RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Dangerous Games

The heist had not gone well.

The henchmen disappeared as soon as they got back to the lair, silently and without preamble, falling over each other to get away from the Joker.

Harley stayed – she could hardly abandon her man now, when he was so disappointed and frustrated – but she didn’t blame the boys for running. After all, she was his girl. They were disposable.

“Gee, I wonder how the cops knew we’d be there,” Harley pondered out loud as she trailed after the Joker, who was stalking through the dilapidated old theatre that was their current residence.

Joker had ground his teeth so hard they audibly grated, hands clenched by his sides.

“Oracle,” he spat through his teeth and Harley had blinked and pondered the name. She knew as much about the mystery-informer as any rogue in Gotham did – that is, nothing, except he or she was a scourge in the side of every respectable villain, dedicating his or her life to laying asunder the best-laid plans of hard-working crooks like her Puddin’.

The Joker had continued ahead, pacing through the backstage corridors to his quarters on the stage. He did not fume, kick things (Harley), curse, hit things (Harley), rail or throw things (Harley). He simply stalked, with his shoulders hunched up, his head down low, his teeth gritted and his hands clenched.

No wonder the henches had high-tailed it so quickly. They knew the warnings signs and there was never so much danger as when the boss was silently, coldly furious like this.

When he was mad like this, people wouldn’t just die. They’d die slowly.

Harley knew too, of course. She’d seen her Puddin’ in moods like this before, many a time, and usually she was smart enough to get far out of reach as well. But after seven years surviving life at his side, she’d begun to perhaps just slightly take the status quo for granted.

Sure, he may have tried to kill her in the distant past. And sure, he may kill her yet in the future. But right then and right now, he’d never, ever kill her. No way. Nuh-uh.

She was his girl, after all. And though the last seven years had come with their share of bruises, broken bones and buckets of tears, she was confident that several years without a dedicated attempt on her life indicated she was here to stay. Who else had survived this long by his side? And who else did he choose to watch Marx Bros movie marathons with, or take dancing down by the docks – or give such significant roles to play in his schemes?

So, rather than do as the boys had done, and disappear, Harley was determined to cheer her Puddin’ up. And she thought she had just the very thing.


The theatre itself was a mess of half-finished construction. It had been under redevelopment when the owners had run out of money, and abandoned. Jagged pieces of wood and rusting metal structures decorated the space like student art projects. Precarious scaffolding and old tools lay, frozen in place. The stage was hung with enormous red velvet drapes, dusty and mouldering. Rows upon rows of moth-eaten, ragged seats sat staring silently back at the stage, like an audience awaiting the show.

In the centre of the stage itself, the Joker stood, bathed in one great pool of light from a single spotlight he’d switched on. He stared toward the upper circle, his face fixed in a curious expression of confused irritation, his teeth bared but his brows only slightly furrowed. Harley stealthily approached him from the wings, and paused to watch him a moment, how his regal posture seemed ethereal in the harsh light, dust motes swirling around him and the theatre beyond utterly dark. To her eyes, he appeared as a god.
“Oh, Puuuuddiiinnn…” she softly sang, slinking out from the shadows, hips swaying decadently.

Joker’s lip twitched and he batted a hand in her direction.

Harley leaned up against the side of the stage and struck a sensuous pose, her pelvis angled forward and one arm up above her head.

“C’mon Mistah J, I got the cure for what ails ya!”

“Harley,” the Joker said in a voice so dangerously quiet it would normally have sent her streaking away from him in terror. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Aw, c’mon Puddin’ – or, maybe I should call you that vile fiend, the Joker!” Harley kicked off the stage wall and struck a more aggressive fighting stance. “Get ready to be taken in, buster! I ain’t foolin’ around – when you mess with Gotham, you mess with Batgirl!”

At this the Joker did turn his head.

Harley inwardly thrilled as she anticipated his reaction when he saw her. She’d whipped the costume up a few months ago to surprise Mistah J with and had been just waiting for the right opportunity.

It was a Batgirl costume – but not the drab, dreary solid black affair the strangely silent and frankly weird new Batgirl ran around in – it was the classic. The one the old red-haired Batgirl had teased and tormented the city in. A skin-tight grey body suit, the classic cowl and cape in midnight blue, yellow gloves, boots, belt and bat insignia, curving lusciously over her full breasts. It was perfect down to the last detail – Harley had even acquired a red wig she’d put on under the cowl, a sheath of hair flowing out the back, adding the final touch to the illusion.

Harley had been pleased when she’d blown herself a kiss in the cracked mirror of the crumbling dressing room she’d changed in. She thought Mistah J would be, too.

For a long moment he just stared, as though trying to understand what it was he was seeing. He blinked two or three times, and peered at her closer. His eyes grew wider, and his jaw slowly slackened.

He stared so long that Harley grew just a touch uncomfortable.

Then, suddenly, an evil leer split his face, running upwards like a knife wound. His eyes lit up with an unholy gleam, seeming to sparkle beneath the spotlight. He turned towards her fully, his manner that of a shark gliding to narrow in on its prey and Harley suddenly got the strangest urge to run very quickly and very far.

She didn’t.

“Well, well, well,” The Joker hissed in a voice that felt like jagged nails scraped down her spine. “What have we here? A little girl playing a big boy’s game, eh?”

She wasn’t sure if he was role-playing or not. After a moment’s hesitation she decided that she’d behave as though he was.
“Er – you shut your mouth, fiend! I’m a capable, independent woman who can kick your pasty-white butt from here to Metropolis! Now, are you going to come along quietly or do you want to give me a reason to work off the pizza I had earlier!”

The Joker had started softly giggling, his eyes still wide and strangely bright, fixed rigidly upon her. She wasn’t sure exactly why she didn’t feel terribly thrilled about having her Puddin’s complete attention but shrugged it off as she put her hands on her hips and stood, legs wide, to face him down.

“Oooh, Batgirl, you always were a feisty one!” Her man chortled. “But as I recall, my gags always knocked you off your feet!”

Harley blinked, confused. She didn’t get it.

The Joker had begun to advance upon her, a strange and hungry grin twisting his features, and Harley cowered back, eyes suddenly darting in all directions, assessing her chances for escape.

“Er, Mistah J,” she piped up in a little voice, breaking character, as his shadow loomed over her. “You know it’s me, right?”

Joker’s expression became suddenly solicitous, his clenched fists turning into pawing hands, gently stroking her face.
“Of course I do, Pooh,” he coddled her, bending right down and brushing a little kiss across her lips. “This little surprise of yours has just really come at an opportune moment.”
Harley smiled up at her man, delighted to have really hit upon something that resonated with him. Nonetheless, she couldn’t quite shake off a faint sense of unease. There was even something a little different about the way he touched her.
“I wanted to give ya somethin’ a little different, Puddin’ – I know how much you love beating down the Bat-Brats when ya get the chance, I thought I’d stand in for one!”
He’d be rough with her no doubt, but she was in the mood for it. In fact, she couldn’t wait.
The Joker’s hands trailed down her face and suddenly rather painfully gripped her arms, he stooping to leer into her face.
“You’re a very. Very. Naughty bad girl,” he enunciated through his teeth and the unease welled in her again, although she was hard-pressed to pinpoint exactly what it was that was so discomfiting her. Mistah J was plenty scary plenty of times – she was kinda used to it, even when it didn’t turn her on. Never mind. Right now she was faced with hours of decadence with her man and she wasn’t going to turn those back!
“Not as bad as you, buster!” She shrugged off his grip and gave him a half-hearted shove backwards. His grin grew wider but otherwise he did not react. After a small hesitation she stepped forward and began to fumble with the buttons of his fly. “I’m wise to your tricks and I’m takin’ you in – after you get a friskin’!” She carefully did not look at his face.
He allowed her to undo one button, then caught up her hand and held it between them. She saw that it was trembling.
Joker pulled his expression down into an exaggerated pout. “Aw, baby, after that little tease you’re not going cold-fish on your Daddy, are you?”
Harley wiggled. “No, no,” she said, uncomfortably aware of how her voice cracked a little. “It’s just all a bit new to me, Puddin’, I’m not sure what to expect…”
Joker smiled charmingly and let go her hand, taking her by both hips, pulling her groin forward to bump against his. She could feel how hard he was and her heart picked up its pace.
“Aw, Pooh, there’s nothing to worry about – you just look so yummy – “ he ground his hard-on against her and she felt a little faint. Why was she worried, it was just her Puddin’… “ - but hey, if you need a little security blanket, how about a safe word?
“A safe word?” Harley was growing confused again. She’d never had a safe word before. And there’d been plenty of times she’d wanted one! Well, if he was offering one now, why not take it?
“Yes, you know, just to quell your anxieties. Oh, here we go – how about wheelchair?”
“Wheelchair?” She didn’t get it, but at least it was unmistakable. “Okay.”

Joker’s grin widened, then abruptly he brought a knee up into her stomach, then slammed an elbow against her face. Stars burst behind her eyes as she gasped around the crippling pain in her stomach, struggling to get her breath back. Whoah, Mistah J was really into this. Lucky for her, she was used to a few knocks.

She shook them off quickly, in time to duck and spin out of the way as Joker came for her again, the theatre suddenly echoing with an excited burst of his laughter.
Harley shivered when she heard it, and that possibly perturbed her more. Normally, she loved hearing her Puddin’ laugh, especially during playtime. But – there was something simply bone-chilling about this one as she faced off against her man, who paced restlessly to the side, several feet from her. She edged the opposite way, body angled forward, muscles tensed and ready to spring into action if he tried anything, while he simply sidled, hands in his pockets and smile on his face. She wasn’t fooled though. No matter how harmless he looked, he was anything but.
I wonder if this is how the Bat-Brats feel when they’re up against him, she pondered, when suddenly, Joker stopped and made her a bow.
“Please, my dear. Can’t we discuss this like civilised people?”
They were back in the role-play, she was pretty sure. He took a step towards her and she started.
“I’m willing to come with you quietly, Bat-Babe.” He took another step and she decided to play along.
“I’m not fooled by your tricks, Joker!” She had no idea how the old Batgirl used to talk, but lowered her voice a little anyway. “Stay back.”
Of course, she had every intention of letting him catch her, eventually. She figured this time she’d let him get pretty close, then duck out of the way, make him chase her a little. She always loved it when he chased her, he made it so much fun.
Joker took another step forward. “I assure you, my dear, I’m harmless as a lamb.” He was almost in range of her now and she decided when he took the next step, she’d spring away. He flourished one arm in the air and she followed the movement with her eyes. “And like a little lamb, I just like to butt heads now and then.” His lovely long fingers unfurled against the beam of light thrown upon them and then, unexpectedly, a cloud of gas welled up in her face and she gasped, and gagged, eyes stinging, then staggered. Misdirection, she realised, her sputtering causing her to double over, waving his arm around like that while the other, unnoticed, delved into his pockets. Just the sort of thing he’d really do to one of the Bat-Cla – uh oh.

She caught the glint of light off the blade as his arm arced around and then something whammed into her side, knocking her backwards. She did not feel the pain at first.

A second later it blossomed, burning and cruel, and she staggered and looked down in horror as blood welled from her waist, soaking through the fabric of her costume, staining the bright yellow gloves.

He’d stabbed her.

She was too shocked to notice his advance until the fist caught her jaw, sending her head snapping sideways. While she reeled, he drew his arm back and brought it into her gut again, three times. The punches knocked the wind from her and made the stab wound scream and with the knock-out gas still affecting her senses, she was helpless when he bent and scooped her over one shoulder.

She continued to wheeze as he carried her across the stage to where an old wooden saw horse stood, the pain in her side splintering against the pressure of his shoulder. Oh boy. This was not what she had expected at all. She was a little freaked out, to tell the truth. Her Puddin’ seemed to have – really lost himself in the moment.

“Puddin’,” she managed to sputter, “maybe we should slow down?”

He dumped her unceremoniously on the floor and she cried out as the wooden floorboards cracked against her hip and elbow, then he swept a collection of old tools from the horse’s surface with one purple-sleeved arm. Dazed, she blinked up at him and gagged at the sight of her blood staining the shoulder of his purple suit. Grinning madly, he loomed over her and she shrieked as he wrenched her up by the arms, his face a blur of white and red, glittering eyes like those that followed her in her nightmares.

“Puddin’, it’s me, it’s your little girl, Harley!” Her voice was tinged with hysteria, fear pounding in her chest painfully, almost drowning out the sting in her side.

He forced her backwards over the horse, her spine flat against its crossbeam, forcing her legs open on either side. She bucked upwards, in full-blown panic, and his fist came flying through the air to connect with her jaw again.
She slumped backwards and he gave her another face full of the gas and she reeled. While she hacked and blinked in and out of consciousness, he swept up a length of rope and pulled her arms down, swiftly binding them to the horse’s front legs with knots he’d perfected a long time ago. Struggling against the blackness that spotted over her eyes, she pulled at the ropes with everything she could muster, but they held firm.

Hoo boy. Mistah J had cracked his nut – for real!

“Puddin’, please let’s stop – I’m not really okay with this,” she pleaded gently as he moved to the end of the sawhorse and grasped hold of one of her struggling legs. “Let’s regroup, huh?” She was as entreating as possible, not wanting to upset him when he was clearly so aroused by the situation, yet needing to affirm her own discomfort. A discomfort which increased as he yanked her legs down and bound them firmly to the back legs of the horse.

The position was incredibly uncomfortable, with the thin wooden crossbeam hard against her spine and her arms pulled downwards, her head lolling back over the end of the horse without any support. The Joker straightened and loomed over her, leering in a way that sent pricklings of fear through her body. Then he reached into his pocket and a wave of panic swept through her again.

Safe word safe word safe word. Of course! How had she forgotten?

She opened her mouth: “Whee – ugghmffff!”

Joker had shoved his balled up handkerchief into her mouth. With his free hand, he tore at his tie, pulled it off and then wrapped it around her head, securing the gag. She could say nothing now but inarticulate noises, muffled protests that fell on deaf ears.

She thought she had been panicking before, but with the blank terror that swept her then she began to truly understand what mindless fear was all about. Sure, she’d been afraid of her man in the past – he could be a scary guy when he was in one of his little moods – but never before had she known what it was like to be on the other side – to be one of them.
Now all she could think about was getting away, her arms and legs straining constantly at her bonds, not feeling how the rough rope began to cut into her flesh through the costume, her woozy head twisting back and forth as her panicked eyes followed the Joker’s progress as he began to slowly circle the saw horse, grinning down at her with an eerie light in his eyes. She implored him with her eyes, fixing her best puppy dog stare hoping that he would see through the costume and recognise his own sweet girl there, that this malicious delight he was taking in her terror would become the same affectionate, special sadism she’d always known and not this alien type.
He came to a halt at the head of the horse, looking directly down into her face as she whimpered and whined against the gag, the beloved scent of his cologne familiar in her nostrils. It brought her no comfort then as she looked up into her Puddin’s upside down face.

Her body was twitching spasmodically, her breath coming in frantic, ragged gasps, her heart pounding so hard and so loud she thought it might rupture. The rough fabric of the handkerchief in her mouth soaked up her saliva, making her throat burn for relief and the pain in her side had steadied into a demanding throb. She flinched as the Joker lifted his hands and began to gently stroke her face.

“You know what happens to little girls who play big boy games, pet?” Joker’s voice was soft and caressing, but it did not soothe her. How had everything gone so wrong? “They find themselves handling a little more than they can swallow.” She had been so sure Mistah J would be delighted to put her over his knee for a spanking when he saw her. Then maybe “force” her to service him. But not this. She never imagined this.

Joker ran a hand down her neck and over her breasts and she shuddered and stopped struggling. “Shhhhh,” he purred, running a finger around the edge of the bat insignia. “This is part of the gig, you know darling, being trussed up and tortured for hours in some far, out of the way place. Didn’t Bats tell you? Tsk, such an over protective mentor, keeping the facts of life from you. You’ve got to do it sometime.” He bent at the waist, bringing his face down close alongside Harley’s. “I’m thrilled to be your first,” he whispered, his breath hot and sweet against her cheek.

He straightened abruptly and walked around to her wounded side, one of his long, slender knives suddenly in his hands. Her struggling resumed. What was he going to do? Oh, please don’t let him cut her again. Normally she loved the exciting cruelty of the blade across her flesh, but she just knew he’d cut her deeper this time.

As much as Dr. Leland had told her she was foolish and delusional, Harley always trusted Mistah J not to do her any really serious damage when they played. Of course, there had been times when he’d been very angry with her she’d wound up with a few broken bones, a concussion or two. But when they played, he pushed the limits, even crossed them and yet – somehow she always felt safe.

She did not feel that security now. Somehow, in the last fifteen minutes, all the rules had changed.

“Of course,” Joker murmured, waving the blade inches above her grey-clad skin. “The usual orifices don’t really suffice for this sort of thing. So we gotta – create a new hole or two to play with.”

The blade hooked suddenly through the fabric, which tore easily as he dragged it upwards, scraping the flesh of her stomach. It nicked against her ribs and she heard herself make a desperate sort of squeal through the gag. The fabric screeched as it tore; he grasped hold of it with one hand and ripped it open. It split across her stomach, up and over her breasts and down her crotch. He snarled as he pulled it away, leaving her torso bare.

The bat insignia had folded up and his eyes locked on the bare patch of skin that had been revealed beneath it. She strained her head to see and caught sight of the pink scar that curled between her breasts – the ‘J’ he’d branded her with so many years ago.

Then his hand lashed out, flipping the insignia back sharply, covering the scar.

Her heart leapt. He wasn’t gone, not entirely. He did know, did know it was her. It was okay, everything was okay. Her Puddin’ was just taking care to make everything authentic, that’s all.

So then, with her body so exposed and restrained, helpless to him, she felt her juices begin to flow, a sweet sort of tingling in her loins. Her bottom was positioned so it was right on the edge of the crossbeam, her pussy spread open to the cool night air and anything he wanted to do to it and she felt so disgustingly vulnerable the old familiar yearning ache began in her loins, the urge to be touched and stroked and rubbed.

He moved between her legs and she rolled her eyes onto him, though keeping her head up was causing her neck to complain. She did not look at him with terror now, but with invitation and lust. His eyes roved her partially naked body furiously, admiring the way tatters of fabric clung to her limbs, how her breasts hung on either side of the bat insignia, the unnatural way her arms were pulled. He clucked his tongue.

“I can see you’re mature for your age,” he teased and she blushed. Then he locked his eyes onto hers.

She stared back at him devotedly, letting him see her adoration written on her face. Now he would exchange a secret little smile with her. Now the fun would really begin.

Instead, his mouth twisted in a scowl and he lashed out with his arm, slapping her hard. He slapped her again, back the other way and once more, then gripped her by the neck and began to choke her.

“Oh don’t worry, baby,” he snarled in a low voice. Then abruptly he began to smile. “I’m going to ease you into it.” Her head felt like it was going to explode and she began struggling again, her flesh flushed and wet with sweat. “Don’t worry. I won’t rush. I’ll warm you up properly first.”

He abruptly let her go and she let her head fall back, gasping desperate breath in through her nostrils, not a single one feeling like it was enough. Hoo boy, had she ever screwed up on this one.

Between her spread-eagled legs, Mistah J was delicately pulling off a glove, finger by finger, slowly baring one white hand beneath the spotlight. His huge hands that she marvelled over, that she so loved to kiss or feel stroke or strike her. Now she regarded them with frightened eyes.

He slipped the glove into his pocket, then bent over her helpless body, outstretching his fingers to run over her skin. She jerked and flinched and he tittered, once more happy at the sight of her fear, then he dragged his hand to her side and began to draw his fingers around the wound. The sensitised flesh stung even beneath the lightness of his touch, the pain sharp and intense. He drew his fingers in smaller and smaller circles until finally he reached the angry little hole itself.

Her eyes darted frantically from her wound to his face and back again while he stared, almost fondly, down at the injury, an expectant smile on his mouth. He flickered his eyes back up to her face, waggled his eyebrows at her, then suddenly dipped a finger into the hole.

She moaned in pain, a guttural sound around the gag, as her nerves screamed in shock. Joker grinned wider and began to move his finger around in the wound, a little in and a little out, moving it softly back and forth. Exactly the same, she realised, as if he were playing with her pussy. As soft as his movements were, the pain was intense, a throbbing, furious ache that flared through her entire right side.

Stop she tried to say, please stop Puddin’. But the only thing that came through the gag were indiscernible mumblings.

Joker chuckled, bending at the waist to hover closer over the wound, beginning to move his finger harder and faster now, jamming his finger over and over in the small hole. She squeezed her eyes shut and rattled the sawhorse as her chest began to heave with silent sobs.

Joker pulled the tip of his finger out then jabbed it roughly back in and she screamed through the gag as white hot pain erupted through her, unrolling across her body in agonising waves. She heard him laugh, felt him pull his finger away though the pain continued to reverberate. She moaned in a voice she did not recognise.

Something warm and wet ran across the wound and she choked and opened her eyes to see her Puddin’ – the Joker – running his tongue around its outside, still with a smile on his face. He lapped up the blood, which had begun to flow swifter after his probing, licking it off in great, long strokes as one hand came up to roughly grasp at her breast and the bloody fingers of his other one went straight between her legs.

He squeezed her breast hard, grasping it tight in his hand and his fingers penetrated her roughly. She was only a little wet from her fleeting arousal of earlier, and he’d thrust two fingers straight inside, pushing hard into her. Her hips bucked up in protest and she felt the vibration of his laugh as he dipped his tongue softly into the stab wound. Oh god, was this really happening? Was her man really torturing her like this? He wasn’t even like her Puddin’ anymore, but some horrible stranger, hellbent on making her suffer.

Tears began to roll down her cheeks as she despaired. What was he going to do to her? How had things got so out of hand?

Joker slurped up her stinging flesh between his lips, sucking on the ragged edges of the wound and Harley’s head reeled as the agony overwhelmed her. Again, she heard that alien sound from her throat and barely registered as Joker straightened, too perilously close to passing out.

He was staring down at her, blood smeared at the corners of his mouth, making it seem his lips were torn and jagged beyond their normal scope, a strange little smile playing on his face. He pulled his fingers out of her and without breaking gaze, lifted his hand to his mouth and licked blood and fluid from his fingers. His other hand began to fumble with his fly.

“Now, sweetie,” he purred, “I said I’d go slow. I didn’t say anything about gentle.”

She whimpered against the fabric bunched in her mouth and blinked away the tears that clouded her vision. Please, please let him stop soon. Please. Let him just fuck her and finish this.

“You’re all warmed up now,” he sneered, as he opened his fly and reached inside. “All ready for me.” He pulled his cock out and Harley boggled at it. The white flesh was pulled tight across its length, veins bulging and the head of it a purplish-red. It was hard as rock and seemed as furiously mad as its owner.

It’s almost over she told herself. Just hang in there, girl.

Joker put a hand on both her thighs and leant back a little, looking down at her pussy with a sneering sort of assessment. His eyes flickered back up to hers and then he grinned and suddenly stepped around to her side. She could feel her face growing wild with desperate confusion as he stepped up to the stab wound, taking his cock in one hand.

“Girl, you’ll be a woman soon…” he breathed and then the head of his cock was probing the wound, pushing into it.

She tried to scream. With everything she had in her, she threw her voice against the gag, feeling her throat pulsing with the effort. A blood curling sound whined through the fabric. He couldn’t, he couldn’t the wound was too small, he’d have to break her flesh open even more, god the entire breadth of his cock, no he couldn’t, he couldn’t.

She jerked and struggled, heedless of the way the rope bit into her, of how her arms jarred in their sockets. Joker chuckled and tittered, rubbed his cock over the wound, pushed against it. She could barely breathe around her choked sobs now, writhing to pull her arms free of her restraints, convinced now that she was never going to escape this torment or this stranger that looked and behaved like her Puddin’ – and yet was another kind of monster altogether.

He laughed, a bitter sound that sent a compulsive tremble shuddering through her body and then his hand was gripping the back of her head, forcing it to hold still, forcing her to look up into his face as he pushed his cock again and again against the open wound. He gripped her in his gaze, a special talent he had, locking her there with something beyond her understanding glittering in the depths of his eyes. She thought she may have glimpsed that look – a look of malicious pleasure mingled with perfect insanity – once or twice before. But never at her, no it had never been at her.

Now it was and Harley suddenly felt sure she was going to die.

No, no. This isn’t how she wanted it. It’s not how things were supposed to be. She didn’t want him to kill her because of some poorly calculated sex game on her part. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the right way for it to climax between them. If he was going to kill her, it should be for herself not because he’d got wrapped up in some pretence that she was one of those stupid, awful Bat-creeps!

He’d pushed his face against her, growling softly against her cheek as his hips rocked back and forth, the head of his cock banging painfully again and again onto the stab wound. Her stressed imagination began to run wild, imagining that every thrust opened the wound wider, stretched and spread it, spilling more and more of her blood onto the floor, her vital organs rupturing.
“Ooh, you feel good,” he breathed, “all nice and hot and wet.”

Mistah J, she struggled to say it, to make herself understood. Mistah J, STOP.

Abruptly, he pulled away, lifting an arm to rub sweat from his brow. She gazed up at him hopefully. Now he’d untie her. Now he’d pull her mask off, cradle her head against his chest, give her soft kisses and say everything was all right.

Except he hadn’t come.

“Whoo-wee,” he laughed. “You’re a live one. And so – uh – tight.”

She winced at the cruel joke, sniffling. It was getting harder to breathe around the congestion in her sinuses, clogged from her helpless tears, tears that continued to roll hopelessly across her cheeks.

The Joker tucked himself back into his pants and then spun around, searching the space around them with crazed eyes and Harley wiggled on the sawhorse. The crossbeam was digging painfully into her back, and her arms were swiftly growing numb. Her neck was aching with the strain of keeping her head held up and the sharp, throbbing pain of her wound seemed to echo steadily through her whole body. She was utterly miserable.

Joker suddenly hunched and pounced forward, just beyond her range of sight. “Ah-ha!” she heard him say triumphantly and then he was giggling maniacally and a wave of nausea spread through her.

He bent over her again and she blanched at the sight of that evil grin, the deadly mischief that brightened his face.

“Gotta test your metal, Bat-Babe,” he giggled and lifted his arm up.

When she saw what was in it, Harley thrust up so hard the front legs of the sawhorse lifted several inches off the ground, before clattering back down.

He gripped a small hand-held circular saw, its rusted edges glinting dully beneath the spotlight.

He brought it down in one smooth movement, skimming it down over the bat insignia and right across her stomach, the sharpened edges of the metal nicking and jabbing at her skin.
“MreeeeoOOOwwwrn!” He cried out, “brrrzzzzzzzztttt!”, and then laughed wildly, the sound of it reverberating off the walls of the theatre, throwing back cruelly mocking echoes.
At any other time, Harley might’ve found it funny as well. Her breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps through her nose as she watched it in transfixed horror, coasting across her pale flesh. Her breasts rose and fell with her frantic breathing and the Joker pushed the saw in harder against her stomach, moving back around between her legs as he did so.

No, no, no, her mind screamed wildly, god no, he wouldn’t. He won’t. No, he won’t, he won’t. oh please don’t let him, please.

Joker lifted the saw entirely off her body then, holding it hovering several inches above her groin. He glanced back up at her and winked and she grew numb with terror, desperately shaking her head, before he brought the saw down, letting it skim lightly over her clit and down one side of her pussy.

She lay as still as she could, her body still shaking violently as he brought it back up the other way, the sharp metal prickling cold and cruel over her most delicate and sensitive flesh. She felt sobs begin to wrack her body once more as he pressed the blades softly into her, hard enough she could feel their sharpness but soft enough not to cut her – she hoped.

For all she knew, he was about to draw his arm back and sink the blades hard into her.

He pushed again, a little harder, and it began to hurt and she whined, her numb arms twitching against the ropes.

Suddenly his arm whipped away and she yelped and shut her eyes, waiting for the agonising blow.

Instead, a distant clutter shook her and she opened her eyes again to see the Joker had tossed aside the saw and had picked up a long metal leveller. Her eyebrows puckered as she pondered what possible use he could have for such a thing, then her head snapped back as he brought it hard against first one knee cap, and then the other. The pain was unbelievable, like glass shattering up through her thighs and though she tried to scream, her throat choked up and she instead had to force herself to breath in deep, steadying gulps through her nostrils.

He threw the leveller away, seemingly content for the moment, then bent over her again, a hand pressing into either shoulder.

“You know,” he sneered in a whisper, his breath hot and harsh against her sore jaw. “You lot are always holding out on me. Always clammed up on your old uncle Joker. And we’ve known each other so long now. I think it’s time you opened up, hrm?”

She didn’t understand what he meant. She didn’t understand anything about this Joker and that was almost more frightening than anything else. She snuffled, and tried to communicate this to him with her entreating eyes, but he only grinned meanly back down at her in a way so foreign she might as well really have been one of the Bat-Brats.

Then he had turned and was stalking away, towards the wings. She strained her head to see where he was going as he called back playfully over his shoulder:
“Don’t go ‘way now, ya hear?”
His laughter echoed around the stage long after he had disappeared.

She lay there alone, half-naked and helpless beneath the spotlight, tied uncomfortably to the unforgiving structure beneath her, her body a throbbing mess of aches and pains, and wept despondently. What had gone wrong? Where was her own beloved Puddin’, the man she so adored? She’d been so sure this little surprise of hers would get him going – and it had, but not in the way she’d expected.

This wasn’t her Mistah J. This was some cruel, savage beast who thrived only on her misery, who delighted in her suffering. This was the man the rest of the world saw. This was The Joker.

Her arms were tingling with pins and needles, one more torment to add to her list. Where had he gone? What was he doing? What if the henches came back and saw her like this, naked and tied down? Her cheeks burned at that thought. Oh please, no. No, no. What if they mistook her for the real Batgirl? What then? Would Mistah J come back in time? Would he stop them? Or would he just laugh?

She rather thought this Mistah J might just laugh.

She began to whine again and jerk up, making the sawhorse rock, its legs scraping at the floor. She had to get away. Somehow, somehow, she had to escape before he came back, or the henchmen came back, before anything worse could happen to her.

Then a piercing whistle split the air and she froze.

It was the Joker, skipping jauntily out of the wings, brandishing something in one hand that he held up triumphantly above his head.

A large jar of discarded cold cream.

She gazed at it in confusion, unable to comprehend what it might be for. She had expected something sharp, or blunt, or heavy. Something he could hurt her with. But cold cream?

Being as familiar with her Puddin’s active imagination as she was, she did not feel any semblance of relief at all. If anything, her panic doubled and her heart rate once again sped painfully up.

“We’ll just throw the lid away!” He announced cheerily, unscrewing the lid and tossing it off to the side.

He dipped a finger into the goop and swirled it around, pulling up a generous, slimy glob that promptly slid off his digit and plopped back into the jar. His giggles sent shivers down her spine, and she flinched painfully as he dolloped a small spot of cream onto her nose.

“Sorry about shredding your threads, Bat-Cutie,” Joker said in a voice ringing with insincerity. “Lucky for you, I know more than one way to skin a Bat!”

The Joker settled himself between her legs again, gazing down at her with savage glee. Her whole body shook with tiny, violent tremors and she blinked at him with wide, frightened eyes. What was he going to do?

He dipped his fingers into the cold cream and scooped some out, rubbing his fingers together to get it spread over his hand. He dug the fingers of his other hand into her hip and held her firm, giving her a nasty leer as he dropped the lubricated hand between her legs and began pushing gently but insistently at her pussy.

“You ever cook up a Thanksgiving dinner, cutie?” His snickering voice was so mocking she choked on a little sob.

Two fingers slid into her and she hissed and snorted, lifting her hips in response to the cold of the cream and the roughness of his touch. He began thrusting in and out, shoving hard into her and her dry pussy felt tight and unyielding against his hand.

He was patient though, keeping his eyes fixed, wide and bright, on her face, a lascivious and malicious smile slightly parting his lips. He kept up, removing his fingers briefly to dip back into the cold cream he’d balanced on her pelvis, then pushing back into her again, this time with three fingers. His fingers were long and slender, but three of them were still wider than his cock, which stretched her enough as it was. Even with the lubrication, her tensed muscles resisted the penetration though his hand continued to urge her open, pushing firmly in and out.

"This one time, when I was visiting Arkham, there was a doctor there that had a little Batgirl doll on his desk. An action figure. Not very articulated."

The crossbeam of the sawhorse dug painfully into her buttocks as she unwillingly rocked back and forth against his thrusts, the movement forced by his actions. The rough wood grated against her spine as he scooped up more cold cream with his free hand and rubbed it over the one he was steadily pushing inside her, finger by finger.

He was up to four now and her pussy was burning. In her fear and pain she was unable to relax enough for her muscles to yield to him, to make it easier. Once again she was hyperventilating and struggling to get control over her breathing, sucking in whatever thin threads of air she could get around the gag. Her mouth felt dry as a desert, swollen and her jaw ached from the discomfort of having been forced open for so long. The cowl and wig she wore was stuffy; the skin beneath it slippery with sweat but she couldn’t do a thing to move it.

The man who was usually her boyfriend was snickering as he watched his hand disappear inside her, flickering his eyes up from her pussy to her face, noting with interest every tear that spilled down her cheek. He pushed his four fingers deeper into her and she whimpered painfully and he licked his lips in response.

"The guy was a real jerk. He loved you Bat Freaks. So. MUCH! And clearly you were his favourite, my dear. Anytime we were in session, he was fiddling and fingering that little Bat-Babe toy, turning it over and over between his hands. It didn’t take a psychiatry degree to espy he had a few little issues of his own. "

She felt his thumb then, creeping just inside her alongside the others as he brought his fingers together. She may not have been aroused, but the cold cream he continued to heap on slicked the way and in spite of her body’s concerted protests, all five of his digits steadily eased their way into her.

"He wanted you to love him back. You know how frustrating an unfulfilled fantasy can be. So I thought I’d lend him a hand."

He was chuckling softly as he watched, frequently lifting his gaze to hers, relentlessly pushing forward, coaxing her muscles open. She turned her head restlessly, hoping against all odds he would stop, withdraw his hand, stop splitting her open so wide. But he didn’t.

"You know you’ve got really sharp ears?"

She felt bile rise to her throat at the punch line and the unwelcomely vivid visual that accompanied it. She struggled to swallow, hoping against all reason she would not throw up against the gag. She felt stretched wide, forced open and it was too much for her to bear. Something awful was going to happen. He was going to rupture something, or break something – irreparably. She’d never properly recover; he’d damage her permanently. God, why, why, why had she done this? How could she have ever thought it would be a good idea on that night of all nights?

Suddenly, she felt something within yield and his whole enormous hand was inside her, up to the wrist. She could feel the entrance of her pussy around his wrist and moaned in numb horror as he slowly curled his fingers into a huge fist inside of her, the scrape of each knuckle hard against her inner walls, and begin to pump it.

She gave in then, her whole body trembling violently before going limp, the crossbeam cruel against her back and her arms dead weight as the Joker’s fist moved steadily inside her pussy, him leaning over her with a savage leer. She could feel every knuckle drag against her tender inner flesh, how he twisted his wrist to move his fist inside her, leaving not an inch of her untouched.

She had never felt so filled, so consumed, in her life. She’d never experienced such an absolute sense of violation, of being utterly helpless and exposed. She shuddered to think what could happen if he wrenched his fist from her, if he shoved it in too hard – the kind of damage it might do. The Joker was breathing heavily above her, licking his lips as he stared down into her face, revelling in every contorted expression that flickered across her brow, savouring every little whimper and moan that came up muffled through the gag.

His fist inside her was strong and rough, but not brutal. It didn’t need to be. Its power was inarguable, the utter control he had over her body absolutely affirmed. She lay against the crossbeam with her legs cramping and her arms numb, and surrendered to him. She sniffled as fresh tears ran down her cheeks, feeling cheated. It wasn’t right, for this to happen in such a way. It should happen between them. Between her and her Puddin’. Not the Joker and Batgirl. Not like this.

It’s not me, she thought bitterly, her heart now twinging in heartbroken pain. It’s not me to him. It’s her. He wants her. That’s who he sees.

Joker bent down and licked her tears from her face, growling and snapping a little and she sobbed. He laughed softly, directly into her ear, then straightened and slowly, carefully, withdrew his fist.

It hurt as it left, the cold cream having rapidly been absorbed into her flesh, her muscles clamping back down again, but he did not stop. She felt herself gaping open as his hand left and wondered if she’d go back down to normal, to the lovely tight little sheath her Puddin’ – her own Puddin’ – so enjoyed when he bothered to try it.

The Joker above her leant back to look down at her and she felt herself burn with shame as he chuckled at what he beheld, twisting her head hard to one side and pushing her chin into her shoulder. Then he was fumbling at his fly again, once again withdrawing his rock hard cock.

The enflamed entrance of her pussy burned as he pushed inside her and she found herself surprised by how quickly she had shrunk again, feeling her inner walls hugging his cock. She was unprepared for him as he began to thrust roughly and once more began to weep, pained moans rising steadily from her throat.

His hands dug hard into her hips and he snarled as he pounded into her brutally, as hard and fierce as he could go and she shut her eyes against the cruel wildness she saw in his. The sawhorse rocked back and forth, grinding against her spine and the pins and needles in her arms prickled against the motion. Her head suddenly rang with a hard slap, and then another before he gripped her chin hard in one hand. She didn’t need to be told.

She opened her eyes, blinking up at him through swollen lids as he fucked her harder and harder, a strangely inhuman smile haunting his face. Harder and harder he thrust until she thought her spine might shatter. In her horror at being fisted, she had all but forgotten about the stab wound, which now came to life once more against his harsh pounding. Please just let her get through this. Please, and she’d never be so stupid again. Please, please let her Puddin’ realise it was her and not that horrible, awful Batgirl.

Why did he want her so much?

Joker picked up his pace, his hips wildly pistoning back and forth, his hard cock cruelly ravaging her insides. His growls were increasing in volume and he let go her chin to once again grasp her other hip, the better to pull her into his thrusts. It hurt, a ringing pain that left her feeling bruised and shattered. But all the pain in her body could not equal the overwhelming ache that splintered her heart as her man fixed his eyes on the bright yellow bat insignia that lay between her breasts before letting out a throaty chuckle then throwing his head back, a guttural cry rising in his throat as he basked in the raw cruelty of his orgasm. She could feel him pump inside her, the heat of him as he spilled and it seemed to burn her.

His thrusts slowed lazily as he finished, his breath coming in heavy gasps, eyes pressed softly shut. He finally came to a halt and paused there a moment, face turned up toward the light which seemed to bathe him in a holy glow as he slowly recovered. Then he abruptly shook himself, gave a tittering little laugh and turned his head back down to look at her. He reached forward, across her stomach, and flicked his finger against the stab wound.

Harley passed out.


When she awoke, she found herself wrapped up in a soft wool blanket on the bed they shared in what had been the master dressing room. Her arms were tingling, sharp pains shooting through their lengths and her neck twinged painfully as she turned it.

As her consciousness slowly returned she became aware of other things; there was a bath running in the adjoining bathroom, there was a mound of pillows beneath her head and the smell of hot cocoa filled the air. There was also a melodic whistle, beating out a jolly tune on the air.

Harley was still dazed, her brain struggling to catch up with all that had transpired. Her body was a bitter mess of pains that made keeping still the wisest course of action and she had no idea how badly she was injured – or even how many injuries she had sustained. She shifted her legs gingerly and winced as her pussy ached, feeling beaten raw and swollen. She swallowed around her dry throat and heard her jaw click.

A sudden though struck her and a hand fumbled its way out from under the blankets to paw at her head, ignoring the pain the movement evoked and the red-raw rope burns that looped her wrist. She couldn’t help letting out a sigh of relief to find the cowl and wig gone, her own blonde hair damp with sweat and swept back from her forehead. She never wanted to see the horrible thing again.

“Ah, my little Pooh-Bear awakens!”
She cringed at the sound of his voice and jerked in alarm when he was suddenly beside her, gathering her against him in an adoring embrace.
She lay stiffly against his chest for a moment, her heart pounding wildly but he did nothing more than cuddle her before dropping a warm kiss on her forehead.
“Thank you, Harley,” her Puddin’ said with sincerity. “You can’t know how much that cheered me up.” He ran an affectionate hand through her hair then lifted her chin so that she was looking up at him. “Really. It was just what I needed. And sorry about the gag. It’s just, you know – your voice would’ve ruined the fantasy. You understand.”
You understand. Harley blinked.
“Here,” the Joker solicitously held a glass of water to her lips. “Drink it all, baby. You’ll be dehydrated after all that and I can’t put you in a hot bath until we’ve got some fluids back into you.”
She obediently sipped and swallowed the cool water, balm on her ragged throat, before turning to Mistah J again.
“You – you – it was just a fantasy?”
He blinked at her, his face pulled into one of confusion. “Of course it was. What else could it have been? It’s not as if you were Batgirl, you know, Pooh.”
Tears prickled behind her eyes. “But – you – you stabbed me.”
He flapped a hand dismissively. “Pish posh. It barely went an inch into you and only into muscle. Nothing vital baby, nothing that won’t heal easily. Trust me. Oh look, I’ll show you.”
She flinched back in terror as he threw off the blankets revealing her completely stripped body, but his hands were gentle as he turned her hip, showing her the wound. He’d cleaned it and she saw that he was right – it was tiny, and superficial. And she’d been so convinced he’d stretched it right open.
She was also somewhat surprised to see her body fairly much otherwise unmarked.
“So – “ she had begun to sniffle again. “So, you didn’t really think I was Batgirl? Not really?”
When he laughed, she shivered but also recognised her own beloved in the sound and her heart leapt in painful joy.
“Oh baby,” he coddled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her in close against him. “Were you jealous?”
“Well, I – “ she wasn’t sure ‘jealous’ was exactly the right word. Or maybe it was. It was part of it. “I was a little worried.”
He suddenly peppered her face with soft kisses and despite herself, she begin to glow beneath them. Her raw cheeks were soothed by the feeling of his lips and she slipped her own still aching arms around him, shutting her weary eyes and leaning her face into his neck.
“You’re my baby,” he told her gently. “My one and only little girl.”

Harley’s heart swelled with happiness and the last of the tension fled her muscles, leaving her utterly limp and complaisant in her Puddin’s arms. He urged her onto his lap and stroked and petted her hair, gently rocking her back and forth and steadily she became fully soothed. He continued to press his lips softly against her face and she basked in the tenderness. The Bat-Brat would never get this. No way. Only his Harley. A sense of peace stole over her as the Joker rocked and petted her, his hand moving off her hair to stroke down one arm, softly caress her breasts, smooth over her stomach and hips, move up to cup one breast again. She felt something tingle in her loins when he softly stroked his thumb over her nipple and made a little noise of contentment, snuggling in closer to him.

She did not resist when he picked her up and carried her towards the bathroom, instead just pressing her lips softly against the beautiful white flesh of his neck. This was her man. Her own beloved Puddin’.

Her legs wobbled when he put her on her feet, so he lifted her to perch on the vanity before turning to switch off the taps, first giving her a loving little pat on the bottom that made her feel slightly giddy with delight. She leaned back against the grimy mirror and watched her beloved test the water. Then Mistah J began to shrug off his own clothes, a cheery smile on his face – a rare look of absolute contentment. She squinted at him with curiosity as he stretched his leanly-muscled arms above his head so that his back popped.

“Ah, Harley,” he enthused. “That was quite spectacular. We should do that more often.”

The terror was like an icicle in her gut that spread quickly through her body. A second later she felt something warm and wet spill down her inner thighs.

The Joker blinked at her several times before throwing back his head and laughing uproariously.
“Aw, baby!” He came forward with out stretched arms as she stood there, trembling, “poor ickle ting! I’m flattered to have had such a profound effect on you.” His arms went around her, pulling her shaking body against his, pushing her knees apart to stand inbetween them. “Shhhh now, shhhh. Daddy won’t make you play the big boy games too often. You trust Daddy don’t you?”
He cupped her face in his hands and turned it upwards. His naked body was warm against hers and her sensitive flesh sang at the feeling. She gazed into the purple depths of his eyes as they held hers and found herself consumed with the same desperate yearning – the need to be close to him, to be accepted, adored – to please him. And she’d done that, hadn’t she? Yes, she had – she had – just look at how appreciative he was being – how loving and indulgent. And the stab wound had been – nothing really – he’d been in control all along. Yes, of course he had.
“I trust you, Daddy,” she whispered fervently and he smiled and bent his head to kiss her.

The delight of his mouth enveloping hers so tenderly pushed all other thoughts from her mind.

He helped her into the bath then sank in beside her and drew her against him, the sting in her side a flashing reminder of the evening’s events. The hot water lapped around them like a soft embrace and Harley rested her head against the Joker’s chest and listened to his feverish heartbeat. The Joker’s hands smoothed over, up and down her body and he urged her to turn, her back to him and settled between his legs as he began to gently knead at her shoulders.
“You know Harley,” he said nonchalantly, dropping a softly tickling kiss on her damp shoulder. “That was a very special thing you did for me. You’re a one of a kind gal. Which, of course, is why you’re my girl.”
She glowed beneath the praise, unable to stop the smile that broke over her features, the first smile since she’d regained consciousness.
“I wanted to give you something different,” she murmured, surprised to find her voice a little hoarse. His strong fingers gently easing her muscles was a delightful sensation, soothing and pleasurable at once.
“It wasn’t just different – it was magnificent,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, before nipping her lightly. Bliss flowed through her like molten liquid and she leaned back against him, revelling in the firm support of his body behind her. His hands dipped over her shoulders and down across her breasts, stroking them softly. She shut her eyes and breathed him in, rubbing her cheek against his neck. One hand slipped back over her shoulder and then came down around, under her arm, his fingertips light and tender across her flesh. She felt a fleeting concern he was going to start playing with the wound again, but instead his hand dipped downwards, between her thighs.
His fingers stroked around the outside of her pussy, softly teasing the still slightly swollen lips and she moaned and felt her hips rock upwards. He continued to tease her, his other hand toying gently with her nipple.
He was right, of course. She was the only one who could ever have given him that experience and she thrilled to think he realised that.
She let her legs spread open further to give him better access and he dipped his fingers into her depths, now stroking her inner folds and her sensitive entrance. She was not as sore as she imagined she would be, but she was tender, the sensation recalling to mind the abrupt moment his entire huge hand had slid into her. It really had been a spectacular feeling, to be so – consumed – by him.
“Mistah J,” she murmured against his neck.
“Mmmm?”
“Will you do that thing to me again sometime – that thing with your hand? When it’s just you and me?”
His soft laughter vibrated through her back. “Well, that will depend entirely on what a good girl you are.”
She couldn’t help grinning, loving the feeling of her mouth tugged upwards in unrestrained pleasure, perfectly complementing the lovely sensation of his hand between her legs.
“I’ll be sure to be very bad then,” she whispered playful and he laughed again.
“You are better when you’re bad,” he agreed and then began to finally stroke her clit.
She shuddered as he did so, the swollen nub feeling at once relief and further yearning at his touch. She opened her eyes and looked up adoringly at her man who smiled down at her in a way that thrilled her. There was ownership in his gaze, wicked delight – and utter tenderness.
Pleasure welled in her body as he continued to stroke her and she gazed up at him, the sight of his face the perfect enhancement of her rapidly increasing bliss.
She was his canvas, she mused, the one object upon which he could most truly express himself and he loved her for it. He did. And she was ecstatic to be that for him, to be what no one else could ever be. Only she could ever understand him. Together, they were perfect.
As her hips began to buck and she moaned in short, needy little gasps, the water sloshing around them with her movements, his eyes glittered and his smile widened and then he bent down and caught her lips in his, swallowing her moans, nipping at her lips, his tongue snaking into her mouth and filling it. He dragged a finger gently over her clit and softly rolled her nipple and she felt euphoria flood her; a perfect relief that had her jerking against his hand as her orgasm overwhelmed her. Her aching body was soothed by the ecstasy and she felt blissful tears well up in her eyes, spilling over her cheeks to trickle in between their joined lips.

As the pleasure ebbed away, she felt herself completely uncoil and sighed peacefully into her Puddin’s mouth, satiated.

For the next three weeks, the Joker was faultlessly solicitous of his girl. Not once did he raise his voice, lose his temper or lash out at her. On the contrary, he was exceedingly indulgent and tender, pausing often to stroke her head, pat her bottom or tickle her, even concertedly seeking time in her company. Harley floated on cloud nine, delirious with bliss and drunk on joy.

Eventually she came to the conclusion that her surprise had indeed succeeded in perking her Puddin’s spirits – just perhaps not in quite the way she had expected.

She ended up feeling quite proud of herself.

Proud enough to mend the Batgirl costume.