Marry The Knight

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 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 inside its stone contours. "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 the insides of her shoulders, fingers tightening, his 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 had collated 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 not to expose himself to the virus 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 off her body. Bruce enjoyed the sight of her trim, delicate ankles, then the fittingly muscular thighs that crowned her slim legs. Her stockings were a virginal white, reminiscent of the white pancake make-up she'd worn as a supervillain, while her garter belt had long since been caught be 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, Harley had some trouble snaking the dress over her head. Bruce crossed his arms to stop him 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 scanty uplift bra, her breasts were small but incredibly perky, while her ass was similarly small and tight within her skimpy 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 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 she would enjoy it.

Then, there she was. Practically hog-tied, her pert 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 its litheness and athleticism. He felt it out, finding it firm with muscle to the point of hardness. The kind of ass 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 received it. Now he enjoyed it, bringing his hand up and then down with all the ceremony of a rabbit punch.

Harley gasped 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 hard, 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 firm 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 didn'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 in a gruff voice, 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?"

"Yes!"

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?"

"No!"

"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, rocking her nearly 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 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 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 might 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 trying to 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 just as 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 shaking with its passage, 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 her 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 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 patting, like he would 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 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 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, maneuvered his hardness out. He knew better than to think 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 was 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 he begged, but it was hard to stop staring at the sheer excess of meat nearly vertical over her face. Was it just that she hadn't seen one since the Joker was locked up, one of the villains too dangerous even to be used for the preservation of humanity? 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...