Her leather snug around her athletic body, Selina alighted onto the roof of the Gotham Natural History Museum precisely at the strike of moonlight. As she'd expected, the Bat was waiting for her in the shadow of a turret, back turned, the moonlight only displaying the tips of his horns and the furl of his cape.
Selina crept up on him, boots winding silently across the gravel of the rooftop in a testament to her skill. In a few seconds, she was upon him.
She'd actually done it. She'd actually snuck up on the Batman. Lips curved in a smile, she sunk her claws into his shoulder as her mouth warmly licked where his ear would be beneath the cowl. "Hello lover," she whispered, now sucking half on his neck, half on the border of his armor.
He stood there as if stricken, groaning gently. She clapped her hands down on his muscular thighs, then trailed them up, up, up until she was rubbing at his codpiece. Not as big as usual. Either he'd just had a run-in with Mr. Freeze or he'd stopped padding his trunks. Either way, Selina gave the hard lump her fondest regards.
"I knew you'd be here. It's fine if you like fucking crazy bitches, but Harley and Ivy are downright
sane
compared to me."
Getting a good, firm grip, Selina kept rubbing as she ran her other hand up the usual abs, as she licked wildly at cowl and skin. Until her hand felt something a lot bigger—a lot softer—than the expected pectoral.
Selina spun the figure around, into the light, to find the wrong Bat facing her. "You're not Batman!" she said, somewhat unnecessarily, but hell, she was a sneak thief. Dialogue wasn't a forte when speaking at all meant you'd been caught.
"No," Batwoman replied, breathing a little heavy for Selina's tastes. "But that doesn't mean we have to
stop.
"
Just like Bruce to skip a date. Probably needed to test whether he could do jumping jacks on a bed of nails, or something equally torturous.
***
Harley's body was flushed, her sweat burnishing it, her breath working like an old car trying to hit 80. She laid on the back, trapped in Bruce Wayne's embrace like an iron maiden. His left arm was a steel band around her breasts, while his right hand was locked between her legs. She could feel his cock through his pajamas bottoms, denting her pert ass. Its hardness continued the metallurgical theme. No matter how she moaned and squirmed, she wasn't allowed to move. Just spread her legs wider.
"I'm gonna come! Brucie, I'm really gonna come!"
"No, Harley." Tauntingly, his thick, callused fingers continued their deep motion within her cunt. They were as cool and implacable as his voice. "Not until I say you can."
Harley groaned in abject frustration. She'd been pulling at Bruce's arm over her tits, trying to deal with her stingingly hard nipples, but she couldn't budge him. All she could do was throw her arms back and feel Bruce's back muscles as he held her tight.
"Brucie... Mistah Bee...
please.
It's been five whole minutes!"
Bruce was cold to her pleas of mercy. All he did was vary the routine, pulling his wet fingers out to rub over her smooth slit. Harley trilled as they approached her clit. She'd tried to touch it before, but Bruce had caught her wrist and twisted it painfully—that had almost been as good.
The cool enamel of Bruce's fingernails ran over Harley's clit, sending an electric shock through her, before his fingers abruptly reversed direction. Harley groaned aloud, close to tears.
It wasn't fair that he could make her feel so good, so fast. Ivy could do that—almost—but she usually had to be begged and cajoled into fucking Harley, and then she used the vines to get Harley off quick, so she could get back to 'more pressing matters'. Bruce took his time with her. He drew things out. It sucked.
As Bruce whispered softly, soothingly in her ear, his hand slipped down to Harley's perineum, where her juices had flowed from his inexhaustible efforts. He massaged the space gently as Harley begged for his fingers in whichever hole he wanted.
"Shh... shh..." Bruce rasped into her disarrayed hair, where his face was set. "I'll make you come. All in due time."
"Please, Brucie! You're my husband! It's your job to make me come!"
"The divorce rate would be much lower if that were the case." He left her sex all together, moving to her right thigh to tenderly massage it. Harley sniffled. Bruce rubbed at her other thigh, the intimate contact keeping her on the brink, but taking her no further. "What do you want, Harley?"
"Wanna come!" she whined, infantile with need.
"How?"
"You rubbin' my clit..." Harley's hands ran up Bruce's back to nestle in his hair and rub the back of his neck. "Please, Brucie? It's right there. Even a guy could see it."
Bruce could see it. It was practically begging for attention, engorged with hot blood, just waiting to be touched and rubbed and stroked until the end came. Bruce idly brought his hand to it and gave it a tiny flick, leaving Harley with a long, low groan to blow out her mouth.
"And why..." he asked, with a soft kiss to her bared throat, "would I do that?"
Harley hummed in disappointment, kicked her feet in frustration, her eyes pinched shut. She'd given in, wasn't even trying to fight, but that wasn't good enough. Bruce took his left arm off her cleavage, the sudden impact of the room's charged air with her bee-stung nipples making the blonde shudder. He brought his left hand to her face, gently tilting it up so his next kiss landed on her lips.
Harley moaned into it, a surprisingly deep sound. She was staring into his eyes as his freed hand rolled lovingly over her belly and dipped between her legs. It rubbed, gently but insistently, at her clit as his right hand entered her cunt with three fingers.
Harley gasped her way right to the cusp of orgasm. He'd been giving her two before, and three of his thick fingers stretched her small pussy to an almost painful degree. Bruce had come to suspect that one of Ivy's enhancements to Harley was that her vagina never loosened for long. No matter what Ivy stuffed into it—and Bruce had some suspicions on that as well—it always returned to an almost virginally tight state.
Harley seemed to greatly enjoy the reversal of that process, her cream flowing freely to ease the way, her legs spreading to the width of an acrobat, stretching from one side of the bed to the other. She squirmed, rubbing her ass against his crotch, trying to suck his fingers into her.
"Why?" he asked again. "Why am I doing this?"
Harley's eyes were tightly shut, girded against the pleasure of the dual assault. "I dunno! Fuck! I don't care!"
"Answer me and I'll let you come."
Her eyes popped open. "I... I...
fuck me, I don't know! I don't fuckin' know!
"
He kissed her, prompting another long, dreamy moan deep in her chest. "Think about it, Harley. You're smart. You'll figure it out."
Bruce rubbed her clit and fucked her with his fingers, each second making Harley jerk a different way and sound off in a different pitch. Even he had to smile, watching her enjoy herself so much. It didn't matter if he gave her permission or not, she was practically coming already.
She bit her lip so hard it was a wonder she didn't draw blood. "Don't stop, don't stop, DON'T STOP! Don't stop fucking me with your hand, Brucie!"
"Then tell me why I'm doing this." Bruce slowly dragged his fingers off her clit.
"No! No! It's because... cuz..." For all the dumb blonde routines she put on, Harley had been a psychologist once, and smart enough to keep up with both the Joker and Poison Ivy. She could be smart when she wanted to be. And even with her brain fogging over with pleasure, she could think of what Bruce wanted to hear. "Because you love me?"
Bruce gave her a fourth finger. Like a key had turned in an ignition, Harley's hips started gyrating hard, pushing her cunt desperately against Bruce's hands. He obligingly held his fingers in place for her to mash her clit against.
Her whole body trembled, then tensed into paralysis—the only movement a warm gush of fluids to coat Bruce's hand. Then she convulsed as her numbed brain was shocked by intense pleasure: breath knocked out of her lungs, heart pumped up like a tire, sweat flying off her body.
Through it all, Bruce slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her, leaving her clit alone to keep the experience from going too painfully intense, just prolonging her pleasure as she relaxed out of her orgasm. When he felt her unclench, he took his hand away. His fingers dripped with her pleasure. He brought them to Harley's face and she obediently sucked them clean.
"That's right, Harley. That's absolutely right."
Harley slurped her way off his pinky. "You love me," she smiled shyly.
He nodded gently. She dropped her head, bashfully, and saw the tent in front of his pants. He didn't stop her as she reached inside and brought out what had to be a foot of stiff prick.
Seeing it in open air, Harley felt a wonderful sense of pride. She'd done that to him. As much as he'd made her come, she'd made him hard. She couldn't get the Joker interested in her unless he was in one of his moods, and she couldn't get Ivy to give her a second look some days, but Bruce... Bruce she'd filled with lust. Never mind that he'd done far more to her. It seemed like an accomplishment.
"I wanna make you come," she said plaintively. Her voice shook, even.
Bruce's response was quick and ready. "Go to the nightstand. Open the drawer."
Harley obediently went, padding across the mattress on all fours. Inside the drawer was what looked like a stun baton—who would've figured Bruce for the self-defense type?—and a box of condoms.
She really hoped he wasn't going to fuck her with a baton.
"Take out a condom and bring it here."
Hands shaking, Harley took one from the box and wriggled back across the bed to Bruce, lying down perpendicular to him as she ripped open the wrapper.
