his strength to make up for her weakness. Ivy pitied her, raged at her. Why couldn’t she just be strong?


Lucius Fox was waiting by the double doors. Ivy had considered ending him many times, but he was the best of a bad lot. If she’d removed him, there’d be a million more far worse, graduating each day from business school to take his place.


“Good evening, Mr. Wayne. And the Mrs. Waynes.” He smiled bemusedly.


“Evening, Lucius,” Bruce replied. “What’s up?”


“The merger with the Moon Consumer Group. I warned you the CFO was jittery. He’s on the verge of a full-scale panic attack because you haven’t reviewed the security filings yet. It’s a quibble, but you know how these things can catch like wildfire with the shareholders.”


“Don’t I know it.” Bruce was chipper, even more lighthearted than he’d been with Harley, like all this was even easier to manage than a homicidal ex-villain. “So just a quick review and we’ll be set.”


“That’s all, Mr. Wayne, that’s all.”


“And maybe throw in a review of our holdings in South America. I think Pam here would find it enlightening.”


“With pleasure, Mr. Wayne.”




The boardroom was empty, the conference table deserted, the lights lowered and windows tinted to draw attention to a screen at the far end of the room. It flickered from a rotating Wayne Enterprises logo to a graph. The first of many.


Lucius stood just outside its light. “The first area of concern is redundancies throughout Applied Sciences. You’ve mentioned wanting to double that department in size and take on additional projects, but it’ll be several fiscal years before we can show a profit with that strategy. What I suggest is announcing a few of our more nebulous projects, so at least we can tide over the shareholders with something through the lean seasons…”


Harley sat between Bruce and Ivy, nearly sinking into the thick leather chair meant for a heavyset man. With her slouch, her body disappeared to the breadbasket under the thick oaken table, its surface featurelessly clean except for an ornately carved W. It had been there since it stood for Thomas Wayne.


She was bored. She wished desperately that Bruce was touching her again, or Ivy, or that Lucius wasn’t droning on about business and business and business and numbers. She tried to think of anything else, ended up imagining she felt Bruce’s hand on her thigh. It felt so real…


Harley smiled to herself, her teeth very nearly the brightest thing in the dark room. It was real. Bruce was massaging the leg closer to him, his head still turned away from her, the light from the screen playing over his profile to show his intense concentration. Harley leaned toward Ivy, lifting up her ass, giving him more room to work if he wanted to take advantage of it.


He did.


With Harley’s invitation, he slipped his hand under her, feeling the warm fullness of her ass through her shorts, then the moisture between her legs. His attention had been quick to rev Harley up. She opened her mouth in a silent moan as Bruce pushed his callused fingers against her sex, the feeling wonderful, but still not as good as having him inside her. All it took was one little bit of Bruce inside Harley’s cunt to make her feel complete: his tongue, his cock, his fingers. She thought she could get off on his toes if it came to that.


Straightening surreptitiously, Harley tugged her shorts down from her waist, then quickly hopped over them so she could skim the thing down her legs. She gave them a little kick off her feet, landing them directly underneath the conference table, and promptly forgot all about them.


Bruce now pulled his hand out from under her, sticking it down the front of her body. Harley drew her vest’s coattails to either side of her legs, giving him even more room. He quickly ascertained that now she wore nothing from the waist down but her stockings. He dove right in.


Harley gasped aloud, just barely managing to keep her voice to a whisper. Bruce could hear her; he smiled. So could Ivy, she turned away from her curious perusal of the screen and regarded Harley, green eyes tracing her from hot cunt to embarrassedly enjoying expression. Bruce knew what to do with an open pussy, and Harley felt the rewards of her nudity immediately. So much so that she lifted her left leg, putting it across Bruce’s lap so that he had even more room to maneuver. With her pussy split and totally exposed to him, her demented mind imagined she might even have room for his fist.


Bruce didn’t share her assessment, though he did fill Harley, one finger after another, until all fours of his digits were tucked away inside her, drawing her aroused juices out into his palm. His thumb gently caressed her inner thigh, and Harley wished she could cover his face with kisses, showing him the same affection he had for her. But there were other ways for her to spread the joy.


At the boutique, Ivy had bought the most expensive jeans and blouse she could find, then disdainfully modified them by shearing the jeans off at the thighs, ripping the midriff from the blouse, exposing most of her chartreuse skin to nourishing sunlight. But not all.


There wasn’t much room in Ivy’s tight-fitting shorts for Harley’s hand. She had to wiggle it around, shoving hard to get it into the region of Ivy’s groin. There, she copied every move Bruce made inside her, slipping her middle finger into Ivy just as Bruce did to her.


With the feel of Bruce’s fingers in her cunt, Ivy’s cunt around her fingers, Harley was swimming in orgasm, about to drown. Pleasure washed up her body, and she knew she had to do the same for Bruce. She whipped her hand to his lap, felt his hardness waiting for her, unzipped him, pulled him out. He stroked her as she stroked him, stroked Ivy, getting off two people at once and getting off on that herself.


Ivy reached automatically for Harley, wanting to repay her, and felt the hairy back of Bruce’s hand where her own belonged. She looked at Harley, who smiled only somewhat apologetically at her. It was hard for Ivy not to smile back, feeling their lust rising, hearing Bruce’s deep breaths bellow out of his flaring nostrils. All three of them were having difficulty keeping quiet, and Ivy wondered if Lucius could hear what was going on.


Harley and Ivy were breathing hard as they came together, but Bruce grabbed Harley’s wrist, jabbing his thumb into her pulse, wrenching her off his erection. She stared at it longingly as she came, fingers digging into the walls of her pussy, thumb pinioning on her clit. Bruce squeezed her hand as she came for him.


“Go to the bathroom,” Bruce whispered to her. “Now.”


Harley leapt up, ignorant and uncaring of her bare groin, the wetness evident. “I have to go to the bathroom!” she announced. “For peeing, not for sex. Although,” she added in a stage whisper, “if either of you’d care to join me…”


“Go!” Ivy hissed, unsure why she was helping Bruce. Or was this still part of their plan?




“I think I get the picture, Lucius,” Bruce said, a few minutes after Harley had left. “I think a quick phone call to Burt will calm him down, once we’ve touched base and brainstormed a little. I think he just wants to be kept in the loop.”


“I agree, Mr. Wayne.”


“Would you mind continuing the presentation? I think Pam’s finding it interesting.”




Ivy watched Bruce as he left the room, then turned her attention back to Lucius. It was interesting. New pesticide techniques in their agricultural division for less contamination, cross-cutting in the logging industry to better allow the forests to recover, even pushes to legalize and industrialize marijuana distribution—more plant life. Ironic how Wayne Enterprises was the sort of company she’d ignore in favor of more flagrant offenders, in her old line of work.


Then she realized neither Bruce nor Harley had come back.




The men’s restroom was empty. The women’s restroom appeared to be, so Ivy started checking the stalls. She didn’t know what the problem was; why Harley seemed so enthusiastic to go along with the plan. How could she enjoy having that man on top of her so much? Ivy was red with anger, with jealousy. He shouldn’t have been allowed to join in at the conference table, to touch Harley like she did. Ivy had thought about fighting over her, and thought about it and thought about it, how Bruce was touching Harley and entering her and pleasing her. Ivy had thought about it right up until she’d come.


Just then, Ivy heard the jingle of keys, the whispered slap of clothes hitting the floor. It was coming from the handicapped stall—the handicapped stall—at the end of the restroom. Her bare feet making not a sound, Ivy walked into the stall just beside it, kneeling down to look underneath the partition.


Harley was sitting on the toilet, Bruce opposite her. He had dropped trou… or perhaps more accurately, Harley had dropped it for him, bringing his trousers down in a defeated slump of open fly and broken buckle, her slender hands grasping at his muscle-ridden ass while she looked up at Bruce worshipfully. She wore only stockings and gloves, Ivy reminded of how sleek and firm and delicate her body really was. She looked up and saw that Harley’s dress was actually slung over the partition of the stall she was occupying.


She hadn’t noticed it—just like she hadn’t noticed Harley, so many times. She’d been a fool not to pay attention to her. Now she was losing her to Wayne.


Bruce reached down, stroking Harley’s upturned face, her unbound hair, then bringing his hand to Harley’s lips. She kissed it graciously, seeming to savor the taste of his fingertips, his knuckles, biting playfully at the webbing between thumb and forefinger. Bruce pulled his hand away chidingly, then rested his forefinger on Harley’s lower lip. She opened her mouth obediently, her eyes darting down to his erection—Ivy could not see it behind Bruce’s body, but its shadow fell across Harley like the Empire State Building’s across Manhattan.


Like a lion tamer putting his head inside the beast’s mouth, Bruce’s fingers entered the clown’s smile. Harley allowed it. She wasn’t trying to get pregnant anymore. She was just trying to please him.


She closed her slim lips, sucking, eyes closed to better concentrate on her own flavor. Ivy had nearly forgotten what it tasted like.


So many nights Harley had wanted to make love, but Ivy had refused, irritated, or given her a quick round with tentacles, with Feraks, and let it go at that, knowing what Harley needed was long, sensuous lovemaking. Harley was starved for affection and attention and that had driven her to go to Wayne for it.


As angry as she felt—as much as she wanted to march in there and turn Wayne into compost—Ivy couldn’t bring herself to blame either of them. It was her fault that Harley was gorging herself on Wayne’s devotion. And how could she naysay Wayne for going after someone so beautiful, so perfect, so funny and bright and eager to please…?


Then Harley grabbed Bruce’s cock and started pumping it. Ivy flushed with anger even as she shivered lustfully, recalling how good Harley was with her hands. However, her chief thought was That’s mine! It was not directed at Harley’s hand.


Bruce definitely seemed to approve of what Harley was doing, slouching in relaxation, his thumb lovingly petting Harley’s dimples as she continued to submissively suckle at her own taste on his fingers. It wasn’t much, but Ivy had become adept at reading Bruce. And by craning her neck at an uncomfortable angle, she could see how his prick had hardened into a thick, weighty column. Once more, she couldn’t believe how big it was. She never did.


Harley smiled with all her summery glee, watching his cock enlarge. “Mmmmm, Brucie-wucie!” she sighed. “I just can’t get enough… being with you feels like being sane again, only fun!”


“Since you’re so grateful,” Bruce said, with his usual withholding sardonicism, “why don’t you show it? Why don’t you take as many inches…” His rigidly standing cock nudged at Harley’s mouth, “as you feel grateful for?”


Harley breathed in his precum. “Love ta, Mistah B!”


Her glistening tongue seemed almost to be pulled from her mouth, drawn to Bruce’s cock as if by magnets, lapping frantically at the precum gathering on Bruce’s cockhead. Ivy almost shook with lust, watching her. She’d known how gluttonous Harley was for her own juices. Now it was Bruce’s she lapped up like ambrosia.


Ivy couldn’t demand her lover back. She was the one who’d forced her to this. She could either leave, or watch. Those were her choices.


At first, it had been agony to see Harley with Bruce, but that had faded. What was left Ivy had been almost afraid to acknowledge. An arousal that hadn’t developed with Harley’s nudity or submission, but that had been there since the beginning. Ivy watched Harley’s greedy tongue lick her lips until they were slippery enough to be driven down hard upon Bruce’s erection, the man flushing as his every inch was encased in her sucking, caved in cheeks. Ivy remembered their dildos, the hard but sensitive wood Ivy had grown to try and lure Harley away from Joker, how she herself had enjoyed Harley’s loving oral attention to it.


“That’s good,” Bruce groaned. “Harley, you’re so good…”


Damn right she is, Ivy thought. I taught her. She’d taught Harley everything she knew about men, about cocks, so they could use them and abuse them, play with their own—modified cucumbers that shot maple syrup, let her know how it felt to be a man, tried to show Harley how much better cunts were. It was terrifying—exciting to see Harley put her lessons to work on Wayne. Head bobbing, golden hair flying, hungry sucking just seen from another angle.


Ivy watched with a mixture of sadness and lust as Harley further transformed herself into the perfect submissive for this dark, powerful master. She didn’t want to kill Wayne anymore. She didn’t want to fuck Harley, dominate her and show her who she belonged with. She wanted to touch herself.


And she could, so long as she stayed quiet. Unzipping her pants, Ivy reached under her panties and began rubbing, slowly, sensuously. She wanted to come just as Harley did. Like they were making love again.


“I’m getting bored of your mouth,” Bruce said, Harley shaking her head desperately—“Mm-nnn, mm-nnn!”—as he pulled his cock away, Harley’s distended lips finally drawing back together as first the base of his cock was drawn away, then the rest of it. “I want your cunt now.”


As simple as that, he picked Harley up, whirled her around, setting her on the grab bar. Ivy looked straight up from her position underneath the partition. She could see Bruce’s enormous cock slam into Harley’s juicy cunt from directly underneath. Harley took his fierce lunge with a wail of satisfaction, completion, the cream that covered her thighs joined by fresh waves from her box.


“Unnnnnnnhhhhhh, shit!” Harley wailed. “It’s yours, Brucie, it’s yours! Fuck meeeeeee!”


Ivy fingered herself feverishly, trying to pump into her own cunt as hard as Bruce’s girthy erection was powering in and out of Harley’s womanhood. She could see everything, all of Harley’s tics that she usually ignored—those short and vivaciously painted fingernails scratching the partition, blue eyes rolling, her lovely breasts shaking and swaying like they had minds of their own. It was the most beautiful thing Ivy could imagine; all that was missing was her own body upon Harley’s.


“Just like that, just like that!” Harley wailed. “As hard as you can! Fuck my PhD out!”


Just come to me and I’ll do it for you, Ivy thought, though she knew there was no way Harley would quit now, eyes closed tight as Bruce fucked her toward the orgasm she needed so badly. Harley whimpered and moaned and clawed hard at Bruce’s body, finally showing how much she wanted it.


Bruce’s muscular body smacked loudly into Harley’s flesh, his thick cock sounding off noisily as it reamed out Harley’s juices. The man was snorting and grunting, red-faced with lust as he hammered Harley to climax, physically forced her pleasure onto her. It was something Ivy could never do.


Inevitably, Harley screamed, came. “You’re doing it to meee!” she howled. “You’re making me—unnnnnnhhhhh!”


Bruce gave his cock one final thrust and jetted his load inside Harley, exhaling harshly as he finished. Then Harley kissed his cheek sweetly.


“Is that all you’ve got?” she panted, out of breath. “Or are you saving some for Paige?”


Paige? Ivy thought, withdrawing back into her own stall, sitting on the toilet and drawing her feet up so they wouldn’t see her when they left.. Then she remembered. Bruce and Paige and Vicki. Maybe Roxy too. Bruce could have all of them and she couldn’t even handle Harl.


“Right now, it’s all for you. We can wait for more, if you want. It won’t take long.”


“No, Red—she worries.”


“Not worth it?” Bruce asked.


Ivy could hear Harley’s smile. “Worth it. So worth it. That was—“


“—not what you need,” Bruce interrupted. “Not all the time. Was it?”




“You need to be punished, too. Not just rewarded.”


Ivy couldn’t hear, but she knew Harley was nodding.


“We’re going to get back in the car and we’re going to go home. We’re going to do some things. I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, and if you don’t like the sound of it, we don’t have to do it.”


“Tell me,” Harley said in a small voice.


Bruce leaned in closer and whispered. Ivy couldn’t hear him, but could hear the sound of his voice, low and hot, spooling into Harley’s ear.


“Yes,” Harley said. “That’s what I want. That’s what’ll make me a good girl.”




Bruce was driving. Harley sat in the backseat with Ivy. She leaned her head against Ivy’s shoulder, but Ivy was in no mood to return the gesture, lay her head atop Harley’s and make them a matched pair in Wayne’s rear-view mirror.


She didn’t trust herself to touch Harley, and the clown kept up her slump, pressing more insistently into Ivy, until she skimmed down Ivy’s body to land on her lap. There, Harley gently headbutted Ivy’s thigh, bit the pocket flap hanging out from underneath her jeans and teethed at it like a bored dog.


Bruce pulled over onto the side of the road.


Ivy looked around. A desolate country road perched on an embankment, a ditch alongside them, plunging down into a forest. Trees tall enough that their branches protruded over the road. Bruce killed the ignition and got out, Harley not seeming to notice or care. Off in her own little world, which now included Wayne in her loving sighs.


“We should keep him,” Harley said.


Ivy said nothing.


“We’ve kept pets before. It wouldn’t be any different. We just wouldn’t get rid of him ever…”


“It’s not the same,” Ivy said tersely, watching as Bruce went to a willow tree, examining its branches as a farmer would examine his crops.


“We need him!” Harley whined. Outside the car, Bruce snapped off a willow branch. Ivy winced, as if in reaction to Harley’s desperation. “I need him…”


“I don’t want to need him,” Ivy said, watching balefully as Bruce stripped the slender branch of twigs and leaves.


“You don’t want to need me either,” Harley pouted. Bruce took out a pocket knife and further pared down the branch.


“That’s not true,” Ivy seethed. “I want you to need me like I need you. Like you needed Mistah J, like you needed Deadshot, like you need him, like you need anyone but me…”


“Well, I’m not enough for you, so why should you be enough for me!”


Bruce was coming back to the car.


“Because I’m a goddess,” Ivy hissed, “and you shouldn’t need more than one goddess!”


“You need to be worshipped more than I need to worship you!”


“You need to be hurt more than anything. I’d worship you if you let me!”


Bruce opened the backdoor. “Quinn, out of the car.”


Harley got up, unfastening her seatbelt and stepping out with him. “Maybe I do need to be hurt,” she told Ivy. “But not by you.”


She closed the door.


Bruce bent her over the trunk of the car. “Do you know what I’m doing this?” he asked, ripping the coattails of her dress away, leaving her bare ass totally uncovered.


“Because I helped the Joker,” Harley said. “Because I was bad. Because I need it.”


Ivy rolled down the window. Bruce noticed, addressing her as he gave the willow switch a few testing swings through the air. “I’m interested to see how red her ass gets,” he said, as if to himself. “I think Harl will look good in stripes.”


Ivy’s expression soured. “Harley looks best with a smile. And a few love pats on her cunt will give her a great big smile.”


Bruce reached between Harley’s thighs, rubbing lightly, feeling her sex’s smoothness, how quickly it moistened for him. He worked his fingers into her a few times, and Harley’s breath steamed up the car’s bodywork.


“Would you like that, Harley?” Bruce asked. He pinched her labia. “You do seem to like it whenever I touch you here…”


“It doesn’t matter what I like,” Harley moaned.


“That’s right, Harley. That’s absolutely right. Safe word is Batman.”


Bruce slapped the switch across Harley’s ass, the stinging pain bringing a scream out of her throat. It had been a brutal blow, landing across both cheeks, leaving Harley’s ass on fire. Ivy could imagine the welts it would leave. Then Bruce brought the switch upward, so it came between the crack of Harley’s ass with the tip smacking the lips of her sex. Searing pain flew into her stomach.


“Oh God!” Harley yelled. “Don’t hit my cunt! Too tender, hurts too much, don’t! Spank my ass please, please!”


“Well,” Bruce said, “since you asked so nicely…”


He brought the switch across her ass again, Harley screaming as fiery pain sliced across her cheeks. She could hear Ivy laughing, but the sound was from a distance. Bruce slashed her again, one way, then the other, so both cheeks of her ass got a turn with the brunt of his force. He did the backs of her thighs too, leaving stinging pain from her knees to the small of her ass. It was excruciating. And delicious. Her cunt was soaked, her clit standing as if begging for another blow,


“Oh, more… give me more of the switch…” Harley was out of breath, her head unable to rise from the body of the evening-cooled car.


“Who am I?” Bruce asked.


“My master,” Harley intoned dreamily. “My jailer… my doctor… my man…”


The switch cut her short, lashing low across both buttocks. Automatically Harley’s hips worked, shoving her ass upward to make of it a better target, to get closer to her pain and her joy. She wanted him to cut her flesh until it was his.


“You’re the cock… the one I dream about… the one I’ve wanted since I knew what they were for… you’re what my cunt was meant for…”


Ivy watched as he beat Harley unmercifully. His cock was out, free hand working methodically on it, readying it to ever increasing hardness as his eyes appraised the wetness of Harley’s sex, the redness of her ass, like a master painter carefully deciding each brushstroke. His eyes were glazed. They were seeing through her.


“Beat me!” Harley screamed at the top of her lungs. “Mark me! Make me yours, make me hurt, whip me, hurt me, fuck me with your switch!” She screamed it over and over, and over and over Bruce complied.


“Couldn't this wait until we were on your estate?” Ivy asked, her voice bored, but shaking underneath.


“This is my estate,” Bruce answered, hitting Harley again.


She whimpered under him, enjoying the pain like she never had before. She could stop it, if she wanted, and even if she’d never wanted to stop it with Mistah J—had she?—that still meant it was her pain, hers, to make herself feel good.


“Beg, bitch,” Bruce commanded. “Let me hear you beg.”


Harley nodded, bobbing head smearing tears across the car’s paint. “Please! Please whip me, please show me you’re my master… whip me, please, yes, whip me, love me…”


Harley only wished there was some slick, sticky, delicious leather to hold her down, like Selina had, so she couldn’t stop him even if she wanted to, unless she wanted to, but she didn’t want to, she wanted him to, she wanted to tingle at the pain…


Harley reached under the straps of her dress, circling her wrists around them so that they were wrapped around her wrists, holding them in place. She loved being restrained.


Bruce stopped. Any more would scar the flesh, and he liked it quite well as it was. He laid his hand on Harley’s welted ass, the fresh pain making Harley ooze in gratification, her small voice cooing into the dusk. “Now what do you want?” he asked.


Harley looked backward. She’d heard his hand on his cock, and now saw it with hungry eyes, a huge drop of precum hanging from his dickhead. “That’s what I want… y—you… your… seed… taste it, on my tongue… lick it from you…”


For a moment, Harley thought he would let her have it. Instead, he dropped the switch and rested his hand on Harley’s back, pressing her harder into the car as a warning to stay put, then moved away. He continued to massage his tool, milking his precum out into a great blob held by a liquid thread. It fell lower, further, Harley wanting it but only watching.


“Please let me have it,” she said involuntarily. “I want it—your cock…”


But he wouldn’t. The drop fell loose, hitting the car’s gleaming chrome fender.


“Now you can have it,” Bruce told her.


Harley hurried to the bumper, still self-restrained, and planted her lips on the precum. She lapped at it until there was no trace, then less than no trace.


Bruce watched, pleased. “I’ve always heard a good woman could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch.”


Harley licked her lips. “I’m not a good woman.”


“Not yet.” Bruce grabbed her by her hair and simply tossed her down the embankment, Harley rolling end over end, grass and wildflowers skidding over her body, until she preternaturally caught her foot, heels sliding over the last feet of the slope. She tried for a smooth dismount, but her foot sunk into the mud at the foot of the hill. She tripped and fell face-first into a mud patch.


Bruce was right behind her. His cock was out. Harley rose, lips puckered, but his foot landed on her back, pressing her back down to the earth.


Facedown in the mud, her ass in the air, still roiling with pain.


“Ride your Harley,” she said.




Ivy stood at the top of the embankment. She listened to the wind, to the leaves waving in the wind, to the growing of the roots and the nourishment of the sun and the turning of the seasons. She listened to Harley say “oh, ohhh, it’s so hard, it’s steel, it’s fucking steel in my fucking cunt!”


Such a whore, Ivy thought, her brow furrowing, her nipples hard within her tight shirt.


She sat down, the grass welcoming her weight, and looked up at the sky. It was darkening like a fruit growing ripe, stars coming out, the cold light of the moon telling her plants that they’d grown enough for the day. She could see some meteors, even, bright and cutting, whipping across the dark sky as Bruce’s switch had…


Once more, she stopped being able to put the moans out of her mind. “You big fucker your cock so big in my cunt! I can’t stand itNO! No! Don’t stop! Give me all that sweet big cock of yours!” Were they louder or was she listening harder?


Would she use such dirty, shameless words if it were Wayne fucking her? Yes. He had and she had, and if they did it again she would only be louder and filthier, as filthy as Harley being fucked into the ground like a mud wrestler. That was why they couldn’t keep him, even as a slave. Because Ivy wanted him as much as Harley did.


“Holy Toledo, that cock is great! Nothing could feel better in my cunt! Nothing!”


It wasn’t the words Harley said that made Ivy burn so hot. It was the way she said them.


She was so happy, even as Bruce’s hips drove hard against her flank, slapping her welts into fresh pain.


“So big inside meeeee!” Harley wailed, Bruce’s hand in her hair, shoving her face in her mud and making her love it all the more. “That fucking monster cock… I love every inch of it! Don’t you ever jerk off, Mistah B! I’ll kill you if I ever find out you jerked off when you could’ve come and fucked me! I want all of that cock I can get!”


Bruce pulled on her hair, hard, and Harley cried even louder. Ivy watched as her lover’s movements turned jerky, broken. Harley writhed in the mud even as she shoved her pussy back into Bruce’s cock. Ivy watched. Bruce’s cock went balls deep into Harley, her juices leaking out around it and cascading down Harley’s thrashing legs, and Ivy watched.


She couldn’t stand it anymore. She turned away. But the cries rang in her ears, echoing so loudly that she had to look back.


Bruce was holding Harley down as he pulled out of her, Harley begging for him to come back, to finish her off. He stopped with only his cockhead still inside her, then bodily pulled Harley to him by the haunches, impaling his steely cock inside her. Harley came, slumping down into the mud like she didn’t care if she drowned there. Bruce rolled her over, though. Harley was covered in mud, her dress hanging off her, a breast popping out of it to show an erect nipple with a brown sheen.


“Let me rest,” Bruce said, “or I’ll come inside you.”


“Promise?” Harley asked.


“Promise to fuck you all night, one of these days. Your pussy’s so tight, it’s like fucking a virgin.”


Harley laughed, weak and drawn from her orgasm. Then she shook her head, muddy hair flailing around her half-painted face. “You’re thinking Ivy. She never gets laid—that’s her problem. Mine too. I just can’t get fucked enough!”


Bruce heard a twig crack and looked over. It was Ivy coming down the slope, her eyes wild. The shirt she wore was thin and tight enough to show most of her body, and her denims were gone so he could see the rest.


She thrust her mouth against his, kissing him as she took his cock in her hand, smearing her hand with the precum on its tip and the cream along its length. “She’s mine,” Ivy panted. “You fuck her, you fuck me too!”


Just until he gets Harl pregnant, Ivy told herself. She’d probably be bored of him by then anyway.


She let Bruce lower her down beside Harley. He didn’t even bother taking her shirt off. He lunged forward, not needing either of their hands to guide himself into Ivy’s willing cunt. He penetrated her all in one shove, Ivy releasing a scream of ecstasy. Instantly, she was transformed, becoming a rutting animal that shoved her hips against his to take his prick again and again.


Harley turned onto her side, arm pillowed under her head, watching intently. After a lot of fucking, it was nice to relax and watch someone else’s for a while. Once in a while she even picked up a new trick. Why else had she and Red lived with Kitty?


And nothing was better than watching when they knew they were being watched, when you could get so close that you saw every straining, every goosebump, every breath. Like a vociferous movie goer, Harley whistled and cheered and clapped at the show. Until Bruce slid his hand between her thighs and expertly fingered her pussy, first teasing the moist mouth of her sex, then sawing his finger over her clit. In no time at all his hand was glistening with her creamy. Harley whimpered and clapped harder. She felt like giving a standing O.


Ivy let out a sudden moan and all three of them knew she was done, already. Bruce was on the verge himself. He stopped fingering Harley and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her up to see as he shot his load deep inside Ivy. When he let go of her, she fell to Ivy’s breast—still coming.


“You can’t go back to the manor like that,” Bruce told Harley as Ivy finally touched her, caressed her hair—“You need to put something on.”


He reached into his pocket and brought out a collar.




PROPERTY OF BRUCE WAYNE shone on one side of the collar’s pendant, the Wayne Enterprises logo on the other as Bruce affixed a leash. He led Harley out of the car’s backseat on all fours, Harley tracking mud across the driveway as they went inside.


Ivy had not said a word. All her attempts to make Harley someone who’d be aghast at this—some of them quite cruel—none of them had worked. Harley would always be addicted to this. But better to get her fix from Wayne than someone dangerous. And Wayne, at least, she could control.


If she controlled Wayne, and Wayne controlled Harley, then Harley would be all hers.

Chapter Text

Vicki Vale wasn’t sure what to expect as she drove up to Wayne Manor. She’d texted him, half-expecting the number to be changed, but instead had gotten a firm agreement on finally getting her interview. She pulled up on the roundabout, expecting there to be someone to take her car, but no one. Tacky as it was, she killed the engine and left it there. It wasn’t like there was a parking lot on the grounds. She got out, stepping out into the buzz of flowing water from the fountain on the front lawn, then circled her own car to the manor’s stope. Up the stairs, she found the door shut. No doorman. She tried the bell—they had a bell—and wondered if she should see if it was unlocked before the door parted.


“Hello, Ms. Vale,” Poison Ivy greeted her. “Do come in.”


Vicki’s mouth went abruptly dry. Not only was it Ivy, but she was next to naked. Ragged cut-offs, a similarly torn top that left a thrillingly flat belly exposed. In the dusk light, her green skin might be mistaken for simple paleness, while her red hair hung unabashedly to her shoulders. And her pose was pure seduction: one hand on her hip, the other raised to the cleavage of her crop top, rubbing the flap between thumb and forefinger like she was curious with this thing obscuring her nudity.


Her investigative mind rushed like adrenaline entering the bloodstream. “Bruce didn’t send that text. You did.”


“Mmm. Smart cookie.” Ivy’s voice lolled out, lazy and contented, like a tiger at rest would sound. Her erect hand pried at the collar of her blouse, like she wanted to see if Vicki was interested in the bareness of her shoulder, the lack of a bra strap. “I thought we could talk. Woman to woman.”


“Why don’t we talk outside?” Vicki replied. “Always heard you liked the great outdoors.”


“You want to take a walk with me?” Ivy’s hand pressed flat to her breasts. “Sounds fun. Alright then. Let me show you the lake.”


She walked past Vicki, leaving the blonde to shut the door. Vicki could see how the cut-offs rode high on her ass, pockets hanging down past the frayed edges to do more to hide her cheeks than the denim was.


“You know, I seem to recall taking you hostage a few times,” Ivy orated. Vicki couldn’t help but watch her buttocks roll as she walked, almost unencumbered by a single thread. It was like watching a flower somehow in continuous bloom. “I remember I always considered giving you a little pollen, seeing what you were like without all those inhibitions. But they always seemed to close to the surface… wouldn’t it have been interesting if you just kissed me because you couldn’t help yourself?”


“Where’s Quinn?” Vicki asked as they walked across the manicured lawn, Ivy’s bare feet making the trek far easier than Vicki’s pumps. “Aren’t you two usually inseparable?”


“Don’t you mean where’s Wayne? Shame to come all this way to moon after someone who won’t present that geometric profile—and you don’t seem the type to moon at all, Vale. You’re usually… eminently separable.”


Vicki blanched. “I think I’m pregnant.”


Maybe not the wisest of moves. Still, it was satisfying to see Ivy break into a hot sweat, jealousy burning up her spine and into her scalp. For the blink of an eye, Vicki thought she was tinted red, not green.


Ivy’s voice trembled but tried not to as she said. “Bruce’s?”


Vicki was suddenly remorseful. It was clear that knowing Bruce had been with her made Ivy feel things that were all but impossible to contain. And after all her jibing about only tolerating him… “There really hasn’t been… much of anyone else.”


“I am a doctor, you know.” Ivy’s voice choked a little, but was shockingly sympathetic now. The sweat that gently dimpled her body gave her a dark glow now. “I could check.”


“You really don’t have to—“


“Bruce is my husband. That would make you family. Sit.”


They’d come to a golden pond, its surface featureless except for a family of ducks that milled near its center. A single bench faced the water, a little ways from a boathouse, a little ways past a pier. All so quaint. Vicki wondered how often Bruce had played here, as a boy. If his many adopted children had enjoyed it too.


She sat. The bench was old and wooden, but comfortable, with a few initials carved into its seat. Most ended in W. Ivy sat beside her, and they looked out at the rippling water, catching the red sun, except where lily-pads and reeds sat like shadows in the crystal.


“You don’t have to worry,” Ivy said. “I would never hurt a child. Not even a seedling.”


“I’m not too worried. I left word at the office that I was going to the residence of two known super-criminals.”


“Three,” Ivy replied. “Calendar Girl is staying here too.” She reached out her hand, gently batting a forefinger at the lapel of Vicki’s suit. “May I?”


“If you must,” Vicki said, feeling awkward, but not uncomfortable.


Ivy lowered her hand to Vicki’s belly, feeling inside it. Her brow furrowed. She unzipped Vicki’s jacket, brushing it open, then unbuttoned the buttons of Vicki’s blouse below the sternum. The breeze picked up, as if obedient to Ivy’s wishes, and blew a flap of the blouse aside to reveal honey-brown skin. Her fingers softly ran over the almost invisible curve of Vicki’s belly, then pressed down, palm flat, the green-colored hand like a firefly’s glow on Vicki’s darkened stomach.


“Yes. Definitely Bruce’s,” Ivy said. “The same scent. And don’t worry. The toxins from the skin-to-skin contact won’t afflict your child. Or you, I guess.”


“What… toxinsssss…”


“Shh, Vicki, shh. Don’t think of that right now. Look out at the water. At the rippling water and the light from the sun—it’s fading, isn’t it, growing darker as the sun goes down. It’s getting cooler and cooler, and the wind’s picking up… the crickets are chirping… all because of the sun. The sun in the water. The water getting darker and darker…”


Vicki stifled a yawn. She felt very tired all of a sudden, a great sleepiness coming over her—eyelids weighting a hundred pounds—Ivy’s husky voice smoothing out, getting softer and slicker—she couldn’t keep her eyes open—she couldn’t—


Vicki yawned again. She didn’t hide it this time. She felt half-asleep, or groggy, like she’d just woken up, but the daze of remembered sleep wouldn’t go away. Yet she hung on Ivy’s every word. She couldn’t understand what Ivy was saying, but she heard every word. All of it very clear, very carefully enunciated, even if she couldn’t make out what was being said. Then, suddenly, she heard Ivy tell her to sleep,


Vicki’s head fell forward, hair slipping from her neatly combed part, running tousled and shadowed over her face. Ivy smiled at her as she raised her head. Eyes a soft green. She looked at Ivy calmly, with trust.


Ivy lowered her hand to the inside of Vicki’s thigh, cooing when her legs closed, squeezing her hand with the sweetest pressure. “Now,” she said, “how long have you and Bruce been fucking? Is it a regular thing, or did you just throw yourself at him once he was a married man?”


Vicki’s mouth hung open. “I… not like… I can’t say the words.”


“You must,” Ivy said softly. “You must.”


Vicki’s lips compressed, pain evident in her lovely features. “It was the night of the interview. We were having dinner…”


Ivy moved her fingers, the pads tracing the curvature of Vicki’s inner thigh, nails scraping near the underside of Vicki’s leg. “Tell me about it. Everything. Relax and tell me everything…”


Vicki swallowed. “I was just playing around with him… giving him a little sex appeal, you know… teasing him so he’d be off balance… I ran my foot along his leg and he was so handsome, so… commanding… I even touched his thigh, his… but he took it out, under the table, and made me feel it… it was so big… I wasn’t even… I’m not like that, it seemed ridiculous, perverted… there were people everywhere… but it felt good, touching him, so good, oh, it felt so good…”


Vicki’s legs scissored open. If Ivy could detect the life growing inside her, she certainly knew what was happening behind her crotch seam. But she stilled the motion of her hand. She had to know what had happened before Vicki ran too hot. “Go on.”


“I got under the table and I, I sucked him. He didn’t come either, not for a long time. Not before he fucked my face. But the waiter came and… Bruce talked to him, as I sucked. He ate his meal. He gave me a bite, then he had me sucking him again. He came in my mouth.”


Ivy’s eyes opened wide. The bitch! Sucking Bruce like she’d done anything to get that cock besides be in the right place at the right time! Was there no limit to outrages? How dare Vicki Vale have any of the cum meant for her and Harley? “Go on, go on!” she urged. Vicki still hadn’t explained how she’d gotten pregnant. If this had happened more than once…


Vicki’s breasts heaved as she choked out the rest of the story. “He was still hard after. He went under the table… I went with him… he fucked me right then and there! I came so hard… so hard… “


“Shh, shh,” Ivy said in a soft but insistent voice. “I understand. You remember how that felt?”




“It felt very good, didn’t it?”


“Yes,” Vicki sighed, her expression slack, foggy, but a smile on her lips.


“You feel that goodness now, Vicki. You feel very good, like Bruce had just finished fucking you. In fact, you have never felt this good before. You would do anything to keep feeling this way, wouldn’t you?”


“Yes,” Vicki responded, even further in her trance. “Anything.”


“This is the best feeling in the world and it’s everywhere, spreading all over your body. But despite how good it feels, you’re still relaxed. Sleepy, even. And this relaxation is letting your mind wander, letting you think things you never would if you were awake. You’re not awake, are you Vicki?”


“Not awake…” Vicki mindlessly repeated.


“You’re thinking of me, now, aren’t you? What do you think of me?” Ivy took Vicki’s hand and planted it at the knot of her tied-off blouse. “Be honest, now.”


“You’re… you’re so beautiful.”


“And you’ve thought about doing things with me, Vicki—haven’t you?” Vicki’s hand was tightening on its own. Ivy just had to push at her wrist a little and, in Vicki’s grip, the knot came undone.


“Wondered… what you tasted like… minty, maybe…”


Ivy’s blouse fell open, the twinned halves hanging off her breasts, nothing at all holding them in place but the jutting protuberances underneath the cloth. “But something always stopped you from finding out, didn’t it? Why don’t you tell me?”


“Can’t kiss you… lips are poison… kill me…”


Ivy giggled. “I wouldn’t kill you, Vicki. We’re friends. Besties. If you kissed me, all that would happen is that you’d feel good. So very good.” Ivy shrugged off the blouse. Her bare breasts jostled softly, the fading light making them even rounder, softer than they could possibly be. “You believe me, don’t you Vicki? You trust me. All I’d do is make you feel good. If you just… kiss me…”


Vicki moaned as her entranced mind caught up with her body, feeling intense arousal, nipples straining through her shirt. “May I kiss you, Ivy? You’re so beautiful… so perfect… I have to kiss you!”


“Why don’t you take off your clothes first?” Ivy asked. “So that when I kiss you back… I can kiss you all over.”


If only Harley knew what she was missing, Ivy thought.




Harley didn’t feel any shame, being walked by Bruce on all fours, her hands and knees first padding over the cold concrete of the garage, then the hardwood floor of the manor’s first story, then the carpet of the second floor. Bruce led her at a slow, fond pace, the leash on her collar never exerting more than the slightest pressure.


No, Harley felt proud. To be claimed by Bruce, him not embarrassed by her in the slightest, willing to show to anyone that he was her master. Not yelling at her or hitting her like Mistah J had, but fondly patting her on the head as he filled a glass of water for her, then tipped it to her lips.


Then he took her to the bathroom, putting up the lid for her, and resting his hand on her shoulder as she went. Next he put her in the shower—by now she was nearly naked, so nearly that her ragged clothes fell off her under the force of the stream, and she would’ve cried except Bruce promised to buy her new ones. He took the showerhead down from its mount and ran the warm water all over her, washing away the cum and the mud and the sweat, brushing her hair with his fingers to make sure he’d gotten it all. Harley spread her legs, hoping he’d get her at least a little dirty again, but after teasingly spraying the showerhead there, Bruce turned the water off and smiled at her. She got back on all fours. After he’d wiped her down with a towel, she followed him to his bedroom.


Inside the room, Bruce turned a dimmer switch to dampen the room with a softly muted glow. On the bed, Paige Monroe lay in nothing but an elegant white mink stole, the fur draped across her breasts and running down her side, between her legs to cover her crotch as well. Its whiteness shimmered like newly fallen snow. Harley didn’t feel embarrassed at being seen in her present state. She was glad to have it be known what a little whore she was, how obedient she was to her master. She proudly padded on all fours to the cage at the foot of the bed, Bruce ignoring Calendar Girl to unlock the door, pull it open, and usher Harley inside. He took off her leash, then shut the door behind her, locking it and hanging up the leash on a bedpost.


“So that’s what the cage is for,” Paige said, drawing the most casual of attention from Bruce, who went to get a blanket from the room’s chest of drawers.


“I keep bitches in it,” Bruce said, his voice light and conversational.


Paige petted the stole running down her body. “Am I going to go in there at the end of the night?”


Bruce put the blanket over the cage, but only halfway. “Depends on if you can be tamed or not.”


Paige hugged the sleek white mink closer to her luscious breasts, pulling its censorship a little bit away from her nethers. Now Harley could see dark fur too. “You have to be very firm to train an animal.”


Bruce unzipped his fly. His cock sprang out like a weapon. “And the animal has to be thoroughly broken in.”


Paige stroked her softly curved thighs with the dangling end of the stole, the richly sensual caress of the fur exciting her, the sight of Bruce’s cock making her squirm. “Wanna whip me before you take a ride?”


Bruce stared at the silky fur running over her belly. Her natural hair color, as evidenced by her groin, was red-gold, further shining with slick lubricant. The contrast of the two made Bruce think of fire, ice. “No. Just put on a muzzle.”


Paige chomped her teeth. She was a beautiful woman, Harley had to admit. Not as slender as in her modeling days, but the weight had gone to all the right places, filled her out, given her a healthier appearance. Her breasts were modest, her cheekbones high—a buzzcut or change of clothes would make her androgynous, but the way she carried herself was abject femininity. She was lithe, she was slender, but she was all woman.


Paige gathered a mass of fur in her hands, circling it around Bruce’s cock as he leaned over her. She teased him, her grip maddeningly soft through the sleek fur that glided up and down his shaft. Bruce closed his eyes, allowing her to work him to her heart’s content.


Paige expected him to come any second, almost ruin her expensive mink stole, but when she pulled it away, his erection wasn’t even red. Paige tried to pull him down to her cunt, wanting him to be finished off by its tightness, but he caught himself on the mattress around her, arms steepled so he hovered over her.


Paige blinked. “What’s wrong? Don’t you want me? Am I too ugly for you to want me?”


Bruce reached down and caressed her face. Her gorgeous face. Under his hand, it didn’t feel scarred or fat or ugly. “No. Of course not. But a beautiful woman like you… deserves only the best.”


He picked her up, Paige crying out as the stole fell away from her. He was so strong, her man. No wonder he was hers, a strong man like that for a beautiful woman like her.


“You’ve been fucking Harley, haven’t you? That’s why you took the little bitch along on your errands.”


“That’s right,” Bruce said. “She’s a cock-hungry little thing. A complete whore. She can’t get enough of it. She’s not special like you. Just a little slut for me to use when my cock is dry. A place to put my cum.”


As Harley listened to Bruce’s walls, she laid on her back in her cage and stared at the ceiling. She remembered in vivid detail how he had fucked her, almost not believing he would do such things in public, outside or virtually under people’s noses. Now he talked about her like she was worthless, just a dumb little cunt he could use as he saw fit, his chattel, a sex slave, really. His own personal whore.


Her hand drifted down to the fleecy mound of her pussy. She stroked idly, staring at Bruce and her fellow whore—even if she didn’t know it yet. Bruce set Paige down on top of the cage. Calendar Girl’s ass was so lovely, Harley wondered if he would spank it like he had hers, or if that was her pleasure alone.


Bruce kissed Paige hungrily, his meaty cock pushing at Paige’s cunt, setting Harley’s own labia lips ablaze. Not only had Bruce fucked her, now he would let her watch him fuck another one of his bitches. She wondered if Bruce wanted her to give Paige some constructive criticism.


“You’re beautiful, Paige. You’re a goddess. You deserve so much pleasure… such pleasure…”


Harley blushed, suddenly imagining Bruce telling her such things. He had, sometimes, when he wasn’t punishing her.


Her feelings were mounting again.


She liked being able to do both, get the pleasure and the pain, getting to choose like she couldn’t with Joker or with Ivy.


Her fingers worked between the blood-thick lips of her labia, stroking with such scintillating ease. She could do nothing wrong. Everything she touched was so wet, so thrilling.


Maybe after he was done punishing her, she would ask him to make love to her again. Maybe him and Ivy could do it at the same time. Or him and Ivy and Paige, too…


In less than a minute, Harley’s cunt was as wet as it had ever been. She could see Bruce’s hard shaft pressed right up against Paige, not inside her yet, but so ready, both of them so ready as he kissed her, teased her. He’d caught the stole and looped it around her neck, pulling on it lightly like a leash, rubbing its fur over Paige’s breasts, over all of her nakedness. Harley was practically salivating, watching them. Like a bitch in heat.


“And you’re a god!” Paige moaned, planting both palms on Bruce’s broad chest, almost as if trying to push him away, but with no strength in her slender arms. She felt his heart racing, his muscles tensing. “If I’m so beautiful… you’re the only one who deserves to have me… the only one worthy of me… all of me…”


“Yes,” Bruce whispered huskily, kissing her throat, Paige’s mouth open, the fur brushing against her lips.


“All of me… I have a present for you. Something I knew you couldn’t get from Harley.”


“Oh?” Bruce grinned. “There’s not much I can’t get from Harley. She’s such a dirty little slut. She’ll do anything for me. She’s not refined like you… sophisticated like you…”


“Yes.” Paige laughed like she was at a high society cocktail party. “I don’t know if there’s anyone in this town she hasn’t fucked. The clown, the plant lady—all those tentacles—Deadshot, of all people—I even heard the Joker lets his men pass her around like an old shoe. She’s about as tight as one, isn’t she?”


Bruce buried his smile in her ear. “She’s just about the right size… for me, that is.”


Harley began to sob. Tears of joy. Someone knew what she was. Bruce’s property, his meat even. How long until they figured out that she was shared by Bruce and Ivy, that she was a whore for both of them? Such a whore they both used her at once, or soon would? Maybe she could go to the beach tomorrow, show off the stripes on her ass in a thong, let everyone know how Bruce had made a good girl out of her. Oy, she loved being a slut.


“Oh, certainly, certainly—my point is, there’s nothing you can get from her that you haven’t already had. Whereas with me: there’s something you haven’t had before. Something’s no one had.” Now Paige pushed, able just barely to move Bruce, to buy some space for herself. She turned over, putting her palms flat atop the cage, presenting her ass to Bruce. “While you were gone—I thought of how you’d fucked me. How you’d taken Harley and Ivy with you, and were fucking them too. How you fingered my asshole—remember? I did it too. Got my fingers all wet and touched myself there. I felt so naughty. Then I found some of your toys…”


Harley loved being Bruce’s whore. She only wished that it was her instead of Bruce, having her cheeks spread by those callused hands, showing him the buttplug stuffed in her ass while her pussy leaked obscenely.


“It’s all yours,” Paige said. “No one else’s ever had it. You can fuck my asshole for the first time.”


Bruce squeezed her cheek. “A beautiful ass like this deserves a beautiful cock.”


“Yes,” Paige moaned, feeling him pull the plug out, leaving her asshole open, lubricated, ready for him. “Yes, put it in, Bruce—shove it up my ass!”


“Quick!” Harley added.


Bruce didn’t need a third invitation. He tensed for a mighty push forward, pulling Paige’s leg out of the way so Harley could see the swollen head of his prick push between Paige’s asscheeks. His stiff prick pushed right up against her entrance. Then he thrust inside.


“AAAH!” Paige screamed, feeling her asshole being entered, fucked, for the very first time. It was nothing like her fingers, nothing like the plug. It was wonderful. “Push it all the way in, Bruce! Fuck my ass!”


Bruce ignored her, looking down at Harley. “Little help?”


Harley reached through the bars, grabbing Bruce’s ass and pulling as hard as she could, helping him with a mighty shove forward. Directly into Paige. She screamed louder as she felt him ram all the way in, twisting her cunt back and forth on the cage-bar it was straddling it. It felt beautiful. Everything felt so beautiful.


The fingers of Harley’s left hand worked more insistently on her pussy, the right still holding Bruce’s ass, but doing little more than riding it as he thrust into Paige, reaming out her asshole. Harley could feel her juices churning out of her, her temperature rising as she smeared the warm fluid over her snatch, hot enough to coax her clit from its sheath. She worked her fingers around its base, curled them, tightened them. Looked up. Bruce wasn’t making Paige anywhere near as good a whore as she was. She just didn’t know how to take a cock like Harley.


“Fuck my ass hard, baby!” Paige cried out, squirming around, jabbing her hips back and forth like it had any effect on Bruce’s relentless pounding of her ass. “Yeah… just like that! Faster! Harder! Give it to me!”


Bruce leaned forward and brushed his lips over the back of her neck, into her hair, while his hands encircled her body. He kissed her shoulders. He felt her swinging breasts.


“It’s yours, pretty lady,” he whispered, rolling his hips so she turned her head, catching her lips, kissing her.


Paige broke away from the kiss, needing to wail again as he punched into her ass. “Oh! That’s good!” she huffed, slipping her right hand under her body, fingering her cunt. Inadvertently mirroring what Harley was doing underneath her. Another hard blow, his cock plowing into her ass. She threw her head down, biting a cross-bar to keep her howl of raw pleasure from being at its full, embarrassing volume. But judging from the way Harley looked up at her, smiling like she had Paige to thank for getting her off, the clown knew just how her clit was on fire, ready to explode.


The thrill that blasted through Harley’s body, hearing her fellow whore wail like that—there was no denying it. Harley could feel her gasping breath in her lungs, her breasts heaving, her heart thundering. She couldn’t stop herself, even if she wanted to. She fingered her snatch, rubbed her clit, made the tensions in her pussy grow until they were as big as the cock in Paige’s ass. One light press at the very tip of her clitoris, no different from any other, and that was it. She came and Paige saw her. Saw what a whore she was.


“Beautiful,” Harley whimpered, feeling the same intensity she had being spanked, being degraded. It wasn’t as good as with Bruce; more like her body giving her a nudge and letting her know there was a lot more satisfaction waiting up inside her. It was enough to take a little of the edge off the horniness she felt. But not enough to make her stop.


“You’re a goddess, Paige.” Bruce ran his hand down Paige’s spine as he fucked her, the stole around her neck wagging inside the cage it had fallen into, tips running over Harley’s body to her delight. Between the bars, Harley could see Paige’s tits sway, blurring at the edges as she took Bruce’s fucking. “You deserve to feel this good every night.”


“No, I want it all night!” Paige cried, her voice desperate. The bar she’d bitten was now slick with her saliva, sticking to her skin when Bruce’s thrusts drove her into it. The feel of warm spit on her cheek made her feel so dirty. In the best possible way. “I want enough cock to last me a lifetime!”


“He’s got enough cock for all of us!” Harley panted. “He’s gonna fuck us all!”


Paige looked at the dirty, degraded whore underneath her and imagined Bruce fucking her. How he’d treat this dumb slut who wasn’t fit to lick Paige’s stilettos. How maybe he’d let her watch.


Paige drove her ass back to meet Bruce’s hard thrusts, completely devouring his cock. Every time his monstrous shaft pushed through her slippery musculature, the pleasure grew and the pain shrank. Considering how delicious the pain had been, she almost missed it.


“Give it to me!” she gasped. “I deserve it! It’s mine! Ram that big delicious cock inside me, it should be all mine!”


“Think you can handle it?” Bruce grunted, grabbing her hips with both hands. His thumbs dug into her ass, pulling her crack wide so he could see exactly how she stretched to take his cock. “Think you’ll like my cock reaming out your little ass?”


“God, yes!” Paige wailed. It felt as if her insides were being rearranged. “Harder if you can!”


Bruce shot into her so hard and fast, his balls slapped up against her cunt. “Then take it, you beautiful bitch,” he growled. “Fuck! Take it and love it!”


For a moment, Paige felt pure pain—pain only she could take. But it was soon surpassed by a swelling of pleasure, a pending orgasm that would dwarf the hurt of taking his cock. She dug her elbows into the cage and slapped her ass backward, her hole’s convulsing muscles sucking hard on his prick.


“Give it to me! So good and hard and—mine!”


Her voice suddenly exploded, becoming a shriek of absolute release. She felt no difference between her pussy and her asshole; both were one writhing mass of pleasure. Her ecstasy was so powerful that her ears were ringing, the strength spasming out of her body, dropping her paralyzed atop the cage for him to throw around with his plunging cock like a sack of potatoes. She felt herself come—come in her ass—and hot jism gushed from him, filling her tightness. And still Bruce fucked her, worming his way into her ass with every stabbing thrust, each time delivering a little more cum into her most intimate spaces. He didn’t stop until he’d fucked himself completely dry.


By then, Paige had come abundantly herself, the bar between her legs dripping with her juices, warm and slick as anything. Paige moaned a little, just feeling it against her flaring, oversensitive cunt. This was beauty. Making her man so passionate that he had given her… all that.


Bruce leaned in, kissing the nape of his neck—his lips felt like they were on fire—then he pulled out of her with a brusque jerk, his still-huge cock feeling like it would pull her back a few inches as it emerged leadenly from her asshole. She experienced something in the rough sensation that felt a lot like another orgasm, then felt his presence in her. There was a lake of cum in her ass. She could feel just how much now that his cock had left, and that still dripping copiously as well.


With surprisingly gentleness, given the almost violent orgasm he’d just given her, Bruce ran his hand through Paige’s hair. “Paige, you’re much too much a class act to be so rude. Offer Harley some.”


“Some…?” Paige was aware of a plentiful stream of cum flowing between her ass cheeks. Excess too much for even her stretched anus. “Harley, do you want…” She trembled. “Some of Bruce’s cum?”


Harley gave a tired grin. She was still rubbing herself. “Cum out of your ass? Wonder if it’s anything like cum from his dick…”


As she said the words, Bruce rolled Paige over, and a thick, rich glob of cum fell from her open ass, hitting Harley’s belly like she was eating a melting ice cream cone. Harley moaned, rubbing it into her skin.


“Is that really all you can spare?” Bruce asked Paige, and she reached under herself, not believing what she was doing, but doing it, grabbing hold of her asscheeks and pulling them apart, letting more of… more of Bruce’s cum fall onto Harley.


“Muuuuuuuch better,” Harley breathed, rubbing the semen into her abs and her tits and her throat and her face, pushing it up to her chin and then onto the tip of her lolled-out tongue. She retracted her tongue, then worked her cheeks together, swirling the seed around her teeth and gums, letting it mix with her spit, then holding her head back and letting it slowly fall down her throat. It took her a long time to swallow. “Yummy, Mistah B. Just like mom used to make!”


If only Red were here to share this with her. There was plenty for both of them. Even for Paige, if she ever wanted to get off her high horse and really fuck.




Ivy smiled at the sight before her. Hers. Another part of her kingdom, her domain of seduction, one of the many who would do anything to please her and so belonged to her. All it had taken was just a little push. She had had many such pets as Vicki, replacing Harley or being shared with Harley, but Vicki struck her as special somehow. Pure and proud. One of Wayne’s little girlfriends from before he had taken possession of Harley.


(And you, a little voice needled.)


Ivy thought of helpless, uncontrollable sounds of pleasure escaping those untouchable lips. What Wayne did for fun. She could make Vicki mewl just as loud. The blood throbbed in her veins, almost painfully, her breasts thrumming, nipples pulsing, the open air and nocturnal world making them feel so… loud. Tiny drops of fluid massaged the inside of her cut-offs, making them into a warm, wet pressure on her cunt. Ivy took them off before she could get too sensitive. Then, she attended Vicki.


She knelt before the naked woman on the bench, thumbs pressing to either side of those neatly furred lips, tenderly spreading them for Ivy’s kiss. She felt Vicki’s warm, soft inner thighs quiver at the backs of her hands, her cheeks as she moved in. Heard Vicki’s breath lodge deep in her tightening throat. Her cunt was so luscious, glistening like it was jeweled, opening obediently for Ivy’s tongue. She tasted the petals, the nectar, Vicki trying to withstand it before the erotic shock surged convulsively through her.


“God, yes,” Vicki rasped, looking down with glazed eyes between her proud breasts.


Ivy smiled up at her. “Goddess,” she corrected, then her lips closed hotly over the soft mound, her face disappearing from Vicki’s view, blindness, just a feeling now—wet kisses on her labia, tongue snaking over her quivering portal.


Vicki’s hands moved sensuously over her flesh, as if surprised at her own nudity, or assuring herself of it. She ran her hands down her smooth, flat belly, coming to a rest atop her golden thighs. Under her palms, she could almost feel the pleasurable energy coruscating out from Ivy’s tongue, meeting the soft strokes of Vicki’s fingers on her skin. Her mind raced in lovely confusion—a flashing though of Bruce, but then he was gone, and Vicki was using her hands to spread her pussy slowly apart, allowing Ivy complete access to wet intimacy.


“Thank you, Ivy!” Vicki husked, feeling Ivy’s hot searing tongue inside her, the soft tip flicking over her quiveringly erect clit, the lips sucking, warm soft folds of her labia inside Ivy’s mouth, between her teeth, then the maddening licking on her pink wetness—it all seemed to be happening at once, no rhyme or reason to the pleasure that jerked her from one delight to another.


“No, thank you,” Ivy growled from deep in her throat, kissing Vicki’s belly almost reverently, tongue leaping into Vicki’s navel, then moving down with the probing tip of her tongue over the finely haired lower belly, the narrow wet slit, even down to the crevice of her flexing buttocks, doing a warm, circling homage to her anus. Vicki’s hips grinded of their own volition, forward into Ivy, then back against the bench, the winding motion driving a purring sound from between Vicki’s passionately clenched teeth.


Ivy didn’t appreciate this defiance from her plaything. She wrapped her arms around Vicki’s body and almost whipped her off the bench, pulling Vicki to her hungrily working mouth, crushing her tantalizingly soft pubic hairs to her face. Vicki slumped down the bench, almost horizontal, with her thighs up on Ivy’s shoulders, her hips twitching around Ivy’s tongue. She was squirming for Ivy, completely at her mercy, and it was far beyond her fondest dreams. She couldn’t believe this had never happened before. What had she been waiting for?


Vicki’s wistful groans drove Ivy’s tongue faster into her tortured genitals. She wanted Vicki begging for it, pollen or no, thinking of her lips and her tongue and her fingers whenever Vicki so much as saw the color green. And she had never seen anyone so hot, either, not even with the pollen. Vicki clearly needed it badly and Ivy was proud to give it to her.


Vicki wasn’t too proud to take it either, hands clawing at Ivy’s hair, attempting to guide her to her clit. Ivy gloated inwardly as she plunged her tongue directly into Vicki’s need, quickly withdrawing it to taunt along her blood-ripened folds. Vicki cried out and clutched at Ivy, forcing her back to the tight little hole, the promise of satisfaction. Now Ivy gave it to her, ramming her tongue in, covering lips and chin with Vicki’s sweet juices, trim thighs closing spasmodically around Ivy’s head.


Ivy could feel the wet flesh slip moistly around her tongue, the very walls of her pussy clasping and clenching, wanting her tongue deeper inside. A bite: Vicki’s feet shot out into the air, then pushed down on Ivy’s back, trying to press her more firmly between those parted legs. Ivy’s nose touched Vicki’s throbbing clit, seemed to inhale the most poignant aroma of Vicki’s lustful state. Ivy felt her own sex being drawn into the rapture of their fuck, every muscle of her body tensing, like she was wrestling with Vicki as the blonde strained her hips up to that maddening tasting between her legs.


“BRUCE!” Vicki wailed.


Ivy groaned hatefully. The fucking bitch. Of course she would say that, rip Ivy right out of the moment. Ivy bodily threw Vicki to the ground, mounting her, straddling her face as she grasped Vicki’s hair with one hand, touched herself with the other. She was just close enough. Vicki couldn’t ruin it, not when she was so close—


“Both of you can fuck me!” Vicki said pitiably. “His big cock in my ass, your tongue in my cunt—or he can fuck me while I eat you—I’d be really good at eating you…”


“Christ, shut the fuck up!” Ivy cried as her body finally gave up its orgasm. She spurted, darts of body-warm cream fleeing from her cunt, dashing across Vicki’s face. Vicki jerked and moaned as her face was inundated. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Ivy could see her body race to a sudden, locking pinnacle, then loosen supremely. The goddamn bitch had come from this. And still Ivy was ejaculating, seemingly a gallon of her honey bursting from her, wetting down Vicki’s hair and face and throat and breasts. Then she was done, and she didn’t feel nearly as good as Vicki looked.


“Harley can do it too,” Vicki gasped. “While Bruce fucks my ass, she eats my pussy, and I eat yours… all of you fucking me at once…”


With a groan of disgust, Ivy thrust Vicki’s face into the grass. “Nobody’s fucking you, dumbass. Not now that you got yourself knocked up and made yourself useful for once in your mammalian life. You’ve got a little Wayne growing inside you, and I have you wrapped around my finger, so as soon as I kill Brucie-wucie, all that money is mine. And look.”


A red flower was sprouting beside Vicki’s face, summoned by Ivy’s wrath like a demon within a pentagram. Ivy plucked it, crushing the bulb between her fingers, then smearing the residue on her mouth. Once she’d licked her lips, the only sign of it was her crimson lipstick.


“The latest little gift from the plant kingdom,” Ivy explained. “One little kiss and Wayne will be so turned on, he won’t be able to control himself. He’ll fuck and fuck and fuck until he’s worn out, and there are plenty of us here to help him. And when he’s done, I’ll just give him another kiss and we all go again. Over and over again until his heart explodes. So he can fuck you and Paige and Roxy as much as he wants, because this is the last time. Bruce Wayne is going out with a bang.”

Chapter Text

Mei Wing entered the hide-out of her gang, the Golden Dragons, bearing the suitcase of coke she had promised them. One more piece of the puzzle: it would lead to more money to spend, more territory to control, and a higher placement for her in the Triads that sponsored them. All part of her mission as an undercover cop. And as an undercover, she could see all the evils of this, while the good was far away. Nearly invisible.


Perhaps it was lost in thoughts of this, of her inner conflict over doing evil to do good, that she did not notice the silence until she was engulfed in it. The hide-out had been trashed, her men systematically beaten into unconsciousness. It had happened fast: some were face-down in the takeout they had been eating, never having even seen what had undone them. Lynx drew her gun, but all of a sudden the silence broke with a whisper of movement. Someone or something—she did not know if it was even human—hit her from behind, bearing her against the wall with her gun-hand twisted behind her back, tough leather gloves barricading the trigger.


“That’s no way to greet a guest,” Robin said in her ear, holding her fast. He’d moved quickly enough to put her in a hold before she knew she was in a fight; still, Mei struggled. She had not become the Lynx to be manhandled.


“How can you do this?” she demanded of him, relinquishing the gun into the gentle tug he gave it. He stepped back, disassembling it in quick gestures, while Mei remained facing the wall. “They will ask questions when conscious again! My cover—“


“If you are an HK cop,” Robin said, “you’ve been under too long. You say you started when you were a teenager, for the Chinese? Cop or criminal, you’re in over your head. It’s time to come in.”


“My superiors decide that!” Mei insisted, spinning on him. “Not you!”


“Your superiors will keep working you until you’ve ended up with a bullet in the head. There are other ways. Better ways.”


“Like what?”


Robin kissed her suddenly, running his hot tongue into her mouth. Mei felt her paralyzing anger melt into lust, his body against hers, she felt him all over, loving his hard, lithe male body.


“You’ve been offering,” Robin said. “Allow me to take you up on that offer. The Golden Dragons are finished. When the cops get here, the drugs will be enough to put them all away for a very long time. Come with me. I’ve read your file, you’re One-Percent-Fertile. You marry me and all the outstanding warrants go away. You can live a normal life.”


“Cops?” Mei asked. “You ruin everything, I’ll never get close to the Triads—“


“You never would’ve,” Robin told her. “There was no big bust coming, no point where you’ve done your job and get to go home. You were a chit they kept around for the day they could sacrifice you for something. I can show you the files. They came close once or twice. They would’ve blown your cover and made you a martyr without a second thought.”


“I… no… this can’t be!”


Robin produced a card from his belt. “Think it over. There’s an number here. You can call me, when you’re ready.”


Then he kissed her again. She kept her eyes closed afterwards. When she opened them, he was gone.




Tim put a check next to Lynx’s name—the file on his laptop synced with the one on the Batcomputer containing his plan, so although he was in the kitchen of the apartment that had so recently been commandeered by Cass, Steph, and Pru in addition to his own bachelor pad needs, he might as well have been in the Batcave, doing the kind of work Bruce would be up to on a night like this.


He’d let the Golden Dragons linger for too long out of deference to Lynx, but he couldn’t keep giving her rope to hang herself with forever. They were ripe and now that they were off the scene, the gangland of Gotham had taken a serious hit. Not bad for a night’s work. He reviewed her hacked police files again, generously donated by Oracle, looking for any insight into which way Mei Wing’s wind would blow.


“So, this is what the fuck the crack team that foils Ra’s’s every plot does on a Friday night?” Pru asked, digging through his fridge for anything not macrobiotic. “Fucking homework?”


“It’s important to have a cohesive strategy,” Tim told her. “Can’t be stepping on Nightwing’s toes, or anyone else’s. The entire team’s been giving me leeway to handle Lynx, now I’ve handled it.”


Pru found a bottle of beer Dick had left over from the housewarming party. “Yeah, into Asian chicks, huh? You’re a total cliché.”


“It’s not like that,” Tim protested. “This would get her off the police’s radar without blowing her cover. And if you and Cass and Steph do all want to marry me…”


“You are fucking rich,” Pru pointed out.


Tim briefly inclined his head. “We need a cover story.”


‘Cover story?” Steph asked, coming in through the window, loosing her cape from her cowl and then losing the mask as well. Her purple body armor remained extremely flattering to a physique that didn’t need much flattering… “We’re hot, you’re a boy. Does this really need to be more thought out?”


“And how did we all meet?” Tim asked her. “I’m the playboy heir to the Wayne fortune—I’m supposed to marry a socialite, a model, an actress, not a few random, average citizens.”


“Thanks a lot!” Steph replied, hands on her hips.


“You know what I mean. Someone like Julie Madison. If people start asking how we all know each other, that could be a problem for our extracurricular activity.”


Steph sat on the kitchen table where Tim worked his laptop, swiping Pru’s beer from her. She drank and made a face at the bitterness. “Okay! So, what’s my smartypants boyfriend got up his sleeve? Something smart and pantsy?”


“He’s fucking pansy, alright,” Pru muttered.


“Is that what you thought…” Cass began, having entered the room as silently as a shadow being cast. “When you were… cumming?” She stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “Your brains out.”


Tim gaped at her. As did everyone else. For Cass wore not a stitch. Her body was not at all what one would expect, lithe and firm with muscles, scars crisscrossing it like graffiti on a priceless statue, yet these spots of garish ugliness were like beauty marks, not detracting from her sensuality. It was as if by sheer force of will, she blotted them from the mind, leading the eye instead to her supple limbs, her well-trained muscles, her sleek but succulent breasts. Her girlish, adorable face was somehow of a piece with this hardened, warrior’s body, her look fitting with how she carried herself: with supreme confidence, but no bravado or posturing. She was simply at peace.


“Steph,” Pru said softly, “were you and Cass telling secrets?”


“My costume was… sweaty,” Cass replied. “Going to take shower. What’s… the plan… anyway?”


Tim was lost at sea for a moment. Her body, with its unabashed, unashamed nudity, did more to arouse him than any pose or come-on. He wanted to go to her—to trip her that final inch into open sexuality, arouse her body the way it aroused, transform her nudity into something passionate and erotic. He forced himself to concentrate. “Well, we, uh, we, we, we hack the Gotham police files, give Cass and Pru records, retroactively insert the paperwork to get them released to me under the bride deal. And we’ll cover it with a few other women, no one crazy, people we can handle. Who’ve lost their way. It’ll look like I’m doing exactly what Bruce did, take advantage of the deal to, uh, to… with women.”


“How many other women?” Steph asked.


“Two…” Tim said, staring at Cass. “I mean, at least two.”


“They better be cute if they want on my squad.”


“And no one with a shaved head,” Pru added. “That’s my thing.” She sat down beside Tim. Under the table, she grabbed his thigh. “Told ya,” she whispered. “Asian chicks.”


“Quit it,” Tim whispered back, and moved to brush her hand away. She lifted it to avoid him, then settled it down upon his angry erection, full of hot blood. Pru grinned, feeling its contours tenting his pants.


“Why don’t you let me do something about that?” Pru mouthed, wagging her head mockingly.


Tim typed on the laptop to cover it. “I’ve already put out a feeler to Lynx… the second Lynx, that is…”


“Must’ve been a big feeler,” Steph said, looking to where Pru’s arm disappeared under the table.


“And there’s also the first Lynx, Ling—she’s in lock-up right here in Gotham. I can pay her a visit…”


“As Tim Drake,” Steph suggested. “With Batgirl accompanying you for protection.”


“That won’t be necessary—“


“If you’re picking out an ex-con trophy wife, I want to be there.” Steph clapped her hands together. “They might have Killer Frost! We should totally marry Killer Frost!”


“I think Tim likes the idea,” Pru said, stroking him a little more firmly.


“We should find a bigger place though,” Tim said, sweating now. “I’m a little tired of all of you squeezing into my room.”


“Not all of you is tired…”


“Cass and I can go house hunting,” Steph said. “It’s not that late. C’mon, Cass, let’s find you some pants.”


They disappeared out the door, Tim helpless not to follow Cass’s swaying buttocks with her eyes—Steph’s hand around her waist, almost touching them.


Pru scoffed. “Any interest in white girl pussy, or does it have to be sideways?”


Tim reached between her legs, cupping her cunt. Wet, right through her jeans. “You talk too much, Prudence.”


“Give me something better to do with my mouth?”




The watcher observed the purple one and the daughter of Lady Shiva as they left the apartment, then moved her gaze inward.


“Is he alone yet?” her sister asked.


“No. He is with the traitor. He is… making use of her.”


“His seed cannot be wasted! Move in. I want him now.”




Tim gripped her, squeezed, and she shot up, him catching her. They fell to the kitchen table together, barely missing Tim’s laptop, and Tim devoured her. Tongue in her mouth, hand soaking underneath her panties. With Steph, with Cass, there was a desire to be gentle and to make love. With Pru, he just wanted her. He groped her body as he liked, arousing her to his seething lust, his cock wetting her fingers as she jacked it. With her other hand she pulled at her own clothes, ripping herself out of them as Tim focused only on feeling her, using her. He took what she needfully gave to him, squeezing her tits, her ass, fingering her cunt again the moment she’d pulled her panties away from it. He didn’t give her his cock, though. He made her wait for it.


“Fucker, I’m ready!” she yelled at last. “I’m ready to fuck, goddamnit!”


She pulled his cock to her cunt and Tim surprised her by suddenly ramming forward, into her, so hard the table legs scraped across the floor. He started fucking her without missing a beat, no longer playing with her tits or clit, just driving himself into her again and again. Pru didn’t care. She liked getting fucked more than getting eaten, getting fingered, more than anything. And he was fucking her hard.


“Unhh, don’t stop!” Pru gurgled, throwing her head back against the breakfast table, rattling it as hard as Tim’s thrusts were doing. “Fuck me forever!”


Tim pistoned into her, making her slim body shake, nearly fucking her off the surface of the table. She clawed at its edges to keep in place as he fucked her harder, faster, moving into high gear. She could hardly wait to have him at his roughest.


“Yeah, fuck me hard, fuck meeee!” she whined.


Tim pounded her, getting rougher by the second. Pru was no longer able to taunt, no longer able to tease. She closed her eyes and waited for him to hammer her over the edge, bring her a meltdown of an orgasm, filling her cunt so full he would pour from her stuffed pussy and gush down her thighs.


“Gonna fucking come!” she said weakly. Teetering on the brink…


The click of a gun being cocked might not have been enough to bring Tim from his pleasure of her. But the click of two guns…


Tim pulled out of her, to Pru’s shock and disappointment. She’d been only seconds from coming, and now her body felt absolutely cold. She whirled around to stare at Tim, off the table, holding his hands up. She was furious.


“Fucker!” she followed his line of sight to the woman that had entered the room. “Fuck you too!”


Promise ignored her, save for the gun that covered Pru. “Will I have to deal with her?” she asked Tim, bemused to find him half-dressed in his Red Robin costume, his cock falling from his unzipped fly.


“No,” Tim said firmly. “Pru, get in the pantry.”


“Motherfucker, I should cut your dick off and—“

Pru, it’s the Daughters of Acheron! You don’t mess with these people!”


“I know who the fuck they are, I was in the League of Assassins, bitches—“


Promise fired a quick, silenced round at Pru’s feet, missing her but sending shards of linoleum flying into her bare feet. Pru winced, but refused to give Promise the satisfaction of crying out. She hobbled to the pantry, its jar-lined cupboard as large as a walk-in closet, and gave Tim the finger as he closed the door behind her.


Promise was a lithe, toned woman, her body much the same as Pru’s, just as trim and well-honed a weapon. Tim had to admit, though, that the long brown hair that fell from Promise’s head made her a bit more tempting to him than Pru’s punkish, blunt demeanor and shaven head.


Promise gestured him away from the door, then drew a chair to it, leaning it underneath the doorknob. “If I hear anything from behind this door,” she said in a raised voice. ”I will fire through it. I have a lot of bullets, and you’re not that thin.”


“Fuck you, bitch, I’m on the Atkins Diet!”


Promise cocked her weapon again. “That will include vocal outbursts. Please, pretend you are gagged. You are familiar with the experience, yes?”


Inside the pantry, Pru was silent, but even that had an air of sullen loathing.


Tim’s hands were still up. “You mind if I put this away?” he asked Promise, nodding downward.


Promise’s eyes did not stray and give him the opening he was looking for. “No point,” she said. “Once before, my sister and I paid you a great honor. You were to continue the line of Ra’s al Ghul.”


Visions of a firm, effortlessly sexual body danced before Tim’s eyes. He’d tried not to look, but still, he remembered—he also remembered Russia, tracking Promise from her attempted assassination of Viktor Mikalek. Finding her taking a shower…


He’d tried not to look then, either. But as a detective, he noticed a lot of things without trying—and he had a good memory.


“A woman with your looks shouldn’t need a gun to find a man. Much less two.”


Promise scowled at him. She could follow his line of thought, his insinuation. “I will not bear your seed, much as you might like it—planting your little tracker on me, enjoying planting it on me…”


Pru was never going to let him hear the end of this.




Pru was standing naked in new boy toy’s pantry, listening to him talk with Promise—a distant ally of the League of Assassins, but one with the ear of Ra’s al Ghul, able to call upon the League’s resources at any time for any reason. Pru guessed the rumors were true—she was part of the Demon’s family, traveling the centuries with him, the ultimate honor.


What a cunt.


Then she heard a third voice. Tim’s, Promise’s, and another woman. Pru’s anger won out—she wanted to at least know who it was she was so pissed off at. Dropping to her belly, she looked under the door. She almost gasped aloud.


The newcomer she had seen very rarely, and never heard in all her years with the League. Her body statuesque and intimidating within her robes, golden dark, the alluring softness of a harem beauty rather than Promise’s soldiering leanness. Her hood and shawl of the same making as Ra’s garments, simply with a more feminine cut and coloring. Similar features to Promise, but a difference in heritage. Whereas Promise was wholly Slavic, this woman had some of the Middle East in her—the sharply pronounced heritage of Ra’s, of Talia, of Nyssa. Ra’s’s sister, it was said, with Promise her half-sister. Only a child of this newcomer would be in the lineage of Ra’s al Ghul.


“Once again, you are offered the opportunity to give the world the heir of the Demon. Seeing as you are so willing to breed with mongrels and traitors, you should be relieved that you are still considered a worthy suitor, and not merely killed for your audacity.”


“You’re going to kill me either way,” Tim pointed out. “All ethics aside, talk about performance anxiety.”


“There have been other considerations,” the woman said. “Your master, the detective, now consorts with those beneath his station and cannot be trusted with the privilege he is offered. That offer has now been withdrawn, and even now my nieces prepare his destruction. Thus, though you have spurned my offer before, I will be lenient and grant you this honor again.”


Tim scratched his chin. “So, uh… what if it doesn’t take?”


“Doesn’t… take?”


“The babymaking. Even if we go through all the ins and outs, so to speak, it’s not a guarantee you’re going to get pregnant. What if we have sex, you kill me, and then you’re still not pregnant? You’re out a suitor.”


The woman smiled. “You are valuable. Not indispensable. If your seed is not able to conquer my womb, another candidate will be found.”


“With Batman gone too? Seems like you’re going to be real short on heirs. That could be a problem, right? Give people ideas. I mean, Dr. Darhk alone…”


The woman gritted her teeth. “Do not speak his name to me!”


“Perhaps he has a point, sister,” Promise said. “He has proven himself formidable. Perhaps… other means of persuasion…”


“Yes,” the woman agreed. “You worry of ‘performance anxiety’? Very well. Give me your seed and I will spare your life until I am certain of a viable heir. Not just growing within me, but delivered into the world. That gives you at least nine months of life, enjoying the knowledge that you have birthed the future leader of the League of Assassins. Reasonable?”


“Fair enough,” Tim said. “And you leave Batman—“


“That is between him and my brother. I do not intrude in his affairs, as he does not interfere in mine. Only the greater dealings of the family bring us together. Now, do you accept my generous offer or will you die here, in this hovel, with your cow?”


Tim looked around. “I keep this place pretty tidy, you know, I hardly think it’s a hovel—“


Promise leveled her guns at him. “Answer her!”


“Alright, alright! But can I at least get your name?”


“My name?” the woman asked.


“I like to know little things like that when I’m sleeping with someone.”


“Miranda,” she answered. Then she disrobed, as simply as undoing the clasp of her robe. Her hood swooped off her head last, revealing her terrifyingly beautiful features—her hair was long and black, as black as her eyes, cupping a sensual face, black lips. “Now… give me a child.”


Tim looked down. “That might be a little difficult.”


“Difficult?” Miranda traced a hand over her body. “Here is my body, awaiting your seed. You are male, I am female. What is the difficulty?”


“Geez, lady, I don’t know, waving guns around and talking about killing people doesn’t really put me in the mood, I don’t know how it is in Eth Alth'eban…”


Miranda looked to Promise. “Prepare him.”


Promise was quick to obey, dropping to her knees, grasping his flaccid cock with an unsure hand, as if surprised it was really as large as it seemed, even limp. She raised it up, her glistening pink tongue shooting from her lips to lick his length. Tim thought she acted like was starving for it.


Straining his ears, he could hear her moan at the taste.




Pru didn’t know what the fuck to do. She’d never intended to spy on the most intimate, most secret affairs happening at the very highest level of the League of Assassins. But it wasn’t like she could leave the closet. And even if she didn’t watch, she’d still be able to hear that whore gobbling cock like she was at a fucking buffet. And she wasn’t about to stop watching. She was very curious to know how Ra’s al Ghul’s sister fucked.


She just didn’t know how she could record this shit without her phone. Shame. Steph would’ve loved to see this going down.




Tim’s gaze shifted to Miranda, who looked on impassively as her half-sister licked Tim to hardness. Her hot little tongue was all over his shaft, racing up and down it, coating his growing hardness in warm saliva. Miranda noticed him watching her, eyes tracing her body, adding to his lust as Promise attended him. He seemed to have forgotten all about Pru stashed in the pantry.


As Tim’s cock swelled and stiffened, Promise licked even faster, soon shocked to find a pillar of engorged flesh challenging her tongue. Thick gobs of precum ran from his cockhead, and Promise lapped up the salty liquid with hungry gurgles. Tim petted her hair and Promise looked up angrily at him, which only caused his substantial prick to flop down across her face, sticking to her from chin to hairline. She pulled away from it and it bobbed up, rock hard, taunting her.


She licked her lips, slickening them, then slid her mouth down Tim’s huge, hard cock.


“You don’t let her get out much, do you?” Tim asked Miranda, now fully leering at her nudity.


“Our vengeance against Mikalek must take precedent…”


“Not tonight,” Tim groaned. “Tonight, it’s all about this cock…” He looked down into Promise’s eyes. “Isn’t it?”


Her mouth ratcheting up and down his cock looked a lot like nodding.




Pru felt saliva dripping down her chin and found that she was drooling.


She wasn’t jealous of Promise. She didn’t care who Tim fucked. She was just turned on, watching him fuck another woman.  Hearing the lewd, wet sucking of her nominal superior at the League of Assassins now eating dick. It was enough to make her play with herself.


She didn’t think she could take the risk, though. She got pretty noisy, jilling off, and Tim was pissing those stuck-up bitches off enough that they’d take any excuse to ventilate her. She’d wait until they left. Then she’d have Tim all to herself.




“That’s enough, Promise,” Miranda said haughtily, observing her sucking lips spread wider and wider by Tim’s growing cock. “I said that’s enough!”


Promise pulled away from Tim’s spit-soaked column, watching it stand at attention, her eyes wide. It had felt gigantic in her mouth, her throat, but she’d had no idea it was really so big. “Oh God,” she muttered, staring. Imagining how gigantic it would feel elsewhere…


Miranda stepped past her, grabbing Tim and pulling him into a kiss. “Useless whelp,” she said, staring down at Promise as Tim’s body molded to hers. She impatiently rubbed her wet cunt at Tim’s stiffly standing cock. “I should let him have your ass, that way—“


Tim grabbed her sensuously rounded waist, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, and pulled himself into her hungry, hot cunt. Miranda’s head fell back, her eyes rolling, feeling him ease into her further and further. She moaned and gurgled with ecstasy as he crammed her needy sex.


“You should let me have her ass,” Tim said, “after I’m done with you…”


Then he began to thrust.




Pru’s molten juices ran down her thighs as she watched. She didn’t even have to touch herself. It just happened. Tim had backed Miranda into the refrigerator, hoisting her up so that she was straddling him as he thrust into her, starting her off in a slow, sinuous way that had her whimpering with delight.


Pru knew just how she felt. She lay there and watched and felt dizzy with lust. Watching people fuck was almost as exciting as doing it. And now, the urge to play with herself was truly irresistible…


She could keep quiet if she tried, she knew she could. She reached down to her clit, sliding her index finger over the throbbing button—felt so damned good—she was wild with need. She had to come or she’d scream.




Promise undressed. Watching Tim fuck her sister, it just seemed the natural thing to do. She dropped her clothes carelessly on the floor, though neither Tim nor Miranda noticed her nakedness. Only Pru did, thinking what a beautiful body she had, fashion-model slim, but curved in all the right places, tits the size of apples riding high and firm. They jiggled only slightly as she walked to where Tim had her sister plastered against the refrigerator door like a good report card.


“You’re fucking her good,” she whispered in Tim’s ear. “I can tell. Fuck her as hard as you can. She needs it.”


Pru reddened. She’d said pretty much the same thing to Tim just minutes ago. He was fucking one horny bitch after another. It was a good thing for the League of Assassins that he was so well-hung. What would the roll call do without him and his tireless cock?


Slowly, Tim began to use faster strokes as he fucked upward into Miranda, making her bounce up and down on his cock. Her large breasts flew now, bounding with every thrust, jiggling until they blurred at the edges.


“Yes,” Promise panted, “fuck her. Good and hard.”


Miranda was still carefully silent. She almost didn’t squeal. Her lips buttoned shut as cream poured from her reamed sex. Promise could smell it. So could Pru. She rubbed herself in perfect time to his fucking.


Pru’s index finger drilled into her wildly throbbing clit, her other hand rubbing fitfully at her pussy, a steady buzz of pleasure. She reminded herself to keep perfectly quiet when she came. If Miranda could do it, so could she.


“Is that what you want, Miranda?” Tim asked, still bouncing her atop his cock. “To be fucked hard?”


Miranda stared imperiously at him, her face carefully composed.


Tim began to slow.


“No, you bastard!” Miranda grasped his shoulders in her hands, digging her fingernails into him. “Fuck me! Make me come!”


Tim moved into overdrive, fucking her so hard she could’ve been riding a bucking bronco. Miranda rocked up and down, groaning helplessly now, her dark face turning red. Her eyes closed tight as Tim brought her close to the orgasm she needed so much. Then he reached down between them, feeling out her clit with his fingers, kneading it expertly. Miranda vibrated with pleasure, growling deep in her throat as she held in her satisfaction. She soaked his fingers with her orgasm.


“That’s great!” Promise cheered, watching and standing so closely that she felt Tim’s ass brush against her every time he pulled from Miranda. “Keep doing it!”


Miranda was in no position to disagree, Tim hammering himself into her squirting cunt, rolling her swollen clit between his fingers like he’d done it a thousand times. And Pru watched as breathlessly as Promise was. Unlike her, though, she felt free to rub her clit like crazy.


She was right on the verge of climax, and again she reminded herself not to make a sound. But as she entered herself with her fingers, rubbing her clit from both inside and out, she just couldn’t help herself. She felt a wail of ecstasy rising from her throat. “Oh, God, unnnhhhh!”


But she was in luck. At that exact moment, Miranda came again. And this time, she couldn’t deny how good it was. She drowned Pru out with a blissful cry. “Oooooooh, FUCK, SHIT, HOLY FUCK, HOLY SHIT!” she babbled. “FUCK ME FUCK ME FUCK ME!”


“Tim, you did it!” Promise cried shrilly, sounding orgasmic herself as Tim fucked Miranda through her body-wracking climax.


It was all his now. He burned all over, his body at ecstatic heights as he pulled high and close to his own moment. He kissed Miranda hotly, swallowing her surprised scream as pleasure gripped his body like a fist, all his flesh locking up tight with need, with energy, with sudden power. With a wounded grunt, he held himself at that ecstatic peak. Then it was over, dizzyingly over. He felt leaps of pleasure as his body relaxed into her, all his tension poured out from his loins, propelled into Miranda. So much, a sea of cum running in throbs from him. Miranda clung to him weakly, his hands stronger, gripping her tightly to his belly as he filled her with all his virility, pouring every drop deep, deep into her belly. Miranda’s eyes fluttered in surprise as she felt him shoot inside her again and again, echoes of satisfaction battering her to and fro like a cat with a toy.


“How can there be so much?” she asked, voice fading as she sank down on top of him, panting for breath that she finally found in long, slow inhalations.


Tim carried her from the refrigerator, her sweat-slick skin peeling off it, and laid her on the table. She was out cold. Promise looked from her warmly satisfied body to the still-stiff cock that Tim pulled out of her.


“You know,” she said, “if you were to fuck me in the ass, there’d be no children. No pretenders to the throne. And… and… you should really fuck me in the ass.”


Appropriately enough, that was when someone started pounding at the backdoor. Promise hurried to Miranda, trying to shake her awake, but Miranda only moaned and kept sleeping.


“She must be hidden!” Promise said. “The family affairs of the Demon’s Head cannot be known!”


Tim mulled it over. “Well, there is somewhere…”


As he walked to the pantry, Pru tried desperately to wipe her wet fingers off on her naked body.

Chapter Text

Pru reminded herself to tell Tim that he needed a day planner. The man was double booking, getting absent-minded. He’d apparently forgotten Pru was in the pantry as he steered Promise and the semi-conscious Miranda right for the door.


“In here,” he told them. “I’ll hide your clothes.”


Pru barely had time to scoot out of the way before Promise was shot inside, Miranda in her arms. They collided, Promise gasping as she remembered who it was.


“Traitorous bitch!”


“Shut the fuck up!” Pru whispered, putting her finger to Promise’s lips. “Don’t wake sis.”


“I will--!”


The door opened abruptly, Tim throwing their clothes in after them.


As Promise got Miranda situated, Pru squeezed past her, peering out the pantry door again. Tim was straightening his clothes, dashing away to answer the door. Pru snickered helplessly.


“How dare you befoul this sacred event, treasoness!” Promise exclaimed.


“Yeah, especially when you were about to get yourself befouled.”


“Oh, God!” Promise groaned suddenly. “You saw everything I did with Tim! Everything my sister—“


“Don’t worry. You can watch me anytime you fucking like. Might learn a few things.”


They were distracted by footsteps outside the door, and both women now peered out into the kitchen. Tim was bringing in a slim, dark-haired girl—Asian, her hair cut short, straight, and black, combed over her forehead in bangs. She was sheathed in a tightly buttoned raincoat, evidently wearing shorts or a skirt underneath, for her bare legs ran out from under the hem without a stitch of clothing before her sandals.


“Mei Wing!” Promise gasped. “Another of his whores.”


“Fucking takes one to know one, eh sister?”


Outside, Mei’s nose wrinkled, almost detecting the scent of sex in the air, before clearly dismissing it with a shake of her head. “I have thought over generous offer, Robin—you are perhaps right… I have done enough for my country. Since little girl, put duty ahead of satisfaction. Now, time I had same life as those I defend. Find another way doing good. Be happy.”


“I’m glad you feel that way,” Tim replied. “I thought you might. I already have the papers drawn up—they’re around here somewhere.”


He moved to open a drawer and Mei stopped him, laying her hand over his. “This not why I came see you. Marriage is different in Hong Kong than in America. To divorce is… not good. I am not a romantic woman, Tim Drake, but I have certain requirements. I believe in obeying husband. Partnering with him. And in return, he must do for me.”


“Do for you?” Tim asked. “Do what?”




Mei quickly removed her trenchcoat, revealing she had dressed in nothing more than a bra and panties—if you could call them that. Her legs were long and lithe, the skin smooth and glowingly tantalizing with a rich tan. Around her thong, her buttocks were round and firm, swelling seductively under her waist, while her breasts spilled just enough from her bra to reveal their undulating promise. Her belly, gentle and ever so slightly rounded, lay between the lingerie, just right for the caress of a hand.


“I would not dishonor husband by giving another, my body. Tim must satisfy if he is to be husband.”


Naturally, Pru and Promise were intrigued. They peered out the bottom of the door, nearly on top of each other as they tried to get the best angle on what was happening outside.


“Could I get a rain check on that?” Tim asked hoarsely. “I, uh… dropped a can on my penis. I think it’s bruising.”


Mei shoved him down to the floor without concern. “I will kiss,” she panted. “Make better.”


Moving fast with excitement, she knelt with her knee across his chest, holding him down as she undid his much-abused zipper. His big prick came out, wagging stiffly. She crouched down to it until her face was right over its head, while her panty-clad cunt settled an inch from Tim’s face.


“Show satisfy,” Mei insisted, pulling at one half of her panties’ waistband, just enough to dislodge its crotch from her pussy. “Show satisfy!”


Tim had forgotten all about the three women in the pantry. He stuck out his tongue and raked it up Mei’s pussy, lapping up her tangy cream. Mei shuddered in bliss, bringing out her own tongue to lick up the globs of hot, salty precum that oozed from Tim’s cockhead.


“Much thanks for satisfy,” she squealed. “I will serve my husband…”


As they noisily devoured each other, Pru and Promise exchanged glances.


“She’s his fourth woman in an hour?” Promise whispered in amazement.


“Unless there was someone here before me,” Pru whispered back.


Promise smiled. Pru could see no jealousy in her, but a sudden, shared joy in Tim’s exploits. They were both almost living vicariously through what they spied on, and even Pru saw no need to fight over their handsome lover.


The trick was not to let Tim fuck himself to death.


Mei squealed. “Ooh, Tim, do so good! I wish you could give lessons!”


“Well, if there’s one thing people seem to learn around here, it’s eating pussy,” Tim mumbled.


Promise blushed fiercely, trying not to be too aware of Pru’s closeness.


Mei didn’t reply. She was busy running her tongue all over his sharply standing cock, relishing his delicious cream. The same way he tortured her wet pussy with his tongue, savoring her juices. The sound of tongue against sex was loud, obscene. It could clearly be heard, even inside the pantry.


“They’re so… lustful,” Promise whispered.


“It turned me right the fuck on too,” Pru replied. “I had to do something about it…”


And for the first time, Promise looked away from Tim to see how Pru was rubbing her thighs, her hands slowly moving higher and higher…


And still, Tim and Mei sixty-nined, both either practiced at it or natural talents. They couldn’t get enough of each other, but still, Tim wanted Mei to get more.


“C’mon, wifey,” he said hoarsely. “Show me you can take all of it!”


“A Chinese wife will do anything for her husband…” Mei gurgled, licking her lips. Making them slippery.


She plunged her mouth down on Tim’s cock, the man groaning and shuddering with pleasure as he was imprisoned within her wet, velvety mouth. She drew in her cheeks, sucking noisily at him.


“Oh, wow, yes!” he grunted. “Much satisfy!”


He lay there for a minute, grunting and groaning, enjoying her greedy sucking. But eventually she began wiggling her ass impatiently. Then Tim remembered to return the favor.


Mei gasped as Tim suddenly crammed his whole tongue inside her, shoving it as deeply into her cunt as he could go, then pistoning it in and out.




“Fuck, I was that was me!” Pru sighed.


“I wish that was all four of us,” Promise moaned. “His hands, his mouth, his cock…”


Pru looked at her. Both women were shivering with lust, just watching Tim and Mei together, Tim using his clever tongue all over Mei’s cunt, while Mei, moaning and writhing, gobbled his precum as fast as she could suck it from his powerful cock.


Pru wanted to touch herself again, but even after leaving the League of Assassins, she couldn’t do that right next to Promise. She’d just have to wait until she was alone. Tim wouldn’t be able to help her out anymore. He would have to be totally spent by Mei Wing. There was no way Mei wouldn’t need cock after having his wet tongue hammered into her dripping cunt, over and over again, faster and faster, tasting his manhood as she kept sucking pace with him. Her short black hair flew with her furiously bobbing head, her succulent lips pulling up and down his rock-hard erection, suctioning the hot precum from his slit.


Tim was red-faced with the need to come, but he managed to hold off his climax. He was getting good at that. He had to, with so many women to take care of. Instead, he distracted himself by focusing all his energy on putting all of his clever tongue inside her molten cunt, adding more and more until she raised her head and howled.


“Ohhhh! Tim! Gonna come! You make come!”


Instantly Tim pulled away from her. Mei whimpered with disappointment. Pru couldn’t blame her. Tim had left her right on the brink, needing it badder than a bitch in heat. Mei looked at him desperately.


“Need come, need satisfy!” she begged. “Just about to—please—keep going!”


Tim smiled at her. “I just want to make sure my wife is going to be… satisfactory. We’ve established how good you taste. Now let’s find out how you feel.” He pumped his cock, making no secret of what he meant. “You want it?”


“Yes!” Mei answered quickly. “Want you! Have to get off! Just have to! You can have me, husband!”


“And where exactly do you want me? In that tight pussy of yours?” Tim demanded, taking full advantage of the fever pitch he’d worked Mei too. She whimpered with frustration, his cock right in front of her, but a million miles away.


She shook her head no.


It turned out to be the best no Tim had ever gotten.


“Fuck ass,” she said.


“Oh, hell yes,” Pru whispered.


It was then Promise noticed the skinhead was playing with herself. She could see Pru had her hand between her legs, fingers rubbing her slit. Promise knew she’d been caught, but she just smiled.


“Had to do something,” she said. “In the next five minutes, I was either gonna come or fucking die.”


“I—I think you are doing just the right thing,” Promise said. And she slid a stiff finger between her thighs, all the way to her blood-engorged clit.


They both watched intently as Tim arranged Mei on her hands and knees. He knelt behind her, grinning like a madman.


“By the way,” Tim said. “I’m marrying three other women.”


“They let you fuck ass yet?”




“Then I am best one!”


Tim guffawed as he slotted the fat head of his prick to Mei’s ass, pushed deep inside her. Mei shuddered and moaned. Her nails clawed weakly at the linoleum floor as he pushed to her bowels—eyes rolling, pretty face becoming a lustful grimace.


“Ohhhhh! Satisfy! Satisfy!” she cried.


Pru rubbed her clit furiously as she watched. So did Promise. They felt no guilt about masturbating in front of each other. They didn’t have a choice anymore. They were too damn horny.


“Wha… whuzzat… going on…” Miranda rose, slitted eyes suddenly opening wide as she saw Pru and Promise lying down together, bodies pressed side to side, fingers swirling between their legs. “Sister! What are you doing!?”


Pru shushed her.


“You! Traitor! How dare you try to silence me! What is the meaning of this disgusting display—“


Look!” Promise stressed.


Eyes narrowing, Miranda went to the door, opening it so fast she barely left time for Promise and Pru to back up. Hearing a sharp gasp of pleasure, she stopped, holding the door ajar. Then she looked through the crack.


Now it was she who gasped.


“He is… in her ass…” she said gently. “He’s fucking her ass… he must be the biggest pervert in the world…”


There was not a single complaint from Mei. She just knelt there and gurgled and squealed with pleasure as Tim gave her the hard, steady assfucking she so obviously wanted. Miranda heard a moan, but it wasn’t coming from them. Pru was kneeling beside her, looking through the cracked door below her. Her hands had returned to her crotch.


“How dare you!” Miranda exclaimed, not noticing she had lowered her voice to avoid alerting Tim or Mei.


She did notice Promise behind her, looking over her shoulder at Tim and Mei. Where her body pressed against Miranda’s, it was burning up.


“I just want to see what it looks like,” Promise said softly. “When she comes… she’s going to come… I want to see if it looks as good as… before.”


Miranda colored, realizing Promise was referring to when Tim had been inside her, what she’d done to get his seed—that her sister had watched them, wanting to be her, or even wanting to join them…”


Reaching into a well-concealed pocket, Miranda came up with a flask. She unscrewed it with a trembling hand and drank. She told herself the burning inside her was the alcohol. Decadent… they were all so decadent… there was no purity left, no one who had her strength, to sample the pleasures of manhood and then… then…


It was then that Mei’s sweaty palms betrayed her, as she slipped out of her doggy style position and collapsed underneath Tim, spread eagle on the floor, pushed around by his thrusting like a pile of rags.


“Keep fucking, Lynx!” Tim grunted. “Don’t stop now! It’s too fucking good!”


Neither Pru nor Promise knew where she found the strength, but Mei lifted up her body to give a sudden jerk backward, so forceful she pushed Tim upon his back. Then she saw down on his lap, grabbing his knees for support as she lifted her ass up and down, slapping it violently upon his erect cock.


“I fuck you!” she cried out. “I fuck you eyes out, son of bitch!”


Pru and Promise fucked themselves like crazy as they watched Mei ride Tim’s cock, the woman clawing his hairy legs, moaning louder and louder as she sat lower and lower on his pile-driving manhood. Her eyes rolled and then closed tight. She whimpered, on the very brink of ecstasy.


“What a slut,” Miranda breathed, almost unable to believe two people could do such disgusting, awful things with each other, such horrible things, that two such trusted acolytes as Prudence and Promise could enjoy watching such depravity—even wish it for themselves. It was so pathetic! It made her sick! She couldn’t believe any woman could enjoy such obscenity—how Mei was screaming and moaning in ecstasy, like she didn’t know how awful it was—how Prudence and Promise seemed on the verge of orgasm, uncaring that what they were watching was so thoroughly, hatefully wrong. Nothing could feel so good as to be worth degrading oneself that way!


“Nothing,” Miranda whispered aloud, her hands tangled in her clothing, carefully abreast of the slickness in her panties that she could not explain.


A tremendous convulsion swept through Mei like a tidal wave, washing around her cunt and burning down her thighs. She grabbed Tim’s legs and pulled her body up until his cock had almost escaped her asshole. As the pressure built, filling every cell in her body with passionate energy, she crushed herself back down upon him, punching his cock so deep inside her anus she thought she could feel it in her throat. All her weight was on the cock in her ass and it felt fantastic. She wailed, lost for a split second as the pleasure pitched, then exploded.


As her satisfaction peaked violently, Tim felt his own burning at the base of his throbbing shaft. He made one final effort to hold back his potent cum, but even as he tried, he felt the first of his load powering through his cock.


“Take it, Mei, here!” he barked, torso thrust up to bite the back of her neck. He grabbed her body and pulled her tits against her own chest. “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m, I’m… UNHHH!”


What Mei thought was pleasure was nothing compared to what came next. When his splattering cum blew up her insides, every fiery glob seemed to carry with it enough heat to start the fire all over again, like magma lobbed from a volcano. Raw convulsions tore up and down her with such force, the wind in her lungs howled out of her, abandoning her.


“Oh! Shit! Oh!” she wailed. “You do it, Tim! You satisfy! You satisfy hard!”


Pru and Promise both took the opportunity to get off without being heard. They sawed their hands over their clits, coming at almost the same time, their moans drowned out by Mei’s wails, Tim’s groans. Sluts, Miranda thought. They were all such sluts. They’d probably fuck her if they had half a chance. Finger her and lick her and fuck her, everywhere, in all her holes, just fuck and fuck and fuck…


At last, Tim sighed and helped Mei down from his dripping cock. They lay on their sides, trying to catch a breath that seemed completely illusive. After that, it was a full five minutes before either could move again. And only when Mei felt his cock finally start to shrink that she cared to move at all.


“Is this what you want then?” Miranda demanded of Promise. “Just sex, not to bear heirs for the lineage or to solidify an alliance, but just cheap, meaningless sex, with men and women you don’t even know, just because they have a nice body or big prick?”


“Can I… have a minute to think about it?”


The pantry door flew open. Mei stared inside without apparent concern, her panties pulled aside from the mound of her sex, one breast freed from her bra. “Tim, your pantry have naked women inside.”


“It was like that when I got here,” Tim said, eyes shut.


Mei nodded, closing the door behind her. Miranda noticed that Promise had closely watched her dishabille.




Miranda emerged from the pantry, her appearance once more impeccable, her clothing in perfect order. “Drake,” she said with the utmost dignity, choosing not to notice that the subject of her conversation was on the floor, a naked Chinese woman draped over him, rapidly losing consciousness. “It is not yet known to me whether our consummation was successful. Thus, Promise will stay here, making sure you stay alive in case your services are needed once more.”


“Maybe he could service you one more time for the road?” Pru suggested with a snicker, and all but Promise and Miranda herself would testify that they saw a suppressed shudder go through Miranda’s body.


“She will also ensure no…” Miranda cast her eyes back at Pru. “Diseases are visited upon you that would interfere with further conception. Enjoy this reprieve from the sleep of all men, Tim Drake. Hope that you have given me a strong son on this first attempt, so your death can be swift and painless. Let Promise serve as a constant reminder of your mortality, o prince.”


And without another word, she departed.


Promise emerged from the pantry. “I can just… sleep on the couch?” she suggested. But her eyes were all on Drake as he set Mei aside, rising, his soft cock swinging underneath him, still large enough to make Promise stare incredulously. How could he be so big without being erect?


Tim knew what it meant that she could not look away. “Prepare me,” he said, and Promise gratefully sank to her knees.


In no time at all they were in the bedroom, Tim naked, Promise attacking him like a big, hungry cat. She played with his happily throbbing cock; his tongue licked lasciviously at the deep crevice between her buttocks. That was just the beginning. Tim found himself hard put to keep up with her, having his cock sucked and guided to her cunt for the fucking of a lifetime. When he was lying on his back and heaving for breath, she was plying him with soft kisses, hands gently urging his penis back to life.


“Say,” he asked conversationally, “where is it that Talia and Nyssa are staying?”


“Why should I tell you?” Promise asked, batting her eyes demurely. “In just a few short months, you’ll be dead and I’ll be back with Miranda. It would be unwise to show disloyalty.”


Tim took her in his arms, running a hand down her flank. “That flask Miranda carries—the cap is heavily scratched from being opened and closed often. She drinks from it a lot, doesn’t she?”


“So? She can’t abide the water here—she needs the taste of her native springs.”


“I slipped one of Steph’s birth control pills into it.” Tim kissed Promise’s cheek. “I don’t think I’ll have to worry about being a father for a while yet.”


Promise felt Tim’s cock growing once more. She moved to tighten her grip, but Tim slapped her hand away.


“The address,” he insisted. “Or do you really want to spend your time in Gotham… sleeping on the couch?”


Promise told him.


Tim rolled on top of her. It brought him closer to the cell phone on the nightstand.




“Tim? Tim?” Promise gave Tim a gentle shake. He was still dead to the world. She looked downward. Still more unfortunately, his cock was asleep as well.


“You save any for me?” Pru asked, watching from the doorway, burning hard through her cigarette.


“I think he may have reached his limit,” Promise said mournfully.


“Wasn’t talking about him, fucker. I’ve got a lot of treason to make up for.”




A key turned in a lock. Steph and Cass came inside, the blonde bearing a bundle of brochures to drop on the kitchen island. “Okay, I really think we should go with the four bedroom. We’ll all have our own private room, so no problem if the main bed is ocupado.” Her eyes glowed. “The Tim bed…”


“I think we may need… bigger apartment,” Cass said, looking down.


Steph followed her gaze. “Hunh. Did you leave your naked Asian chick out?”


“Maybe… one of Pru’s?”


“Yeah. Or Tim started on the wife hunt. But c’mon, we’ve been gone two hours, how lucky could he have gotten?”


Cass was headed for the bedroom. Steph hurried to follow her.


Tim lay on the bed, sunken into the mattress, his head back, eyes closed, breath coming through his open mouth. His mind was a total blank. In the ensuite bathroom, they heard the shower running. Cass peeked in through the cracked door, then gave a nod to Steph, confirming her suspicions.


“I leave for two hours and there are two girls are on his dick!” Steph exclaimed. “That’s a girl an hour! God, I hate the dating world…” She eyed Tim now, naked, uncovered by the bedsheet. A wonderful idea had occurred to her. “Cass, remember what we talked about?


Cass nodded. They tiptoed to the bed, where Tim kept trying to get comfortable, his body sluggish, his mind in a haze. Cass gave Steph a questioning look, mouthing ‘sure?’, and Steph made a dismissive gesture. She knew everyone liked a good surprise.


They undressed, Cass following Steph’s lead, and then waited, patiently, silently, until Tim had become motionless, almost on the verge of sleep. Steph judged that he was there, that perfect state of relaxation in the limbo between dozing and unconsciousness that was perfect for cuddling. She crawled upon the bed, gently climbing over Tim in all his exhausted, naked glory, finding his head propped at an undignified angle on his stacked pillows. She gave him a little kiss.


“Mmmm?” Tim murmured, his voice hardly audible.


“Shhh,” Steph soothed, stroking his hair away from his sweaty brow.


Tim, having come around enough to realize it was Steph’s body against his, smiled weakly. He licked his lips, swallowed, and drifted off again.


Gently, ever so gently, Steph wrapped her arms around Tim, one leg around both of his as well. Tim instinctively wrapped his arms around her as well. Then she began to rock from side to side, gently, oh so gently, Tim half-consciously going along with it, until she’d rolled onto her back and him, on top of her. Again, he babbled—“Errr?”


She caressed his back, whispering nothings into his ear until he passed out again. Then Steph’s hands dipped to his ass. She gripped his cheeks in her hands, grinning as she did so—his ass felt as great as ever. She pulled gently… so incredibly gently… spreading his cheeks. Then she nodded to Cass.


Cass applied more lubricant to the strap-on she’d put on, polishing the head to a sheen as she looked at the two of them. “You don’t think he’ll be… mad?”


“No!” Steph said, barely more than mouthing the words. “Once he loosens up, he’ll love it—phrasing. You loved my finger up your ass, right?”


Cass nodded.


“And I loved it when you put that vibrator in my ass, remember?”


Cass nodded.


“So he’s gonna love this too! We just need to—ya know—be a little sneaky about it. Like he was, having two girls over while we were out.”


“Maybe more,” Cass muttered.




“Didn’t get good look at girl in shower… could be… not alone… don’t know where Prudence is…”


“Cass, fuck his ass, now!”


Cass climbed onto the bed, kneeling astride the pair’s legs, resting her hand on Tim’s buttocks when suddenly he rolled over, pulling Steph on top of him. Unsupported, Cass fell forward, on top of Steph. Her well-lubricated dildo hit Steph’s tailbone, slipped down between her cheeks, fell to her anus, and then found itself inside.


Steph’s eyes bulged, her mouth opening to express the pain of suddenly being stretched so wide, so open, but the pain was too big to get out. She just stiffened, trembling in a full-body caress of Tim underneath her, pressed tightly between him and Cass. Her breasts flattened against Tim’s firm pectoral muscles and her back bearing Cass’s weight so she was sandwiched between them, trapped as Cass tried to get off her—but having lubed her strap-on, her hands were equally slippery, and they slicked over Steph’s back, accomplishing nothing but wiggling Cass around—along with the cock in Steph’s ass.


“Oh God, oh God!” Steph moaned. Then she looked down, having felt something brush against her leg, and saw that it was Tim’s awakening prick. It seemed thicker than ever, still slick from Promise, the skin slid back from his cockhead to unveil a purplish knot that seemed like a fist meant to punch into her body. “Oh God!”


And Steph knew she wanted it. She wanted to feel it penetrate her, thrust deep inside her, for Tim and Cass to have her totally.


“You were being honest,” Tim whispered, eyes still shut. “You do love it up the ass.”


“Yeah!” Steph gritted out. “You should try it sometime!”


“No thanks, did it once with Kon, didn’t care for it.”


“Oh, don’t joke, that would be so hoooooooot—“ Steph howled, feeling Cass stop trying to escape, instead bucking her hips. Damn ninja. Seeing her body language, knowing that the nice warm glow was returning to her loins, hand in hand with the screaming pain. And when Cass caressed her clit—forget it.


Cass’s hand brushed over her pussy, then felt the heft of Tim’s rising shaft. “You want… her pussy?” Cass asked. “Or is it… mine?”


“Oh, I want it…” Tim reached down to his cock, pulling it to Steph’s sex. “Never have minded a woman on top…”


Steph moaned, feeling the end of his organ penetrate her, then more of it, more and more and more. Aided by his hand, he pushed it all the way in, until there was nothing to keep the weight of Cass and Steph from resting on his body. Then he simply put his hands behind his head and relaxed once more.


“All yours, Cass. You can take it from here.”


And Cass did, thrusting into Steph, pushing her down on Tim’s cock, his hardness the only effort Tim provided. Steph moaned indecently, the fact that Tim was so careless and yet effortlessly bringing her so much pleasure doing more than enough to turn her on. She imagined the fleshy cock inside her pussy, the artificial one in her ass, massaging her insides, practically meeting in the middle. She was right in the center, taking Tim’s cock, Cass’s fuck. She loved it.


“Oooooh, oh!” she moaned loudly. “Fuck me. Fuck me!”


Vaguely she heard the shower door sweep open, a towel being unfurled, the bathroom door creaking as it opened fully. Pru stepped out to see the three of them in layers, one atop the other.


“Well fucking well!” she snapped. “Big surprise—a blonde who can’t get enough cock!”


“Screw you!” Steph called back. “At least I’m a natural blonde!”


“I should screw you,” Pru agreed. “Obviously you love it. Fuck her, Cassie, give her everything you’ve got. She just loves a big black dildo up her ass—dontcha?”


Steph refused to answer. Pru’s smile widened as she came over, towel around her body, to sit on the foot of the bed and watch Tim’s cock ramming in and out of Steph’s cunt, only inches from where Cass’s thick black dildo was plunging in and out like a jackhammer. Steph was jouncing up and down between them, her breasts flopping obscenely.


“That looks fun,” Pru said. “Mind if I join in?”


“The more the merrier,” Tim said, almost meditative in his enjoyment of the action of Steph’s cunt riding his cock.


“I think—I’m a little—short on holes at the moment!” Steph moaned.


“No fucking problem.” Pru opened up the nightstand, coming up with Steph’s strap-on. Steph’s eyes flared. The eggplant purple was hers.


Nonetheless, Pru dropped the towel and stepped into the harness, pulling it tight, then climbing onto the bed.


“I think this still tastes like Cass,” Pru laughed, pushing it between Steph’s lips. Automatically, Steph sucked. Her innermost flesh seemed to twist and erupt as she tasted evidence of her last playtime with Cass. She was suddenly glad she hadn’t washed it.


Steph had never been fucked so hard. She felt as though she would rip apart; she was so full of cock that it frightened her, even as it thrilled her beyond belief. She couldn’t get enough of it. The feel of Tim deeply embedded in her, while Cass was stretching the tender portal of her ass further and further, both of them going deeper, demanding more and more room. She would’ve panted wildly, begged for them to finish her off, to fuck right through her, only Pru was fucking her throat as well. And having that bitch in her mouth somehow just turned her on more.


Steph’s mind seemed to leave her body: she relaxed and floated, sublime and uncaring of anything but the glorious sensations coming into her, three in all, filling all her body. She had a dildo up her ass, another in her mouth, and a beautiful cock in her cunt. What more could a girl want—except maybe a little something in each hand. Like that cute Chinese girl passed out in the kitchen. Or whoever Pru had been showering with.


Suddenly, she came back to Earth, feeling Pru pull out of her gagging mouth and slap her face with the saliva-dripping dildo. “Say you love cock. We’ve seen it, so you might as well fucking admit it.”


“I love it!” Steph gasped. “Want Tim—in my ass—want him coming!”


“Yeah, fuckin’ A!” Pru cried, jumping down from the bed. “Cass, get off her, I want that ass full of cum!”


When Cass didn’t move fast enough—hands once again slip-sliding as she tried to anchor herself—Pru grabbed Cass by the waist and yanked her away. Steph’s asshole was stinging, almost insensate, but as Cass’s dildo popped out, she felt a stab of pain and cried out.


Pru dropped to her knees beside the bed, rolling Steph off of Tim, then pulling Tim’s cock to her mouth. She didn’t put it in her mouth, but teased and tantalizing the tip with her tongue. Tasting Steph on it.


Then she grabbed Steph and pulled her into place, Cass dutifully helping. Steph’s whole body felt asleep, pins and needles, as she was lowered onto Tim’s cock. The head slotted between the gaping gateway of her ass. Then, with a low groan, she sank down, letting inch after inch of shaft bull into her. Her eyes rolled back in her head. As much as Tim and Cass tried to control the descent, Pru pushed down on Steph’s shoulders. The last few inches disappeared between her cheeks. Steph put her hands on Cass’s shoulders and gazed into her eyes.


“So fucking good!” she sighed happily. Cass stared back at her with the strangest expression. Steph didn’t care.


She was the center of everything, being lifted higher and higher, feeling Tim flex inside her, ram in, and he shouted “I’m there, I’m there!”


His muscular body clenched as he held his cock deep inside her anus, then the hot rush of his seed into her bowels. Steph had to bite down on something; her mouth hit Cass’s shoulder and she bit into the dense muscle. She heard Pru’s voice, “Take it, bitch, take it!” Yeah, I will take it. Why not? I can’t help it. I’m just a red-blooded American girl, giving into her natural desires. Or maybe I’m some kind of perverted slut eager for cheap sex and not caring how I get it.


Either way, it felt good. She felt good. She felt perfect. Steph’s mind blanked, the exquisite pain of having her sphincter so thoroughly defeated, by an intrusion much larger than Cass’s dildo had been, pushed against the lingering pleasure that had occupied her sex so powerfully. Her cunt ran with all the cream suddenly inside it; she could feel them dripping out between her thighs, down to her ass, marking every thrust of Tim’s hard cock into her. She could not think, just feel. Fuck. In and out. Go. Hard. Harder. Pru. Cass. Tim!


“Give me every drop of that cum!” Steph babbled. “Up my ass! Tim! Tim! Shoot that hot cum! Cass, make him shoot! Make him—“


Then Pru shoved her cock in Steph’s mouth again. No, it was Cass. Had to be. Steph sucked. Her hands caressing the inside of Cass’s legs, feeling Tim’s body, cupping Cass’s ass and playing with Tim’s balls. Cass’s hands were in her hair, playing with it, running over Tim’s hands which were also gently at play. She looked down at Tim, cock in her mouth, and he stared up at her with the most tender look…


She felt his massive cock soften and withdraw from her, just as Cass slid out. Freed, Steph collapsed down to Tim’s body, and he took her in his arms. Pushed his lips against hers so she could kiss him, the little helper.


“You’re the best,” Tim whispered.


“The best fuck? The best blowjob you’ve ever had? Is my ass the… the tightest…”


“You’re just the best,” Tim said, kissing her again.


And despite the pain in her ass and the sudden tiredness that had seized her, Steph felt like she was glowing. The boy loved her. And Pru, possibly the biggest slut Steph had ever met, had clearly enjoyed their fuck together. She felt an odd sense of pride in being able to keep up with the bitch. She smiled up at Pru, who grinned back at her, and gave Cass a shove to join the two Bats already on the bed. Tim in the middle, Steph on his left, Cass on his right.


“Thanks a lot, assholes,” Pru said. “Now I’ve got to take another fucking shower.”


“Say hi to Promise for me,” Tim said. That woman loved her showers even more than Steph. He guessed she was still giving herself the spa treatment.


“Who she?” Steph asked, just as Mei came in from the kitchen, rubbing her bleary eyes. She went into the bathroom—a surprised squeak was heard from Promise—then they heard the toilet seat come up. “And who’s she!?”


“Long story,” Tim said. “Tell you when I wake up.”


“Because if you get to just grab some bitches off the street to be waifus, then I should get to choose some sister-wives!”


Mei emerged from the bathroom, wiping off her faucet-wet hands on a towel that she dropped to the floor on her way to the bed. She collapsed beside them.


“You want to choose which supervillains I marry?” Tim asked.


“I think we all should get a vote. Or at least a black ball. And maybe a suggestion box.”


“Who could you possibly want me to marry?”


Promise came out of the bathroom, still wet, a towel wrapped up in a turban atop her head. She laid down beside Mei, wiggling inward to keep from falling off the edge, and in doing so pressing her body against an annoyed Mei. Mei gave her a push; Promise gave her a shove. Cursing in Mandarin, Mei shifted inward, her butt pushing against Steph.


“How about a villainess who turns into a bigger bed?” Steph suggested.


Tim moved over to make room for Steph, also moving inward, and hugged his body to Cass, who was staring up at the ceiling.


“Tim,” she said, “you had… love?... with all these women… before we got back?”




“You ejaculate… each time?”


“Pretty much. Kinda blurs together, you know.”


“How is that… possible? Look at how much… cum… there is in Steph.”


“Yeah,” Pru snickered, emerging from her brisk shower. “Are we sure she’s just fucking one Robin?”


She lay down on the bed, atop Promise and Mei, who both cursed at her. They struggled their way into a sleeping arrangement.


“I don’t know…” Tim said. “I’m a teenage boy and I haven’t really—gotten lucky for a long time. I have reserves. Like a 401(k).”


“Maybe if you didn’t call it getting lucky,” Promise suggested.


“And I lead a pretty healthy lifestyle,” Tim reasoned. “Maybe if more guys were ninjas, they could go more rounds.”


“Maybe,” Cass conceded. “Steph still wants to fuck your butt.”


“Yeah, I know.”




“Mistress! We are almost discovered!”


“I know. I was watching.”


“We should end the spell now! While there’s still time!”


“No. We’ve almost got them all assembled. Just a few more now. Then the ritual can be complete.”


“Yes, Mistress, but the risks! If they realize—“


“Then I’ll be the one to deal with our old friend… personally.”

Chapter Text

Paige watched Harley get her man clean, licking up the lingering flecks of cum, a tingle in her own tongue making her hope Harley would let her return the favor next time.


“Jesus, Harley,” she muttered, turning around and limping back to the bed as Harley smacked her lips obscenely. “If you like the stuff so much, why don’t you get some from the source? With a mouth like that, you could get all you want.”


“I could never get all I want,” Harley said, almost pouting as Bruce took his cock away. “I could jump in a whole tub of it, have it all over my body, and it still wouldn’t be enough!” She ran her hands down from her cheeks, working her fingers over her body like there was any more cum to find. “Gee, that would be wonderful, having all that hot cum on me…”


“You’d need an army for that.” Bruce shook a last dot of cum out onto Harley’s face, then returned to the bed. “And I’m no one-man army…” he assured them.


“I wonder what that would be like…” Harley fantasized, lying down in her cage. “Hundreds and hundreds of cocks—shooting all over me.”


After she murmured the words, she opened her mouth and slowly ran her tongue up one of the bars of her cell. Eyes closed, she imagined it was a cock, one belonging to a room full of men, their gigantic dicks blowing all over her. It was a nice little dream to have as she rocked herself to sleep.


Before Bruce could lie down beside Paige, though, she spoke haltingly. “Bruce? Baby? Would you hand me a towel? Please? I’m a mess and I just can’t… move…”


Bruce turned on his heel, going over to an armoire containing several sets of folded bedding. He removed a towel and tossed it to Paige, who weakly caught it out of the air and wiped herself off.


Bruce was still a bit surprised with himself. Paige Monroe had been the biggest model in the world when he was younger. And he’d fucked her. “Are you alright, dear?” he asked, going to sit down next to her.


Silence across the bed. Bruce took hold of the towel, stopping Paige from using it to wipe off her sweaty, cum-stained body. “Paige? What’s wrong?”


Paige could say nothing. Then, as if the flood of emotions had overflowed her mind, she started to sob. Quietly at first, and then louder, until her body started to shake. “No, it won’t work, I won’t work. You’re married. You have Ivy and Harley and—how can we be lovers?”


“Paige,” Bruce responded. “We just were.”


“But I want to love you.”


“You just did,” Bruce said, more confused than exasperated.


“But what about Harley, and Ivy? They’re your wives.”


“Of course. And I love them just like I love you.”


“And you would really want me when you could have them?”


“I want all of you.”


“I don’t want to be like Harley, locked in a cage at night—“


“That’s what’s right for Harley. It’s what she likes.”


“I couldn’t be one of your whores. I’d want you to—really love me. I don’t know if anyone’s ever really loved me, not just for my looks—they all left when my looks went and now I have them again, you gave them back, but… is that what you want? Just my beauty?”


“I want to make you better. Like I’m trying to be better. We all have damage, but maybe together…” Bruce shook his head. “I don’t know. Lately, I’ve been feeling a kind of peace. Putting Harley in that cage might’ve seemed cold, but it quiets the voices in her head. And I feel like some of that rest is mine, like the healthier she is, the healthier I am. Does that make any sense?”


“She’s a part of you.” Paige smiled sadly. “I’d like to be a part of you.”


“Then marry me. Let me help you. I’ve been putting your feelers through my magazine divisions—there are plenty of people who’d love to have you back for a shoot. You could start working again, have a career. Would you like that?”


Paige thought about it, no longer crying. The notion had occurred to her so many times—what would she do if she could have it all back? She knew, on some level, that the stresses and backbiting of the fashion industry were what had damaged her so. But it was her life, her legacy.


“I could be… semi-retired,” she ventured, to Bruce’s approving gaze. “Do a few spreads for charity. Nothing major. And when I’m not shooting, I can be with you?”


Bruce nodded, reaching for her, caressing her, kissing her. All of a sudden, Paige felt burnt out with emotion. Her head drifted down to Bruce’s shoulder, resting against it as she blanked out for a moment.


“I’m so tired…”


“One last thing,” Bruce said. He opened up a drawer in his nightstand.


There was a small black box inside.


Paige fell asleep wearing her engagement ring.




“Oh, God, Harley—“ Ivy sighed, seeing the cage the moment she sauntered into the room. Almost as much as she was exasperated with Harley, she was exasperated for Harley. It was one thing to leave Harley tied up with organic, all-natural vines, but cold and inhuman bars?


“Don’t let me out,” Harley whispered to her. “I don’t wanna cut in line. I don’t want to take your turn.”


Ivy looked to the bed. Bruce lay atop the covers, naked, Paige nestled under his arm. She was semiconscious, dozing against his shoulder. Her right hand was wrapped around his cock and she sleepily stroked it. Bruce nudged her wrist with one finger, keep it moving up and down. Making sure she kept him half-hard.


Ivy shocked herself, letting her eyes move greedily up and down his body. He was very muscular, very strong, and she could see his cock, long and fat, on the rise. Ivy blushed as she allowed herself to grow wet, wetter. She wondered if Bruce could smell her cunt. The pungent aroma seemed to fill the room.


“What are you looking at me like that for?” Ivy asked him, knowing damn well why, after how she’d redressed after her encounter with Vicki. Or rather, how little she’d redressed. A reputation for going around naked as Eve in the Garden served to make her motives rather opaque. Maybe she would give him the time of day. Maybe she wouldn’t.


“Because I want you to come over here,” Bruce said. With his other hand, he stroked Paige’s nipples, and Ivy could almost feel herself how sensitive they were becoming.


“Aren’t you satisfied yet?”


“Not yet. I want something else.”


Ivy shivered. Something in his tone made her remember her first time with him, how many times he had been able to go, all he had wanted her to do. Perhaps he wanted her to suck his cock again. One last time.


“I want a lock on Harley’s cage,” Ivy said, and Bruce mused. “Two keys. Yours and mine.” She smiled. “Maybe a chastity belt too.”


“We’d take it off too often for there to be any point in that.


She was ready to go down on him, hungry for his cum. She went to him. Got on the bed, straddling his legs. Reaching down to toss Paige’s hand aside and pump Bruce’s cock herself, pump it slowly, hold it against the outside of her cunt as she stroked her hand up and down. Her touch full and supple. Not lackadaisical like Paige’s had been. She didn’t just want him hard. She wanted him to come.


Bruce closed his eyes, pulling Paige closer, satisfied with the feel of Ivy’s cunt rubbing against the head of his shaft. Her juice anointing his very tip, spilling down his manhood to whet his appetite. Her hair fell down in front of her eyes, matching the flashes of red she saw as his cock surged against her labia, bigger and harder every time she felt it. She was barely masturbating it now, just holding it against her cunt and feeling its heft, its heat. Bruce reached up and took a handful of red hair, pulling down on it, forcing her to him like a dog on a leash.


Ivy moaned and shifted her weight, lowering her cunt to him—she swallowed his manhood slowly and easily, as he’d intended, and she smiled as each inch penetrated into her. She kept on lowering herself until she had all of him, then she sighed and relaxed, feeling oddly complete with the cheeks of her ass resting on his muscular thighs.


“Growing inside me… like a mighty oak in… fertile soil,” she crooned through a smile, only half-pretending. “That’s a good mammal—your cock is stiff tonight. Did you like fucking Paige’s little pussy?”


“And Harley’s,” Bruce reminded her. Then he began to rock his hips, handling her weight so easily it was like she was in zero-G. “And yours.”


Fucked with his rhythm, penetrated with his rhythm, all she could do was join in. She began to bounce on him, her cunt sliding up and down its weighty intruder. He reached up to grasp her right breast, taking the reins of her, discouraging excess motion with sharp squeezes, holding her to the rhythm he set by dragging her along with her captured tit. Ivy felt the spasms erupting within her body like seeds taking root. She pounced on him even more brutally, slamming her cunt down on his cock, feeling the impact in her clit. Her heart hammered within her chest. Her blood caught fire. She was so light, so light, the lightness that would lead to the thick, leaden pleasure of the afterglow…


The phone on Bruce’s nearby work desk rang, jerking Ivy back to reality. She blinked with surprise, feeling unmoored when Bruce’s attention shifted from her to look at the caller ID. She expected him to dismiss it. Instead, he rose up from the waist—gently slipping from Paige’s sleepy embrace of him, and drew Ivy’s calves forward, pushing her feet around to his back. Then he pivoted on his ass, dropping his feet to the floor to stand up. Ivy tightened her legs automatically, staring at him in bewilderment.


With her still impaled on his cock, he walked to the desk, each step jostling his tool inside her. She hugged him tightly, partly from the precariousness of her position—partly from the pleasure. At the phone, he wrapped an arm around the small of her back, stopping her from leaning back to sit on the desk like she tried to do. She pressed her heels against the base of his back, digging them in to pull herself hard against his cock.


“Hello?” Bruce said into the phone, seemingly blissfully ignorant of Ivy rocking against him. “Rufus, hi, thanks for getting back to me so quickly. Yes, the offer was serious…”


Nestling the phone against his shoulder, he sat back against the edge of the desk. His hands clasped her hips, holding her to an easy rhythm. He pulled her closer to him as he thrust; pushed her back as he pulled away. She instinctively tried to keep from moaning as he fucked her.


“Paige is very interested in getting back to work. It’s very late here and she’s in bed, but we were thinking something not too intensive, some kind of charity gig to warm her back up…”


Bruce pushed and pulled, pulled and thrust, showing no more attention to Ivy than if he were doing the dishes. Somehow, his lack of affect just made Ivy burn hotter. She grabbed at his back, trying to force a faster, harder fuck, but his hands tightened on her waist. He held her firmly in place, his cock motionless inside her, as he listened to the phone.


Please, Ivy mouthed. I’ll be quiet!


“Yes, that sounds very interesting. Fiji, you say? What can you tell me about the conditions there? She can be a tad fragile, and I’d hate to exacerbate anything she’s struggling with.” Off Ivy’s desperation, he arched his hips back and forth to thrust into her. Smiling and listening again to the other end of the conversation.


Ivy kept grinding herself against Bruce even as he got on his knees and lowered her to the carpet. She only had a moment’s warning from him shoving down to the ground, rough enough to feel the hardwood underneath, and then he slammed his cock into her trembling body. She let out a light, high-pitched squeal.


Again, Bruce punished Ivy by withholding her pleasure. “Oh, sorry, one of the dogs,” he explained into the phone. It beeped and he held it away from his ear a moment to check the text message he’d just received. Ivy got a glimpse of it—it looked like just a meaningless string of letter and numbers.


He put the phone back to his ear, put his hand over Ivy’s mouth, holding her in place that way as he thrust into her. She thrashed wildly on the floor, arms and legs flailing against the carpet, the legs of the desk beside them, Bruce’s body. But nothing she could do could affect his performance, make him either slow down or speed up. She could only purr and coo in ecstasy against his hand.


“That sounds great,” Bruce said into the mouthpiece. “I was also hoping to find her an agent, or some kind of manager. I’m afraid I’m a little lost in that department, so if you could e-mail me a few suggestions—people who aren’t total maniacs, you know… Yeah, I’d appreciate it. Take your time, we’ve got all night.


He felt her cunt warming against his cock, felt Ivy tense herself, gasp, clench on his manhood. He didn’t ease up for even a moment. He kept himself buried inside her, pumping into her without ever fully withdrawing. It drove her wild, bouncing on the floor and into him as if trying to unseat him, roll over atop him, or more likely get him to respond more forcefully. Her fingernails raked up and down his back, but he ignored them, ignored the smart slapping of her inner thighs against him, ignored the juices that his cock pulled away from her wet cunt with every withdrawal. He squeezed her left breast, feeling her heart racing madly beneath it. She was getting hotter and hotter, her skin flushing as red as it had once been green.


“Okay, I’ll get Paige to call you in the morning. Thanks again. Bye,” Bruce said, and hung up. Then took his hand away.


Ivy screamed and twitched under Bruce, coming for him. He’d timed it just right. Her clit flared—the heat in her cunt became a flash fire burning through her body. He fucked her right through her climax, keeping up the pace until she screamed herself hoarse. Then he grounded himself in her, holding her groin tightly to his as he twisted his cock inside her. Her mind and body joined in pleasure that erased all other thought, all other feeling. She floated at the peak of her climax, barely aware of his cock spurting thickly, seed gushing into her trembling cunt.


Ivy’s mouth fell open in a silent moan as he removed himself from her impassioned sex. Her eyes closed and her head dropped back. Dimly, she was aware that they were moving—Bruce had hoisted her up once more—and then she was being laid down upon his bed, beside the huddled up Calendar Girl. Her long legs hung loosely over the side.


Now just one little kiss and he’d be her slave, fucking her to death… his death. If only she could move…


Bruce, however, was picking up a robe from a hanger on the closet. “That was Bi magazine. They think they can swing a pictorial with Paige, a brief interview about how we met, why so many villainesses seem to be bisexual, that sort of thing.” He wrapped the robe around himself. “I just have to shoot off a few e-mails to get confirmation.”


“But Bruce—“ Ivy tried to make herself pose as appealingly as possible while still panting for breath. “Don’t you have something else to shoot off?”


“Business before pleasure,” Bruce said apologetically. “But I’m sure Paige is in a mood to celebrate, if you’re going unentertained.”


“Celebrate…” Paige muttered, pulling close to Ivy, her lips pursed.


“Wait—“ Ivy started to say, but it was too late. Paige’s lips brushed against her own, her little stimulant instantly working its way into the Calendar Girl’s system.


Bruce waved goodbye jauntily as he left the room, Paige already climbing on top of Ivy. “Something about you just turns me on all of a sudden, Isley…”


“Tetrahexenodraten,” Ivy explained impatiently. “And he’s getting away! Get off—“


But Paige was already parting her legs and bowing her head to Ivy’s sex, giving Pam a brand-new example of how wonderful a woman’s tongue could be.


“Get off…” Ivy said again, weaker this time, and Paige rubbed her thighs together as she resolved to make Ivy do just that.

Chapter Text

Having opened the face of the grandfather clock in the study with a precise application of pressure to begin with, Bruce set the hands of the clock to the minute before his parents’ death. He held the hands there against the motion of the machine, and after being locked in place a motion, the grandfather clock obligingly unclenched from its position. When he let go of the hands, they spun back to the correct time. He shut the glass protector on the clock face, and stepped through the cracked door to the staircase.




Paige whimpered as she shoved her hand between her legs, barely able to breathe to moan in relief as she sank two fingers into her wet cunt. Feverishly, she worked herself, humping her ass off the floor and into her thrusting fingers.


“Fuck me,” she whispered shamefully. “Ivy, please, fuck me, fuck me, with that sweet tongue of yours. Fuck me, Ivy. Fuck my juicy cunt!


With a deep breath, Ivy pushed Paige away from herself. She spoke hypnotically, her pheromones working quickly on Paige’s oversexed mind. “You don’t want to fuck me,” she mewled. “You want to fuck Harley. Go fuck Harley, Paige. She wants to soooo much.”


Whimpering, Paige rushed to obey, her well-pleasured brain completely focused on Harley now. Still, Ivy felt just a little misgiven, leaving them alone. She cast a last, longing look at the two before she hurried on. Paige was letting Harley out of her cage. Ivy wondered if she’d regret that. There were times when she would’ve liked very much to know Harley didn’t mind a kennel.


She followed after Bruce.




Everything felt strange to Harley—how she’d been in pain but it didn’t hurt and it was warm and she felt in control but totally out of control too, not in control of herself but Bruce was in control of her so she was controlled.


Strangest of all was the sensation in her sex, where a sense of heaviness seemed to press down on everywhere she was sensitive, dammed up frustration physically touching her. It was no painful so much as numbing, but through that numbness something tingled.


“Poor girl,” Paige fussed. “Let’s get you bathed. You’ll feel better after. Then we can have some fun.”


Naked but for her collar, Harley followed after the other woman, following the sparkling engagement ring on her hand. She allowed herself to be led to the master bathroom, where Paige drew a bath for her, just hot enough to steam. It was big enough for both of them, and they slid into the water together, floating into a fit with the water and each other.


Harley felt herself reviving quickly after she’d ducked into, and surfaced from, the bath’s warmth. The world stopped being so fuzzy and she noticed things with the usual clarity no one credited her for. She could see the well-polished mirrors of the bathroom, the monogrammed towels, all the luxurious appointments set out for, well, her, she guessed. She was the one who could benefit from all those expensive shampoos and conditioners. Her and Ivy and Paige and Mistah Bruce, too, in a roundabout way. If she felt good, and looked good, he would like that. He would like it a lot.


Harley liked it when Bruce liked things.


Then she winced, feeling Paige’s fingers follow the livid red welts upon her pale skin. She closed her eyes and shuddered at the memory of how her splendid body had produced such splendid feelings in such an unusual way…


“Doesn’t it hurt?” Paige asked, her voice muted to a near whisper.


“Yes and no,” Harley answered. “It hurts, but it don’t hurt. Or it hurts, but it also hurts. Like when you’re doing a guy that’s really big, and he stretches you out, and you don’t think you can take it, but you do…”


“But Harley, those welts on your body! A collar! How can you endure it?”


“Guess it’s just an acquired taste,” Harley said cheerily. “Ya know, you seem awful curious about it. Wanna acquire my taste, supa-model?”




Ivy hissed through her teeth as she whirled around the study, feeling like a flower that’d gotten too much sun. He’d gone in here, she knew it, knew it! Where was he? She’d been just a half minute behind him, yet she couldn’t scent him anywhere—none of her houseplants reported seeing him. It was like he’d vanished into thin air!


She heard a rapping on the window. Odd—the curtains were drawn. Ivy went to the thin sliver that was left open and pulled it wide. On the other side of the glass, Vicki Vale was trying to get her attention. Ivy rolled her eyes and pulled the sash up the window frame. Was the reporter trying to get a scoop with her eavesdropping or just being a voyeur? Was there a difference?


“He went in there!” Vicki said, so eager to please she was practically whimpering. She jabbed her forefinger at the grandfather clock in the corner. “In there!”


“Thank you,” Ivy said politely. She felt her pheromones taking Vicki’s will. “Why don’t you go take a bath? I’m sure Harley’s gotten the water nice and warm.”


Vicki grinned at her as she climbed into the room. This was why Ivy worked alone, mostly. Operational security was so hard to maintain once you had some floozies around. Vines were much better. As a last resort, Harley. She was mouthy, but sometimes mouthiness could be useful…


Repressing a shudder, Ivy went to the grandfather clock. It didn’t look like a secret passage—it wouldn’t, of course. She opened up its belly, reached past the pendulum, but the wall there seemed solid. After yanking her hand back out of the way of the pendulum, she tried banging on the clock’s back.


It sounded hollow, almost.




“Talia and Nyssa? Since when do they work the same side of the street?” Dick asked, exercising his leg with lifts, a weight strapped to the cast. He was nearly a hundred percent, possibly because he was still milking the injury to avoid the Clocktower.


Inside the costume vault, Bruce armored up, selecting his most potent arsenal. With the League of Assassins in play, this would be less crowd control and more ironclad combat, complete with broadsides. “Talia’s reasons are personal. If nothing else, she’d rather kill me herself than let one of her father’s assassins do it. I’m sure Ra’s would prefer I die in agony.”


“Ain’t love grand,” Dick mused. “And Nyssa?”


“Me spurring Ra’s offer to be his heir, coupled with choosing lowborn marriages instead, is a graven insult to him. An insult weakens his position. Given that Nyssa intends to take his position one day, she can’t let her ‘inheritance’ be damaged ahead of time. She’ll see this as an opportunity to jockey for power.”


“And I thought Komand’r was a bad in-law. Not to mention Gordon Jr., the Bertinelli crime family—all Zinda’s clan is dead.”


Bruce pulled on his cowl. “Between the Floronic Man and the Joker, I think I win on exes, though.”


“You’ve got a point there. My women have a great taste in men.”


“Not that it’s paying off at the moment,” Bruce reminded him tersely, now fully armored, as he strode to the Batmobile.


Dick stopped his exercises to sit up on the recovery cot and shout after him. “Hey, I’ll go back as soon as I can figure out a romantic gesture to make up for my… staycation. And as soon as I know how to tell Barbara that I don’t want to marry Starling.”


“Why not?” Bruce replied.


“Because I’m not made of Viagra. Even down here, sometimes it feels like there’s going to be a cave-in!”


“Just bang a broomstick on the roof if you want us to quiet down,” Bruce told him, dropping into the Batmobile’s cockpit.


It sealed shut after him, the closed glass giving Dick a momentary look at his reflection, and then it sped off down the long passageway leading to the waterfall that concealed the Batcave’s exit.




Whatever Wayne was hiding, he favored security through obscurity. It made sense. A big, high-tech set-up used a lot of juice—all a burglar would have to do was look around with an electromagnetic visor and they’d be able to spot the hiding place. The grandfather clock was pretty simple in comparison to the safes and vaults that the man favored elsewhere in the mansion. Its big defense was pretending it wasn’t hiding anything.


But now that Ivy knew something was wrong with it, she just had to grow some moss through the grandfather clock and then she knew it, inside and out. With that done, engaging the mechanism was as easy as picking a lock from the inside. The clock swung out of the way and Ivy saw a staircase just waiting for her, dark and dank enough for mushrooms.


The perfect place for a murder, it looked like.




Dick laid back in bed and resumed his leg exercises, never noticing Ivy’s approach until the vines wrapped around his body, cocooning him to the bed. No sooner were they out of the way than Ivy was kissing him, infecting him with her rampant lust. His manhood sprang to life, restrained only by the bonds holding him in place. He suddenly wanted to fuck Ivy more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life, and he’d first met her when he was thirteen.


“Dick Grayson,” she drawled, sauntering around the Batcave. She kept it a one-sided conversation: slipped a vine between his lips as a gag. “I was wondering when we’d meet. I’ve known a lot of rich daddies and a lot of cute stepsons, but Nightwing himself—yes, it has to be you, doesn’t it? And that would make… Tim Drake, Red Robin, and that quiet little Asian orphan, she has to be Batgirl? One of them, anyway. There are all so many of you…”


She examined the crime lab, running a hand over the various instruments, imagining the fun she could have once she took over this place as a base. Less foliage, of course, but the roots could run deep, all the way to the surface, and in the forest aboveground, she could draw such power…


Then of course, there was Wayne. Her husband. “So, Bruce Wayne is Batman. I won’t pretend that doesn’t make sense. And here I thought no one could be less respected than a beautiful woman. I suppose an idiot trust-fund kid is even more invisible. I always wondered how he seemed to luck into such great business deals before he’d manage to sink his own yacht…”


Ivy looked back at Dick. She had reduced him to a mass of quivering jelly, except for the fine-looking hardness struggling to part the vines at his groin. She hopped up on the lab table to enjoy the way he was trapped there, utterly dominated by her power both sexual and physical, fidgeting around like a little boy more than trying to escape, hoping that his erection wasn’t showing. Oh, he needed to fuck all right, no doubt about that.


“I suppose it stems from the death of his parents, right? And here I thought that just gave him intimacy issues. I suppose he decided to get his jollies beating up criminals? And he recruited a bunch of impressionable youths into his crusade, that is genius. All of us in the underworld think you Bats are mercenaries he hires or something. But so much more loyalty when you’re—homegrown, so to speak.”


She leapt down from the table and almost broke from her sultry stride, wanting to run, wanting to skip around her conquest. She’d been here before, as a prisoner, stripped of her powers, made to wear an ill-fitting nadir-of-fashion, interrogated like a common criminal or put under lockdown for her own protection like some helpless little girl, the male arrogance of it! Bruce Wayne and Batman, the same person. It all made sense. The same way he tried to control the city as Batman, he tried to control her as Bruce. He exerted his mastery over her just as much by defeating her plots as by…


Ivy quivered. No, she wouldn’t think of that now. She’d stopped moving in front of a keepsake—the Ventriloquist’s dummy, useless now that a much bigger dummy had become Ventriloquist. She strutted about it, observing the trophy in its spotless glass.


“So many mementos. You took Harley’s favorite mallet, you know. She’s been wondering where that got to. Anything of mine? For God’s sake, you keep a token of your victory over the Penny Plunderer, you have to pay homage to me somehow!”


The vine released Dick’s mouth. When he spoke, his breath was heaving. “Some of your flowers… in the back. Sunlamps, mechanical waterer… they’re early work…”


“Yes… back when I just bred flowers, before I realized my true power—not too fair for me to talk about breeding around you, is it?” Ivy wandered closer to him. “As if you need to think of that anymore…”


Dick gritted his teeth. He was trying so hard not to beg for just a slightly better look at her, and there she was, walking about naked. And it was a dark cave, too. Ivy made a point to stay out of the light. “You think you’ll get his inheritance if you kill him?”


“Oh yes!” Ivy agreed, running a hand over her breasts. She focused on the money, her excitement there, because when she thought of him never laying a hand on Harley again, there was an odd melancholy. It wasn’t so bad, now that she thought about it, watching him fuck her—“I’ll have to kill you too, of course. Nothing personal. I would’ve split the inheritance with you before, but now that I know you’re Nightwing—heck, you were probably Robin too, am I right? Well, I have to do something about all the plans you foiled, all my poor babies that you destroyed…”


“How are you going to do it?” Dick asked, eyes closed, struggling to not even try to look at her. “You’ve tried to kill the Batman before. You think it’ll be any easier now that you have to get away with making it look like it wasn’t you?”


Ivy threw herself forward, catching herself with outstretched arms on two stalagmites so she hung forward, her hair brushing her shoulders before lapsing down her chest. “That’s the beautiful part! Now I don’t have to worry about it! I just tell a few interested parties that he’s Batman and what happens? Oh, no, my poor husband, the Mad Hatter killed him! Guess I only have his vast fortune to comfort me…”


“Won’t work,” Dick insisted, even as his hips involuntarily worked to relieve the pressure on his groin.


“Oh, like I should let a Bat lecture me on murder. None of you are any good at it, darling.” Ivy’s brow furrowed and she pulled herself back up. “Wait, were you Batman for a little bit? You seem quite familiar. What, did Bruce eat some bad sushi?”


Dick struggled to focus and she felt so bad for him, writhing around under her vines, that she almost wanted to jerk him off, just so she could say she’d done it. She’d wanted Nightwing as a boy toy for a long time. Robin had been cute too, but doing that with such a young innocent had just seemed too tacky. But if she was going to kill him anyway… maybe just for one brief moment… she could send him out with a bang.


“Think what happens if Bruce dies… and it’s discovered that he’s Batman.” The thought seemed to quell Dick’s arousal. When he spoke again, his voice was more focused. “Imagine the lawsuits. Every cheap thug he ever stepped on will sue for damages. Your inheritance? It will be tied up in court for years!”


“Nonsense. If he dies as Bruce Wayne—“


“Do you know how many of us there are? Sure, some of us you know because Bruce adopted us, but do you know who Huntress is? Oracle? Red Hood? You really think any one of us will let you get away with the money? Hell, Huntress and the Hood would probably just kill you and be done with it, but I imagine Oracle will let the newspapers know who he was. He’ll be a martyr. You’ll get nothing.


Ivy ordered the vines to tighten. Dick groaned, feeling pleasure as he was pained. The first place the pressure touched was his bulging groin… “Then I’ll do it for the sheer pleasure!” she hissed. “With the Bat out of the way, I’ll be able to steal ten times as much! I won’t need his fortune!”


“But you still have it,” Dick panted. “Why go to the trouble of losing yourself a fortune in the hopes you can gain another one?”


Ivy realized she was reddening and turned away, flippantly dismissing him. “I’m a villain. He vexes me. If you can’t kill a guy like that, what’s the point?”


“I don’t think he vexes you. Harley vexes you. I think you’re angry that he resists you. He’s maybe the only man you’ve ever wanted and you can’t have him. You find it insulting.”


Ivy whirled around. “God, you sound like Harley when she’s on her meds. Alright then. I find it insulting that a man who dresses like a bat has the audacity to refuse me. To say nothing of how he’s foiled my plans and touched my Harley. I’m still going to kill him.”


“But he hasn’t resisted you—“ Dick wiggled around a moment, groaning—Ivy wondered if he was thinking of one of the many women he had to have—then forced himself still. “He married you. Not Talia, not Selina. You. And you’ve got to know Harley was just a package deal.”


Ivy crawled atop the bed he was straitjacketed to, laughing as she pressed her weight into him with her hands and knees. “Only to neuter me.”


“To sue for peace,” Dick argued. “To reach détente. Out of all the criminals in Gotham, he knew you were the strongest, the most dangerous, so he bought you off with a wedding ring. Isn’t what you’ve wanted all this time? Him? He’s given himself to you.”


Ivy bit her lip. Tapped her chin. “You bring up an interesting point. Not just a pretty face—or a big cock.” She batted, cat-like, at the mound raising its floral covering by several inches, Dick grimacing as he felt her touch on his crotch. Even through his clothing and the restraining vines, it was shockingly delicious. “Maybe I should fuck him to death, as a thank you. Then I get it all. Dead Wayne. Batman’s cock. Everything I ever wanted.”


“But with Batman gone, who’s going to keep the Joker away from Harley?”


Ivy squeezed her hand into a fist. It was a last-resort argument, she could tell. Dick was worried about invoking her wrath with Harley’s name, as well he should be, but he had a point. The little bastard. Wayne had raised him well.


She didn’t like Wayne. She hated Batman. But she loathed the Joker.


And if Bruce dominated Harley, he didn’t hurt her. She couldn’t control him—he was the Bat—but she could trust him with Harley. And with that sick need of Harley’s satisfied, the Harley Quinn part of her satisfied, that left loving, girly Harleen Quinzel all to Ivy. No pain. No sadomasochism. Just them. All she had to do was share.


Well… plants needed water and soil and sunlight. She was Harley’s sun, her rain—let Bruce be where she was planted. It would still be Ivy that truly made her grow.


Plus, there was the money. Tax-free, risk-free, Bruce letting her use it for whatever environmental causes she wanted, taking directives from her on running Wayne Enterprises, letting her do her research. She’d shared a cell with Maxie Zeus. This wasn’t being conquered by Rome, this was paying tribute to Rome.


And he’d probably get himself beaten to hell and back, pretending he was in the Justice League’s… league. She could enjoy that.


Suddenly, the Batcomputer started screeching. Ivy looked over at it. Even without knowing the system, it was easy to figure out the schematic on display was the Batmobile. And easy to guess why large areas of it were colored red. Still, she asked.


“What’s that?”


“Damage report,” Dick replied. He was staring at Ivy’s ass unfettered. He just couldn’t help it. “The Batmobile either hit an IED or was struck by some kind of rocket—it looks totaled.”


“And Batman?”


“What do you think?”


Ivy frowned. It was no wonder Selina liked him so much; he had nine lives too. “Can we listen in to what he’s saying?”


Dick’s eyes glazed over Ivy’s bare back. “Computer, unmute comm channels!”


Instantly, a cacophony of noise and static swirling around Bruce’s gruff voice: “Oracle, it was a trap. Been hit. I’ll need the Batmobile cleared up if the self-destruct doesn’t work.”


“What about you?” Oracle replied, in her voice-modulated patois. “The League of Assassins—“


“No. Just the Demon’s daughters. Matter of honor. They’re going to take me—prepare a strike team, but don’t scramble unless I tell you.”


“I assembled the Birds the moment I heard Ra’s’s name. But Bats, those are two world-class assassins you’re dealing with. You really want to lone-wolf this?”


“On my own, I can negotiate with them. Once the others come in, it’ll be a free-fire zone.” A new sound came in. Metal tearing, screeching. “They’re prying open the cockpit. I don’t have much time. Oracle, their base won’t be far, check for all networks and hack whatever you can.”


“On it. Be careful, Bruce.”


Ivy tossed her hair, watching the red areas on the damage report spread. “Oh, is it on fire? How interesting.” The cockpit bloomed crimson. “And that will be them capturing him. Poor Brucie. Not only the ex-girlfriend, but the ex-girlfriend’s sister as well.”


“They’re going to kill him,” Dick pointed out, quelling his lust again.


“Talia? She’s practically his stalker.”


“And Nyssa?”


“Well, admittedly she’s just crazy, but still, Talia won’t let her—“


“She won’t? After he married someone else? Two lowborn American criminals, in fact?”


“Lowborn—I was born from Mother Nature herself, I was birthed of sun and water and soil and seed, not men with gloves and messy afterbirth!”


“They’ll kill him,” Dick repeated.


Ivy grinded her teeth. “And when someone finds the body, everyone will know he’s Batman—“ Her eyebrows jolted. “They’ll know I was married to Batman. They’ll think…”


Dick broke into a grin. “Selina told me about the time you and Harley almost killed her because you thought she knew who Batman was. And that’s you. Oh, man, imagine what Black Mask will do…”


“I can replace his skull with his own wooden mask!”


Dick opened his mouth to reply, but Ivy actually growled to silence him.


“I know! I know! Harley. If they come after Harley…”


“Cut me loose,” Dick told her. “Let me save him.”


“You? Silly little cub… you may have resisted my kiss so far, but it’ll get harder the longer you wait.” She laughed at her own pun. “By the time you got there, you’d be more likely to fuck one of those little belly-dancing whores than save anyone. No… I’ll do it. I think I’d rather you stayed there and suffered until you learn to appreciate a woman’s touch. Just one dose of my aphrodisiac won’t kill you, but until it burns its way out of your system, you’ll fuck and fuck until you don’t have an ounce of energy left. Or at least, you’ll want to.”


Ivy blew him a kiss and went to find the Batcycle. And really hoped it didn’t run on gasoline, the horrid stuff.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry it’s come to this, beloved… but you’ve brought it on yourself.”


Batman struggled through the pain pounding in his temples, trying to restore order to the jumble of images swimming through his consciousness. The sound of a car crash, an explosion, still rang in his ears. He remembered being dragged across the ground… the cockpit of the Batmobile being pried open… chains on his arms, his legs… the blast that had catapulted his vehicle through the air, into one of the empty warehouses he’d been searching, further damaging it…


Assembled into some kind of order, he realized his predicament. Talia and Nyssa had been waiting for him, laid a trap. He opened his eyes now, trying to get his vision under control. It swam in and out of focus, multicolored spots dancing through his attention. Hard to focus, but he made himself do so. Only when his vision started to clear did he test his surroundings. As he’d suspected, he was manacled.


He was in an abandoned foundry, strapped spread-eagled to a mold. He could see Nyssa and Talia nearby, Talia in the catsuit she favored, Nyssa in her more traditional armor, vaguely Arabesque, but skintight and decidedly light.


Despite their differing mothers, their bodies were nearly identical. All Ra’s’s concern over finding a virile suitor to produce strong heirs was clearly not in compensation for anything—both of them showed powerfully his Middle Eastern heritage. Talia trended slightly Indian, with rich caramel skin and smoky eyes in a classical, open face. Nyssa’s Slavic ancestry showed in her lighter, café au lait skin and strong features: high cheekbones, a brusque jaw… she could’ve passed for a tanned Caucasian were it not for the Asian cast to her eyes. Ra’s’s eyes. Talia didn’t have them.


And if there was ever a body worthy of being repeated, they had it. Tall and toned, with dark hair that flowed down their backs like a waterfall at night, lit only by the moon, reaching vertiginously for the right round cheeks of their asses. Their skin was amply displayed in all its smoothness, its softness, all but the beautifully swelled breasts themselves, the classic hips. And then there were their eyes. Whether round or slanted, they were the jade green of the Lazarus Pits, perhaps from use, perhaps from genetics—perhaps just because the legend of Ra’s al Ghul bent phenotypes to itself, the dominion of the Demon’s Head extending across reality as well as time and space.


It was ironic how Talia’s catsuit was zipped to the throat, while Nyssa’s armor displayed a broad swath of flesh. It stretched from her lacking neckline to the hairs of her pubis—where there would be hairs if she was not clearly shaven bare—in an impossibly steep vee. The inner curves of her breasts showed flagrantly, as did the toned muscles of her belly and the jewel of her naval. Were it not for her cloak—its wavy folds again in counterpart to her sister’s tightly constrained leather—she would not even have a semblance of modesty.


Bruce could only attribute his lack of awareness to his recent head injury. For while Talia was facing him, talking to him, Nyssa was cajoling the destitute machinery back to life. Heating up molten lead to fill a suspended vat. A vat which would then proceed down a track to spill onto the mold he was tied to.


And from the briefcase laptop open across the room, he concluded Ra’s al Ghul would be making sure it went according to plan.


Some people just didn’t take rejection well.


“I gave you every opportunity to be my groom!” Talia was saying, fist clenched, the woman scorned—while Nyssa prepared the hell. “Begged my father to give you time and time and time to reconsider! This little clan you’ve built, your ‘Batman Incorporated’—it’s nothing next to the League of Assassins! You could command them, command me! But instead, you lay with street trash. You have the audacity to give them your hand in marriage! Did you think this insult would stand!?”


“The difference is,” Bruce said calmly. “They agreed to reform. You clung to your father.”


“And why should I not?” Talia demanded. “He has ever been there for me, while you refuse to give me even a token of your affection. I bore your son, and still you deny me!”


“I have to.” Maybe it was just the pounding in his scalp, the slippery feel of blood trapped in his cowl, but he couldn’t summon up the reserves of reserve that he could usually call upon. “If I let you in, even a finger… it would end with me as the Demon’s Head. I can either deny you everything or deny you nothing. I choose everything.”


Nyssa let out a shrill laugh. “Typical man. He’ll prattle on to justify himself, but really it’s that he can control his two whores. He can’t control you, sister. He said as much. And that’s why he won’t marry you.”


Bruce glanced at her. “And you’re just crazy.”


“Perhaps,” Nyssa allowed. “But I’ve lived longer than you, and that’s not going to change.”


“Perhaps,” Bruce echoed. “I always did wonder, though… you were rendered infertile in the concentration camps, but couldn’t the Lazarus Pits repair your body?”


Nyssa stiffened. Talia saw it, and lashed out with her hand, slapping Bruce across the face for his insolence. “Silence!”


Bruce ignored her. “The obvious inference is that Ra’s has some control over the ritual. It would be easy for him to command his adherents to simply subject you to the Pit in such a way that you remain unhealed. So the daughter he’s deemed an unworthy heir is left unable to continue her bloodline.”


“Nonsense!” Nyssa cried before Talia could react. “I assumed control of the League! I submitted myself to the Pit and the fullness of its energies! If it were possible for me to be healed, I would be.”


“And who do you think the League of Assassins would truly be loyal to? You, the usurper? Or the standing orders of the Demon’s Head? Even beyond his death, he’ll control you. He’s already proven it.”


“This is pathetic!” Talia hissed, and now she drove her fist into his stomach. Even through the armor, it hurt. Bruce groaned—cracked rib from the crash, aggravated… “You can’t manipulate me anymore—can’t wheedle me around with promises of affection to come, so now you taunt my sister?”


“I have a Lazarus Pit in the cave,” Bruce replied. “It’s a last resort, but I know how it works. What would happen, Nyssa, if you used that Pit?”


Then Nyssa proved true to form.


She gave him an insane smile as she walked over to join Talia, standing before him. “You don’t have to turn me against my father. I’m as against him as allies can be. But you’ve insulted my sister. And I’ll gladly trade your promises for her happiness.” She put an arm around Talia. “The Daughters of the Demon will hold dominion over the League long after its Head has been cut off. And neither you, nor he, can offer anything above that.”


Nyssa returned to the control panel she’d been rewiring. Whatever last adjustments she’d made to it, they worked. She pressed a button and it obeyed, albeit with a burst of sparks. Liquid fire ran down from some process on a higher level, filling the cauldron and lighting the room with a ruddy glow, a tingling heat coming with it. While Talia went to the laptop, making her last preparations on it.


It was then, in that hopeless moment, that Bruce smelled it. The scent of Ivy’s pheromones. Almost undetectable, a near entirely useless skill, as recognizing her power meant falling prey to it… but he could recognize its growing effects. His inhibitions lowering. His lust increasing. He now realized how earnest his perusal of the two women’s bodies had been. Somehow, Ivy had followed him, and was now spreading her spores throughout the foundry unnoticed.


He remembered how Nyssa—never the most ‘touchy feely’ woman--had put her arm around Talia, how Talia had shuddered in response. Perhaps Nyssa’s choice of garment as well, if she’d changed before he’d regained consciousness. And Talia’s closed catsuit… an overly anxious repression of something? Aware of her own desire, but choosing not to acknowledge it.


Ivy’s efforts were subtle—it was possible she hadn’t even intended for him to realize them. They were not overpowering. Talia and Nyssa, with their minds set on vengeance, could still resist any errant urges and murder him. But Ivy had given him an opening. And with that opening came opportunity.


While the sisters toiled, Bruce toggled his cowl’s communications. They’d removed his utility belt, but thought nothing of the tools built into his armor. “Oracle, are you receiving?” he whispered.


“Yeah… sorta… bit busy over here…”


“They have a laptop here with a direct connection to Ra’s al Ghul. I need you to own it.”


“Yeah… mmm… sure thing.”


Bruce frowned. It wasn’t a pristine connection, but he thought he could hear other signals leaking in. Moans, sighs, even screams. He didn’t like the thought of his communications being compromised, possibly being picked up by some idiot with a CB radio. He’d have to run an equipment check when he got back.


“Mmmm, yes, that’s good…”




Her distracted voice seemed to snap back to something like attention with a deep breath. “It’s good. I’ve got it.”


“Good. When I give the signal, open the connection, but transmit only. Don’t allow Ra’s to respond.”


“Don’t allow him to respond, yes, got it, yes… yes…”


Bruce toggled off the link. It was clear he’d caught her at a bad time.


He focused his attention on Talia again. Despite their differences, she was still so attuned to him as to notice. She lifted her head from the laptop, her back to him, her posture rigid and straight.


“You really want to leave it like this?” he asked her. “After everything?”


Her head turned slightly to the side, bringing her delicate profile into view. “How else would you like to leave it?”


“I know how Nyssa would have it. I know how your father would have it. But we can at least part on good terms. I do care for you, Talia. Even love you. We were married once. Even if not by my laws, in our hearts.”


“And I wed you,” Talia agreed. “I pledged all of my heart to you, and it is yours still. But… you never gave yours to me. I waited for it, and waited for it… but you gave it to others. Countless others!”


“No,” Bruce said. “Only to you. There were others, but not like you. Different aspects of me… the physical… stratagems, even, as when you were engaged to Bane…”


“Do not even compare what we had to my father’s selection of that brute! You know that by the ancient law, only the bride’s consent is required for a marriage… but it is required!”


“And we were married by your father, trying to prevent my interference in his plans. I married Quinzel and Isley for similar reasons. It’s the emotion that gives it meaning. I didn’t mean it as I meant what we shared.”


“Then if you meant what we had, why did you stray? Or do you then deny you strayed?”


Bruce couldn’t resist a dark chuckle. “Just a rollcall of the room will prove your father had more than one bride.”


“So you intend a harem? Is that it?”


“A harem… and a wife.”


She stared at him, eyes glimmering, swimming in tears. “I cannot accept. You know this. Even if I wanted to, my family would not tolerate another allowance for your… ways! The time for you to become Heir to the Demon has passed. You are now his enemy!”


“But am I yours?”


It took a long time, like she was struggling against unimaginable restraint, but Talia’s head finally shook. “No. Never. The father of my child…”


“Don’t listen to him!” Nyssa shouted. Her nipples pressed through their scant covering, as if trying to slide out into the open. The sexual tension was driving her to frustration. “He’ll say anything to save his own skin!”


Bruce reclaimed Talia’s attention without even raising his voice. “Talia, you’re the mother of my child. If this is necessary, then I want you to be alright. I want you to know that if it weren’t for everything that happened… we could’ve been very happy.”


“Beloved…” Talia’s voice cracked. “I have always known that.”


“Then kiss me. I forgive you, Talia. But grant me one last kiss…”


As if drawn to him by a magic spell, Talia proceeded on one foot, then another, unspooling her way to him without thought of the molten lead bubbling overhead, the chains that held his body, the computer waiting to broadcast his demise to Ra’s al Ghul. Nyssa turned to her, but seemed ensnared in the same spell her sister was under. She watched breathlessly as Talia went to Bruce. Her hands settling on his cracked chestpiece, fingers finding the fractures in the symbol of the Bat that had so long separated them. She leaned forward, her hair cascading down to skitter over his armor, her perfume finding his nostrils, her eyes filling his.


The kiss was slow, even nervous, but languid to the point of easiness. It began as a slow testing of Talia’s lips against his, full of nervous apprehension as to how sincere he was, if the old spark was there, if he was still hers when so many women were his.


Then it relaxed into something even slower, lazy but no less heated, her lips gently meshing with his as their tongues found each other. Talia’s body melted against his bound one, the feel of the unfamiliar chains over the familiar armor jarring her a little, but that soon gave way as she was dragged down into the passion of his kiss.


It continued, with Talia stroking the scant flesh left bare by his cowl, tracing his cheeks and chin as he gently devoured her lips, sucking on the lower one, nuzzling it between his teeth, stoking her fires before she was pulled back to him by the growing intensity between them.


The needy passion grew in Talia, far beyond what she had reckoned on. It scattered her remorse and regret, banished all knowledge of his impending doom, and laid bare all the feelings she held for him no matter how deeply buried. More than that, she felt herself growing wet… her legs opening to his supine form, her mound purring pleasure as she rubbed it against his body. The chilly armor sent a spiky tear through her warm sensations, but nonetheless, it was pleasant, satisfying—wonderful. Anticipatory of the wonderful meeting there would be once his armor was stripped away, as it had been before, and she met him bare.


Talia moaned against his mouth and he devoured it with similar ecstasy, sucking her tongue against his, his muscles flexing under her with the same lust she felt.


“Sister!” Nyssa cried out, and with a jagged bolt of self-awareness, Talia pulled her mouth clear of his, denying him the opportunity to prolong it any further. Free of him, her lips stung, swollen by the sheer force of the kiss they’d shared, oversensitive and aching for more, but she refused to come one inch closer. She could feel the barest hint of warmth from his breath, tingling on her wet lips, and even that was almost overwhelming.


“T-there…” Talia husked. “You’ve had your kiss. A kiss before dying, beloved… I have given a warrior more than he may lay claim to.”


Bruce looked at her squarely. She could just see his eyes through the opaque white lenses he stared through. “I didn’t say a kiss on the lips.”


Following his thoughts, his wants, as if they had stolen right into her head, Talia looked down. His ramrod of a prick stood straight up, pressing his protective cup far out into the trunks he wore over it. She shuddered, knowing from experience that its actual length and heft were not much smaller than the tent produced by his codpiece. It reminded her of the hilt of a sword, the pommel oversized—but all of her father’s swords were far more slender. And shorter.


“I see we missed a weapon,” Talia breathed, “when we removed your belt.”


“You did remove my belt,” Bruce reminded her leadingly.


“Yes…” Talia agreed, panting breaths making her tits heave so heavily that they dislodged her zipper. It drew down her chest, all by itself.


“Sister!” Nyssa said again, but this time, the realization that she was being watched only made Talia keen in delight, eyes closing, a shuddering exhale shaking her body.


“One last time,” Talia said, to Talia, to Bruce, to herself. “I want your taste on my lips for all eternity.”


“One last pleasure,” Bruce agreed. “As only a woman of your breeding can give me. It’s worth dying to know your skill…”


Nyssa’s shoulders rose and plunged with her deep breaths. One of her tits had slipped out of its confinement, the pink nipple shockingly obvious, the feeling of it scraping against her clothing as it escaped bringing with it a distinct pleasure. “Fine. But I get to watch.”


Either Talia did not notice what she’d said or she had long since assumed that would be the case.


Talia bent over his midsection. Her hair landed on his stomach. She peeled down his trunks. Her mouth fell in astonishment. Behind her, Nyssa craned her head for a better look. Not that one was necessary. His size would’ve been obvious from across the room, outside the room.


He had not been wearing a cup.


Still staring wide-eyed, Talia took it between her lips. Her full breasts pressed against his knees as Bruce laid his head back more comfortably, giving up the sight of the beautiful woman kneeling between his legs, but awash in the sensation she produced. He could just barely feel her running her hands up his legs—then, one hand clasped his cock gently, so softly that the feel of her eyes on it was far more intense. Talia’s mouth opened and moved toward the swollen prick. Her full red lips were pouted.


She held the straining cock between her fingers and guided its head to her lips. They enveloped it slowly but with a hunger that seemed impossible. She let her lush lips capture his cockhead and held it in her warm, succulent mouth. Her tongue was still.


Instead of the obvious movement Bruce expected, she rotated her head in a circular motion, squeezing softly while she did it. Bruce let the last bit of nervous tension subside and relaxed his body to enjoy her efforts, vowing that of all the cocks Talia had sucked in her long life, his would be the last.


Talia felt the same relaxation easing through his body, seemingly into hers, and felt triumphant. She took pride in her ability to please men, despite the limited opportunities her position had provided her. It reminded her of the stories she’d heard of ancient Rome and the great orgies of slaves and courtesans. Ra’s al Ghul had told it as if that justified the fall of the empire, but she wasn’t sure. No, she was sure. Sure she would’ve enjoyed those orgies if only she had been born a bit sooner. Just as she was enjoying her beloved.


Her only regret at the moment was that Bruce had clearly come directly from the Batcave, without the blood and sweat that came from one of his lengthy patrols. She liked the odor of a man’s body. A warrior’s body. Without it, Bruce seemed far too clean-cut. But the equipment between his legs proved the lie there. He had the cock of a barbarian.


Her lips tugged on his manhood, eyes beaming at the dark hairs growing out of his stomach below the chestpiece of his armor. She loved men’s bodies, the way they were so broad, so sturdy, so hairy. Without realizing it, her mouth had lowered itself almost all the way down his monstrous cock. The tip pressed the back of her throat. She pulled her head back, pulled hair away from her face, and descended down his strong shaft again.


Bruce’s groan told her she was pleasing him. She wanted to do more than that. She wanted to drive him wild, make him forever regret what he had missed out on as he went into eternity. Eagerly, she advanced on him with her mouth. Her throat burned with the pressure of his massive organ inside the delicate tissue, but she was experienced enough not to gag. Talia took pride in being able to suck any cock. Few women in the world are as good at this as I am. Otherwise, they’d be fucking Batman.


Bruce was amazed at the succulent pressure she was applying to him. He watched her dark hair fall as her head bobbed up and down, his cock disappearing and reappearing from her mouth. Every now and then she rolled her eyes up to his face to see his reaction to her hard work. She seemed satisfied by his contorted face, his mouth issuing pants and groans. He could barely care about his escape plan when his cock was down her throat. This was sensational.


But Talia’s cunt was burning.


Between gentle sucks she managed to say, “My father… always kept me beholden to him. Under his thumb. Chaste. He wanted a heir, but all I wanted… all I wanted…”


She crawled up the makeshift bed on her knees, straddling his legs, hanging her body over his hips. She pulled the zipper of her catsuit deep between her legs, revealing the delectable hair of her pussy. Pulled the leather out of the way of her sex, positioned her supple thighs over his cock. Her aching cunt was just above the head of his cock. In only a second it would be penetrating her swollen lips, filling her needy pussy. Already the juices were flowing in anticipation. She wanted to feel him inside her deeper than ever before.


She dropped onto his prick, feeling sudden warmth inside her, stony hardness, an incredible pressure already, as though he could barely fit inside her slippery sheath. She had forgotten, since Damian had been born. Forgotten so much… or he had gotten even better.


She tightened every muscle that could possibly touch his swollen cock. Her clit had swollen larger than ever. Bruce could feel it rubbing against the swollen ridge of his prick. She was moving her well-controlled sex now, riding back and forth on him with equestrian grace.


“You ride like you’re on a horse,” Bruce said.


“You’re hung like one,” Talia replied, trying to keep joyous laughter out of her voice. “Keep me in the saddle… fuck me…”


Bruce obliged; she brought out the gentleman in him. He thrust his narrow hips up and her whole body moved, jouncing as his cock parted her liquid arousal. The sensation was magnificent. He pulled his throbbing cock back and she pulled her warm body up, their bodies dancing together, interlocking as far as possible. She grabbed fistfuls of Bruce’s cowl and pulled herself down on his cock even further, yelping with how deep she took him, but tightening her pussy more, smiling as if she were in heaven.


Her labia made a sloshing noise as they circled and circled his cock, finishing the undulations that began in her hips, shook her torso. Bruce bucked his hips up off the table and drove his steel-hard manhood deep. Her swollen clit was standing out forcefully and he relished running his veiny prick against it as fast as he could.


Talia moaned and squirmed. Her breasts jiggled. All over her head the hair flouncing and spread every which way with the exertion of meeting his strokes, riding them out with fluid circles in her hips. Every thrust seemed to meet her G-spot, send stinging energy up her body and down to tingle her toes. Every time she bounced she saw his groin glistening with her wetness.


Talia ran her hands down her inner thighs, trailing the sharp nails lightly along the sensitive flesh. She grinned wickedly down at her beloved as the feeling swelled inside her, grew and grew. Leaning back, bracing herself with one hand, Talia parted the engorged lips of her cunt with two fingers, exposing the wet pinkness of her inner flesh to Bruce.


A stream of her juices squirted from her there.


Bruce let out a bark of a laugh, feeling her warm ejaculate drenching his lower body. Talia shared his laughter, squealing it out as she held her cunt wide and spurted in short, quick sprays over his armor. She laughed with delight, playful and pleasured—what she was doing made her feel very, very sexy.


Bruce lay still, holding his cock inside her, watching Talia’s cunt as her juices shot from it, splashing over his body almost to his cowl. He could almost feel its warmth through his armor. Talia lowered a hand and smeared her honey across his chest.


Then she felt his cock swell inside her. “You like it!” she moaned happily. “Your cock’s getting so hard… going to come on you, on your hard cock, and then fuck it, fuck it all over again…”


But Talia didn’t get to fuck him again. Her cunt convulsed even as she came, and it felt like she was climaxing all over again, pleasure flaring up to the point of pain inside her. The two fingers she had holding her sex open began to rub at the sudden burning, itching need inside her, and she came in spurts, soaking the wiry hairs of Bruce’s loins. Underneath him, her juices had reached his cape, and it grew sodden and slick in a huge puddle.


“Oh God, oh God, I don’t believe it—it’s too much, too—I can’t stoooop!”


She weakly climbed off her drenched lover, his cock pulling from her sex as it tried to clamp around him forever. She slumped against the table between his legs, her flawless breasts heaving up and down, nipples arching to the ceiling.


Bruce’s cock loomed over her, as if mocking the oversensitive ache her pussy had become—longing to have him inside her again, but unprepared for the pleasure he’d brought her. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t been ready.


Nyssa laughed harshly. “No wonder the marriage didn’t work. At least I take it Damian was an easy delivery…”


“Oh, have your little girlfriends been fisting you?” Talia asked. “Because that’s the only way you could possibly take him.”


Nyssa scowled. “My breeding is as good as yours. But I have more resolve than you ever will. You don’t possess the will to be the Demon’s Head, and you don’t possess the will to satisfy this man. Yes—no wonder he couldn’t be persuaded to become Heir to the Demon when you couldn’t even make him come!”


“And you can? You, who fancy yourself the next Ra’s al Ghul?”


Nyssa shuddered. She stared at Bruce. At his cock. “I can do anything you can do. I can take away anything you possess.”


“Then take him,” Talia challenged. “Give me a show like the one I just gave you.”


Nyssa hesitated a moment. But Bruce could see the nipple hardening on her exposed breast. It looked razor-sharp. “Alright,” she said, practically moaning. She pulled open her plunging neckline, revealing possibly the only body in existence that was Talia’s equal. “I’ll get him off. Then we kill him.”

Chapter Text

Nyssa stood staring at the high rise of his manhood as she recalled how Talia had responded to it, moaning and groaning with none of the dignity of the al Ghul bloodline. It was only because she was so weak, so unworthy. Even as large a weapon as his could not possibly justify such a lack of discipline.


“Climb up on my cock,” Bruce told her.


She knelt astride his hips with her cunt poised above the ready knock of his cock, slowly splaying herself on it, lowering herself to it. She murmured as the cockhead pressed between her lower lips, and the shaking of her body sent tremors through her silky cunt. She saw his eyelids lower as he savored how her sex quivered against him, and he pressed his head back against the metal underneath him.


She reached down to the lowest point of her vertiginously plunging neckline, which bordered on her womanhood, and pulled away the last few inches of modesty. Her fingers brushed against his cock as she did so. Nyssa pressed her hands to her thighs and felt the dampness of her juices upon her fingers. Hunching her torso forward, she looked down as she fed her opened cunt to his manhood.


Nyssa inhaled sharply, his thick cock rising up into her channel, so girthy and penetrating that it was like it was straining deeper inside her, faster than she was lowering herself onto it. Her ass tightened, her sex clenched, she clutched her thighs and her shoulders bunched. Spasms of joy went through her as she helplessly sunk down upon the very onslaught that was claiming her sex.


With a gasp, she came to rest upon his body, greedily clutching his impossible length with a tightness that could not be resisted. But as he savored the full, majestic swelling inside her, it was as if Bruce did not even notice.


He was eying Talia. “Come here. It’s time to give you a good licking.”


“You cannot defeat me in open combat,” Talia said, hugging herself, still rattled by the pleasure she had felt.


“Sit down, Talia. With your legs spread.”


Shivering, Talia approached his head. Although she had never experienced this, she had read all about cunnilingus. The idea both excited and repulsed her—the kind of deviant sexuality she could see Nyssa enjoying. On their shared night together, when Damian was conceived, Bruce hadn’t eaten her cunt, but he’d hinted at that kind of depravity, with his fingers, with her anus. But she hadn’t let him kiss her in such an intimate place.


Now, though—she would never have another chance.


She lowered herself to a sitting position over his face. Before she could say anything, Bruce leaned forward and brought his mouth between her thighs. Talia started to speak, but her words stuck in her throat when she saw his tongue dart out of his mouth and slash at her pussy.


“Ooooohhh!” she gasped, the tip of his tongue unerringly finding her aroused, sensitive clitoris. Tiny darts of passion swept through her body, goosebumps breaking out all over her flesh.


Bruce smiled at the way her body responded instantly to his oral caress, just as Nyssa had responded to his cock. He licked the flavorful juices from her moistening cunt, not penetrating, not touching her clit again, but making her croon as she was ministered to. He could still feel the waves of heat Nyssa’s cunt, her vibrations, were sending through him. He couldn’t neglect her. If she made him come, this was over, and his last-ditch effort would’ve failed.


Nyssa swayed upon him. She trembled with anticipation, feeling an orgasm building in the tightly packed flesh around his member. Her body bowed back from the waist, fingertips pressing into her thighs, hair spilling back between Bruce’s legs. She thrust herself up and down upon him, and could feel his engorged balls against the base of her ass.


She groaned, and her body and thighs formed a curve as she leaned further back. Writhing upon the massive column of his manhood, twisting and bucking, her lips parted with pleasure.


She clutched at her pants in an effort to pull her body back up and did not care for an instant that she was rending them to shreds. She did not care about anything at the moment. She was engulfed in the constant heat of her orgasm, the steady explosion—she could not tell where it had ended or where it began, if she was feeling one lengthy climax or many smaller ones.


She just cried out and wrenched herself upright. The motion thrust his cock deeper and she felt his knob at depths of tightness she had not known she had, had not known could be visited by a man. She gave a whimpering groan and pressed her hands to his stomach, just in front of her boiling sex.


“Oh! Oh, Bruce! Ahhh!” It was Talia that was gasping, openly vocalizing the pleasure they both felt as he once again flicked his tongue back and forth across her sensitive clit. The shock waves ripping through her body were far more intense than anything she had ever felt in all her long life. It was second only to how he had thundered into her, the very moment of Damian’s conception. But that was a pleasure that her sister was experiencing at the moment…


She leaned over and rested her back against Nyssa while his fiery tongue set alight gasoline inside her pussy. She hated herself for having missed this all of her life. Nyssa’s arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. Talia could tell that she too was chiding herself, thinking how delicious this was.


She had never felt so close to her sister as she did sharing this. Sharing him.


“No! Don’t stop!” she cried, her voice wavering drastically in response to his tongue’s sudden withdrawal.


“Do you like having your cunt eaten?” Bruce asked, his voice as calm as ever, but his words a keening shock to Talia. She couldn’t believe he was saying such things. She couldn’t believe how her cunt clenched to hear him say it, to garner further proof that he was making love to her.


“Oh yes!” she whimpered.


“Tell me,” Bruce ordered.


He wanted her to say the words! Talia had never used such gutter language in her life. “Please, beloved.”


“Tell me,” Bruce repeated, and when he opened his mouth again, Talia could see his tongue. His tongue that should be inside her. It belonged to her as her taste belonged to him.


“Please… please lick my cunt!” she gasped finally.


The words coming from her mouth sent a strange thrill racing down her spine. She felt Nyssa tighten her grip as well. She had enjoyed hearing it too.


Bruce bucked his hips. Nyssa raised and lowered herself to his movements, her cunt rising and falling upon him, her juices glistening on the base of his cock. His cock slid down, her sudden emptiness drawing all the pleasure out of her sex, and then it slid back up, and he was so deep in her and so big, she was so full and tight, that it stung. She had to ride him, let him dictate the pace, or she would be left behind, condemned not to experience any of the ecstasy that Talia was.


Her flesh burned and her clit sizzled. Her depths seized with need and fulfillment. Her hair swirled around her face. His hips lifted and fell and his cock ran even higher within her. She could take it now. She just had to sway with him so it was not too much, too fast. His rhythm was perfect for her.


She was in a frenzy as spasms erupted through her cunt. She tensed and her knees dug into Batman’s cape. Her head went back and her mouth opened to its widest as her eyes screwed shut. Her body shook upon his, his body arched up against hers, and he sucked air through his teeth.


The air burst free of her lungs in a wrenching sob, her ears filled with a roar as her brain flashed with her climax, and her body jumped and twisted in the possession of her release. The back of his head pressed back against the table as his heels dug into it, and he inhaled with a groan as her coming brought him to the verge of his own climax.


Bruce forced his attention to Talia, making her feel the tip of his tongue circle down to her asshole, then dip inside her cunt and race up her slit, stopping at her quivering clitoris. Talia’s head began flaring back and forth against her sister’s restraining embrace.


“Ooooahh! Oh God! God yes! Oooohhh, yes, lick my cunt!” Talia cried, his tongue once again caressing her intimately, sending electric charges surging through her.


He stopped with her poised on the brink of orgasm. “Tell Nyssa again.”


Panting, Talia turned to see her sister. Nyssa was frozen, breathing heavily, still trying to process the rich sensations that had gone through her. His hardness was still within her, unflagging, a constant, piquant reminder of the pleasures that had just wracked her body. She could not relax into some post-coital languor with it still offering its ecstatic tension. It demanded. It demanded more of her pleasure.


“My beloved says ‘again,’” Talia reported, and Nyssa felt as if she had somehow failed a test and was going to have to repeat it until she had gotten it right.


Slowly, she began to grip Bruce’s weapon with her cunt. She turned her hips from side to side. Her breathing grew pitched as she tightened and loosened herself around him, building back the rapport that have given her such satisfaction. The tremors were quick to grow inside her, resounding with her oversensitive flesh, painful but not too painful to stop. As her clit began to pulse, she became determined to truly get it right this time. To please him.


Nyssa pushed Talia back into place atop Bruce’s face, and her hands moved up and down his stomach, over his chest, as she began to raise and lower herself. She arched herself so that her ass swept back and forth across his balls. His breathing deepened, and his shoulders shifted in response to her concentrated efforts. She arched her ass down and forward as she lowered herself, clutching and turning as she rose and fell, arching her ass as she came down. Her brain was clouding with arousal greater than the first time, but she fought it so that she could continue to set the pace, the rhythm. She could feel Bruce’s stiff nipples through his armor, and his arousal gave her pride.


She licked at her lips and lovingly stroked Bruce’s belly. Her sex felt like an explosion around the thrusting hardness of him, and she found it harder and harder to keep her eyes open. Her nostrils flared as delicious waves of heat rocketed up her body.


“Oh… my… God!” Talia murmured, her tongue licking her own lips in unconscious counterpoint to the cunnilingus that was driving her mad. “I like that! Yes, beloved, eat me! Ooooh!”


Nyssa tried to ignore her, but it was impossible. She saw an orgasm crash in on Talia without warning, and felt immeasurably jealous of Talia having what had been hers just moments ago. She had his cock, she should have the greater of the pleasure!


Talia, for her part, did not even notice her sister. She was hot, so hot she was panting for breath before her body exploded into sizzling pieces. She placed her hands on either side of Bruce’s head and rode wave after wave of earthquakes centered on the tectonic plates of his tongue and her sex crashing together again and again.


Bruce felt his balls churn as he ate her out. She was so unrestrained and enthusiastic, once provoked. At a moment’s notice, she was every bit as sexual as Selina or Ivy. And the way she came—a light spray was freed from her sex to coat his face and cowl as she writhed in the throes of her orgasm.


Nyssa’s sex was throbbing, beating, uncontrollably sucking and spasming around Bruce’s oversized prick. His armor was rubbing right on her clit.


“Bruce, I’m coming!” she yelled. She wrapped her arms tightly around Talia, humping her ass in a frenzy of lust. “Fuck my cunt, make me come like Talia, don’t you hold back, don’t you dare hold back!”


Her cunt greedily accepted Bruce’s hammering prick, Nyssa writhing helplessly atop him, entirely subservient to the bucking of his hips. She was almost in pain now as his mammoth shaft ravished the depths of her clenching passage.


Finally the gut-wrenching spasms tapered off. When Nyssa came to her senses again, Bruce was still fucking her cunt as hard as he could. He still hadn’t spilled his load of cum.


“Oh, Bruce, I can’t take anymore!” she mewled. “You have to stop. Please don’t fuck me anymore… it’s too much, too much!”


With an almost disdainful twist of his hips, Bruce spilled Nyssa off him and onto the floor. She covered her pussy with both her hands, hiding its redness, its soreness. She had been addicted to his manhood, the jangling pain inside her, unable to stop except by his edict. She still missed it desperately, even as the relief of their stopping soothed her entire overheated body.


“Your breeding is better than mine, eh?” Talia asked. “Apparently you don’t know as much about breeding as you think.”


Anger flashed in Nyssa’s eyes, but she couldn’t dispute Talia’s insult. Her breathing came fast and hard. It was Bruce’s fault. He had been too much for both of them. “Sister… how did you handle him, all on your own?”


“I let him fuck all my holes.”


“All your…?”


“And my breasts.” Talia’s voice simpered with lustful recall. “With all the seed he spurted on my body, it’s a wonder any ended up in my womb!”


“Are you going to kill me or not?” Bruce asked, cutting through Talia’s romantic interlude with brusque directness. “There is still so much left to do…”


Nyssa looked at his cock, mocking her with its size, its hardness, its undiminished power. She could still take it. In her mouth, in her asshole, somewhere. She could make him come, make him be the one begging for more. Not sending him to his grave while left… wanting.


“I’ll make him come,” Talia said imperiously, barely trembling as she came off his chest and walked down to his lower body. “I always do.”


She restrained her shock at the size of his hard-on, which now looked as immense as it had felt inside her, entirely unreduced by its sojourn inside Nyssa, the pleasure it had brought her. His erection was a massive one, not merely long, but with a stretchingly huge girth.


Talia had to maneuver to get her mouth into position where she could engulf the end of his cock.


She heard his voice, distant, saying, “She knows how to take my cock.” He was speaking to Nyssa. The inference was clear.


Talia smiled. She inhaled and smelled the musky odor of his arousal. He was responding to her in a big way, there was no mistaking that. It was her submission to him. She had gone from riding his cock, riding his face, to kneeling before him and performing on his manhood. As she had on their wedding night. To prepare him before he brought her untold pleasures. And after. To clean him off, tasting her own fragrant joy on him.


She could still taste some of it now. Hers and Nyssa’s. He had conquered them both. It made her feel a little better about her own subservience. Nyssa hadn’t been able to resist him either. She didn’t think there was anyone who could—not when his prick was jerking and throbbing with its own life.


Pressing her tongue into the underside of his manhood, she could feel his distant heart throbbing away. She licked slowly down the sensitive underside until his legs began to tremble. Again, she smiled. She wanted to punish him for all his failings. He had to make up for how horribly he had neglected her, and he would do so by granting her his ejaculation once more.


Her lips closed on the cleft head of his prick. The tiny slit where his cum emerged was the most delicate portion, and she gave it special attention. She would show him the pleasure that could’ve been his if only he had stayed. As his cock danced frenziedly in front of her nose, Talia knew he was realizing his error.


“Enjoy her mouth, Batman,” Nyssa said smugly, observing the tension knotting up his body. She rested her hand on Talia’s head. “It will be the last pleasure you ever feel.”

Talia tired of licking and nipping at his cock. She started licking down the sides of his member until she came to the tangled hair at the base. She nuzzled her nose into his pubic hair, managing to get close enough to lick his balls, dangling under his huge prick.


As she tongued it wetly, roughly, with just the tip of her tongue, it began to firm. The skin contracted as his arousal mounted. Soon, there was only a clenched fist of skin holding his churning balls.


She sucked this into her mouth, feeling the strain at the corners of her mouth, a perilous numbness to her lower jaw, but it was worth it to feel his balls tumbling around inside her mouth like they were in a pressure cooker. She imagined him coming from this. His seed flying from his cock and covering her face. She wouldn’t wash it. She would carry his scent for days.


Then, in the distance, came a familiar, agitated voice, “What are you doing!?”


It was Ra’s al Ghul demanding an explanation. She could hear him behind her. The video link, it must’ve activated. She could hear Nyssa—her nudity shaming her almost as much as Talia’s present act—sputtering for an explanation.


“Father, we are—we were—“


Talia thought she heard Bruce sigh. She was getting to him. His lead-heavy balls were controlled a little by the way she licked and tongued them. She experimented with pushing them around in her mouth, running their contours over her teeth, very gently gnawing on them and the loose skin of his scrotum. Her hands on his thighs, she could feel his muscles flexing involuntarily, his cock rigid, hot, and wet along her face. His precum was seeping into her hair…


“Talia!” Nyssa whispered desperately, shaking Talia’s shoulder. “Father is watching, he can see us—“


Talia shoved her aside. Fuck their father. She wouldn’t give this up. Not if it was for the last time, not if it was just this once, and not if it were the first of many. His cock was simply too delicious to stop. She would keep going until the bitter end and Ra’s could just live with it, as she had lived with so much. Her estrangement from Bruce, her lost son, Ra’s and his constant edicts and schemes…


She tired of his balls, just as she had tired of Ra’s’s presence in her life. She wanted to sample the end of his cock. Leaving the scrotum behind, she kissed back up the shaft of Bruce’s member until she came to the purpled knob, waiting for her with a fresh taste of precum.


Her lips closed over the glans as if she were dying of thirst and this was her only hope for water. She made a face around the bitter drop of precum beaded at his very tip. It left a lingering, sour taste in her mouth.


But that would soon be washed away by creamy gulps of his hot cum. How she had loved the taste of it, so long ago, loved it so much that she had reached between her legs after he had finished in her and tasted it off her fingers. She would do anything to get a mouthful of it. To let it roll over her taste buds, stimulating her, making her into a complete woman once again.


Her tongue darted all over the stubby end of his prick, lightly touching here, pressing there, until his cockhead was flexing and straining against her tongue. Giving her a kiss.


“You will stop this now!” Ra’s roared, but Talia barely even heard him. The blood was pounding in her ears far too loudly for that. She couldn’t even tell if the words were directed at her or Nyssa. It didn’t matter. She knew she was giving Bruce the best blowjob ever. That all that mattered to her.


Her head began bobbing up and down on his cock. “Careful, careful,” Bruce said. For some reason his calm whisper penetrated far deeper than Ra’s’s angry words. “Slow and easy… just like that…”


And she was moving slowly, with great deliberation. Inch after inch of his prick slowly vanished into her mouth, almost choking her. She backed off, her teeth dragging on the sides of his shaft. The livid red marks were soothed away by her soft lips, and Talia knew she was giving her beloved exactly what he wanted by the way he thrust his hips forward, the way his cock was pulsing rhythmically in her mouth.


“Good work. Very good.” Bruce’s voice began to coo, almost silky smooth. “I love the way you do that.”


She’d finally penetrated his icy, aloof exterior. All it took was a little sucking.


She tightened her lips around his cockhead and really sucked, actually making an audible slurping noise. If he thought he was getting good head before, she’d make sure he knew everything he had been missing…


“Nyssa, kill him, now!” Ra’s demanded impotently.


“He’s almost done,” Nyssa said, as dreamy and untethered as Talia felt. Her voice was thick with lust, and Talia realized she was watching. Watching so closely… “She’s beating him… making him submit…”


What are you talking about? Your sister is disgracing herself right in front of you!”


“Oh yes,” Nyssa said, almost moaning. “Right in front of me…”


Her fingers came down and rested lightly on the back of Talia’s head, guiding her head in some exact rhythm, helping her give Bruce what he desired most. His prick vanished between Talia’s lips as she sucked in more and more of it. When the engorged tip bounced off the roof of her mouth, she knew she’d have to take the whole thing. Nothing less would satisfy him.


The insistent pressure on the back of her head made her gulp, then begin swallowing his many, many inches. When the tip of his cock passed her tonsils, she knew she’d done it. She’d shown Bruce they were meant to be together. For a long moment, his member seemed to hang in the back of her throat.


Then he was firmly lodged in her windpipe. Every time she swallowed, her gulping throat muscles would bob up and down, caressing his cock with impossible tightness. His cock danced in her mouth, belonged to her mouth. She’d convinced him of his folly in spurring her, making him accept her just as her throat was accepting his massive prick.


The pulsing and pumping of his cock became so great, she could no longer hold him in her throat. Even her gag reflex could not be suppressed when it came to him. She didn’t want to cock. Not now, not with the most virile, commanding, dominant man she’d ever encountered expecting the best from her.


“Keep going. Good, very goooood!” It was not Bruce speaking now. It was Nyssa.


“Nyssa,” Bruce said, with all the quiet strength that had drawn Talia to him time and time again. “Your sister needs help.”


Nyssa did not even try to resist. Given permission by Bruce, cut loose by him, she dropped to her knees and angled Bruce’s cock into her mouth, sucking ravenously at its length. She was even more voracious knowing that it had just been in Talia’s throat, as if it were a beloved toy of Talia’s, never shared, that she was finally getting an opportunity to play with.


Talia, still quivering and gasping for the breath she had missed while deep-throating her beloved, joined her sister on the floor and reached for her own share of Bruce’s indomitable cock. Nyssa fed it to her sister, watching with glittering eyes as Talia sucked the big cock once more down to the balls, holding on as if she didn’t intend to let go.


Talia’s bobbing head sucked up the end of his cock again after she had recovered from having it all the way down her throat. Fucking her own face with long, demanding motions, she let the friction build between her dewy lips and his jerking prick.


“Give me some more!” Nyssa snapped, pulling Bruce away from her and taking over once more. His cock moved in and out of her mouth, wetly smacking against her throat, while Talia knelt beside her, tensely licking her lips and waiting for her own chance at another taste. She would share. There was no other way to tame this indomitable cock, so she would share.


The sisters moved closer, close enough so they could share the prick between them, their mouths moving in unison up and down the trembling shaft soaked with each other’s saliva. They kissed each other across the swollen knob, trapping the cockhead between their mouths and drooling even more spit onto its shining length.


Nyssa’s fist was tight around the base of the cock, stroking in short, demanding jerks as she and her half-sister continued to pay homage to the force that had actually managed to get them to agree on something.


“Which one of you,” Bruce started, his voice only slightly strained, “can take my cum without gagging?”


The sisters paused a moment, Nyssa still jerking him off, a strand of saliva running from Talia’s lips to the tip of his manhood.


“You can do it,” Talia said, glowing, not a trace of condemnation in her words. “You’re more experienced. I’m so sheltered, so naïve…”


“But he’s your husband,” Nyssa replied. “It belongs to you. Getting to watch is more than enough.”


“There will be enough,” Talia promised. “For both of us. But I will go first.”


She bent her head to Bruce’s cock as Nyssa watched avidly. With one last kiss to his cockhead, Bruce let fly a thick gush of cum. Talia caught it in her mouth and drank it down, her tongue flogging his tip in an effort to coax more seed from this first bolt.


Bruce groaned as Talia pushed his manhood toward Nyssa, who got his cockhead inside her lips and sucked it hard. Bruce filled her mouth as well, his jism billowing her cheeks out, gargling into her throat. Nyssa’s eyes widened. Experienced she may have been, but with other men. Not with Talia’s husband.


She released him from her mouth, but she continued jerking on his shaft, and his cum sprayed their faces. They shared a laugh as they licked the warm cream from each other, then from Bruce. They kept on sucking until well after his manhood had finally gone soft in their mouths.


Then they followed Bruce’s gaze to the laptop, where Ra’s looked on, quivering with rage.


“You are no longer my daughters,” he said, and the line went dead.


Nyssa looked at Talia. Then smiled at her with wet-white teeth. “It looks like we’ll need someone else to be our daddy.”


“Yes,” Talia breathed thankfully. “Oh yes…”

Chapter Text

I made it! Misfit thought excitedly.


She’d pretty much given up on her ugly duckling phase being over. Not that she didn’t think she was cute, but compared to Dinah, Helena, even Ms. Gordon who sat in a wheelchair all day? She was just a petite little ginger with way too many freckles, a souvenir T-shirt, and a cape she’d worked really hard on. The mask was from a Halloween store. She didn’t tell people it went with a Robin costume.


Tiny redhead in an effort-minimal costume she may have been, but she’d been going mad bomb on her teleportation skillz. As it turned out, she couldn’t hurt herself bouncing places she couldn’t see—if she teleported into something solid, she’d just rebound to the nearest open space. And if that was too tight to get out of, she could just bounce again.


So she tried bouncing underground. Made sense, right? The Batcave was underground—duh—and if she found the Batcave, then not only would she be in good with the Birds of Prey, but she’d impress Batman (and let’s face it, Batman totally outranked the Birds of Prey).


And now, here she was! It was just like Ms. Gordon said it was! She’d thought Oracle was kidding about the giant playing card and the giant penny and the giant dinosaur—nope! Batman was a hoarder!


“Cool!” Misfit said, skipping around. She wondered if there was any food stashed around here. I oughta help myself, just in case Bats is as big a sourpuss as Babs. No reason to miss out on a free snack if he doesn’t officially make me the new Batgirl.


She looked around the place. Could definitely use some track lightning. Yeah, it was gothic and everything, but what did Robin do, wave his iPhone around every time he wanted to fight evil? She wandered around a bit before giving into the irresistible urge to cry “Echo!”


“Who’s there?” someone replied, leading to thoughts inspired by various J-horror movies before Misfit realized someone was probably just in the cave with her.


“Misfit!” she replied. “Batgirl,” she corrected. “Misfit,” she further corrected.


“…a little help here?”




Dick gulped as Misfit came to help him. She looked about eighteen, and as lovely as a girl of that age could be. A smooth, unblemished complexion, a slight but charming awkwardness, and a way of giggling and flirting at just the wrong time. He recalled her having a little obsession with him whenever he had to work with the Birds of Prey, something that had always compounded Barbara’s problem with her unprofessionalism.


He also recalled she cooed over bad music, favored extremely tight leggings under extremely tight jean shorts, and she had no idea of what her long legs and fluttery eyes meant to anyone else.


“Nightwing?” she said. “Are you okay?”


“I may be having a bit of an issue,” Dick said, testing his bonds again. He would’ve loved to break out of them himself, not let Misfit get too close. Because the closer she got, the more aware of her he was, the more he thought of her. It was like being fifteen years old and going from Barbara’s chaste crushing to Kory in his life all at once.


As Misfit came over to him, she bent over to fix her shoes in such a way as to press her young breasts against her Bat-blazoned T-shirt. A more experienced woman would have known how to bend over without giving anything away, but Misfit didn’t think like that. Not yet, at any rate.


“Need any help?” she asked. Evidently she was waiting for him to break free as well.


“Yeah,” Dick said, stiffening. “Cut me loose. That’s all.”


“Okay, think I got a switchblade around here… a-ha!” Misfit pulled it from her utility belt, which Dick assumed had been bought from a street vendor. “Took this off a pimp. Not my pimp or anything. I don’t have a pimp. Why would I have a pimp?”


“Just get me out of here,” Dick said. It was worse with Misfit here, the sight of her, the smell of her. It’d been pretty bad when he’d just had to imagine Kory, Barbara, Helena, because he could imagine an awful lot—he hadn’t even had Zinda yet. But Misfit’s nearness and tangibility, even though in his humble guy-opinion she couldn’t hold a candle to Kory’s literal supermodel, redirected all his lusts straight onto her.


When Misfit started cutting, she would saw away the vines covering his crotch first. With them gone, his erection burst loose, instantly tenting the front of his pants. Dick couldn’t even help but gasp at the relief of his hard-on almost entirely uncramping, the sweet succor of being unencumbered almost driving him to orgasm.




It had to be as big as a summer sausage. Maybe even bigger!


The girls at school talked a lot about men’s cocks, how they got stiff while they were making out, how boys jerked them off, some of the sluttier girls (which was all of them, the bitches) talking about how much their guys shot. And the Birds of Prey tried to keep their mouths shut in her presence, but more than once she’d overheard Helena talking about it. Even about Dick’s.


“Wow,” she said softly.


“You know what that is, don’t you?” Dick was just barely able to control himself, to keep his voice even.


Her eyes still on his crotch, Misfit nodded.


It was definitely bigger than her fingers. Misfit was thinking about all the pleasure her fingers had brought her. Her blue eyes brightened with interest as she wondered what Dick’s dick would do. It had to be as big as one of Helena’s dildos. And Helena loved her dildos.


“It’s alright, Misfit, say it,” Dick encouraged her.


“It’s your cock.” Misfit leaned forward. “And it’s hard. Ms. Gordon said the only time a cock gets hard is when, well, you know…”


Dick mentally crossed his fingers. Maybe, just maybe…


“It’s so hard,” Misfit repeated, her voice awestruck.


“That’s because being around you got it hard,”




The open, obvious, unabashed interest in Misfit’s eyes did it. And it was even worse coming from behind a mask, like Batgirl had worn in a thousand adolescent fantasies. Post-adolescent, if he was really bored. Dick couldn’t help himself. He unzipped his pants as soon as he was free, relieving the last little maddening discomfort of having his swelling cock grating against the teeth of his zipper.


Which opened up his awareness to just how damn fucking horny he was. Now that it was all out there, so to speak, all he had to suffer from was the awfulness of not being inside a woman. He’d never been so horny in all his life. It was like Catwoman, Batgirl, Talia al Ghul, Magpie, every woman he’d ever lusted after as a boy had been gyrating before him, teasing him and taunting him with innuendo after innuendo, brushing skin-to-skin contact, sly looks and whispered come-ons, but ever denying him the simple relief of a touch to his quaking, impossible erection.


So Dick did it himself.


Misfit was staring at it, shock replacing lust on her face, her mouth wide open—and that really wasn’t helping—as she struggled to understand how her fantasy had become reality. A kneejerk sentiment of primness fell out of her mouth insincerely. “I’m a virgin,” she protested.


Dick gripped himself and began to relieve the thundering pressure in his loins.


“I was a virgin,” Misfit corrected, mostly to herself, as she leaned over his manipulations.


“Do you like it?” Dick asked, his hand gripping his shaft midway, pumping slowly on its thickness.


“Yes, I do,” Misfit said, almost whimpering, her eyes hot on the slow relief Dick was giving his hard-on. Couldn’t go too fast, couldn’t just explode—there was a lady present. “I like when you play with it like that, Mr. Nightwing.”


“You do, huh?”


“Yeah,” Misfit murmured, a tremble of delight shivering through her.


“You’ve never been fucked, have you Misfit?”


“No. Never.”


“Would you like to?”


“Yes… yes, I would, Mr. Nightwing, but isn’t it too… big?”


“There are all kinds of ways to fuck, Misfit. Have you ever used your fingers?”


“Oooooooh, wow.” His blunt question seemed to bring an iota of awareness to Misfit, her delighted embarrassment adding a haste to Dick’s masturbation. “I guess I have…”


“Would you like me to do that for you?”


“I think I would… would you?”


“What’s your name?”




“Show me your cunt, Charlie.”


Misfit went “nnnnngggh” as she ripped her zipper down, pushed down her leggings and her panties within her denim shorts, and presented her sex to Dick. As he pumped his cock right his right hand, he stuck out his left hand and fingered into her, entering her pussy in a slow fucking. Misfit closed her eyes as all the stress of her totally unshaven, unready-for-losing-her-virginity body was grounded by Dick’s finger, like a lightning rod being hit and sending all that electricity straight into the ground.


“You like that, don’t you?”


“I like you playin’ with your cock, yes, that looks good, I like you fingering me too, I like each of your fingers, they’re all great!” Misfit babbled, still watching him jack his prick.


“Do you finger yourself a lot?”


“I’m not telling!” Misfit grinned mischievously, thinking that she had, thinking that Dick could feel it inside her, feel how used she was to fingers, just not these fingers, these wonderful callused fingers that were jerking on his prick too. She thought about all the time she had diddled herself while she thought of him. The only difference between fantasy and reality was that he wasn’t wearing gloves, wasn’t putting that sexy blue stripe into her pussy, just his fingers…


“I think you do,” Dick teased. “Feels like you do…”


“Takes one to know one!” Misfit retorted.


He smiled. His hand worked magic on her cunt, keeping it powerfully aroused with a good solid stroke, never letting up but never becoming too intense either. He kept her going at the same pace his other hand danced on his cock.


“Have you ever done it thinking of me, Mr. Nightwing?” Misfit whispered.


He didn’t answer.


“That’s what you’re doing now, isn’t it?” Misfit said, speaking her mind with even less forethought than usual. “You’re jerking off to me, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”


“Your tits,” Dick panted. “Your cunt. Your sweet little ass…”


“I love it!” Misfit beamed. “You’re jacking it to me… I never had anyone jerk it to me before…”


“Sure you have. You just don’t know.”


Misfit was distracted by the sight of him jerking off, thrilling by how his hand pumped on his huge cock, the way his wrist moved so easily. She wondered if she could handle his member as well as he was. She had to be able to, right? Guys always liked having girls pump them better than doing it themselves. Why would that be unless girls did a better job?


“I’ll bet… all the boys in your school… jack off to you all the time…”


“You really think so, Mr. Nightwing?”


“Of course.”


“That’s so nice of you to say!” Misfit gasped. “I wanna be your new BFF!”


His masturbating was making slurping, slick, juicy sounds now, which heightened Misfit’s excitement in seeing him pump his prick. His hand fiddled her cunt, stroking in and out with a sureness, a confident precision, and Misfit stood with her legs apart, her hips pushed forward, a slow-motion hump of her own to meet his finger-fucking.


“I’ll bet you finger yourself a lot, huh?” Dick whispered.


“Yeah!” Misfit agreed. “Like this!”


She swatted his hand away from her pussy. She no longer wanted to be pleasured by him, turned on by him. She wanted to be the one making him hot, making him want her, making him get her.


She bounced up onto his gurney, leaning back with her legs apart to stick her hand down between her legs and finger her pretty little pussy.


God, Charlie!” Dick gulped. “Like that… yeah, that’s it…”


“You like it, huh?” she purred.


“I do,” he said, delighting in the sight of her opening before him in all her splendor, her pouting lips parted slightly, her tongue lolling on the lower, her hand rushing her cunt. “I really, really do.”


Misfit was in ecstasy, making herself feel amazing while she watched her crush jerk wildly on his cock. “Faster,” she mewled. “I wanna see you go faster!”


His wet fist was a blur. It was fulfilling all Misfit’s imagined expectations, exceeding her wildest dreams.


“Go faster, Mr. Nightwing! Faster!”


He pumped as fast as he could. Misfit fingered her pussy as fast as she could.


“That looks good,” she whispered around a bitten lip, her entire body tingling with excitement.


“You too!” he yelped.


“Oh Jesus!” she exclaimed. “You’re masturbating to me.”


“And you?”


“Oh, you know I have!” Misfit admitted gleefully. “I’ve thought about you hundreds of times while I’ve played with my pussy!”


“Charlie!” he cried.


“Oh, Mister—“


Then she got that shower feeling again, just as Dick’s big cock bulged and shot a volcanic load of cum. Big jets of his seed speared upward, flying high at Misfit and splattering at her kicks. A big wad of cum landed right in the hole in her heel, and she could feel it through her sock.


“Charlie! I’m coming for you!”


“Me too! Oh, Mr. Nightwing, come, come!” Misfit yelled at him, her body stiff as an ironing board while the tingle of her climax vibrated through her, giving her such delicious feelings that she thought she would faint.


“Finger your cunt,” he huffed.


Big splatters of cum spewed from his huge cock. A gob of it flew high and splashed on Misfit’s belly, then it dripped and dribbled downward into her patch of honey-red pubic hair.


“Jerk it to me!” Misfit babbled. “Keep shooting, I like it when you shoot, like you pumping on your cock!” Her words trailed off in passionate shivers, in long lengthy moans that wouldn’t let any words alongside them.


“Oh, my darling,” Dick whimpered, falling back along the gurney. “That was wonderful.”


“It was,” Misfit said. “It was just my fingers, but they felt better than ever—better than your fingers were, even—you were watching me, weren’t you? Watching me the whole time?” Her voice dipped. “Wanting to fuck me.”


The cave was drenched with the explosions of cum Dick had spewed out, the musk of it overpowering. But it was underlain with the scent of Misfit. Dick could smell her cunt, and it reminded him of when he had first peeled Barbara’s panties off, how sweet her cunt had been. He could see that same sweetness written all over Misfit’s body.


He fondled his softening cock as he looked at her, without even thinking about it. Misfit saw him playing with himself and it excited her. She licked her lips absently as she watched him play his cock to another erection, feeling a swoop of pleasure in her belly again, just having him hard and excited once more. It was like she was still masturbating, still being watched.


Dick smiled and gently cupped one of the girl’s pert breasts. “Ohhh, that feels so good when you touch me there!” Misfit gasped.


Dick continued the gentle pressure, feeling her nipple swell under his fingers. “Will you touch me too, Charlie?” he asked quietly.


“There?” Misfit asked, looking at him with a worshipful eagerness to please.


Dick nodded.


“Like you did?”


Dick gently stroked her hair. “No. In a different way.”


“Wh… what do you want me to do?” she asked bravely.


Dick took her hand and guided it to his crotch. The teenager hesitantly followed his implication and gently closed her fingers around his huge manhood.


“Wow,” Misfit exclaimed. Touching it made her stomach feel crazy, buzzing, and her sex had begun to ache again. She wished he’d touch her between the legs, like he had before. “It’s beautiful!” Her fingers slid along the length of his cock, feeling the bumpiness of the veins. When she reached the bulging head, her touch instinctively lightened.


Dick gritted his teeth. Her touch was light and silky where Kory’s would be firm and experienced. He wanted to jam himself into her cunt and ram it all the way home, splitting her tightness wide open, but he didn’t just want her cunt. He wanted her pleasure. He wanted her to come for him.


“Do you like it, Charlie?” Dick asked, ready to explode but under control.


“Uh-huh,” Misfit nodded. “It’s so big! And it’s warm… I’ve never felt anything like it!” She looked up at him, her eyes shining. “What do I do now?”


Dick kept massaging her breast and with his free hand he guided her head down to his cock.


Misfit’s jaw dropped. He wanted her to kiss it. She wasn’t sure she could, wasn’t sure she’d be any good at it—Helena was good at it, but she’d had a lot of practice, Dinah and Zinda always said so—but his hand felt so nice on her and he’d been so good to her. She had to try!


“Suck it, honey. Kiss it and lick it and suck it.” Dick kept his hand on the back of her hand and Misfit, her eyes shut, licked at the heavy shaft in her hand. Just the tip. Just the pregnant drop of white goo in the slit, that she knew was the same stuff as the cum that he had launched all over the place. It would taste the same…


“That’s it,” Dick encouraged her. He shifted his hips slightly and the next thing Misfit knew, her lips were around his cockhead.


Dick moved back and forth and Misfit found herself sucking as his cock moved inside her mouth. Her tongue kept trying to lick the way he’d asked her to, but she was getting so excited that she was having a hard time concentrating.


“Touch yourself,” Dick said softly, as if he were reading her mind. “Just like before. Put your fingers on your pussy and touch yourself very lightly.”


Encouraged, Misfit reached between her thighs. She fumbled for a moment, then felt a wonderful rush of dizziness as her fingers touched the slickness from before. It wasn’t oversensitive, slightly stung, the way it had been before. Now it felt even better.


Misfit’s soft moans of pleasure were more than Dick could stand. He gripped the girl’s head and groaned with satisfaction as he finished in her mouth. Misfit tried to pull away, but Dick held her in place. Her mouth filled and she could feel the burning cum running out the corner of her lips and down her chin. She swallowed, but more and more cum flooded into her mouth until she was choking.


“Oh, Charlie, you have the sweetest mouth!” Dick sighed.


Misfit gulped once more and managed to pull loose of his slacking fingers. She looked up at him. He’d sure had a lot!


And there was more. His cock was still hard. Maybe there was lots more. Maybe she hadn’t even gotten half of it yet!


There was nothing left to be said, no more preliminaries. Dick simply looked her in the eye and said ”Come here.”


Misfit stripped quickly, slipping down her shorts, her panties, her stockings into a tangle that clung to one foot. She ignored it to straddle him like she had seen Helena do to Catman, and Barbara, and Zinda, and anyone who wore her favorite strap-on. His cock was so big that she could stand up and it still reached her pussy, throbbing, straining for her cunt. Dick fisted his cock and, mounting one hand on Misfit’s thigh, brought her down atop him.


“Ahh, ooh!” came the long, sweet sigh from Misfit, feeling for the first time the piercing, the filling, the completing of her darling pussy.


She knelt with her legs akimbo over him, looking down into his passionate face, seeing his brow furrow as he felt her tightness. She moved ever so slowly on his cock, screwing her slender hips around and around on the immensity inside her, letting him in and in and in.


She loved how he felt in her cunt, so warm and hard, the hot friction of their joining flickering through her like she was five women at once, all touching themselves. She bore down on him, bending her knees slightly, letting him shove another inch into her cunt.


Dick peered up into her flushed face, seeing the straight bangs on her forehead, the part in the middle of her hair as it pulled back into a ponytail tied with a Bat-blazoned scrunchie. Her oval face was wet with sweat. Her luscious pink lips glistened, a tiny trace of cum on her chin. He reached up to caress her cheek, his thumb rubbing over the spot of semen and transporting it into her lips. She sucked his thumb clean, moving her hips back and forth, undulating them on Dick’s manhood so that it moved between them, connecting them, making them one.


Dick reached behind her, cupped her ass lovingly, clinched his fingers into the pliant cheeks, fanning her hands all over the lovely curves of her hips. Her ass could’ve been carved from fine ivory—buoyant and young, further tightened by athletics. He didn’t think there was an ounce of fat under his fingers.


He slid his hands up her back, under her shirt to unhook her bra. Feeling it fall loose, Misfit pulled her top up and over her head. It fell behind her to tangle in her cape, but she ignored it. Her girlish breasts sat high and proud, pert and young. Dick clutched them in his hands, massaged them gently, then not so gently.


Misfit fucked slowly on him, her chin tucked in as she looked down and watched the ever-lasting mystery between her thighs. It looked so simple, but it didn’t feel that way. Occasionally she’d look up and into Dick’s handsome, strained face, and think that it was her doing that to him.


She loved the feel of his thick cock in her pussy. Absolutely loved it. She rolled her ass around, fucking down on his bulging manhood. She managed to dip her knees a couple of inches and take more of his cock. Now she had at least four fat inches in her little cunt.


Delicious tingles of pleasure shivered through her. She reached down and fisted the rest of his member in her hand. “Let’s… do it slow,” she whispered, leaning forward. Bringing the hard tips of her breasts to his mouth, feeling him course with need. “You want that? You want to fuck real…”


“You can go slow if you want,” Dick grunted, half-sitting. “But I’m ready for more. So are you, you little cocktease.”


He began a quickening motion off the gurney, pushing roughly in and out, up and into her waiting pussy. His hands played with her tits, then they slid down around her hips and once again he cupped her magic ass. Misfit was fucking faster now. Following his lead. Their eyes met. Misfit was totally beholden to him.


“You sweet bitch!” Dick blurted out.


“Ooooh, you talk naughty, Mr. Nightwing!”


“You adorable little cunt,” he whispered. “You’re beautiful, you whore.”


“Geez!” Misfit murmured. She was liking him talking this way. His words landed in her belly, panging there, naughty and taboo. He wasn’t supposed to call her things like that. She wasn’t supposed to be called things like that.


But she was.


She rolled her hips, riding his cock just as he wanted.


“You’re a naughty one, Mr. Nightwing!” Misfit said salaciously. “You know you shouldn’t have that… that big, perfect cock up in my cunt!”


“Yes I should! My cock should be in your cunt forever!”


“Oh, yes! Forever! Fuck me forever!”


Her ass was swirling in escalating spirals. She humped in and out, fucking down on his hard cock, striking out her hands to clasp to his shoulders for balance. Her legs were spread wide and her feet were flat on the floor, her knees bent. She was fucking him perfectly.


She pressed her tits so hard into his face that he was forced to pull away to speak. “I’m going to come! I’m going to come in your hot sucking cunt!” he groaned.


He wasn’t sure that she heard what he said. From her glazed eyes, she was having an orgasm. But she continued to bounce up and down on top of him, her cunt lewdly squishing down on his cock.


“Fuck me! Fuck me hard, you son of a bitch!” she chanted over and over again. “Fuck me so good! Fuck me so nice…”


Up until now he’d laid there while she rode up and down on him. But now he began to knife his cock upwards into her. His ass flexed on the gurney and he buried his cock deep, folding the lips of her labia inward with it. His balls trembled between his thighs.


“Here it is!” he howled. “Here it is!” He forced his cock tightly inside her one more time, then exploded a monstrous blast of cum in her cunt. And another. And another. His cock flamed inside her, shooting rope after rope of gooey jism.


Misfit’s head flew back and the cave echoed with her ear-piercing shriek. “IT’S ALL INSIDE ME!”


Then she sagged lifeless atop him, passed out.


Dick didn’t care. He was so turned on, it was like he hadn’t come at all. And he had to come. As if Misfit were a sack of potatoes, he spun her around and bore her down atop the gurney, grinding his prick ball-deep inside her and pumping until he felt his cockhead explode cum. This time it was too much to fit inside her. It overflowed her pussy, the excess bursting out onto Dick’s groin.


Even in unconsciousness, Misfit screamed when she felt his burning cum reheat her pussy. She had come again.


Dick pulled out of her, too much for her. He could’ve fucked her ass, her mouth—he’d hoped to—but a bare minimum of self-control held him back. Kory. Barbara. Helena. He needed them. And Dinah, and Zinda, and anyone else who’d joined the Birds of Prey since the last time he checked.


Not even pausing to fix his appearance, Dick set out at an open run, his destination the Rocket. It would carry him along abandoned subway lines straight to the Clocktower. It was capable of speeds of two hundred and fifty miles per hour.


Dick wondered if he could convince someone to send him nudes on the way over. Already, his cock was demanding to come again.

Chapter Text

It was a slow night and Zinda found herself standing around with nothing to do. The Birds of Prey were on a mission in Old Gotham, but they didn’t need a pilot, so she was stuck at home, babysitting Blackfire in her isolation cell. Even Barbara was going off to hack into a physically isolated computer system from her battle van.


Zinda couldn’t help thinking about Dick and how wonderful it would be to be in bed with him. The other girls were fun, but that was just it: fun. She couldn’t help it, a generational thing, but she thought of Dick as the real deal. Maybe not her husband in the conventional sense, but certainly the closest thing to one she could possibly stand. Whatever she and Dinah and Helena did—and they did—Dick just felt so much more real. She imagined his wonderful thick cock sliding into her… and felt an agitated buzz in the crotch of her panties.


Now you’ve done it, she thought. All primed for take-off and no runway available.


To take her mind off everything, she went to the kitchen and started washing some dishes for the others. The fact that she was acting as the stereotypical forties housewife while wearing her skirted black costume, right down to the cap tilted rakishly on her blonde head, was not lost on her. Maybe that was why, irresistibly, her thoughts drifted back to Dick and his fantastic lovemaking. She could hardly wait until he got home and climbed into bed with her.


She was so lost in her horny fantasy that she forgot the world around her.


From behind, somebody slipped their hand up her skirt.


Zinda gasped and straightened up from the sink. Deft fingertips tickled deliciously over her wet pussy, inching up to her clit for a delicious moment of pressure. She lost control in that moment, thrusting her hips up to meet that probing finger, feeling it slip the barest degree into her famished sex. She moaned softly.


Then she came to her senses. Her mind was fast enough to go two place simultaneously. The first was thinking that if this weren’t her husband Dick Grayson, then someone was in for one royal ass-whooping. The second was that this touch could only be him.


Still, she jerked her hips so that his finger slipped out of her cunt. She was a good girl, and a little ashamed of how aroused she’d gotten just from feeling his finger some. She blushed furiously and started to turn around, but he pushed forward with his body, shouldering her so she stayed in place. In fact, he bent her forward, over the sink, and pulled up her skirt.


Everybody wants to do that. “You at least bring me flowers, flyboy?”


“Better.” She felt his cockhead nudge against the ripe curve of her left buttock, then his harsh breath on the back of her neck as he bent forward to sling her panties down her legs. “You’re wet enough for it.”


Zinda bit her lip. Oh hell—if you couldn’t be a slut with your husband, when could you? “I’ll say this for you, ya don’t keep a gal waitin’!”


He lined himself up with her passage, preparing to thrust, but she suddenly clenched her buttocks and straightened, denying him. Zinda heard him growl in distress, barely able to handle the delay.


“Waitin’ too much, that is.”


“Flowers,” Dick promised her. “And a steak dinner, first chance I get.”


Zinda moaned submissively and waved her ass at him. Even if it was her right, she couldn’t punish him too long. If the other girls got home, there’d be a feeding frenzy. Right now, she had him all to herself…


“Do it to me, Dick. Do it!”


The sight of Zinda’s round ass waving him on, curtained and partially obscured by the skirt that was pulled up over it, had the same effect on Dick that a red flag has on a bull. He guided the engorged head of his cock between her shapely buttocks and found himself in the heat of her wet slit, momentarily overwhelmed by it, forced to savor those first few hints of her tightness, her warmth, the embrace she offered his manhood. Then he was equally unable to resist the urge to slide deep into her hot cunt.


“Uh, baby!”


It was what Dick had been dying for ever since he finished fucking Misfit. For a moment, he thought he was going to come right then. But he got a hold of himself. Even in his delirium, he wanted Zinda to enjoy this. It was what got him off most, hearing a beautiful woman like this, who could have any man she wanted, thanking God that she had him.


He drove his cock into her in long, even strokes.


Zinda felt like she was being born again. It’d been so long and this was so good. Her whole body vibrated with pleasure as Dick worked his steady pace in and out of her trembling pussy. She felt so depraved, bent over the goddamn sink like a slutty maid carrying on an affair, wagging her ass at him, begging him to impale her on his cock. She was shaking so hard with excitement that she was sure she would have fallen to her knees if she hadn’t had the sink to hold her up.


“It’s good, Dick! Ohhh… it’s sooooo good!”


Dick thought Lady Blackhawk had never looked or sounded more beautiful. It was like Zinda was right in the same space he was, needing it as bad as he did. For all her barhopping, skirt-wearing reputation, she’d never done anything as provocative as begging him to fuck her—a freak in the streets but a lady in the sheets. Now her taut asscheeks were moving with feverish enthusiasm—the movements of a woman who needed his cum sizzling inside her.


He clutched her rich, sleek flesh and kneaded it with his fingers while his cock glided in and out of her sex, gleaming with evidence of her arousal. She clenched herself around his cock and his shaft ached with pleasure as it fought through her tightness. Each time he shoved himself into her cunt, Dick asked himself how he could ever have thought fucking Zinda was some kind of chore. She was a beautiful woman. A great fuck.


“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” he husked out, seeing the rough words billow into Zinda’s hair, part it into golden threads. “I love you. I love fucking you. Zinda baby…”


His voice did something to the woman. She began to writhe and moan even more frantically than before. She was submerged in the heated atmosphere of Dick’s lust. Her husband loved her, he wanted her, thought her beautiful and desirable. That was exactly what Zinda wanted to hear, exactly what was needed to take all her impulses toward control and modesty and turn them into raw need.


“I love fucking you too!” Zinda moaned, her cap slipping down over her eyes as she responded eagerly to his thrusts. “You have such a wonderful cock! It fills me up so nice!”


Even wrapped up in the sensory overload of fucking Zinda from behind, Dick understood the extent of her arousal. She had gone a long time without the intense, satisfying sex she craved. Her body was trembling before him, filling with need. Her cunt was clasping his cock with sheer hunger. He aimed to satisfy it, fucking her faster and deeper.


He was beginning to appreciate the depth of the goldmine he had just discovered. As good as Barbara and Kory and Helena were, there was something special about Zinda’s sexual curiosity, her old-fashioned mores coupled with new-fangled liberation, a mixture of well-honed knowledge and almost virginal willingness. He had thought he’d learned everything there was to know about Zinda, sexually, on their first fuck, that she was just another warm body Barbara had piled on him. Only now was he coming to realize how much more there was to know, the depth of experience he had almost allowed to escape them.


“God, Zinda, never let me forget how much I love you! Promise me that! I’m your husband! Never stop being my wife!”


“Oh yes, Dick! Yes! Yes!”


Tears started to flow down Zinda’s cheeks. She felt a little embarrassed; this wasn’t the time for tears. She was bent over the kitchen sink with her husband’s cock deep inside her. So maybe it was. Maybe this was what she’d always wanted. To fly, to fight, but also to have someone waiting for her when she came home—someone as unashamed, as shameless, as she had ever been.


Her pussy spasmed around his member. It was ready to be his.


“Oh, lord, Dick, I’m coming! Y’all are makin’ me come!”


Watching her ass squirm and clench as she rode her climax out like a rough landing in a beat-up plane, Dick felt a raw lust seize him. It was ripping the cum straight out of his balls, intense and pure, headed straight for Zinda’s cunt.


“I’m with you, Zinda! Get ready for the flood!”


Zinda seemed to realize what was happening all at once. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes focusing and staring into his face. Then, quickly, she elbowed him back. His prick slipped from her sex and she whirled around, dropping onto her knees and gripping it in her hand.


“Ah’ve always wanted t’ try this!” she cried, her accent thickening into a slur.


She squeezed him tight, milking him in her fist. And the two of them watched as a long jet of cum spurted up her face and into her hair, actually strong enough to knock her hat from her head. She tugged on the cock as if she wanted to pull it up by the roots. And another milky helping shot free.


“Yes! Shoot it! Oh yes!” she cooed, watching his jism dribble down over her fingers. “Shoot out all your lovely fuel!”


He gazed down at his gushing cock. He watched it spurt out one last jet of semen onto her face. “So sticky,” she smiled, the dregs of his cum still pouring out over her fingers.


Then his cock began firming again, seeming to pull Zinda’s hand to it, over it like a magnet. Helplessly, she stroked it in her fist and watched as it got even bigger, even harder. Zinda’s mouth fell open, just as a dollop of Dick’s seed ran down over her lips.


“I think I’d best get into something more comfortable,” Zinda said, gulping, and swallowing more than the lump that had appeared in her throat. “Like my birthday suit.”


“No,” Dick told her, and his cock thrummed powerfully in her grip. “Leave it on. Leave it all on.”




Stumbling if not limping, Talia and Nyssa made their way out of the factory, Batman in-between them. Talia consented to lean on him in her struggle to stay upright, while Nyssa stubbornly refused. Still, Batman was quick with a steadying hand to make sure she didn’t fall over, tired as she was.


Ivy watched all this with an air of disbelief. It had been an hour since her pheromones had taken over and in that time, an eighteen-wheeler had pulled up, masked workmen had secured the wreckage of the Batmobile, and a new one—driven by autopilot no doubt—had shown up to wait patiently, nearly invisible in an alleyway.


As Bruce and the two women approached it, the car’s cockpit slid back. The operation was quiet, so smooth as to nearly be unnoticeable, and so didn’t serve to jar Nyssa awake as she finally lost consciousness. Bruce caught up, scooping her up in his strong arms.


Talia didn’t fall out of her lean against him, but when he straightened, it was obvious that Talia had fallen asleep against his shoulder. Bruce wrapped an arm around her midsection, cradling Nyssa in the other as easily as a child, and almost effortlessly escorted the two women into the backseat of the Batmobile. There, they slumped into the deepest, easiest sleep Ivy had ever seen, pulling tightly to one another as their exhaustion caught up with them.


Bruce pulled an emergency blanket from one of the many compartments inside the cockpit and threw it over them, tucking the edges under their bodies with mild complaint from the otherwise comatose women. But finally, they were tucked in, beyond motionless as Bruce secured them both with seatbelts, then pulled cargo netting down over them. Ivy wondered if the crash of his previous vehicle had made him paranoid. Didn’t seem possible for him to get more so.


“Are you coming?” Bruce asked into the night, and though he didn’t direct his gaze or hearing her direction in the slightest, Ivy knew he was speaking to her.


She sauntered out of the darkness, heedlessly showing off her body. She didn’t feel so proud of it, not after seeing Talia and Nyssa unclothed, but she was determined to project a haughty arrogance nonetheless. “You seem to have your hands full already.”


“Is it my hands you’re interested in?”


Ivy was agog a moment—she couldn’t help but think of how he had handled Talia and Nyssa, handled both of them at once, and each of them a warrior who made Harley look like one of the Riddler’s henchmen.


Bruce chopping his hand on the passenger seat in a curt gesture snapped Ivy out of it. “I need a ride,” she said, trying to sound dismissive, but the double meaning struck her afterward and ruined her cool. Nevertheless, she went to get into the passenger seat, making a production of slinging a long leg over the frame and descending down into the seat.


Bruce smoothly vaulted over his side of the Batmobile, dismounting ably into the driver’s seat, and the canopy slid down to seal them in like a tomb. With its opaque glass over them, the interior of the Batmobile was suddenly cramped, claustrophobic—intimate.


Ivy felt as if she were in a greenhouse, the warmth and light undeniable, almost forcing her to grow. Swell.


Bruce Wayne was Batman.


She had fucked Batman.




Bruce was all too aware of Ivy’s body next to him in the car. She’d made no effort to pull her skirt down when she got into the Batmobile. Her soft thighs were visible nearly to her crotch, while her hugely billowing tits gave ample evidence that she did not wear a bra under the vines that covered her, sweeping from her waist to either dangle down her legs or circle her neck in a halter.


From the look of things, he’d be willing to bet that she wasn’t wearing any panties either. Could she have grown fresh plants to clothe herself? Perhaps she’d worn nothing at all when she’d followed him to this factory, interfering in al Ghul’s ambush.


Despite his discipline, provocative thoughts brought stirring life to Bruce’s cock. He knew he was tensing up, knew his manhood was beginning to swell painfully… but perhaps that wasn’t a problem.


She had, after all, saved his life.


Ivy laughed suddenly, shrilly. “It’s funny. I was just beginning to think there were two men in the world worth any time. Bruce Wayne and Batman. Of course, you’d turn out to be one and the same.”


Bruce broke the silence like he was chiseling away with a hammer. “I didn’t get the impression that you found me so interesting when you were trying to kill me.”


“Which time? When you were Batman or Bruce?”


Ivy took a hairbrush out from where it was holstered in the vines girdling her hips. She dragged it through her wealth of rusty red hair.


Her blasé act struck Bruce as challenging. “I’ve only ever been Bruce Wayne.”


“Well then, trying to kill you was just business. Like when you chopped down all those trees.”


“Wayne Enterprises is one of the most eco-friendly companies in America.”


Ivy pretended obliviousness. “And as for Batman, he kept getting in my way. Taking me off to Arkham. Though I suppose now it’s obvious what you really wanted to do. So I guess I should be grateful you didn’t.” A volley of smooth, straight hair fell before her face, released from her comb. “Or maybe I should be upset you didn’t get to it sooner.”


“Maybe I don’t believe in premarital sex,” Bruce taunted.


Ivy looked around the cockpit, eyeing her reflection in the canopy’s darkly tinted glass. “It’s quite an experience to be in here with no handcuffs. Makes it seem more spacious. Do you keep change in here for the toll?”


Her red polished nails scraped over the console, teasingly probing the buttons in her way before she got to the gearshift, fondling it playfully. Bruce kept his eyes on the road. She moved on, going to the compartment between their seats and opening it up. She fingered inside until she found a pack of gum. Bringing it to her lips like a pack of cigarettes, she mouthed one stick of gum out, unwrapped it with her tongue, and sucked the stick in. Then she carefully folded the wrapper and dropped it pointedly to the floor.


When she’d touched the gearshift, he’d wished that she’d pull her skirt down.


Ivy could tell these things. The skirt was nearly up to her waist now.


“Something for Robin?”


“For anyone who likes having good breath.”


“You didn’t ever offer me one on my way to Arkham.”


“Your breath was fine.”


Ivy smacked her lips. “I hear that this latest Robin is your kid. That you had him with one of them back there.” She blew a bubble, popped it, swallowed it. “Of course, if they haven’t had your kid yet, I’m sure they will now…”


“What would you know about that?” Bruce asked, eyes glancing over to her in an iota of interest.


Ivy smiled into his attention. “Ra’s and I’ve been in the same circles. A team-up, you might say. But it didn’t last. More of a one-night stand.” Ivy smiled. “Guess it is two men who interest me. And guess you do believe in premarital sex.”


“Talia and I are married.”


Ivy took the revelation without much notice. Easily, she said “Do you and your wife fuck a lot?”


“Did it look like we needed practice?” Despite himself, Bruce could feel his face redden slightly.


“You don’t. Not a lot. I know you don’t. You missed your exit. Collard Drive’s the quickest way back to the manor.”


“We’re not taking Collard Drive.” Bruce glanced over his shoulder to check the traffic. No one following him, or even seeming to notice the silent specter of the Batmobile prowling the night. Good. He liked it that way.


“Mmm. That cave.” Ivy had been there on a few occasions, for detainment or interrogation the police couldn’t be trusted with. She hadn’t been sitting up front for those trips. “I’ve always wondered how you get to it. You haven’t had enough cunt lately. I can tell.”


Ivy smiled, resting her crimson hair on the headrest, staring at the older man.


“I’ve had you.”


“Not enough of me.” Ivy’s legs parted. “Not enough for either of us.”


Bruce was all too conscious of the condition that throbbed unforgivingly in his pants. He twitched in the driver’s seat.


Now Ivy shrugged and gave a knowing little smile. “Even with all you’re getting, you’re too uptight. You’ve got a hard-on. You’ve had a hard-on ever since you laid eyes on me.”


“I’ve had a hard-on ever since Talia and Nyssa opened their legs to me.”


“They couldn’t handle it. I can.” Without warning, Ivy reached over and touched the bulge in his trousers. “I can handle it right now.”


The touch was like striking a match in a room full of gas. She left her hand on the throbbing mountain of his desire, not teasing him, not caressing, merely leaving the contact open. Ivy’s eyes were locked on his face; the intensity was something he could feel. She seemed to be asking something… and receiving silent answers.


“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck the Batman. And I guess I can live with Bruce Wayne. We are married, after all.” She glanced over her shoulder out the rear window, then ahead of them. “Keep driving.”


She had some plan, obviously. Her actions were unmistakable. Through a haze of suspicion and growing heat, Bruce felt her hand leave his lap and begin fumbling with his belt.


“I know it’s booby-trapped,” Ivy said. “But I’ve gotten very good at taking it off. Let’s see…”


She unfastened it. A second later his zipper scraped, and her knowledgeable hand released his heavily throbbing cock from the confines of his underwear. He groaned deep in his throat. “Secondary trap system… goes off if you try to take the belt from my body.”


“I know. You always worry about being disarmed. Never what someone could do… just by touching you.” She stroked him a couple of times. “You’re going to stay on top of Harley. In every sense of the word. I want her well-fucked, well-fed, and given everything her heart desires. I can’t make her kiss my foot, but you can. And you’re going to keep her so busy down there she’ll never even think of the Joker.”


“That’s the plan,” Bruce replied. He could feel sweat streaming from under his mask.


“Your cock’s beautiful,” Ivy said breathlessly, seemingly unaware that the topic had segued from negotiation to sex. Perhaps there was no difference to her. “So big. So hard.”


She lovingly pumped it for a few seconds, then rolled it like a cigar between her hands. The reflected light from the dashboard showed her hand moving up and down on his thick member. Already he could feel the gathering cum in his balls. Ivy was an expert; she knew what she was doing in a way that even Talia and Nyssa’s literally immortal sexual histories didn’t. His breath came faster and faster.


Bruce was so caught up in the delicious experience that Ivy had to make her request twice. “What?” he muttered, not really sure he comprehended.


“Move the seat further back,” Ivy repeated.


Bruce belatedly set the Batmobile to autopilot, then reached down for the seat release and pushed with his back. They slid all the way back.


“Don’t take the mask off,” Ivy ordered. Then she bent forward and her barely parted lips slipped wetly down over his pulsing shaft.


“Hnnngh!” It was a groan wrenched from Bruce’s soul. He felt his prick give another jerk as if it were alive and independent of him. He knew he could’ve tried to will it limp, to banish the lewd thoughts swirling in his head, but more than his physical seduction was the mental. He wanted it to remain hugely swollen, growing with every flick of Ivy’s shameless tongue.


And why shouldn’t he? Perhaps this was as close to love as Ivy could get, aside from the refocused narcissism of her relationship with Harley, the love she held for a seed she’d planted and cared for in the unforgiving soil of the Joker’s twisted wreckage. Whatever her actual affections, he knew Ivy well enough to know she would never debase herself like this for the sake of a deception. On some level, she truly was attracted to him, saw this whole thing as some kind of deal and this as some mingling of side benefit and duty. An arrangement, like a plant sucking in carbon dioxide and expelling oxygen. Mutually beneficial.


Her tongue flicked hotly at the opening of his cock, then ran maddening circles around the head. She wrapped her lips around his cockhead so that her mouth felt like a soft, warm condom, being pulled slowly down his shaft.


With her free hand, Ivy reached down into his pants and began gently squeezing his balls in rhythm to her teasing little suckles. Up and down her mouth moved, gently bobbing like she was pumping oil. Bruce was about to go out of his mind from the sensation, his hands straight out, locked on the wheel just for something to hang onto.


Ivy took him deep into her throat. Faster, faster her head moved until Bruce could stand it no longer. He arched his back and raised his ass off the seat to fuck his cock further down her throat. Ivy took it all and, as the head of his prick began swelling enormously, she sucked vigorously. Bruce glanced down and could see her lips bulging as they clung to his wildly fucking cock.


He continued to thrust up to meet her, and she continued to take him. His teeth were clenched shut and hoarse panting whistled through them. His manhood felt as though it weighted a ton—hot molten lava restlessly surging below a volcano.


Bruce knew that, after the long interval of denying himself to please Talia and Nyssa, he was now on the verge of coming. His seed gathered, seething and boiling. The eruption was imminent. Low guttural noises of pleasure came rumbling out of his throat. He was almost there… almost… almost. Now!


The first hot spurts of cum boiled out of his balls and screamed along his shaft. “Hahhhhh!” His cry was meant to give her some warning, but the sound merely increased her sucking frenzy. The hot cum soared out of his manhood in great gushing amounts, and she went on sucking furiously as he put everything he had into her wonderfully greedy mouth.


And still he came, as years of pent-up frustration in fighting her, resisting her, wanting her, yearning for her, needing her defeat and submission and final, irrevocable alignment with him. Not out of fear of a larger threat or as part of some con, but to genuinely and permanently see her no longer a threat, to anyone.


It was what he’d hoped for all along with this undertaking, and seeing his wildest dreams realized manifested itself physically. Just as his drive for justice had created the armor of Batman and the well-disciplined power of Bruce Wayne, his quest for her redemption became almost a cup of semen.


Ivy used her tongue to tease, her lips to suck, until his manhood slowly began to deflate. It was as though she felt it necessary to suck every last drop of whitely heated seed from his balls. She continued to work until he was sure he would have another erection, then she stopped. It was then Bruce realized she hadn’t been able to breathe.


She pulled herself off his generous member, cum drooling out of her lazily opened mouth, to finally lay her chin down on his lap and lean her head against his crotch. Bruce gave a mumbled sigh of happy release and abruptly became aware that the Batmobile—lights on, motor running—was standing motionless in the garage of the Batcave where his autopilot had left it.


Ivy licked her cum-dripping lips, then brushed her lips against his member as if trying to wipe away the lipstick smeared on it.


“I can trust you, can’t I Batm… Bruce? You always seemed like the only one who gave a damn… Batman, I mean… and if you’re really Bruce, then I guess he gives a damn too…”


“You can trust me,” Bruce said, reaching down to pet her hair. “I’ll never do anything to hurt you.”


“Yeah… that’s right… and you won’t hurt me either… you never did want to hurt me, did you?”




“All this time, telling me I needed help. I never thought you’d be the one to help me. People don’t take responsibility like that. They pass everything along. Ignore it. Hope it goes away. Whether it’s a toxic waste dump or a… or a woman who’s been hurt.”


Ivy slithered up until she was enclosed in his arms. Her face was wet—glistening from the cum and streaked with her lipstick. She hugged him tightly and he wrapped his arms around her, the gesture that he’d become so practiced in applying to Harley. Perhaps they had more in common than just sex and crime. Perhaps, damaged and wounded, they saw in each other lost souls like their own. Perhaps that was what Ivy saw in him as well, now that he’d let her see all of him.


Then, imperious as a cat—perhaps Ivy had something in common with Selina as well—the redhead wiped her mouth with his cape. “Do I look presentable? Can you tell I’ve been sucking you off?”


He inspected her face, and shook his head.


“Can we go to bed, then?”


“Get Nyssa,” Bruce told her. “I’ll carry Talia.”


“Nyssa’s cuter anyway.” She smiled as she slid out to collect Nyssa from the backseat. As her skirt flared up, Bruce realized he had been right. She wasn’t wearing panties after all. The crevice of her smooth young buttocks was a dark inviting line at the top of her smooth thighs.


Bruce pressed the quick-release on his costume’s systems, letting it fall apart to leave him in only his boxers and undershirt. He wiped away the greasepaint that further concealed his identity, using his forearm, then picked up Talia.


Then, he followed after Ivy.

Chapter Text


Vicki woke up when her head slipped under the water. She came up for air gasping and sputtering, to find herself in a fine porcelain bathtub, the water gone lukewarm and quilted with the scum of dissipated bubble bath. She ladled water over her face and hair, scouring herself clear of anything that might be clinging to her, then stepped out of the tub. She was too freaked to care much about someone seeing or recording in the few seconds it took her to grab a towel from the bar.


Her reporter’s instincts came to the forefront. She remembered going to Wayne Manor—and the bathroom was plastered with the sterling W monogram, on the towels, on the pebbled glass of the shower, on the bath mat. It was like a themed hotel, just this side of tasteful, but only just.


She couldn’t quite remember how she’d ended up in this tub, but her old clothes were missing, not in the empty hamper either. But there were fresh clothes laid out for her. Drying herself off quickly, she changed into them. They fit her perfectly.


There was a gentle rap at the door. “Are you decent, Vicki?”


She recognized the voice. “Bruce?” She flew to jerk the door open. There he stood, wearing an elegantly casual outfit—chinos, polo shirt, penny loafers. “What happened? What am I doing here?”


“You came here for an interview,” Bruce prompted her. “Unfortunately, you wandered into the garden, where Ivy was working on some of her experiments. I’m afraid you caught a small dose. You passed out, fell in the mud, I offered to let you wash up—you must’ve fallen asleep. I suppose  until the gas wore off.”


“You just let Ivy grow some hazardous chemical on your grounds?” Vicki demanded.


“I let women do all sorts of things,” Bruce said urbanely. “Would you like to go on with the interview now?”


For a journo, that was no question at all.




“After you,” he said, ushering her into his oak-paneled home office. She swept by him in a mist of jasmine, the perfume she’d found no doubt left by a past lover. His eyes were riveted to her ass as her buttocks flounced under her short skirt. He had picked out the skirt, probably guessing correctly that it would display her thighs, trim and fit, all the way down to her knee-high boots. Those were better suited to what she’d been wearing, but they proved startlingly erotic with bare skin.


Vicki stopped in the middle of the spacious office, atop the luxurious carpet, and turned around with her pocket recorder in hand. “A lovely office, Mr. Wayne,” she said.


“Please,” Bruce said. “I thought we’ve moved on to just ‘Bruce and Vicki.’”


“Perhaps when we’re off the clock.”


“I didn’t know I was on the clock.” He took Vicki by the arm and steered her toward a chair. Her flesh was vibrantly alive under his fingers. After all the ‘misfit toys’ he’d interacted with, a normal—albeit beautiful—woman was paradoxically exotic. “Do sit down. I’m sure your readers are quite interested in how my wives and I are holding up. I’d rather they hear the truth from someone they can trust, such as yourself, not some muckraker…”


Vicki smiled up at him with ruby lips, standing in front of the chair. “I understand, Mr. Wayne,” she said. “The truth is why I came here today. Oh, I hope to interview you of course. But my real purpose is that… there’s something I have to say.”


Bruce shook his head and laughed. “Vicki… I know.”


“You… do?”


“Of course. It’s not the first time.”


It’s not?


“No.” Bruce laid a hand on her shoulder and eased her back into her chair. “Even with that whiff you took, I’m sure you remember what happened at the restaurant. You can’t stop thinking about it. You can’t get me out of your head.”


Vicki blinked. He was disconcertingly close to the mark—she had been fascinated by where that cruel, capricious, and frighteningly effective lust had come from, sprouting from America’s shallowest playboy, a depth charge proving that still waters ran deep. She liked to think that if she’d just been picked up at a bar and fucked like that, she’d just give the guy a ring and see if they could be a regular weekend thing. But coupling that performance with an elaborately harmless, essentially amicable man like Bruce Wayne made her smell a story.


Still, his arrogant words hit too close to home for her not to snap in retaliation. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you!? I get hung up on you while you run along, chalking me up as just another of your conquests!”


His eyes darkened. For a moment, she thought she saw the animal that had fucked her before. “Actually, I was thinking that as long as you’re interested, we’d make a good team. You’re a smart, capable woman—an excellent journalist—we could do a lot for this city, working together.”


Vicki gulped, her eyes sliding downward. She looked away before they reached his lap. “I thought you already had a publicist.”


“That’s not what I’m talking about.”


Vicki stared at him as if she could see what he was implying. It sounded too good to be true. Could Bruce Wayne, the playboy, really be a tiger in disguise?


“What I’m doing with Ivy and Harley is only the beginning. You’re a reporter. You know there’s more to me than wine tastings and soirees. Through Wayne Enterprises, there’s social work, charities, job creation—“


“And what about the wine tastings?” Vicki asked him, voice rich with insinuation. “The soirees?”


“They’re more fun,” Bruce replied darkly. “Wouldn’t you agree?”


None of this sounded like Bruce, even if she knew intellectually that his company was generally on the up and up, that for as much time as he spent in the gossip columns, he really did care about something besides adding zeroes to his bank account. He was just trying to spare her feelings, she thought. She smiled sadly and patted his hand.


“It’s alright, Bruce,” Vicki said. “You can tell me the truth. What happened that night was just… beginner’s luck. Too bad, because I always did have a bit of a crush on you. But you have Harley, Ivy, you don’t need me, I don’t really turn you on—“


“Bullshit,” Bruce said, and lunged for her.


Vicki gave a squeak of surprise and the next thing she knew, he was pinning her down on the couch, his hard body pressed hotly against hers. He ground his mouth over her lips, kissing her savagely, thrusting his tongue deep. Vicki felt shock—and excitement. This was what Bruce had been like before. It wasn’t just a fluke.


“Join me,” Bruce asked huskily. “Be my wife. It’ll always be this good.”


Vicki quivered with sexual delight. “Prove that you really want to marry me.”


He rolled off her, picked her up, and carried her down the hall to the bedroom. Vicki trembled in his arms, praying that he was telling the truth. She knew now how much pleasure she could feel, the heights of ecstasy she could reach, and that she needed a hot-blooded man to take her there. Could Bruce be the one she'd been looking for all the time? Rich, handsome, and even a little compassionate? Again it seemed too good to be true.


In the bedroom he set her on her feet and kissed her again hard and hungry, running his hands up and down her tall, lusciously curved body. She could feel him trembling—but with timidity or lust? She'd soon find out. The next few minutes would determine whether she could really marry Bruce Wayne.


"Undress me," he said roughly.


Vicki felt a wicked thrill as she sank to her knees and began taking off his shoes and socks. The time before at the restaurant, for all its pleasures, had been degrading and frighteningly intense, but it had taught her about her real self. Inside the quiet, modest workaholic there was a wicked slut, a wanton woman who loved rough, no-holds-barred fucking. She prayed that Bruce would meet her needs. If he did, he might well be the perfect man.


He stepped out of his shoes and socks, and Vicki rose to remove his belt. She noticed that his face was flushed, but she wasn't sure if it was embarrassment or lust. She pulled his shirt off, tousling his thick dark hair. A powerful wave of lust shook her as she admired his hard hairy chest. She kissed him there, greedily and lustily, before reaching for his groin.


Her hands were trembling by the time she got to his fly. She knew it wasn't nerves. It was violent, unashamed desire. She could hardly wait to get him naked, to touch and taste and explore his exciting muscular body, to feel his cock inside her. The thought of Bruce had always turned her on like mad. But that was nothing compared to the real thing.


With shaking fingers she finally managed to unzip his fly and help him out of his pants. Only his jockey shorts were left. Vicki felt another dizzying wave of longing as she stared at his crotch and saw that it was hugely tented. His big hard cock bulged obscenely, threatening to burst right through the cloth.


Bruce was trembling slightly as she lowered his shorts, breathing hard, flushed in the face. Vicki brought the elastic waistband gently down over his powerful erection, then whisked the shorts down to his ankles. She got them off, then swiftly returned her eyes to what attracted her most, his fiercely erect manhood.


It was just as she remembered it from their one and only fuck, a magnificent thick ten inches of cock, the head huge and hard and purple. It sprang stiffly from his crisp brown bush, hugging his flat belly, the shiny head oozing big bright bubbles of pre-cum. His handsome rosy balls were swollen up round and tight. Vicki felt saliva pooling in her mouth.


"Oh, Bruce!" she gasped. "My God!"


She couldn't control her wicked impulses. She seized the hard throbbing stalk and drew his huge knobby cockhead down to touch her lips. She kissed it hotly, then opened her mouth and inserted the huge hard tip, letting it rest on her tongue. Bruce gasped and shuddered. She started to suck slowly, longingly, on the big juicing bell-end.


She felt she'd be content to stay like that forever, on her knees, sucking slowly and deliciously and strongly on his huge handsome cock, giving pleasure to the man who had become her obsession. Glancing up, she saw that Bruce was beet-red in the face, his nostrils quivering, his eyes rolling. He panted and quivered as she sucked him, and his fingers strayed into her thick glossy red hair and caressed her there.


Vicki began to ease more and more of his thick hard meat onto her tongue. It was a huge prick, bigger than any she’d had before, and it stretched her small mouth widely, but she felt only excitement as she eased the stiff shaft toward her throat. She opened her silky wet throat and took in the powerful head of his dick. His swollen balls came to rest against her chin.


"That’s good, Vicki," Bruce moaned, his fingers gripping convulsively in her hair. “That’s real good…”


Vicki began to suck with real hunger now, fast and hard, keeping the huge hard head of his dick lodged snugly in her throat. Her saliva boiled and gushed around his slick meat, and her tongue tickled and lashed the cock she adored. She tasted his pre-cum again and found it even better than before, much better. She had no reservations at all about blowing this man, eating his come.


"Keep going, Vicki. Don’t stop. You’re almost done with your column," Bruce was moaning, his voice hoarse with pleasure, his fingers caressing feverishly in her hair.


More and more of his delicious liquid dribbled out onto her tongue and down her throat, inspiring Vicki to suck his prick even faster and harder. With others there had been shame, self-loathing, a feeling that she was degrading herself by performing for someone who didn’t deserve her, but with Bruce she could let herself go completely. Her loud, greedy, uninhibited sucking told him how much she wanted him.


"Unnhh!" he gasped. "That's beautiful, Vicki—just beautiful! You don’t know how good you look with my cock down your throat!"


She sucked harder and harder, applying powerful vacuum to his big tasty prick, till Bruce was groaning and dizzy with pleasure, almost losing his balance.


"Christ!" he gasped. "That's enough. You’ll make me come before you’ve had your fun. Let's save that hard-on."


But that plea gave Vicki an idea. If he really wanted her, if he was as horny for her as he said, he'd get another erection. It would be a test—a test she was very eager to administer. She salivated hugely as she thought of eating his cum. She reached around him, cupping his tautly muscled ass, and held him in place, his leaking dick trapped in her mouth and throat.


"Vicki, damnit," he panted helplessly, "let go or I'll shoot my load. I swear to Christ—AHHHHHH!"


Vicki felt a huge blast of hot jism that overflowed her throat and filled her mouth. She swallowed it greedily, making loud sucking and gurgling noises. His convulsing prick went on shooting the thick tasty cream, but she swallowed it as fast as it came. Bruce wailed with pleasure and jerked his squirting cock in her mouth till it was exhausted and limp. Then he staggered back dizzily and sat on the edge of the bed, panting and flushed.


"Vicki!" he chuckled. "I wanted to save that for your hot little pussy. I'm supposed to be proving something, remember? I seem to recall you liked it there…"


"Oh, you can still prove it, lover," Vicki purred. "I'll help you."


Standing in front of him, she stripped off her clothes, drawing her blouse open and letting it slip from her shoulders. She was totally naked underneath—on some level, not wearing the underwear he’d provided had been a silent prayer for just this outcome. Only she’d been hoping that he would find the unused clothing after she left, and be filled with lust for their next meeting. Not that he’d have her at his mercy already!


She saw Bruce's eyes widen in hot appreciation as the outerwear fell to the floor and revealed her magnificent body. She stood there brazenly, a little lusty grin on her face, and let him look. His hot eyes focused on her big melon-sized tits, when their creamy smooth skin and dainty rose-colored nipples. Then his gaze traveled slowly down her sleek curved belly to the pretty little triangle that covered her sex in red. Vicki wantonly thrust her belly forward and parted her legs a little, giving him a peek at her luscious pink slit.


"It's all yours, darling," she purred, "every inch of it, now and forever. You can do anything you want with me, Bruce."


As she spoke, she watched his limp wet prick stiffen and rise into a heavy thick column of hard white flesh.


"Now prove your point," she said.


Bruce's arm snaked out; he grabbed her wrist and pulled her roughly to him. She stumbled between his hairy hard thighs, and he closed them to hold her there. He buried his flushed face in her fragrant soft bush, breathing hot and hard. Vicki felt a dizzying wave of lust, her eager pussy creaming a big flood of juice that trickled down her legs.


"Vicki," Bruce teased, "I always thought you were a nice girl."


"I am," Vicki laughed, "and since we’ve met, I’ve wanted to be a nice fuck too."


Bruce chuckled. "It was mutual," he said. "The first time we met, I wanted to throw you down on the floor, right there in the press room, and fuck you silly. I guess we haven't been communicating very well, Ms. Vale."


"Let's communicate right now," Vicki suggested wickedly. "What would you like to tell me?"


"This," said Bruce.


He pressed his face into her glossy red muff again and stuck out his long slippery tongue and wriggled it down into the thick fur till he was tickling the small hot nub of her clit. His tongue tip pressed hungrily against the scorching hot button of flesh and flicked eagerly back and forth.


"OHHHHHHH!" Vicki gasped. "Oh, God, YES! Lick my clit darling, I love that more than anything. Oh, my God, YES!"


Bruce's hot slick tongue rimmed lashed and massaged her greedy little nubbin, and Vicki moaned with pleasure. Her aroused pussy creamed more and more, floods gushing down her inner thighs. She swayed dizzily in Bruce's embrace and clawed his shoulders. His lashing tongue thrilled her far more than even the bad girls who’d been bad enough to take her ‘hostage.’ It was because she’d wanted him for so long. And more than that, she’d had him once already, whetting her appetite even more than he had satisfied it. She thought this delicious anticipation, which he more than lived up to, would last forever with them.


After a few moments of wicked teasing, Bruce emerged from her groin and eased her onto the bed. Vicki didn't need encouragement. She looked at him with wide eyes as he arranged her to his satisfaction. He laid her on her back and stuffed a pillow under her pert little ass, raising up her lovely scarlet pussy. He eased her legs far apart, bending them back at the knees, opening her completely to his scouring gaze.


Vicki felt no shame, no urge to close her legs. She felt that her whole red scorching-hot slit belonged to him and that she wanted him to feast his eyes on it. That was just what he did, hungrily taking in her little jewel of a clit, her plumply swollen pussy lips with their dainty fringe of red hair, the wet shadowed mouth of her cunt, and the little pucker of her asshole.


"Miss Vale," he said solemnly, "how'd you like to have your pussy eaten?"


"I'd love it, Mr. Wayne," she said primly.


Bruce chuckled and knelt between her soft pale thighs. His head dipped down into her steamy exposed pussy, and Vicki creamed hugely just from the excitement of his hot moist breath fanning her aroused gash. Then she felt his firm lips sucking in her fat little clit, sucking it hard and fast and greedily.


"Ohhhhhhhh!" Vicki wailed. "YES!"


She went completely out of control, bucking her hips, screaming, clawing the bed, her hot pussy gushing out to soak his face. Bruce's head bobbed up and down in her crotch as he sucked furiously on her erect and sensitive button. She almost fainted with pleasure, and in a matter of seconds she was having a vicious orgasm.


"Yes, yes, YESSSS!" she wailed. "You're making me come, darling, AHHHHHH!"


No sooner had her spasms died away than Bruce dipped his head even lower in her red-hot soaked slit and she felt his thick long tongue snaking right up her molten cunt. Although she'd just come like crazy, she was instantly aroused again, clenching and squeezing his deep-thrust tongue with the satiny walls of her sex. He tongue-fucked her furiously, the long slippery organ jerking hard and deep in her creamy little hole.


"I can't believe this," Vicki gasped, "but I'm coming again. Oh, ahhhh! OHHHHHHH, YES!"


His tongue kept slamming deliciously inside her as she came, and when she was finished he tongued even lower in her flooded crotch and tickled the small puckered mouth of her anus. Vicki moaned with wicked lust. She screamed with pleasure and nearly rose off the bed as Bruce's slick long tongue crept into her tight little asshole.


"Oh, darling, that's GOOD!" Vicki gasped. "Put your tongue in my ass, YES!"


She wasn't sure how he did it, but in seconds she was having another howling climax. Bruce's thick wet tongue pumped deliciously in her rectum as the wonderful spasms shook her.


Finally she fell back limp and flushed and panting, and he raised his head and flashed her an impish grin.


"I imagine you'd like me to leave now," he teased. "You probably have an article to write."


"Come here, dammit," Vicki laughed, wrapping her arms around him. "You're not getting away till I'm thoroughly fucked."


"Then I guess we’ll just have to continue this interview," Bruce laughed, slipping his hands under her little round butt.


As far as Vicki was concerned, this was the moment of truth. His foreplay had been delicious, the best ever, but would his fucking be the kind she had to have? She remembered the other men she’d been with, their gentle slow unsatisfying strokes, the all-too-quick climax. That wouldn't do. She had to be screwed hard, thoroughly, savagely to satisfy all her long pent-up needs.


She trembled as Bruce fitted the huge hard purple head of his cock to her tiny but eager sex. He was trembling, too, as he pushed into her. It was slow, far too slow and gentle. Vicki forced back tears of frustration. Ten inches of fantastic thick hard meat, and he wasn't using it. He was still treating her like a Goddamned china doll, as if she might break.


"Fuck me, damn it!" she groaned. "Really FUCK me!"


Bruce looked down at her anxiously. "Honey," he panted. "I want to, believe me, but I'm afraid I'd be too rough."


"Do it, Bruce," she moaned. "Let's find out about each other. Everything. Right now. Do it just like you want to."


He saw that she really meant it. Then his long hard body was pressing hard on her, devouring her, and his giant cock began to slam in her tiny narrow cunt without restraint. Vicki felt the breath knocked out of her, felt his huge iron-hard prick battering her womanhood, stuffing and raking her tight little box. He hadn't been kidding, it was rough. It was rough, and she loved it.


"That hard enough for you, baby?" he gasped almost angrily. "You getting it the way you want it?"


"Oh, my God, YES!" Vicki screeched. "I love it, Bruce, it's perfect. Hard, yes, dammit, HARD!"


He cast her one look of amazement and delight, then increased the tempo and force of his fucking till the bed started to creak and their bellies met in loud smacks. Vicki moaned with joy and threw her legs around his pumping ass, digging his wonderfully long cock even deeper into her boiling hot cunt. It was her dream-fuck, the kind she'd always wanted. Even Catwoman at her most savage hadn't balled her like this.


"I love it," she babbled, clawing his sweaty hard shoulders, "I LOVE IT!"


Her only other worry was that he'd come too, before she’d had enough, but again he astonished her. He pumped away like a piston, a tireless fucking machine, and she came again and again until her little flooded box was deliciously sore and satisfied. In fact she was getting more than she'd dreamed of.


"Darling," she said at last, "that's enough, for God's sake. I won't be able to walk."


Bruce kept slamming his huge rock-hard cock in her soaked little box. "I want you to remember this," he panted.


"Oh, I'll remember," Vicki gasped. "Just come now, PLEASE!"


He obligingly flooded her with steamy thick seed, groaning with pleasure. Vicki’s eyes had been clenched shut, as she orgasmed with the first hot charge of semen into her passage, but they opened wider and wider as he just kept coming, filling her, overflowing from her until his cum was backing up out of her pussy, glugging out of it like an overturned carton of milk.


Later, Vicki would think that he had known—somehow, like he was some kind of Sherlock Holmes, he had figured out she was pregnant and decided to cut loose, giving her the full measure of his virile potency, since there was no risk of impregnating her again. And so she bore the brunt of a masculinity in overdrive, all the sublimated sexual need and aggressive maleness brought about by his discipline, his exercise, his fighting, everything. And she was literally almost drowned in it.


Bruce didn't roll off her. His limp wet prick stayed firmly lodged in her gripping little cunt. Vicki purred with satisfaction, stroking his hard sweat-drenched body.


“Who needs to walk, anyway?” he teased. “Anymore questions?”


She was too exhausted not to come at him head-on. “Bruce, I’m pregnant. You’re the father. You’ll have to marry me.”


“Pregnant?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”


She took his hand and laid it on her belly. “Pretty sure.”


"Well," said Bruce. "Just to be certain, let's do it again."


She felt his cock stiffening inside her once more.

Chapter Text

"That's it, baby. That's it!" Dick whispered, watching Zinda go crazy. "Come on, you little finger-fucker. Let her rip! Let her go all the way, you cunt-sucking, little, blonde finger-fucker. Move that ass... yeah!"


His words drove her to a new spasm of motion. "Ohhhh," she moaned. "I'm going to come... I'm going to come."


Dick came as if for both of them, filling her cunt, whitewashing it as he had her face. Zinda’s mouth fell open and his seed, running down her face, dripped into her mouth. For Zinda, it was like he was coming all over her, in her and all around her.


“Oh lord…” she said. “Lord… I need to wash my face off.”


Dick reached past her to the tap of the sink she was bent over and turned the faucet. Cool water poured out and Zinda laughed as it doused her face. It wasn’t quite fucking in the shower, but hell if she would go to another room.


“You hard again?” she asked.




“Wanna use it?”




“My ass, baby,” she said in a soft, pleading voice. “Will you fuck me in the ass?”


“God, yes!” he gasped, unable to believe his good fortune.


Not wanting her man to change his mind, Zinda crammed herself forward into the sink, feeling the running water soak her tunic as she got her sweet ass as high in the air as possible.


Crazed with excitement, Dick spat in his hand and smeared it all over and around her puckered asshole. When her tight asshole was completely saturated with his slippery saliva, he applied more of it to his throbbing shaft.


When he felt they were both sufficiently lubricated, the man grasped her smooth, soft hips with his hands and nudged his hard knob up against the spit-soaked anus. Holding her firmly, he pressed the head of his cock gently against the opening. Failing to penetrate it at first, Dick reached down and spread the tight, elastic ring apart with his thumbs as he pushed his cockhead harder against Zinda’s stubborn asshole.


“Oh, God!” she shuddered when his bloated tip finally slipped through her opening. With her hands clutching frantically at the faucet, she could feel his blistering cock sinking painfully into her passage.


Feeling the walls of her slippery ass squeezing against his throbbing prick, he continued forcing his prick deeper into the hot buttery darkness of her forbidden orifice. When he’d fully penetrated the girl’s luscious ass, Dick reached down under her belly and found her open pussy with his hand.


“Oooooooohhh!” she excitedly sobbed when she felt his middle finger graze against her hard-standing clit.


Feeling the tense muscles around her asshole starting to relax, he began pumping his hard prick in and out of her tight, slippery ass.


The exciting feeling of his finger teasing her quivering clitoris seemed to dissipate the earlier pain of his prick entering her virginal asshole. The strange sensation of his slippery cock sliding in arid out of her unused asshole was beginning to feel good. Very, very good.


“Mmmmmmm,” she moaned, feeling him driving faster and deeper into her ass. “That feels so fucking good!”


The heat and tightness of Zinda’s asshole were driving Dick out of his mind as his swollen balls slapped up against her sex.


“Faster, faster!” she cried out, thrusting her ass back to better receive his pounding prick. “Oooooooh, yes!” she squealed, heaving her body to receive every lusty stroke of his feverishly pounding cock. “Fuck it harder, honey! Fuck my tail off!”


The feel of his finger on her clit and his hard cock ripping up into her tight asshole was driving Zinda wild.


“Oh, shit!” she suddenly shrieked. “Faster, honey, faster! I’m coming… oh, shit, I’m coming!”


Furiously Zinda bucked her hips off the counter, turning her head upward as she squealed with new pleasure, gurgling into the running tap and driving her ravaged asshole up into the hammering shaft of Dick’s member.


Feeling his hot cum gushing up into her asshole, the climaxing girl collapsed beneath him. Smiling to herself as he pumped her writhing ass full of hot jizz, she thought about all the fucking she would enjoy as soon as she woke up.




Dick turned the water off and hoisted Zinda up on the counter to sleep it off. He probably should’ve found a bed for her, but he was far too horny to concentrate on that. If he tried, he probably would’ve fucked her again in that bed, an urge he was trying all too hard to resist.


The Birds of Prey. Kory. Donna. He had to find one of them. They all lived in the Clocktower, where were they?


He walked into the front room and saw Komand’r in the glass isolation cell where she was locked so that the team could keep an eye on her at all times. The lights were turned off except for one on the desk in her little jail, filling the room with a pale light.


During her imprisonment, Komand’r had been allowed to borrow some of Kory’s clothes. They were tall enough for her, but baggy. She had Kory’s height, but not her voluptuous figure—clearly part of the sibling rivalry. Still, she was tall, statuesque, and had a kind of imperious dominatrix quality that he found fascinating, reminding him of his run-ins with Catwoman or Poison Ivy during his Robin days.


“I heard screaming,” Komand’r said. “The fun kind—at least for the other person.”


“Where are others?” Dick asked her. “You can’t be the only one here.”


“I heard you talking, too. You can barely control yourself. It must be taking all of your willpower not to grab hold of your manhood right now and satiate yourself to the sight of me.”


“Not that much willpower,” Dick replied, teeth clenched. He tried to make it look effortless, how he was resisting her, but he couldn’t quite manage. She actually reminded him a little of Donna, with her narrow, classical good looks, almost Nordic, such a startling contrast to her sister. He wondered if the relationship between Kory and Donna had started out as a replacement for Kory’s long-lost sisterhood before it became something far more romantic.


“Maybe we can help each other out,” Komand’r suggested slinkily. “It’s been a long time for me too. Do you like what you see?"  


He nodded. She saw his hand reach down toward his crotch. She figured he was busy fumbling out his prick to begin beating off.


But she wouldn't let him get that far. She didn't want to waste a single precious drop of his pearly, hot jism. She wanted him to actually fuck her. The thought of getting her sister’s husband hot by a strip tease appealed to her. She enjoyed her body, enjoyed moving to display it.


She made a slow turn for him so he could see her from every angle. Arms held even with her shoulders, she displayed her flaring ass and thrusting tits for his lustful gaze. Then she lifted one leg and straightened it in his direction.


Placing her heel on the desk, she gave him a clear view all the way up to her crotch. He could see the white haze of her stocking, the white cotton panties covering her bush, the blush of her skin so close to her cunt.


Spinning away, she began unbuttoning her blouse. One button came free, then another and another. She danced away and found the switch for the radio that Kory, in her generosity, had supplied her. Wouldn’t it serve her right to use it to seduce her husband?


Komand’r turned the radio on and let the soft music fill the air while she slipped first one shoulder, then another free of her clothes.


"You're turning me on," he said in a low voice. It was getting husky with sex. He was anticipating the time she would be naked enough to allow him to fuck the hell out of her.


She was thinking about that, too. It took a lot of effort to keep from ripping off the uniform and standing boldly naked in front of the man, daring him to fuck her. She wanted to make this slow, sensual, irresistible for him.


She wanted his cock to be at the breaking point when he fucked hard and deep into her already juicy pussy. Nothing less would do for her. To have to suck him hard or wait for him to get an erection would take the edge off her own blazing desires and ruin everything. No, she wanted him to need her as he’d never, ever needed Kory.


She wanted cock, too, and it had to be steely and long and as hard as it could possibly be.


She gracefully unhooked her bra snaps in the back and let the elastic bands snap forward. With her shoulders hunched, she was able to hold the cups over her tits for a moment longer than Dick had thought she could.


He came forward. She saw his long, iron-hard boner. This was his fantasy but the sight of that cock all ready to fuck made it hers, too. She decided she liked getting another woman’s man hot and bothered like this. It certainly made her cunt water.


"God, so pretty! I can see the shadows all over your lovely tits. I wish I could play with them, too. The way they jiggle and bounce around!"


"Want to play with my poor little titties? Come closer, closer!"


She moved like a snake. Wiggling closer and closer, she was almost within the man's reach. But when he tried to grab her boobs, he found she was still behind the separating glass. She laughed and jumped up and down, causing her teats to sway provocatively.


"Soon, very soon now," she told him. "It'll all be yours. My lips and mouth and tits and ass and cunt!"


She gave a huge wiggle and what was left of her clothes dropped away. She stood almost naked in front of the man. All she had on was her panties and the garter belt and stockings.


Stripping off the panties proved to be a problem for her. She found that they were already completely drenched with her honey. She was so eager to get naked for Dick's cock, she almost flung them to the floor.


But she didn't. She made it slow, teasing, tormenting in the extreme to the man watching her strip. It paid big dividends. The look on Dick's face as her bush slowly came into sight was worth a dozen fuckings by some random slave's prick. The sexual tensions building in her cunt were reaching levels so high, she felt the lightest touch might set her off.


"Christ, oh, Christ!" he said. "Such a beautiful pussy! I want to stuff my cock all the way up it!"


"What's stopping you, big boy?"


She held out her hands as she lightly danced backwards, hips swaying, tits flopping around. The light from the desk lamp played all over the metal snaps on her garter belt. Light rays reflected and danced with her.


She was everything he could have wanted in a woman. She was beckoning him to come into her arms. Her tits were firm and wantonly naked. The garter belt holding up her stockings outlined her bush so that Dick had no trouble at all seeing exactly where he wanted to stuff his prick.


Komand’r dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands splayed on the glass as if she were trying to reach through and touch him, and she threw her head back and forth, her mane of hair slashing against the glass. Dick could see every inch of her body twist and curl with her gyrations. He was so close to touching her, his hands on the glass as well, his weight leaning into it. If only it weren’t there, he would fall on Komand’r and fuck her as if to make up for all the times he’d done her sister instead of her.


“I’m on my knees,” Komand’r said, “right between your legs. I could suck you down here. I’ll bet you haven’t been sucked in so long that your big prick is just begging for it.”


Dick was so stunned by her words he felt frozen in place. The only thing that moved was his jaw as it slowly dropped to his chest, and his cock, which throbbed painfully upward, lodging under the waistband of his trousers.


"Komand’r... you... don't know what... you're doing," he said, feeling the room spin, grow even hotter.


"Mmmmmmm, I'll just bet your big dick tastes so good," Komand’r said softly, kneeling between his legs.


Komand’r was young, ripe, and seemed to be drenched with sexual appeal. He could almost feel the way those pert tits of hers would feel against his chest, almost taste the steam from that sweet pussy.


"Stop," he murmured again, feeling his fingers on his zipper.


"Do you really want me to stop?" Komand’r teased, watching him free the gigantic slab of cock from his trousers. She ran her tongue up and down the glass in front of it. "Hmmmm? Do you, brother-in-law? My big brother with a big dick."


Yes! God, yes! every cell in his body seemed to cry out.


"No," he heard himself say, feeling forever damned.


"That's good," Komand’r whispered. Now his rock-hard cock was pressing against the glass, one thin layer away from her lips. "Because after I suck you dry, I want you to fuck me."


"Fuck… you?" he spluttered.


"Just like you did Zinda," she grinned, looking through the dark bush of hair. "Only I’m Tamaranian. I can take you again… and again… and again."


"Oh... no!" Dick said, feeling his body shake violently. “No!" he gasped again, already feeling a quick jerk at the base of his cock. It was like Komand’r was touching him already and it was too good to deny.


He reached over, just able to reach the controls without leaving his place in front of Komand’r, and he ordered the glass walls to retract. It seemed to take an eternity for them to move out of the way, but finally they were gone.


When Komand’r gulped to the thick, meaty root of his prick, she felt his cockhead expand completely filling her throat. She licked back up to the massive bulb, then down again. The second her lips touched the wiry hairs, his shaft exploded with violent release. And if she thought Tamaranians had a powerful orgasm, it was nothing compared to what she experienced with her brother-in-law.


"Mmmmmmfff!" she choked, coughing thick, milky globs of cum into his pubic hairs.


"Suck it!" Dick cried out, grabbing her by the hair of the head. He banged her face savagely in and out of his crotch, pounding his cockhead between her tonsils. "Oh... God... suck me good, you little cocksucker!"


As more of his creamy fluid shot into the back of her throat, Komand’r felt her own pleasure heighten dramatically. She began bobbing her head up and down as rapidly as possible, taking quick gulps of the foaming cream while she fingered her boiling pussy at the same time. Within a matter of seconds, she felt a raw, aching release warm her between the thighs.


"Aaaaghhh!" she gurgled, closing her mouth on his prick, taking the full length into the back of her mouth.


"All... of... it, you little cum-sucking slut!" Dick winced, shoving the last of his orgasm deep into the back of her throat. As he felt the juices seep around his meat and bubble from her lips, he fell back, his chest heaving. "Oh... God... that was... was..."


As his voice trailed off to a sigh, Komand’r continued sucking and licking up and down his cock sure that she hadn't missed a single drop. Finally, she pulled her mouth away and cleaned him slowly, wallowing the warm drops of cum. "Now you can stick that big dick of yours inside me. We’ll see who in my family is really the better fuck."


"Oh... Jesus!" Dick gasped, standing.


Slowly, he stumbled toward her bed, the throbbing in his cock matching the pounding of his heart.


"How was that, brother-in-law?" Komand’r asked, running her fingers up and down his thighs. "Did I suck you good? As good as Kory?"


"Can’t… can’t remember," he muttered, his mind filled with a million disjointed thoughts.


"Been that long, huh? Kory doesn't know what she's missing," Komand’r said, feeling a new hunger surge inside her body. "If I had a big dick like this to fuck and suck, I think I'd do it twenty-four hours a day!"


She chewed back down on the monstrous shaft and sucked up and down for a few more minutes. Finally, she pulled away and backed toward the bed.


"You going to fuck me now?" she asked, sitting on the sheets and leaning back. She spread her legs and touched the warm, oozing patch of cunt. "Come on, Dick, fuck me," she whispered, lifting her chest so that her nipples almost touched her chin. "You can be good around Kory, but I want you to be bad when you're with me. Mmmmmm, really bad!"


"I... I can't do this," Dick groaned, his voice barely audible. He knew he would, however, even as he said the words. "You're... Kory’s sister. Her flesh and blood!"


"All that matters right now is my flesh," Komand’r said, running the top of her tongue over her parted lips.




“I think I need a new costume,” Kory was saying as she walked into the Clocktower with Donna. “My old one is too conservative.”


“Too conservative? Kory, it’s practically a bikini.”


“But I’ve had it forever. And have you seen what the Titans are wearing now? Pasties and thongs, really.”


“So what’re you going to do, go into battle naked?”


“Do you know that on most civilized planets, I could? People wouldn’t care if I was wearing clothes, so long as I stopped someone from robbing a bank.”


“Kory, I’m in the fashion industry. You’re going to put me out of business, talking like that.”


Then they walked in on Dick and Komand’r. Donna gasped.


"Shhh," Kory admonished.


Donna had forgotten while he was away, but Dick's cock was incredible. It was even bigger than some gods Donna had known—but not known, natchand Donna was so taken with it a flutter of excitement ran through her, even as she realized that Dick was cheating on Kory with her sister.


Komand’r, her long, black hair falling teasingly down her back, dipped to her knees and took his huge cock in her mouth and sucked it.


“That son of a…” Donna started, before Kory pulled her back.


“Shh!” she chided again. “You’re telling me Komand’r couldn’t use a good fuck?”


“But it… it’s… it’s Dick!” Donna said. She realized she was whispering, and knew then both what Kory was suggesting and that she would go along with it.


“A very good fuck,” Kory agreed.


Donna saw her pull her miniskirt up around her waist, hold it there with one hand, while her other hand plunged into her yellow panties, knuckling them out at the crotch as she fingered her bare cunt.


"I get so hot," Kory whispered softly.


Donna was too. Her pussy was wet. She rubbed it through her skirt.


Komand’r sucked his huge prick, her head ducking up and down lewdly. Dick gripped the nearby table and held on. "Oh, Komand’r," he sighed.


Komand’r finally lifted off his cock and stood up. She smiled at Dick and they kissed again. As they did, the man worked her garters away. Then he fished his hand between her warm thighs and fondled her cunt.


It was a magnificent sight. Both his wives were turned on seeing him in such a hot embrace.


Kory was jerking off wildly as she watched, so Donna snapped the pin at the side of her own skirt. It unwrapped and floated to the floor. She quickly danced her hand inside her pink panties and screwed her finger in her juicy pussy.


Komand’r clutched Dick's prick, and he fingered her.


"Oh X’Hal, they're gonna fuck," Kory whispered lightly.


Komand’r climbed on top of the table. Dick crawled up on top of her. His unbelievable cock wiggled and wavered as he mounted her.


"I need that big prick," Komand’r gasped.


"I need to fuck you, Komand’r," Dick said.


He shoved his cock into her.


"X’Hal!" she yipped.


"Kory…" Dick sighed as he started a slow pumping, his naked ass thrusting up and down. His cock clobbered her cunt. “You’re as tight as Kory…”


Kory gasped as she fingered her pussy. Donna couldn't believe Komand’r had all of Dick's big cock in her cunt.


But she did, and Komand’r wrapped her nyloned legs around Dick and bucked up and down to him as they slipped into a lurid fuck there on top of the table.


Kory pulled her panties down around her knees so she could have better access to her dripping, young cunt. She skewered her finger into her cunt with a jerky flutter.


Donna was so hot she knew she'd come at any moment.


Komand’r was giving Dick's big cock a wild ride. She was twisting, turning, wiggling, pumping her ass off the table and against his long cock as it bulldozed her cunt.


“Forgive me, Kory…”


“There’s no need to apologize,” Kory said. She walked out of her hiding place, skirt swishing like a cat’s tail, her teardrop breasts pushing fiercely at the mesh top she wore, each heaving breath and striding step bringing their bareness into sharp focus. Just looking at her back, Donna couldn’t believe she’d ever thought the provocative display was safe for work.


Kory gave Dick a greeting kiss on the lips, then kissed Komand’r on the cheek. “He’s good, isn’t he?”


“Kory, I am so sorry,” Dick said, far more intently now. He was pushing himself away from Komand’r even as she clung to him desperately; Kory had to step in to separate the two, her touch calming them both down.


“Shh,” Kory said. “I can see what’s happening. Komand’r is a very enticing woman, but I doubt she could have you more overwrought than some of the situations I’ve seen you in. No offense, Komand’r, but Dick wasn’t this hard when all the Birds of Prey were blowing him. I think it’s obvious—oh, you’re still afflicted, aren’t you?”


Her hand dropped and began stroking Dick’s manhood. Her motion would be mechanical, it was so casual, except for the obvious care and relish she took in jerking him off. Her eyes lingered on his face as it contorted with pleasure, straying there no matter how hard she tried to look elsewhere, at others.


“There. Is that better?”


Dick nodded desperately.


“Good,” Kory said. “And Donna, will you come out already? There’s no shame in having enjoyed watching it. I would’ve stayed in the audience too, except I could see how guilty Dick was feeling about the whole thing.”


“Then you know it was Ivy, she had poisoned me, and I…”


“Shhhh,” Kory emphasized. “There’ll be time for that later. I may end up thanking her. You have given Komand’r quite the… pitch? I believe is the word?” Kory turned her smile on Komand’r, who could barely meet her eyes as Kory continued to relieve Dick with gulping strokes from the base of his cock to the head. “He was good, wasn’t he? And somehow he gets even better when he has more than one partner. It’s like it inspires him. He just has to please everyone.


“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Komand’r said stubbornly.


Kory rolled her eyes—the movement hard to see with her all-green irises—and switched hands. Her free one she brought up to her mouth and licked, moaning into the taste of precum. “You could have him, you know. Every night. The rest of us too. All you’d have to do was stay here, with us, and stop trying to take over Tamaran. Wouldn’t you like that? No more humiliating defeats, no more imprisonment, just Dinah sitting on your lap, Helena massaging your shoulders, Zinda kissing your ear? I’m sure you’ve noticed by now how much they like to play together.”


“You’re perverse,” Komand’r said. “And I wasn’t—I was just…”


“Why don’t you watch me, Komand’r? Me with Dick? And Donna? All three of us? You can join in for as long as you like. Just for tonight, or for years to come. I’m happy to share. I always have been. You don’t have to conquer him. But if you want to, do it here, in love, like he wants you to.” Kory stopped stroking, but her hand still quivered with the throb of Dick’s member. “Just say the word and you can go first.”


“I… I…” Komand’r couldn’t speak, for once. She could barely even breathe.


Dick yanked Kory's skirt down. It fell on top of her shoes. He pulled her to him and kissed her.


“Too late,” Kory said, giggling as Dick tickled her neck with his tongue. “You’d better make up your mind fast, Komand’r, before Donna gets a turn. And I’m sure Babs and Dinah and Helena will be home before too long…”


Donna was turned on. She unsnapped the pin on her skirt and it floated to the floor. She pulled her yellow panties down around her knees and jacked her finger into her cunt. The scene before her, Dick's big cock slamming against Kory, Komand’r heaving with nervous lust, inflamed Donna. She hummed her middle finger in and out of her pussy in a hot blur.


"I'm going to fuck you, girls… all three of you.”


Dick left Kory trembling and gasping. He pulled Donna to him and kissed her just as wildly as he had Kory. His cock slammed against the woman's belly. Donna shook and shivered.


Dick lifted her up to the table beside Komand’r. He pulled her panties all the way off, then kneeled in front of her and kissed her cunt.


"Oh!" It was all the girl could say. Donna gasped and panted. "Oh, oh, oh!"


Komand’r made her decision. She slid off the table and smiled. She played her hand up and down on her cunt. Then she shoved it in and fucked at her pussy with all four fingers.


Kory watched Dick eat Donna's pussy, and she became so hot she had to fuck a finger in her cunt, and she did. Komand’r watched the proceedings with an intense interest as she plunged her fist in and out of her hairy pussy. Dick sucked on Donna's cunt, making the girl shiver as though she'd been jolted by a bolt of electricity. She yelped loudly and came.


"Oh, Great Hera! Shit!" she yelled.


Dick worked hard to bring her home the right way, and he did. He brought her to the top of the climax with his sucking lips, took her over the crest, and drank greedily as Donna wiggled and writhed on the table. She finally lay spent, heaving, panting on the table. Her tits pushed at the white blouse.


Then Dick turned his attention to Kory. He pulled her over to the table, sat her up beside Donna and Komand’r. He slowly raised the mesh top and took out Kory's big tits. He held them and marveled at the firm roundness. He leaned in and kissed each teat tenderly.


Komand’r had her wrist all the way inside her pussy.


"Yeah, make her wild!" she cried.


Dick pulled away from Kory's ripe tits, spread her legs, and leveled his frightening cock at her young, crimson pussy. He pushed his cockhead at her tight cunt.


"Oh, Dick, I can't possibly handle it," Kory protested, even as she smiled lovingly in the knowledge that she could.


"Of course you can," he said, and he pushed his ass at her and shoved his prick in.


"Oooooh," Kory sighed.


"Fuck her, Dick!" Komand’r cried.


Donna was sitting up on the edge of the table. She watched Dick's big prick penetrate Kory. Komand’r was so taken by this rare moment that she came violently, almost falling off the table as she climaxed.


"Motherfucking X’Hal!" she shouted.


Komand’r's orgasm pulled her over from the waist, and she finally did slide off the table as she felt the flood of pleasure drown her. She shook in an aroused shiver until she had drained the last sensation of pleasure from her body.


She pulled her hand out of her cunt. It was dripping with her juice. She turned to Donna, took three fingers and jammed them in the girl's pussy.


“I still don’t trust you,” Donna said. But she liked the fingers filling her cunt.


Komand’r jacked them in and out of the girl's cunt. “That’s what makes it so much fun.”


Dick had a hot stroke going. He had Kory helpless on the table. He stood between her legs, lifted them and hooked them over his shoulders, so he could drive his mammoth prick deeper into her sapping cunt.


"X’hal, this is hot!" Komand’r yelped.


"You're doing me, Komand’r," Donna sobbed.


"Damn right I am."


Dick was doing Kory's cunt with his giant cock. He fucked her as she squirmed on the table. His cock was like a marble pillar plummeting in and out of her sweet cunt.


Kory came. She couldn't stop. Dick's big prick brought her off, and she finally let it happen. Her pussy juiced and sucked at his large cock. The flood of pleasure ripped through her so violently she was jerked straight up off the table to a sitting position.


"Ah, here... oh... I'm coming!" she sighed.


She threw her arms around her husband’s neck. He bulldozed his cock in and out of her with a fervently fast stroke. She shuddered with the ripple of ecstasy that gripped her, then fell back on the table, fucked out and spent.


Dick pulled his prick out and moved to Donna. Komand’r took her hand away from the young woman's pussy, and Dick moved in for the kill. He guided the huge head of his prick to her sucking pussy. He slugged it in.


"God, you're sweet," Dick said as he looked Donna in the eyes.


Her big blue eyes, full of passion, gazed back at the man. “Show Komand’r what she’s missing.”


Kory was recovering from her wonderful orgasm. She sat up on the edge of the table and watched Dick jam his prick into Donna's pussy.


Then he fucked her wildly. Goddamn, he fucked her. Komand’r spat on her hand and stuck it back in her soaking pussy. Kory slammed two fingers against her pussy as she watched his huge cock slick in and out of Donna's cunt.


"Oh! Wow!" Komand’r shouted.


"Dick!" Donna wailed, lying back on the table, letting him fuck her, letting him drum her with that monster prick of his. He squished half way and fucked her to the edge of paradise.


Donna had never experienced such an exquisite feeling. She was lost in the push and pull of his fabulous cock, swooning to the throbbing stir that shook her body.


"All right then, fuck me!" she screamed. "Go on and fuck me!"


And as she came, his big prick spewed out a pint of hot cream in her cunt. Donna lost it. Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to scream, but she couldn't. His cum splashed into her and she shuddered into a tingling quiver that she would remember the rest of her life.


Then it was Komand’r’s turn, and though it would take her a long time to admit it, it was worth waiting in line for. Having him was better than ruling Tamaran, better than ordering slave around, better than commanding legions. Because when she had Dick, she was ruler of his manhood. It brought her more pleasure than all the rest combined.


No wonder her sister liked it on Earth so much.

Chapter Text

Ivy nearly passed out the moment she laid her head down. Her brain was too tired of absorbing all that it had taken in. Plot and counterplot and revelation, all demanding to be made sense of. It was too much for her. Too much for anyone.


And resolving to be Batman’s—Bruce’s—it was like a ten-ton load off her back. No more frenetic scheming and then preemptive worries of if she’d gotten away with it and then the even further flung concerns of whether she could hold onto Harley. Now she had something of an ally. Bruce was, in a fucked up way only Harley could be, like a therapist who could keep Harley in line while Ivy reaped the benefits. Let him worry about Quinn going back to the Joker, or any of a million other annoying things she did. He could be the dom to the world’s worst sub, while Ivy would just be her girlfriend.


As well, a part of her liked the thought of being on the Bat’s side. She’d never taken too kindly to being grouped in with the Rogues—particularly barbaric mammals motivated by cruelty and greed, not at all different from the developers and industrialists who had done so much to devastate the planet. There would be schadenfreude in Ivy getting to enjoy their downfall from her own privileged position on the winning team. And it would be a secret, too, a tasty little chocolate that only she would get to enjoy.


She was almost asleep, practically dreaming, when she thought of her. Catwoman. As Selina Kyle, she’d dated Bruce Wayne. As Catwoman, she’d had a thing with Batman. Everyone knew about it. Was it the slightest bit possible that she hadn’t known they were one and the same? No. Ivy had always thought Selina knew who the Batman really was, but when she and Harley had pressed the issue, the cat had thrown them off the scent by lying, to her face, that Batman was no one man, but a legion of highly trained, highly motivated volunteers. Harvey Dent and Jim Gordon and Slam Bradley, of all people! But it was Bruce Wayne. It had always only ever been Bruce Wayne.


Of course, it hardly mattered now, with her and the Bat on the same side. But Selina had lied to her. Cost her who knew how much and derailed countless plans by denying her useful knowledge, then cohabitated with her and pretended to be her friend and… all those games of strip poker…


Selina would just have to die. It was the principle of the thing. Bruce she could forgive, he was the Bat, it was his thing, but Selina had been one of them. She should’ve known better. Ivy couldn’t tolerate her betrayal.


She dressed rapidly in some of the clothes that Bruce had stocked her room with, then took out one of the cars from the garage. An electric one, thankfully.


Selina was at present staying in the Hiltshire Waldorf, one of the most luxurious hotels in Gotham. She liked to come and go, never staying in one place too long, and the way the hotel drained her funds had to be made up for in how she indulged herself. That was, if Selina was even paying for her room. She had many ways around that.


Ivy went in through the lobby and… charmed her way by the concierge. She took a master key off a similarly charmed hotel maid, then let herself into Selina’s room.


It was too bad. Selina wasn’t too bad, for a mammal—more tolerable than Harley, in a lot of ways, even if lacking a certain frisson that made her more than just fun. But—


Ivy was still planning out Selina’s murder—quick but emphatic—when a whip curled around her neck. It jerked her to the side, slamming her against the wall, and Ivy just twisted to absorb the impact with her arm. She reached for the whip, but Selina yanked on it again, driving Ivy down to the ground.


“And you always act like Harley’s such an idiot.” Selina slunk out of the shadows, lazily pulling herself along the whip to add a tang of tension to its grip on Ivy’s neck. “But at least she knew better than to try to break into a master thief’s hide-out.”


Ivy rolled away from Selina, gagging herself, but getting an arm around the whip as she came to her feet. Now the pressure was off her throat and she was in a tug of war with the Catwoman. “At least I’m not insane. Like you are, lying to my face and thinking you could get away with it…”


Selina let go of the whip with one hand, the muscles in her remaining arm bulging as she virtually dared Ivy to make a further move. “Think about where you are, flower petal. We’re eighty stories up, and I’ve taken the trouble to swap out every plant for ten stories down with plastic. So how are you going to kill me? Bore me to death with your Greenpeace rhetoric?”


Ivy bared her teeth. “I’ll use my bare hands!”


“Hee! No wonder Harley likes you. That great sense of humor.”


With one sharp tug, Selina reclaimed the whip from Ivy, pulling it so that it sent Ivy into a spin as it let her go. Just as Ivy regained her footing, Selina cracked the whip repeatedly in rapid succession. It moved like it was even more alive than one of Ivy’s vines, making deafening sonic booms to either side of Ivy’s face. Ivy felt peals of heat on her cheeks and realized Selina had slashed her face, but too lightly to do any real harm. That incensed her even more.


She rushed forward, burying her fear of the whip, but Selina moved like lightning. She circled the whip above her like a lasso before lashing it down, cracking it between the two of them as she moved in with a sultry strut. Ivy was driven back, hating Selina all the more for how cockily she walked, the sheer aggravation of her untroubled confidence.


Ivy gave ground, trying to create some distance to give herself time to think, but the whip snagged around her ankle and she tripped herself on it, going down on her ass in a fall that came as a crippling blow to her pride. Selina stepped on her, high-heeled boot between Ivy’s breasts, and she leaned on it, resting either forearm on her thigh as she drove the toe of her boot down with her weight. Ivy found it hard to breathe as she worriedly eyed the stiletto heel of Selina’s boot. That could do a lot more damage than just Selina’s paltry weight.


“Mmmmm,” Selina purred. “You’re cute when you’re angry. Maybe Harley’s smarter than I thought… of course, that would make you the dumb one on the team. Maybe you should switch hair colors…”


“Dumb slattern!” Ivy cursed as she batted Selina’s foot away. Selina smoothly raised her boot out of the way of Ivy’s blow, which was frustrating, but allowed Ivy to shuffle away from Selina. “I was just going to kill you, but now I think I’ll make you my slave! How dare you mar my perfect face!”


“Perfect’s going a little far,” Selina observed, stepping on Ivy’s skirt. The redhead was jerked to a stop. “And you couldn’t even ‘enslave’ Bruce Wayne—something I’ve never had that much trouble with.”


“Because you wander around in skintight leather with the zipper halfway down! Heterosexual trollop!”


“Like your Adam and Eve getup leaves any more to the imagination.”


“At least it’s vegan!” Ivy gritted her teeth, channeling all of her rage into her pheromones. She was pumping them out like smoke from a fireplace, filling the room up to the brim. “You will obey me, Selina.” The words came out gnarled and hissing, not the seductive cadence she usually used to lure her targets into submission, but with all the pheromones she was using, the subtle approach was pointless. “I am your master, Selina. And since you love cocks so much, I have all sorts of thoughts on what you can get up to before your tragic suicide…”


Selina took a step forward, putting her off-foot on Ivy’s crotch and sinking the toe down. Ivy had actually felt a fission of arousal, having Selina in her power, thinking of the revenge she would take, and that had swelled and sensitized her clit just in time for Selina’s leather boot to bluntly pressure it. A yowling moan came to Ivy’s lips.


“I’m not the one who’s married,” Selina smirked. “Funny how you decide to take me out now that you know Batman is Bruce Wayne. Could it be that man-hating plantsbian Poison Ivy is jealous a boy likes someone else more?” Selina raised a hand to her cheek, mock-scandalized. “Your pheromones won’t work on me, Ivy. After the last time, I got Harley to share a little of that concoction you gave her so the two of you could play together. So the only way you’re going to seduce me is with your charm and wit.” Selina’s grin widened. “Lucky for you you have D-cups.”


“Bitch!” Ivy snarled.


“Oh, what a feminist you are.” Selina wiggled her boot around like she was grinding a cigarette underfoot, and Ivy moaned in aroused agony. It felt too good on her clit not to hurt. “I have to admit, those pheromones of yours are turning me on. Maybe I should let you make it up to me for all those nasty things you said.”


“Don’t you dare!”


With a flick of Selina’s wrist, her whip was looped around Ivy’s neck. She turned on her heel and strutted away, and Ivy was forced to crawl after her to keep the whip from tightening enough to choke her.


Selina led her to a king-sized bed, which she sat down on. The slack in the line gave Ivy an opportunity to free herself of her noose, but before she could, Selina grabbed her by the arm to pull her face down over her lap. Ivy's short skirt rode up to reveal attractive legs sheathed in nylon.


"How dare you!” Ivy shrieked, swinging her legs and squirming prettily as Selina twisted her right arm behind her back to hold her in position. “What do you think you’re doing?”


"Showing you who's boss!" Selina told her as she raked her claws lightly over the backs of Ivy’s thighs.


"You’re not the boss of me!" Ivy replied, looking back over her shoulder to reveal a flushed, excited face. She struggled mildly but it was quite apparent that Selina was the stronger of the two. There was nothing she could do to free herself.


“Tonight I am.” Taking her time about it, Selina pulled the redheaded woman's skirt back to reveal full, shapely thighs and nicely rounded buttocks attired in sheer pantyhose and tiny panties.


Ivy forced herself to calm down, figuring there was no way Selina would go through with it—Catwoman just wanted to humiliate her some. Ivy told herself that if she gave in now, she’d get her revenge ten times over the next time they met.


"Let me go?" Ivy asked, making it a request rather than a demand.


"Are you kidding?" Selina teased, licking her lips with anticipation as she gazed at Ivy's charming ass and pretty legs. Slipping one hand into the waistband of the pantyhose, she began working the garment downward.


"What do you think you're doing?" Ivy demanded in a shocked voice. "Hey, let me go! Don't!"


She began to struggle, but Selina held her arm firmly twisted in the small of her back. "I told you I was going to show you who was boss!" Selina reminded her. "Now, hold still!" She continued working the pantyhose down, revealing the milk-white flesh of Ivy's ass.


"Don't, please, this is embarrassing!" Ivy protested. She tried to struggle but only in a half-hearted manner. She didn’t want another fight with the athletic cat burglar.


Selina slowly rolled the pantyhose and panties further downward, the white flesh of her ass making a vivid contrast with the dark nylon covering her legs. Selina was eager to get started, but held herself back to prolong the excitement.


"Please, let me go!" Ivy said. "This has gone far enough!"


"Not till you've been warmed up a little!" Selina told her. "When you're nice and pink down there, you won't forget who's boss!"


"Please, don't spank me!" Ivy pleaded, looking back anxiously over her shoulder. "You can’t! You mustn’t!"


Selina smiled as she watched the other woman apprehensively flexing and tightening her pretty buttocks in anticipation of the spanking to come. She wished that she had thought to get herself a paddle. Instead, her hand would have to do. Pausing for a moment, she raised her right hand in the air.




Selina's hand landed noisily at the base of Ivy's satiny ass cheeks, descending right on target and extending across the crevice.


"Oh!" Ivy squealed, bucking up and snapping her head back. "Damn you! Let me go!"


Selina laughed as the seductress tried to escape from her grasp. It was apparent to both of them that she could not get away.


"You baby, it didn't hurt that much!" Selina told her victim. "Now try to hold still while I heat you up a little!"




This time Selina's hand landed squarely upon Ivy's tight ass cheek, momentarily flattening the resilient flesh.


"Eeek!" Ivy shrieked, jerking reflexively and swinging her pretty legs back in protest. "That hurts! Let me go this instant!"




Selina's hand descended against the left cheek.


"Oh! Stop, please!"








Selina began spanking the Ivy’s bare ass with her open hand, spreading the spanks around to even up the color scheme. Each crisp spank produced a cry of pain from Ivy, who continually wriggled and struggled in a vain effort to evade the embarrassing and uncomfortable punishment. In a few moments, her cute ass was a vivid shade of pink all over.


"Ouch, please, let me go! It hurts!" Ivy protested. "How can you do this to me? I’m a woman!" Tears of humiliation welled in her eyes as she looked back over her shoulder.


"Oh, now you’re all about female solidarity? Funny how that works.” Selina teased her squirming victim. “I've barely gotten started yet!"






Selina's hand continued to descend on the attractive target. Wriggling and protesting furiously, Ivy swung her stockinged legs merrily back and forth and continually tried to reach back to protect her tingling and prickling ass. Both cheeks quickly became an appealing shade of crimson, and it was apparent that the squirming young woman was feeling thoroughly warm and uncomfortable.


"Please, that's enough!" Ivy protested in a miserable voice. "Please, it hurts! It's so humiliating!"


"Your bottom's getting nice and red!" Selina tormented her, watching with satisfaction as her hapless victim burst into tears. In her opinion, there was something indescribably appealing about an attractive young woman crying and swinging her pretty legs while her nicely rounded ass turned bright red from the effects of a well-administered spanking.


"This is awful!" Ivy tearfully exclaimed. "Please, Selina! That's enough! I can't stand it anymore!"






Selina could feel the heat radiating from Ivy's ass as she continued applying her hand to the girl's butt. Ivy's shapely legs jerked wide, revealing her cunt with appealing effect. By this time, her buttocks were a bright crimson, and the comely young woman was crying quite hard.


"Please, I'm burning up!" Ivy sobbed. "Please! Please, Selina, please!"


Selina paused to examine her shapely victim's scarlet ass checks. She would liked to have spanked her a little harder, but decided that that was enough for the first time. After all, it was quite apparent that the crying and squirming Poison Ivy had been completely conquered.


"I think that's enough for a while!" Selina announced. "Now it’s time you thank me for the lesson I just taught you…”


Crying and quite breathless, Ivy lay meekly across Selina's lap as the latter finished pulling off her panties and pantyhose. Her unmarred white legs made a vivid contrast with her scarlet and quivering ass cheeks.


"Now, let me get your sweater off," Selina told her.


Ivy permitted the dominant brunette to pull her sweater off over her head, slightly mussing her crimson hair. Selina quickly unsnapped Ivy's bra and pulled the straps free from her shoulders.


"Stretch out on the bed," Selina instructed. "Face down!"


"Please, don't smack me anymore!" Ivy pleaded as she tearfully stretched out on the bed. Instinctively, she reached back to rub her smarting ass with one hand.


"Take your hand away!" Selina told her, grabbing her hand to pull it out of the way. “You earned that soreness!”




"Ow!" Ivy exclaimed in a loud voice. Sniffling, she lay meekly on the bed with her prettily reddened bottom on prominent display.


Standing beside the bed and keeping a close eye on her would-be killer, Selina quickly peeled off her clothes. She could see the anticipation in Ivy's eyes as she gazed at her full tits and the triangle of rich brown hair on her cunt. Selina quickly knelt on the bed at her side.


"Now that I've dominated you so much," she said. "Perhaps this will help make up for it!"


Leaning forward, she planted a moist kiss on Ivy's right ass cheek.


"Ooh!" Ivy squirmed prettily at the pleasant contact, with its stinging landing on her pained skin.


Brushing her long brunette hair back out of the way, Selina began kissing Ivy's freshly spanked ass all over. She kept her mouth open, letting her moist tongue brush against the satiny flesh.


"Oh, that feels good!" Ivy exclaimed, wriggling her bottom cutely as she felt the other woman's lips and tongue caressing her buttocks. Arching her back, she glanced back over her shoulder to watch.


Placing both hands down lightly on the two white globes, Selina gently but firmly separated them as much as possible. Her tongue extended as far as she could, she promptly lowered her face to the crevice and went to work with quick flicks of her tongue.


"Oh!" Ivy gasped as she felt Selina's probing tongue busily at work. Without realizing what she was doing, she lifted her hips from the bed to give her partner more territory to work in.


Holding Ivy's ass cheeks apart as far as possible, Selina began working farther downward. In a moment, her tongue found the little pink opening of the girl's asshole and promptly began caressing it.


"Oh, you're driving me wild!" Ivy cried out.


In a few moments, Ivy was nicely reamed, and the submissive was thrusting her hips back and forth with a mixture of excitement and expectation. Keeping her face buried against Ivy's ass, Selina worked toward the girl's inviting pink cunt with her tongue. She could feel her conquest’s pussy becoming creamy with arousal.


"Was a spanking worth this?" Selina asked in a teasing voice.


"Yes!" Ivy admitted excitedly. "Am I going to get to please you too?"


"You'll get your turn!" Selina assured her, though she half-suspected it was another ploy of Ivy’s. Oh well, if Ivy wanted to play bottom, even for a little while, Selina would let her. The cat burglar's tongue flicked against the pink lips of Ivy's cunt. "Spread your legs farther apart, honey," Selina suggested.


Ivy eagerly complied, spreading her thighs as far apart as she could and leaving her pink silt prettily on display. Slipping her fingers into the moist outer folds, Selina brought the pink feminine interior into view. Extending her tongue, Selina began caressing the girl's wet cunt.


"Oh, that feels delicious!" Ivy exclaimed, twisting her hips sensuously.


"Mmmmm, and to think I used to hate eating my greens!" Selina told her, pressing her face tightly against her moist pussy.


As Selina's probing tongue explored her cunt, Ivy squirmed and wriggled prettily on the bed. Gasping for breath and occasionally biting her lip with excitement, she continually looked back over her shoulder to see Selina's face buried against her ass. The seductress felt delightfully warm and wet between the legs, and could hear the slurping sounds as the long-legged brunette drank up her arousal.


"Oh, I can't wait to do this for you, Selina!" Ivy said in a breathless voice.


Her hands and fingers exploring Ivy's sensitive flesh, Selina kept her tongue buried in the femme fatale's moist pussy. Ivy jerked spasmodically each time Selina's tongue stabbed against her clitoris, and it was apparent that she could not restrain herself much longer.


"Christ, I'm hot!" the redhead gasped. "My pussy feels like an oven!"


Her face plastered against the wet delta, Selina repeatedly flicked and stabbed her tongue against the tiny button of the girl's clit. Ivy's well-spanked ass cheeks trembled violently as the young woman thrust her pelvis back and forth like a piston.


"Oh, I'm coming!" Ivy cried out in an ecstatic voice. "Ooooh! Ooooooh!"


Selina held her tongue against the girl's clit as Ivy experienced an intense orgasm. Kicking her feet up and grasping the bedpost with both hands, Poison Ivy shuddered convulsively as the powerful orgasm swept over her body.


"There!" Selina exclaimed as she sat up. The tall brunette was quite breathless from her efforts.


Ivy sat up and impulsively kissed her on the mouth. "I loved it, Selina!" she told her. "It's my turn next!" Her eyes were fixed on Selina's tits as she spoke, and she moistened her lips lightly with her tongue.


"I want it exactly the same way," Selina told her. Their eyes met. "Understand?"


"Yes!" Ivy replied.


Selina quickly stretched out face down on the bed with her elbows under her body, revealing plump and velvety smooth buttocks. Without further ado, Ivy excitedly leaned forward and planted a moist kiss on Selina's soft right ass cheek.


"Mmmm, that's the way!" Selina told her.


"I wish you'd let me spank you," Ivy said in a wistful voice, letting her lips linger against the smooth flesh. "Just a little. How about it?"


"Spank me with your tongue!" Selina told her, glancing back over her shoulder.


"All right," Ivy said softly.


For the next few minutes, the voluptuous redhead kept her face pressed tightly against Selina's ass cheeks. Moving from one cheek to the other, she covered the satiny smooth flesh with teasing open-mouthed kisses. Although she tried to relax and hold herself back, Selina could not refrain from wriggling her hips prettily in response to the tantalizing oral caresses.


“You think you’re such a temptress,” Selina purred happily. “Such a dominatrix. But the truth is, all those pheromones just mean you have to be in control all the time. You love having someone you can’t tell what to do. Isn’t that right? No wonder Bruce decided to start with you. One hard cock that won’t do as it’s told and you’re putty in his hands.”


“That’s not true!” Ivy protested, raising her head, but Selina gripped her by the hair and forced her back between her asscheeks. “It’s not… it’s just that you’re a woman… I just love women so much, even though I ought to know better. It’s a weakness, you and that idiot Harley…”


"Mmmmm, whatever you say!" the brunette exclaimed. "Now, give me a nice reaming!"


Gulping slightly and taking a deep breath, Ivy clasped both hands over Selina's sleek buttocks and gradually separated them as far as possible. Sticking out her pink tongue, she lowered her nose into the inviting crevice and began licking downward.


"That's it!" Selina told her in a pleased voice. "That's the way I like it!"


Employing her fingers to keep the two mounds separated, Ivy slowly tongue-washed the entire crevice, moving carefully and leaving no area untouched. Gradually her tongue made its way to the woman's asshole, which she greeted with a moist swipe of her tongue.


"Ah!" Selina gasped with pleasure. "Go ahead! I just love being reamed!"


Her head pressed tightly against Selina's plump buttocks, Ivy rolled her tongue around the sensitive opening in a teasing manner. Tormented by the moist swipes, Selina gasped with delight and rocked her hips back and forth. Making her tongue as stiff as possible, Ivy jabbed it inside the pink opening and tried to get it in as far as she could.


"Ooooh!" Selina exclaimed, her hips jerking spasmodically in response to Ivy's penetrating tongue.


Her excitement rising, Selina spread her long legs as far as she could and arched her back sharply. Catching sight of the intriguing pink crease of her cunt, Ivy quickly began spreading it open with her fingertips. The outer folds came apart with that delightfully feminine squishing sound, and the redhead found herself gazing at lush pink womanhood. She impulsively buried her face in it and gave it an open-mouthed kiss.


"Ooh!" Selina gasped. "Go ahead!"


Nibbling with her lips and flicking with her tongue, Ivy began eating the attractive cat burglar. Tantalized by Ivy's expert caresses, Selina was soon sopping wet between the legs, and was twisting and thrusting her hips with sensuous movements. Catching her breath with audible gasps, she continually glanced back over her shoulder to watch her young partner in action.


"Mmmmm, that's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "Only a girl can eat cunt like that!"


Her face bathed in Selina's seeping fluids, Ivy thoroughly tongued the inside of the pink groove before concentrating on the diminutive clitoris. Selina reacted with a convulsive twitch, and started thrusting her hips back and forth with violent jerks.


"That's the way! Make me come!" she begged in a breathless voice. "I love it! Oh! Ah! Ooooooh! I'm making it!"


Selina's climax was quite intense, and Ivy could not hold her tongue in position as the leggy brunette wriggled and tossed on the bed. Instead, she held Selina's ass cheeks open with her hands and covered her feminine charms with excited kisses.


The two young women were quite flushed and breathless when they finally sat up together on the bed.


"That was beautiful," Selina laughed. "As I said, only a girl really knows how to eat another girl."


Ivy nodded. "Of course, two girls eating each other is even better!" she remarked with a smile.


Selina smiled at her. In a moment, the two were locked in a tight sixty-nine, their faces buried in one another's wet cunts. She’d taught Ivy a lesson and whatever revenge the redhead was planning, it was worth both the satisfaction of taking her down a peg and the pleasure of dominating her.


Of course, Ivy knowing Bruce was Batman meant that their relationship was coming along, if he trusted her enough to walk free with that secret. That was irritating. Selina never would’ve guessed the two would actually find common ground.


As she ground her sex down on Ivy’s face, she mused how very like a cat she could be at times. When Bruce was freely offered, she could turn up her nose to him just for the sake of it. But now that Ivy had a hold on him, she felt very inclined to remind him, her, and everyone else that Bruce belonged to Selina Kyle.


It was a cat thing.

Chapter Text

Getting onto the grounds of Wayne Manor was sinfully easy. All Selina had to do was slip between the bars of the gate. She wasn’t even wearing a corset.


Oh, she knew that Wayne Manor was even better guarded than the Hall of Justice, the whole thing an auxiliary line of defense for the Batcave underneath, a sort of early warning system that Bruce could and would sacrifice if he pleased. But that was alright. She’d done this to get Bruce’s attention. There was a reason she’d worn a particularly tight catsuit tonight, and it wasn’t just to get through the bars. Her high-heeled boots swept through the crisply manicured grass of the lawn, glistening wet with the dew of the morning that hadn’t arrived yet.


There were floodlights illuminating the façade of the manor, as well as the mighty oak trees that pillared the landscape. Selina could’ve evaded them easily, sticking to the shadows, but she enjoyed letting them cast her silhouette about, a shade with wild devil’s ears. She stopped flouncing toward the house when she felt Bruce’s eyes on her.


Not one curtain had been disarrayed, she couldn’t catch a glimpse of him, but she knew he was watching her. He could ninja around all he liked, hiding himself from her, but she always knew when her little show had an audience or was for her own benefit.


At her neck, an O-ring hung like the tag on a collar. It was meant to provide a tempting, distracting target, teasing any adversary with the knowledge that if he just got a hold of it and tugged, he would be graced with the sight of what hid underneath her thin leathers—usually so sheer that he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. Bruce was the only man who’d shown no sign of being tempted. Which was maybe why he was the only one who’d actually managed to grab the brass ring.


She did it for him. For him, and only for him. Moving only the very tip, the clawed tip, of her forefinger, Selina hooked the O-ring that crowned her zipper. Her hold was so precarious that if she’d pulled any harder, her grip would’ve slipped off—and if the weight she put on the zipper was any less, it wouldn’t have budged. But before Bruce’s eyes, the part in her zipper slid down the middle of her body, down her throat, between her breasts, over her belly. Replacing the skintight black of her neat, narrow leathers with the dusky suppleness of her bare skin, a swath of it rolling from the lips beneath her cowl to the toned muscles above her groin.


Her breasts were bigger than Harley’s, but smaller than Ivy’s—C-cups, with a boastful roundness and pertness that seemed to swell against her parted leathers, pushing her catsuit out to make the gulf within her cleavage yawn open. The vee of exposed skin was given a very wide mouth, her suit practically slipping from her shoulders as it struggled to contain her ripe breasts. Selina gave a little meow. She wore no bra.


Bruce took a long look at her. She could tell. Selina felt kind of funny standing there. She had never known the feeling except once before, when she knew she was going to do everything she was told to.


Do a dance for me, she heard, like Bruce was whispering in her ear, and she strutted forward, taking her whip from her thigh and flashing it around to either side of her. Ear-splitting whipcracks struck the landscape, rolling out into the night, before Selina turned it on herself, cracking the whip so it slid around her throat, the girthy handle now hanging from her like a noose.


Now take off your clothes. Do it slowly. I want to enjoy every inch of you.


With her hands free, she dug her claws into the loose folds of her costume and she ripped and she tore, peeling away the material down to her elbow-length gloves and her thigh-high boots. Her beautiful breasts sprang out with the first cut; they were glad to be released from the tight confines of her suit.


Her café au lait skin gleamed, sweat in rivulets like veins of silver running through the rich soil of her body, the hard granite of her musculature. She ran a gloved finger through the trail of sweat on her abs and licked it clean. She liked her own taste, but she thought she would like Bruce’s taste even better. Wasn’t that always the way?


She was standing in front of Bruce in nothing but her boots and gloves. She could feel the shivers going up her spine as he enjoyed her body. Now her cowl. She slipped the goggles off with one finger, letting them dangle at her side as she used her other hand to undo the chinstrap and slick the cowl away from her pageboy haircut.


“The boots kind of take away from the view,” Bruce said. He was behind her. Fucking ninjas…


She turned around, smiling proudly, her hands clasped behind her back as she displayed herself without an ounce of shame, modesty, or humility.


“I fuck with my boots on,” she told him.


“Unless I take them off you.”


“Oh, what’s the matter, Bruce? Afraid I’ll sneak away with the family jewels in them?” Selina took hold of her whiphandle again. It came loose from her neck in one tug. She gave it another flourish of a swing and the lash wrapped around her waist, the coarse leather feeling divine on her bare skin. “You should be more worried about my claws.”


“Come on over here,” he said, “and take my clothes off.”


Selina was suddenly sure that she was going to get well-fucked this evening. She peeled his handsome body out of his clothes. She could feel herself shivering every time her fingers brushed against his skin. She could well understand why both Harley and Ivy had allowed him to fuck.


Bruce was the kind of man that all girls dream about. Tall, muscular, well-tanned, and very handsome. And more than that, he was a strong man, a man who knew what he wanted and went after it. He was the kind of guy that told girls how to act, and what he wanted from them. And confidence -- there wasn't a person more confident than Bruce was. And last, but certainly not least, of course, he had a huge cock! When Selina saw his enormous tool, she just couldn't refuse him a single goddamn thing.


Which made it all the more fun when she did.


“You know my rules,” Bruce said. “No more crime. No more stealing.”


“So you want to control me?” Selina asked, looping the whip over her head now. Pulling it down so the base of the lash ran across her face. “Tell me what to do?”




She smiled at him. “If you marry me, I’ll let you try.”


“If you break the law again, I’ll punish you.”


“Mmmm… am I not supposed to enjoy that?”


“We’ll see,” he told her. “Now play with my cock. Show me what a whore you are.”


She looked down at his swollen prick. It wasn’t quite hard but it was already bigger than she’d imagined it would be. She felt her heart pounding a little faster as she stared at it. She put her hand on his throbbing cock.


“That’s it,” he said. “Play with it. Love it!”


She wrapped her fingers around his cock and started moving her hand up and down. His cock immediately got hard all the way. She moved her fingers down to his balls and stroked them. They felt so hot and hard.


“You sweet little bitch,” he told her. “I’ve wanted to fuck you for a long time.”


“You’re married to Harley and Ivy,” Selina replied. “I’m not surprised.”


He grabbed her by the back of her head and jerked her face down to his cock. Selina could smell his strong musk. She pushed her tongue against the head of his prick and tasted his salty pre-cum. She lifted her head and brushed her hair back from her face.


“You want me to suck it?” she asked.


“I want you to do everything to me.”


She smiled as she slid up his body. She let herself rest against him. She felt his hard chest against her tits. She started rubbing herself against his chest, and she felt him tense. She lifted up and moved a little higher, so that one red nipple was against his lips.


He had never let himself touch her tits before. Now she could feel his mouth open and begin to suck gently on one swollen nipple. She felt him slowly drawing it into his mouth and biting on it with his teeth. She shuddered.


“I always thought you didn’t know how good it feels to break the rules,” Selina purred. “But you do, don’t you? When you put on a mask and break some scumbag’s face. When you break your own code and take what you want from me. Admit it. You like being bad.”


She pulled her hard tit back from his mouth. She moved up and kissed his mouth.

She rammed her tongue deep into his throat. She felt him rubbing his tongue against her. His hands moved down her back and grabbed her asscheeks. He held onto her asscheeks hard and it made her shiver all over. Her legs opened and his hard knee moved between them. He started rubbing his knee up and down the lips of her cunt. She could feel her juices leaking out against his knee.


“You like being good,” Bruce accused her. “You could have any man you want. You want to be with me. Because I protect the city.”


“Because when you’re bad, you’re really bad…”


He was really starting to get her worked up. His hands moved between them and he started playing with her tits again. She felt his fingers stroking and fondling her breasts. They had gotten so firm they were throbbing. She hadn’t thought she was going to enjoy it this much. Bruce was making her feel things that whole orgies couldn’t make her feel.


He pushed her down again. He rolled her over onto her back and his hot lips and went down to her tits again. This time he started sucking and biting one of her teats. He moved his other hand up her body and started fondling her other breast. His fingers flicked across her nipple and made her shiver.


He raised his head. “You’ve got a real big pair of tits, Selina. I’m going to enjoy fucking your big tits.”


He moved up her body again. This time she felt his hard prick leaking on her skin and making her tingle. He rested with his cock between her tits. He closed her tits together around his cock. He started moving back and forth, fucking her between her tits. She lowered her head and could see his prickhead appearing between her tits. She could see some of his cum leaking out of the purplish tip.


“Bad enough for you?” he asked.


She smirked up at him, at his cock. “Not hardly. You’re making me yours, but you’re not making me your bitch.”


He kept moving back and forth between her tits and she could feel more of his cum leaking onto her skin. He finally moved up a little more and she felt his cum-covered cock brushing against her tits.


“Open your mouth,” he said. “I’m going to ram it down your fucking throat.”


She opened her mouth. He didn’t give her time to take a breath. He rammed his prick deep into her mouth and made her choke. He pulled back long enough for her to take a quick breath, and then he was ramming his prick between her lips again.


“Play with my balls,” he said. “Play with my balls while I’m using your throat.”


She moved her hand up between them and started stroking his heavy balls while he crammed his prick in and out of her mouth. This wasn’t like giving a blowjob. He was simply fucking her mouth as he would fuck her pussy. She kept feeling cum dripping down her throat, and she had to constantly swallow to keep from choking.


“I’ve been dreaming of doing this for so fucking long,” he told her. “You wear the mask showing off your perfect lips—how could I not think how they’d look around my cock?”


She thought he was going to come in her mouth. He was really dripping. She felt wet and sticky from her lips to her gullet. She could feel some of his cum wetting the roof of her mouth. She got ready to swallow but he suddenly pulled away.


“Let’s go inside,” he told her. “We’re finishing this in your cunt.”


Selina nodded, but she realized she wanted him to finish what they had started right there. She wanted him to lower himself to her level and fuck her out in the open, as open a declaration as her stripping naked had been. She dragged the cool leather of her gloves down her face, digging in her claws as her hands wandered down her neck. Pale white lines flashed down her chest and belly as she teased at herself with her claws, like if she cut just the right amount, she could let out this desperate lust she was feeling under the skin.


Hurrying, she went to the front door. Bruce dawdled behind, staring at her ass. And to think, she’d once thought she’d needed a tail to draw attention to it. She went up the steps and put her hand on the doorknob and turned it. It didn’t budge. She was locked out for the night.


She turned around. Bruce was walking toward her, as naked as ever, as hard as ever. He was coming up the front steps. Selina stroked her thighs and ran her claws up to her pussy. The feeling under that skin had to be let out worst of all.


“I thought we were going inside,” she said.


“I lied. I’m bad.”


He grabbed her and kissed her hard. Her mouth opened willingly and she felt him stabbing his tongue into her wet mouth like it was a target. She knew he was remembering all the time she had teased and taunted but refused to give him his kiss. Now he was taking it.


He released her and pressed her back against the door. She felt his hands go around her waist and grab her naked ass. She could feel him rubbing himself against her.


“What are you doing?” she asked.


“You know what I’m doing, Selina,” he said.


“But it’s at your front door,” she said. “Somebody might come by and see. Or they might come to the door. Let’s go back out in the yard if you have to do something.”


She didn’t understand how he could be so excited after the fucking he had just given her. But she could feel the swollen prick against her belly and she knew he would use it this time.


“Anybody might see,” he agreed. “Then they would know what a whore you are. I don’t give a fuck if they find out. In fact, I might tell them myself. You’re a whore, Selina. And from now on you’re going to act like one. You’re going to pull up your skirt any time I tell you.”


“And are you going to make it worth my while?” she asked, looking up into his eyes with her most insouciant look.


He pressed her up against the door again. She felt one hand up between her legs, playing with her pussy. She felt his fingers gently stroking the lips of her cunt. She tried to close her thighs together, but his hand wouldn’t move. She could feel her breath getting shorter. She closed her eyes and tried to fight the feelings he was causing in her.


She gasped as one of his fingers suddenly stabbed into her hot pussy. She felt him moving his fingers around until she was shivering. She couldn’t fight it anymore. He could make her crazy if he wanted to. She wanted him to want to.


“You’re a whore,” he said. “I want you to admit it. Right now. I want you to tell me you’re a whore and that your cunt is going to be ready any time I want it.”


“I’m Catwoman,” she told him. “You know how many millions I’ve stolen? You know how many of my enemies are in jail or in the ground?”


“Out there you’re Catwoman. With me, you’re a whore.”


She kept trying to refuse, but she felt two of his fingers sliding in and out of her pussy. It was making her entire body tingle. She felt herself pushing her ass back against the door and then against his fingers. Her pussy was getting wet, and she knew she couldn’t deny it anymore.


“I’m a whore,” she whispered.


“Louder,” he said.


“I’m a whore!” she screamed. “I’m a whore. My pussy is always ready for you. Is that what you want to hear?”


“That’s it,” he said. “Now reach down. You want what you want.”


She reached down and found his hardness. A car came by the road and she shuddered as the headlights raked through the gate and over her. She didn’t know what they could see but she didn’t care, it didn’t matter. Not as long as they saw Bruce Wayne, as naked as her, right next to her.


“Don’t worry about them,” Bruce said. “I’m sure they enjoyed the show.”


She knew she was going to get fucked. She knew he was going to fuck her up against the door of his house with all of the night watching. It was like he wouldn’t carry her across the threshold before they were married, in body if not in law. She had to be his before she was part of his house. And, Selina realized, she wanted him to be hers just as badly.


Who cared about being a whore as long as the john paid enough? Paid his life and his love. And paid for every diamond Selina could ever want to steal.


“Put it in your cunt, Selina,” he said. “You know where it goes. Put my cock in your pussy.”


She had to spread her legs wide to get his prick in the right position. She settled down on it and groaned as she felt how deep his prick was inside her.


“Yeah,” he groaned. “You like that, don’t you? You like having that big, hot cock inside you?”


“Oh, yes,” she moaned softly.


“Ivy did too. So did Harley.”


“But you didn’t like their loose cunts half as much, did you?”




He held her ass against the door as he began to ram his prick into her pussy. Suddenly she didn’t care anymore that cars were going by and that anyone could see. All she could think about was how delicious his big prick felt. It was degrading to get fucked like this, but wonderful that Bruce cared enough to degrade her. She would never have to do it herself again.


He pounded her harder and harder until she could feel the quivers starting in her body. Her ass was getting rubbed raw by her front door but she didn’t mind that. She started moving her ass up and down a little faster. She could feel her juices dripping over his cock. She didn’t want to give him the pleasure of making her come like this—giving into him so easily, being not just his bitch, but his cock’s bitch. No fingering required, no licking required, all he had to do was penetrate her and she went off. It was embarrassing. Misogynistic. She didn’t want it, but she could already feel her body starting to betray her.


“Yeah, you hot-assed little whore,” he said. “It’s starting to get to you. You’d fuck in the middle of the street in broad daylight.”


He started driving it into her faster, and she couldn’t hold back. She started moaning softly as the flood of desire started building up in her body.


“Oh yes,” she screamed. “Oh yes, fuck me like that. I can’t help it. I like it. Oh shit, I like it. I’m going to come. I’m going to fucking come. OH SHIIIIIIT!”


She screamed again as the wild juices flooded her body. She started working her ass up and down on his prick as fast as she could. She could feel his hard cockhead deeper in her belly. She had never felt it this way before. She loved it!


She finally started to calm down again. She felt the last few shivers running through her body and was able to relax. He stopped moving. He held her against the door until the last of her cream had run down her thighs.


“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asked.


“Damn you,” she said slowly. “You know I liked it. You’ve always known I would like it.”


“And that I would like it too,” he said. “That’s why I never let myself… until now.”


She kept squeezing his big cock. It still felt so deep inside her that she could feel herself shivering. She wondered why he didn’t go ahead and come inside her. Instead she felt him pull his prick out of her. He scooped her up; his foot lashed out and kicked the front door in. He pitched her inside, onto the landing. She fell on her ass. The sheer ferocity of it flared inside her like an explosion. The next thing she knew, he was upon her like an animal. All he had to do was thrust inside her and it was like fire inside her. She was coming again. She couldn’t stop.


Wildly, Selina rolled from side to side on the floor. Her legs threshed the air and her arms waved, then she parted her legs to the limit, placed her fingers over her wild clitoris. "I-I can't stop!" she panted, saliva running from her mouth in a stream.


Slowly, deliberately, Bruce eased himself up from her body, robbing her of her penetration. Taunting her with her desperation for it. Selina’s legs were outstretched on either side of him and when she felt his weight go down onto her she could feel the violent shocks still tearing through her flesh. She reached under him, seized his member, guided it between her thighs. Her pelvis was jerking so much that it was difficult to steer the organ into her vulva, but when she raised herself as another orgasm rocked through her, she stabbed inward quickly with his erect cock and penetrated the writhing, squirming lips of her pussy.


The soft inner walls vibrated violently against his stiff cock.


"Urgh," she groaned, "you're in me, I can feel your cock—you're gonna fuck me!"


Bruce lay very still, "You're fucking me, Selina!" He gave an amused chuckle. "This is heaven, Selina—just lying on your delicious body and letting your throbbing, jerking cunt suck every drop from my prick."


He savored the thrills that coursed through his flesh as the soft, strong walls of Selina’s quivering pussy caressed, squeezed and hugged on his cock.


"Selina," he announced roughly, "I'm going to come—I'm going to come inside you!"


"I-I've come so many times that -- urgh, Bruce -- I'm coming again! All in me, you're coming inside me -- I can feel the hot, burning stuff in my pussy! Bruce, eeeeeeh!"


The groan throbbed from Bruce's throat as the cum was sucked from the sexual depths of his body. The intense orgasm drained him of strength. Selina was still vibrating, still experiencing a waning series of lesser and lesser orgasms as he dragged his drained body off hers.


Weakly, he laid beside her, watching her face, twisted and contorted with passion, excitement and fatigue as she shook, jerked, orgasmed and started the sensuous chain again.


Bruce glanced at his watch—the one thing he still wore—then took hold of Selina to clutch her against his chest and wait until the tortuous sequence of her orgasms came to an end.


“Now you know how I’ll punish you,” he said.