Chapter Text
The Game
My fantasy, my most private and secret fantasy was being held hostage by the Joker.
As Bruce Wayne.
Neither could I tell how this snippet of a thought had evolved into such a fetishistic kind of fantasy, nor had I ever noticed myself showing any particular sexual interest in men. The entire thing was inexplicable to me, but it was there and very present.
At first, I had perceived myself falling into daydreams featuring me and him, with me as a hostage. That fantasy had unsettled me at first, but as time had gone by, I had accepted it and from then on, I had kept dreaming of it. It was so wicked, so forbidden, so sick and so wrong that it was like a small, but very precious treasure to me. A pearl in my mind.
It was my most secret fantasy and until just one month ago, no one had known about that. And now only one person did; a very dear and close friend of mine. Seemingly accidentally, that info had left my mouth during a private and very wet party with hard liquor and since then, he knew about my secret. He had listened to me as I had been whispering into his ear with a slurred voice that people barely knew me, actually, and that I would turn him into a confidant now and reveal my biggest secret to him.
He was a bit on the gay side and if I could expect some understanding from anyone then it was him. I was tired of keeping 70% of my life to myself, unable to speak about it and ask for advice on some things. Yet, while I could do nothing about those 50% which belonged to the Batman, I could change those 20% if there were the right people to talk to. And that evening, I had the feeling that there was the right person to unload part of my secret world onto. Cause shared secrets were easier to bear. He had promised to keep it to himself. Apart from him, no one else knew.
And that was that. I had told him, but that had not changed anything and would not change anything. I did not expect that to ever happen at all; it simply could not. I was dealing with the Joker as Batman and at daytime, I was just a random business man, so far away from his reach that I thought it impossible. I could do shit about it and I had resigned myself to spending my life fantasizing about this event.
And it was okay.
---
“Joker?”
“Maybe.”
“There's a guy who wants to talk to you.”
“What’s it about?”
“He, well. He says he can only tell you.”
“Okay. Hand him over.”
...
“The Joker?”
“Goddamn yeah, who else?! What is it?!”
“Listen. It sounds utmost freaky and sick, but-”
“You've got my attention.”
“Thanks. You know Bruce Wayne?”
...
“Yeah.”
“Well, he, I don't know how to put it, I'm one of his friends and-”
“I don't care who you are. Make it short; I'm just in the middle of a killing.”
“Kay, listen, he’s a very dear friend and I want to gift him-”
“I said, make it short!!!”
“Yeah, just wait, you need to hear this! I'll pay you!”
“What for”
“Well. You take him hostage.”
“You'll pay me for taking Bruce Wayne hostage???”
“Yeah, I said you need to hear me out.”
“Wait a second.”
A loud noise was heard through the telephone. It sounded like three shots.
“Kay, I'm back. Speak.”
“Absolute discretion. Otherwise, I'll find a way how to kill you.”
“You killing me? What are you, Masonic special agent Johnny?”
“I've got my connections, trust me on that. Can I trust you?”
The Joker had a thought about that. This all sounded so strange that he was curious what that was about. This stranger calling him, speaking of a Bruce Wayne hostage and money; it made absolutely no sense. And he hated it when things didn't make any sense.
“Yes. Never any word to anyone, promise.”
“Good. Listen carefully. What I am going to tell you is nothing I myself can relate to, but it matters a lot to Bruce, so whatever. Once, during a party, he's told me that his most secret wish is to get captured by you and being treated like a hostage.”
He waited, but he didn't hear any sound.
The Joker wasn't laughing.
All he heard after a while was the Joker saying his friend's name.
“Bruce Wayne.”
“Yeah.”
It was silent for another minute, but the man kept the phone pressed against his ear, waiting in patience.
“Did I get you right. I get paid for taking him hostage.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that some sort of fetish thing?”
“Well. Does it sound like a fetish thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Then I guess, it is.”
“And you pay?”
“Kinda, yes.”
“What'sat mean, kinda, yes?!”
“Kinda yes means that Bruce is actually going to pay for himself, but I'll bring you the money.”
“You are not trying to fool me into some stupid suicide squad thing there?!”
“I give you my word. He doesn't know anything about this. Trust me. And I'll trust you.”
A laugh was heard, finally.
“How much do you think he might be worth?”
“I'd ask 5 million.”
“A high price for a simple fantasy.”
“It's not simple.”
The Joker thought about it again.
Bruce Wayne.
Really?
It was hard to believe. But somehow, he trusted that man. And honestly, he thought that whacko bat capable of such sick fantasies. Now so much made sense, much more than just this talk.
The best thing about that, however, was that this naïve bat still believed that he had no clue about his true identity. This seemed like a chance for a superb joke. He'd fulfil his fantasy and the next time they'd meet as the Batman and he himself, he would act like nothing had ever happened. He'd be curious if the Batman's behaviour would be different then. Sounded like a supreme mindfuck. It made him cackle.
“Kay. I'll take care of this next week. Give me your phone number.”
On Wednesday, as usually, I went to my bank to get some money transfers done. I preferred doing them myself instead of handing that over to anyone else or doing it online.
Just when I was queuing up, the doors of the bank were slammed open and an ear-splitting noise set in. Shooting, smoke, yelling. And a voice I knew so well.
“Ladies and gentleman, I kindly advise you to lie down and shut up and nothing will happen to you! Maybe.”
Laughter, more shooting. I let myself fall down.
And then, through the haze of the smoke grenade, I saw him, finally. A figure of terror.
“Jits, the vault; Moogs, the people. And I will take care of our special guest,” he said and walked up to a bank clerk.
I hoped that they had pressed the button already and the police was getting ready. He went behind the counter and put an arm around the shaking man's shoulders.
“And you show me how to do that computer stuff,” he smiled at him.
A regular bank robbery. I'd hunt him down next night and bring back the money.
As they kept working, I looked around to check for any hurt persons, but everyone remained silent and cooperative since they knew that it was about their lives. And just five minutes later, the sirens of the police were heard.
“Gentlemen, hurry up. The birthday surprise act is here!”
“But boss, we aren't done yet with the vault!”
“Hurry up!”
And then, things happened very fast. The police stormed the bank, more shooting and suddenly, I felt an arm round my neck, pulling me to my feet.
Oh heavens, no. Not like that, please.
As I was pulled up, I looked down at my chest. A purple sleeve, yellow shirt peeking out, purple glove, fingers holding a grenade. And the ring was gone. A typical Joker operation.
This couldn't be.
The scent of his jacket confused me. Lemon grass.
I gasped when I felt a pleasure pang in my guts. No, this couldn't be.
Loud laughter made me turn my head away since it hurt in my ears. I clutched at his arm, but honestly, very half-heartedly, just for the record. He pulled me backwards, more shooting, people screaming. Together, we moved into the bureaus of the bank. It was so exciting. The Joker using me as a hostage. I still couldn't believe it, like some angel had heard my desperate pleas and had made it happen.
I tried hard to hide my excitement and kept tugging at his sleeve, but eventually, he whispered into my ear: “Naw naw, don't blow us up, Wayne.”
Hearing my name made me freeze and for one more moment, I could feel his skin on mine.
Then I felt a prick in my neck. I clutched at that spot and just felt him pulling out the needle. Fuck, it was getting better and better.
Joyfully, I perceived myself getting weak on my legs until I had no control over my body anymore and passed out.
Fuck, why are you so heavy!
The next time I opened my eyes I was not in the bank building anymore. It was a large room, the walls painted black and blue, antique furniture painted in black as well, chairs, a canapé, a coffee table, pictures on the walls, luxurious carpets, a golden chandelier in the middle of the room and several golden antique wall lights illuminating the place, faintly. It felt like I had woken up at the Gothic times.
I took a deep breath and tried to move.
Impossible.
I was tied up.
I looked up.
My arms tied to the wall above my head, the ropes and that O-ring with which those ropes were connected looking too sturdy than to be broken or torn at all. My feet were tied to the wall as well.
I cleared my throat and looked around to see whether anyone else was there. Just then, I noticed an open door. I decided to stay silent until something would happen.
And just after half an hour, half of the lamps suddenly went dark and I heard a sound behind the doorframe.
One leg appeared. Pointy, fine shoes, white spats, purple pants. I gasped with excitement.
Then he entered. Or rather, he made an appearance.
A man, who's aura was so intense that it was scary, walked up to me. His handsomeness was a sharp contrast to his wicked mind, or maybe they complemented each other. A faint smile, a steady look. I pulled at the ties, but it was no use. I knew those clothes, but then again, in some way, they seemed unfamiliar to me and I lost myself in the perfection of his tailored suit and the saucy fish tail.
He stopped in front of me, looked down and up again and then into my eyes.
He had lost nothing of his theatrics, yet, this manic exuberance was gone. He just looked and behaved like a classy gentleman of the old school, a bit reserved, but radiating such danger at the same time that this mix was just unsettling. Calm evil in a tailored suit. It was mind-boggling. To my dismay, I realized how excited I was at seeing him. Me, tied up, captured by the Joker. It was a situation which felt so unreal that I started panting with excitement.
“Nice to see that you have woken up, Mr. Wayne,” he said and I felt a pleasurable pang in my guts as he said my name, “I feared I had killed you with that dose.”
His voice sounded familiar, but in this context where I was just a random rich business guy who was wearing a suit instead of his Batman attire, it was also new to me and I instantly fell for his fine charm.
“What happened?” I managed to say, finally.
He put his hands into his pockets, tilted his head and grinned at me. And that was the first time when I felt that strange vibe coming from him. Mischievous glee, sadistic joy and something else which was hard to grasp.
“Well,” he started off casually, “Something went wrong during my withdrawal of money and I had to take a hostage,” he said with a wink, “A rich one.”
Hostage.
Guest.
“So, Mr. Wayne, if you don't mind we'll spend the night together,” he said with his most charming gentleman voice, which made my blood boil.
This was so surreal.
I swallowed with excitement when he came closer and rearranged my tie, then he gave me his prime killer smile and turned around to leave the room.
I couldn't believe that this was happening. I felt like the luckiest man on earth; yet, somehow, there was a huge bubble of fear residing in my stomach. As thrilling as this was, he was the Joker and capable of killing me if he saw fit. And that weird mix of fear and anticipation pushed my body into confusion. A very nasty kind of confusion.
He showed up again, went towards me and rolled up my sleeve. I had decided to act the frightened business man and to play along, be patient and see what was going to happen without causing a fuss for now. I had to see where he was coming from, so I could act or react accordingly.
However, my silent cooperation was inappropriate. He snorted and looked at me. He was so close. So darn close.
“You know, you remind me of someone I know. This cold, stone-sober reasonable self-control.”
I clenched my teeth and glared at him. His faint smile turned into an expression of gleeful joy and he tended to my arm again. When I glimpsed the needle, I came to realize that he had exposed the vein in the crook of my arm to deal me an injection. Fear took over and I squirmed. Panic-stricken, I pulled at the ties until he smacked my face. I was so baffled that I held still and felt the needle piercing my skin.
“Don't worry. At worst, you'll have the shits tomorrow.”
He removed the needle and gently pressed an alcohol pad against the vein. Dreading what was to come now, I gazed at it. Long white fingers. Warm. After a minute, he removed it and took some steps back.
My heartbeat sped up and my mouth went dry. Just one minute after the injection. Amphetamines. I gasped when warmth flooded my body. I blushed and my dick grew a little larger. I felt terribly shamed by my own body; it was just so forbidden. And exactly that taboo quality turned me on so much. Bruce Wayne. Gay. Topped by the Joker. That was a thought so wicked that I couldn't but give in and enjoy the show. I felt almost euphoric, suddenly. My dreams had come true. In this surreal, unexplainable way, they had come true.
Well, I could still blame it on the drugs if I ever got asked about it.
“What was that?” I whispered.
“S and T. You know, I want my guests to have a good time and be well while we're waiting for the ransom money.”
S and T’s for SexTasy. If you knew.
“Will someone pay for me?” I asked innocently. I tried to appear as intimidated as possible to keep him from suspecting anything.
“I'm sure,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “I haven't asked them yet. You know, they shouldn't get the impression that I'm a soft one.”
What an impish smile.
“I want to have some fun first, now that you were finally able to spare some time between your business meetings and nightly parties. You’re just working way too hard.”
He glanced at my chest, then he walked closer again and unbuttoned my shirt, very slowly and carefully. After the last button had been opened he pushed it aside to bare my torso. I flinched since I felt so naked and vulnerable. Just one step closer to a catastrophe of a kind which should only exist in thoughts and should never be put into action. This boss of Wayne Enterprises, this boring business man, captured by the Joker, tied up like a slave, a toy, being subtly seduced by a gentleman madman. I pressed my legs together to hide that darned thing from showing.
With great interest, he explored my body with his eyes, ogling at me. Until a smile spread on his face and he crossed his arms and let his eyes wander down my belly, and further down to my crotch. I swallowed. His eyes touched my dick through my pants. He glanced at my face then and left.
Had he noticed my arousal? I hoped he had not. What I really did not need right now was him noticing that and making fun of me. It was just a horrible situation. And so thrilling at the same time.
Anyway, I needed that break badly. The air was sizzling with sex and he had not even gotten started.
No doubt, it is there. You are so fucked up, Wayne. Prepare yourself for your dreams coming true.
He returned, a knife in his hand and a mad look in his eyes, his face decorated by a broad smirk. A bolt of fear rushed through my body. Adrenaline and ecstasy mercilessly heating me up and twisting my mind. He’d hurt me. I was torn between dreading that and longing for that.
Catlike, he leapt at me and pressed the tip of the knife against my throat.
“Have you ever been taken hostage, Mr. Wayne?” he said and there was that sadistic glee in his voice again. That undertone was almost always present.
“No,” I gasped and tried to get my face out of his tongue's reach since the closeness just made me freak, but the more I struggled, the more present became the tip of the knife on my skin.
“So it's your first time? Enjoy it,” he whispered against my lips and removed the knife.
A small bleeding spot was left. But he'd add more. Before I could glimpse the knife, he had moved it across my skin, just above my left nipple, leaving a short, thin line of blood. The blade was so sharp that I gasped when the pain made itself felt. He drew another line and added a semicircle. The letter “J”. It was such a sensual experience that I could not avoid thinking of his dick penetrating me.
“Take this as a souvenir,” he said, and lightly brushed over the fresh cuts.
Suddenly, he lifted his eyebrows like he had an idea and he simply turned around and left the room yet again. I was curious what he would come up with now. And I was a little disappointed when he only returned with a water bottle. He came very close again and pressed it against my lips, but I turned my head away, knowing that this was not just tap water.
“Mr. Wayne, relax. That's just water,” he said grinning, then he added, “I promise. Just look at yourself, you're sweating like a pig.”
He reached under my shirt and touched my armpit. That was such an intimate moment that I flinched, feeling embarrassed that I was dripping wet and he truly was touching me there. For a painful moment, he rubbed his forefinger against my wet skin, grinning at me expectantly, then he drew back and lifted the bottle again.
“You need some liquid, badly. I've always taken good care of my guests; after all, someone's paying for your well-being.”
Indeed.
He grabbed my chin and forced me to drink. At first, I was thankful for the liquid since my mouth was still too dry, but when he just would not take the bottle away from my mouth, I complained. It was a one litre bottle and after half of it I was short of air. He removed it, but just for a few moments, then he pressed his thumb and forefinger against the sides of my mouth to force me to open it again. Part of me was getting desperate, part of me went mad with lust. He poured the water into my mouth and I tried to swallow as much of it as possible.
Drinking my cum, ain't you.
When the bottle was empty, he let go of my chin and I coughed and wheezed. Yet, while I tried to regain my breath, he took the knife again and put it under my jacket. I held my breath again, but he just ripped the sleeve of my jacket apart. I froze, fearing that he'd slit my wrist with that knife if I dared to move now. It was such a thrilling mix of anticipation, fear and intimacy that it got me all fidgety, but just now, I could not move. He did the same with the other sleeve, then he pushed the jacket from my body and two pieces of fabric fell down. He did the same with the shirt and finally, my torso was fully bared. Another step closer.
He stepped back, crossed his arms and with an evil smile he looked at my torso.
“Not so bad,” he sang and bit down on his lower lip so that there was no chance I could have missed that sexual innuendo.
The air wasn't sizzling with sexuality anymore; it was impregnated with it and I was drowning in it.
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Then he left again. I took a deep breath, this quick change of events overwhelming me, especially when I was in that drug-induced hyper state.
He returned with a razor this time, calmly stating: “We'll take care of the rest now.”
After having informed me so kindly about his next steps, he gripped my chin and moved the razor towards my face and I gritted my teeth in fear.
“What are you doing?!”
“Calm down. This head of yours is just too pretty for that boring haircut.”
“What?! Are you kidding me?!” I spat at him and tried to escape his touch, but he just laughed.
Was he serious about this? I didn't want to be bald and I could not control myself anymore.
“You sick fucker! If I ever manage to get out of this I'll...I’ll call the Batman and make him kick your bony ass!”
“I'd like to see that,” he smirked and moved closer with the razor again, but I protested.
“Get a shave yourself, you whacko clown!”
I kept insulting him until he sighed, put the razor into his pocket and took out a ball gag.
“Mr. Wayne, really, I love the sound of your voice, but I can't work like that.”
He pushed the gag past my lips and fastened the straps under my ears. The ball gag was too large and it hurt already after a few seconds of wearing it.
Fuming with rage, I snorted and kept complaining through my nose, but he gripped my chin and pressed the razor against my head. That feeling served to make me freeze again.
With a very joyful look in his eyes, he moved the razor over my skin, very carefully, very skilfully, actually. Strands of black hair fell down on my shoulders and I cringed. I had imagined that all to be different. How exactly, I could not tell, but this was too much.
“Such a conceited man. But let me tell you, that business snob look is just not yours,” he said absent-mindedly. He had already shaved half of my head on the right side and he was just turning to the back of my head when my anger turned into arousal again. The sound of the razor scraping against my skin was rough and sharp and eventually, I closed my eyes to concentrate on that. He was touching me in so many ways, with his fingers, with water, with metal, steel-
His crotch touched mine. As he was trying to shave the back of my head he had moved closer and accidentally touched me there.
Accidentally. Sure.
I jerked when he did it again. Fearing that he might have noticed my growing hard-on, I froze and blushed. A glimpse at his eyes told me that either he had noticed and was hiding his glee or he had not noticed at all, being so caught up with playing the barber of Seville.
“Fuck, turn your head, I can't work properly!” he exclaimed, pushed my head to the side and pressed his crotch against mine.
I swallowed.
Maybe he wasn't even aware of how sexual that was to me. Maybe it didn't matter to him at all.
I tried to breathe as calmly as possible, but there was no way he could have missed my arousal as firstly, I was hard by now, and secondly, my breath was coming in fits, as much as I tried to calm down.
“Good. Finally. Dear, don't make such a fuss,” he said with an annoyed voice and pushed himself away from my body to turn to the left side of my head.
My crotch was bulging tellingly. Maybe it would be gone by the time he was finished with my hairdo. Maybe. But probably not.
Five minutes later, he was done, brushed the strands off my body and even blew them off my skin. I shuddered when his breath hit my shoulder. Was it just me or was that all just so unbearably intimate.
He took some steps back and looked at his piece of art. The spots he had shaved felt cool as they were exposed to the air now. I had never had my hair shorter than five centimetres, so that was a new feeling for me. Taken the spots which felt cool now into consideration, it must have been something like an undercut. Helplessly, I stared at him, unable to say anything. He smiled and proudly lifted his head.
“Much better. Very smart. Alright now, let's see what else we can do for you.”
I wrinkled my brow as he came closer, having no idea what he might have been talking about. But I'd know soon. He unbuttoned my pants. I squirmed and pulled at the ties since that was the last thing I wanted right now, and ever, actually. Yet, with a very sheepish smile, he pulled down the zipper and with one swift move, my pants and boxers were embracing my ankles. He shot me a diabolical glance, then he looked down.
And instantly up again at my face with wide, but manic eyes while he sucked in the air loudly, pretending to make a sound of surprise. His open mouth turned into a grin again. A very painfully knowing one.
Yet, he opened his mouth again to bite down on the tip of his tongue while he put his fingertip on my glans and gave it a light push. My dick bobbed up and down.
I closed my eyes, my cheeks on fire, my forehead turning into a waterfall. Yet, when I felt him against my skin, I opened them again; he was leaning against my chest.
With the most evil voice he was capable of, he whispered into my ear: “You can't tell me that this is just from the drugs.”
Then he drew back and looked at me expectantly.
“Oh you can't tell anything, right? Sorry,” he said and finally freed me from the ball gag.
My jaw and joints ached and I had to open and stretch it several times to get it back into shape. But even after that, I found nothing to say in my defence.
“What a magnificent specimen,” he commented on my genital and I clenched my teeth, making the pain in my jaw worse.
“Isn't it hard to find boxers which actually fit you? Anyway. You've been neglecting yourself terribly. Let me take care of this,” he said and knelt down in front of me.
My mind went blank at that sight. My dick just a few centimetres away from his lips. As embarrassed as I felt, I craved for him taking me in his mouth.
But instead, he straightened my skin with one hand and started shaving me. It was just stubbles since I had shaved six days ago.
I wouldn’t have known what to do anyway, had he really sucked me off. Mesmerized, I watched him as he shaved my pubes. Until he took my dick and pulled it to the side so that he could continue with my sides and balls.
His hand was warm, his fingers tightly gripping my glans. The sensation of having him pulling at my dick like that just made it worse and I took a deep breath and turned my head away, fearing that – yes – it twitched, triggered by a sudden flexing of his fingers.
Anxiously, I peered at him, but he ignored that, moved it to the other side, shaved, and then pressed it against my belly to shave the underside. And just when I had managed to look at it again he cut me. I hissed and tried to shut my legs, put he pushed them apart with his elbows again and looked up with an excusing smile and closed eyes; that expression making him look like a clumsy jerk.
“My fault,” he grinned, then he continued shaving.
Like hell.
He let go of my dick and pulled my balls down.
But slightly too much.
The dragging and almost painful feeling made me shift my weight, but as I moved he just pulled them down a little further and I winced. I closed my eyes again and threw back my head, breathing through my mouth by now.
This was torture.
Several times, he shaved the already shaved spots and wiped the razor clean before he put it into his pocket again. Silently, he touched the bare skin and let his fingers slide over my pubes. It was so intense that I tensed up and concentrated on not moaning.
“Look how soft it is. Really. Mr. Wayne, you run around like a grubby urchin under that luxury attire. Shame on you.”
He got up and looked me in the eye. And that look etched all my faked disinterest and nonchalance away, that tiny bit at least which I had been able to keep until now.
“You look a bit banged up, dear. So hot, and that hair on your shoulders, what a mess. I'll help you.”
He wiggled his ass out of the room again and I collapsed in my ties, finally finding some time for myself again. Still, I had not found out which kind of game he was playing with me. Apparently, he didn't care much about my arousal; it didn't seem to unsettle him, but then again, I had to keep in mind that it was the Joker and he definitely must have faced worse situations by now which could have unsettled him. However, his unimpressedness was a bit mysterious. Or maybe he just took advantage of it and was trying to make me feel as embarrassed as possible. Well, that was more like him. Speaking of the devil; he returned with a small vat filled with water.
He approached me again and just a few metres away from me, he quickly moved his hands and the contents of the vat splashed against my skin, from head to toe, several litres. I gasped and froze since the water was so fucking cold. I tried to hunch my back and crouch as much as possible, but it didn't help at all. My muscles cramped up and for a while, I couldn't but gasp, feeling my heart throbbing so terribly that I feared it would burst through my chest if that continued.
At least, my hard-on shrank to an acceptable size again.
“Okay!” he said with a cheerful voice, “Now that you're clean we can proceed.”
My body had been shaking with cold, but miraculously, it was over after a few minutes and I felt quite heated up again. When he took a camera from his pocket I gazed at it in horror. Smiling, he switched it on and lifted it to take a picture of me. I sucked in the air and turned my head away in shame while I pressed my legs together to hide whatever could be hidden.
“Look at me,” he said with a commanding voice. For the first time this evening, his voice did not carry any of this playful attitude. It was just a harsh command. I squinted my eyes shut and pressed my head against the wall.
“Mr. Wayne.”
Fuck you, never in hell I will show you my face. And even less if you think you can make me turn my head by saying my name.
“Fine,” I heard it, then footsteps.
A tight grip made me cry out and throw my head around. He squeezed my balls again and I gritted my teeth. Quickly, he took a few steps back and the flash which illuminated the room for a second let me know that he had taken a picture.
Fuming with rage for the second time this evening, I opened my eyes and glared at him and -flash- another picture.
“You're a real poser!” he exclaimed and took another picture, then he smiled and left the room.
“Are you done now?!” I yelled after him, my cheeks aglow with rage.
“Not fully!” I heard it from the other room.
Suddenly, despair took over. How would I manage to continue living after that? It was all in my head, all that shame and embarrassment and my own sick arousal and he, he knew about that now.
“Fuck,” I whispered.
When I heard strange sounds I went silent and froze to listen. It was barely audible, but I could hear it.
Squidgy. A constant stream of sounds.
Then I heard him moaning.
I held my breath, horror-stricken.
Was he jerking off to my pictures? I hated myself for having this thought, but it was just so obvious.
His moans turned louder and more passionate.
No, darn, fuck.
Blood gathered in my dick again.
A loud moan made me clench my teeth and close my eyes. This wasn't happening.
“Aaaahh!”
With every time he moaned, my dick grew. I saw him. He was sitting on the bed, the camera in front of him, showing me while he was pumping his dick. I gave a loud growl of frustration and pulled at the ties to get rid of this tension inside me. How could he.
“Ooaah”
It was unbearable.
I was rock hard.
When he seemed to move towards orgasm, his pants echoing in this room by now, I furrowed my brow and contorted my face in despair. Such a tease.
With a loud cry, he came.
I slammed my head against the wall behind me and gasped. Wailing and rubbing my head against the wall, I hung there in my ties, a victim of my own mind.
The sound of footsteps made me look up and I tried to wipe that desperate look off my face. It was embarrassing. The hostage of the Joker getting off on listening to his kidnapper's orgasm. Two sick men.
He entered the room, all dressed, and as soon as I spotted him he grinned and lifted one eyebrow, looking at me suggestively.
I did not miss his glance at my dick.
And I died.
“Was it good for you, Mr. Wayne?” he asked with such glee in his voice that I gave it up and bent my head.
“Don't worry, there's more for you,” he said and as he walked up to me he took a small bottle from his pocket.
I did not dare to look him in the eye. But instead, down there, I saw him unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down. Silently and wide-eyed, I looked up now though and found him grinning as usual. I blinked several times, not understanding what was just happening, until he opened the bottle and let some lube drip on my dick.
With my mouth hanging open, I gazed at him.
No.
Way.
He licked his lips and gave me a seductive smirk, then he turned around, took my dick and aimed at his ass.
Right. The drugs. Alternate states of reality.
When my glans disappeared in his anus, effortlessly, I need to remark, I gasped. But fuck, was he tight.
A five million fuck. Enjoy.
I licked my lips and looked at the back of his head, feeling so baffled that I could not speak one word. When he clenched his ass and hugged my dick with his muscles, I gave a moan and threw my head back again. I was glad that he could not see me. Though, when I opened my eyes, I saw him peering over his shoulder, those eyes so intense that I ditched all the shame and narrowed them with need.
“Mr. Wayne,” he whispered and I jerked, feeling overwhelmed by so many stimuli of different kinds.
“Such a boring business man. And so naughty under that suit,” he said teasingly and moved back so that half of my dick slid in. I gasped again and squirmed. It was pointless. Pointless to deny it, pointless to refuse it.
He showed me another smirk, then he turned around and started fucking me, moving back and forth.
No, I was not just an ordinary business man, hostage of the Joker and getting topped by him. This wasn't topping at all. I looked down and watched my dick disappearing in his ass, over and over again. He was giving me an anal job. I gave up control and stretched my neck so his back touched my lips when he moved back. I heard him chuckling.
Then moaning. That bastard had not jerked off at all; he had just pretended to do so to get me all worked up again. I growled when I realized that, but he just took it for an expression of need.
He gripped his dick and started pumping. This was too good than to be true.
As he started moaning again, I was feeling close to orgasm already and I tried to stifle the moans, but it was impossible for me by now.
And just when I was about to come, on the very edge of orgasm, he let my dick slide from his ass.
“Haaah”
My voice.
Panting with need, I stared at him until he turned around. A very seductive look hit me full-on.
He took off his jacket.
The shirt.
The socks, the shoes.
Then he grinned at me and stepped out of his pants.
Perfect body.
And like he knew my thoughts, he moved his hand over his chest and pinched his nipple. It was sick how desperately I longed for him. He was to die for.
Newsflash - Bruce Wayne dead; he suffered from a heart attack, drug-induced.
The truth: Bruce Wayne dead; suffered from a heart attack while being harassed by the Joker.
The real truth: Bruce Wayne, not dead, suffered from a heart attack at watching this sexy asshole groping himself.
I dropped my gaze.
That hard-on.
I wanted it in my ass.
He grinned, came closer and pressed his dick against mine while he breathed against my lips. I did not dare to move. He bumped into me for a few times, making our dicks meet in the most pleasurable way, hard flesh against hard flesh, and when I was shaking with need, he turned around and let my dick enter his ass again. And this time, he fucked me to orgasm. As I came I cried out just like he had before and I pressed my head against his scrawny shoulder and clenched my teeth, gasping through them. Just in the middle of this all, I became aware of his scent again. Lemon grass.
“Yeah, come,” he breathed and suddenly tensed up. I felt him clenching his ass, then, for the fraction of a second, I saw his cum shooting up into the air, like a fountain.
So wicked.
Still panting, I closed my eyes and cursed him. I didn’t know what had been real and what had just been a game anymore. But what did it matter. A breathy laugh escaped me and he laughed too.
When I had somewhat caught my breath and mind too, I slid down a little and touched his skin with my lips. It was just a very small gesture, like an accident, but I had to taste him.
Sweat.
And lemon grass.
Tentatively, I touched his skin with the tip of my tongue. But that was too much. He took a step forward and my dick fell from his ass. Without turning around, he went towards the door and as he did so, I watched him sticking two fingers into his ass and then lifting his hand, which finally disappeared in front of his face. That part of me which had just gotten fucked beamed with joy since it imagined him licking his fingers and tasting my cum, and that part of me which still was too reasonable than to think anything like this imagined, well. Nothing. So I went with him trying my cum.
Shortly after he had left the room I heard the sound of water and some splashing, then he came back, still naked, with a cigarette and a lighter. Boldly, he sat down in front of me on the canapé and leaned back, his legs spread. His boldness was just disarming.
Still haven’t had enough yet? I’ll suck you off as well, no problem.
With closed eyes, he lit his cigarette and it was like we were right in the middle of a fuck again. How he pursed his lips when he sucked it, how he exhaled the smoke; it was so sensual. And I knew that he was fully aware of how sexy he was, which made it all worse.
Silently, he blew smoke up into the air, lifted his head from time to time to send it towards the ceiling or blow smoke rings. I hoped that he’d be done with that darned cigarette before the drugs would kick in again and my body would demand more.
After four painful minutes, he was done. He got up, went towards me and the closer he came, the more mischievous got his look. A row of teeth told me that I was in trouble again and he did not hesitate to show me at all. He stubbed the cigarette out on my chest, right next to the “J” he had cut, so it was a “J.” now. The pain was so intense that I cried out and squinted my eyes shut. I hated nothing more but burns and anything related to fire.
The cuts would heal and one day, I’d peel the crust from my skin and the J would be gone. But that mark would never be gone.
He left again.
And I heard him talking, but I didn’t hear anyone else and the only words I understood were “One hour” and “Okay”.
When he showed up again he was carrying an injection needle, his hand lifted so it was just next to his face and I could not miss that. Fear and arousal made me press my body against the wall; it was such a fucked up mix of feelings and though, I enjoyed this greatly. Too much, for my taste, even. I wasn’t used to drawing pleasure from feeling so helpless; yet, with the most dangerous man of Gotham, I could enjoy it. Oh dear.
Very slowly, he walked up to me, carefully taking one step after the other like he wanted to delay the final fuck as much as possible. I took a deep breath and turned my head to the side to bare my neck and offer it to him. He closed his eyes, slowly, for some moments, then he opened them again, understanding.
When he finally was in front of me, he put his left hand on my shoulder and aimed at my neck, but he hesitated. And those few seconds were candy for my mind. So close. So troubled, all of a sudden, so puzzled; I could feel it.
He drew back a little, glimpsed my eyes, closed his and then he kissed me. Firm lips pressed against mine. I was too baffled than to move at all. Instead, I kept my eyes open and so I could watch his moving under closed eyelids.
It was a short kiss, but longer than expected and as he drew back there was a look in his eyes which left me confused. He stayed very close to my face, our lips almost touching again as he touched my skin with the needle. Very, very slowly, he pushed it in, enjoying every millimetre of it and watching the surgical steel disappearing in my neck. As I had predicted it; the last fuck.
I licked my lips and tasted him.
My vision got a little blurred and my head fell back into place after he had removed the needle. Through my growing haziness, I saw him bending his head and many heads were left hanging in the air as he moved. My genitals were gently embraced by warmth as his fingers wound themselves around them like an octopus and he whispered against my face: “Sweet dreams.”
One hour later, the Joker took his gun out of the pocket of his coat and aimed at the man who was walking up to him. That man carried a small, brown leather suitcase, but just until he spotted the Joker and the gun. He froze and almost dropped it, but instead, he put it down and lifted his hands to show that psychopath that he wasn’t carrying anything else but this suitcase. Thereupon, the Joker put the gun away and went to his car, where he waited for the man to catch up with him.
When he had arrived there, he put the suitcase on the hood and opened it. A quick glance and the Joker closed it and put it on the passenger seat, then he opened the door of the back seat and the head of a man fell back as it wasn’t supported by the door anymore. Next to him, the Joker heard a sound of surprise. Secretly, the Joker peered at the man and fed on his shock, grinning to himself.
“You...cut his hair?”
He dropped the grin and looked at the man.
“I thought he looked like a boring fart with that mop on his head.”
The man took a deep breath and looked at Bruce Wayne’s face. Everything seemed to be alright. There, at least.
“Did he...was it...”
“I think he’s satisfied,” the Joker said and gave him a very nasty grin which made the man feel quite embarrassed. The man licked his lips, then he tried to pull the body out of the car, but it was too heavy.
“Come on, boy,” the Joker said, pushed him away and lifted his torso. Effortlessly, he pulled the body out of the car. It was only dressed in business pants and a purple shirt. The man took his legs and together, they went to the man’s car where they dropped the body on the back seat.
“He’ll wake up in five hours. It was a pleasure doing business with you,” the Joker said and left for his car to drive off. The man got in as well and headed for Wayne Manor where he’d drop Bruce and tell the butler about what had happened there.
Five hours later, a man woke up in his bed and it was not an unusual thing, but at this moment, it was. I stared at the ceiling, not quite believing what had actually happened. But Alfred and Lavendish assured me of this having happened since they asked me how I was, whether I was hurt, thirsty, hungry, suffering and anyway.
“It was tough,” I replied flatly.
And they did not get much more out of me. For the rest of the day, I kept lying in bed, drunken with dreams and memories.
In the evening, I got up to look at myself in the mirror since I was curious what I looked like now. At first, that face seemed unfamiliar, but it was just because of the haircut, which was indeed an undercut. And to be honest, I liked it very much. It made me smile at my image.
Maybe I would have done that long ago, but had not had the courage to do it. He was right, I was more handsome that way.
Then I saw the cuts. I closed my eyes and exhaled, getting lost in daydreams yet again which weren’t daydreams anymore.
“Master Bruce?”
“In the bathroom.”
Alfred entered and gave me an envelope. No sender, just my name and address. I shot him a glance, then I went back to bed and opened it there; Alfred waiting next to the bed.
There was just one slip of thick paper in it. I took it out and held my breath. It was me, naked, tied to the wall, my eyes closed. I must have fainted. And next to me, there was him, naked, arms crossed in front of his chest, his dick limp. Thank god.
However, the worst of all was his expression.
No smile, no big grin. Just a serious stare.
And that was the most erotic expression I had ever seen.
“Oh Lord, Master Bruce,” Alfred commented on that with his most shocked voice.
I felt heat gathering in my stomach and my cheeks blushing again. That was one of the most precious things I had ever been gifted. Trying very hard not to smile, I turned to the side and put the photograph on the bedside table.
“Shall I take it with me and throw it away, Master Bruce?”
“No, I’ll do that myself, Alfred, thanks.”
He left the room.
And I took the picture to look at it again. Just woken up and back to dreaming again.
I’d jerk off to that.
Later.
This is the way the world goes. I enjoy what I’m doing; otherwise, I wouldn’t do it.
I kill. For money.
But what I find even more appealing is sex for money.
Five million dollar are a high price and I have given you a show which was worth it, don’t you think so. I ain’t gay, I ain’t anything, but for 5 mills, I’ll be gay and give you the hottest mindfuck of the year, the classiest porn show of Gotham. I know what people like to see; I know what people like to feel and I know what people like to hear. I’ll read you within a second; you can’t hide anything from me. But I have the impression you haven’t even really tried to anyway.
Maybe we’ll see each other again, sometime, someway, somehow.
Take care, you clichéd perv version of a business man.
________