He's naked when he comes to. And his arms won't move. He looks around the room, soaking in every barren detail. Candles line the darkened space, little visible beyond the hard Velcro restraints wrapped around his wrists and the solid metal frame of the bed. His legs are wrapped the same way. A few tentative tugs offer no give. He pries and still no hint of a budge, not even with his taught muscles straining. Not an ordinary frame then.
The bed itself is firm but comfortable, covered with soft sheets. A few jaw movements confirm that the mask at least is still there. Why would they leave the mask on? And who are they?
"Good morning" rings a soft voice. He turns to look, twisting against the restrains to peer through the shadows. The figure makes it easier, stepping into the light. "Your metabolism burned through my little potion even faster than I thought," Poison Ivy says, sulking up to the bed. Cream colored hands emerge from the folds of a bright green robe to rest on the sheets.
She eyes him for a moment, a devlish grin beneath wandering green eyes. "But then again, your metabolism is even more than I'd ever imagined, isn't it Batman?"
For a moment he considers silence but thinks better of it. "What is this Dr. Isley? Where am I and what do you want?" his hard voice growls the words but without the cape and the cover of his uniform and the cloak of darkness, they carry none of the usual menace.
"TT," she replies, stalking up onto the sheets to bring her knees to his side, hand lightly brushing his arm. "I've tried telling you, Pamela Isley is dead. I left you the courtesy of your mask, the least you could do is extend the courtesy of acknowledging mine. But then, you try so hard not to seem playing our game, don't you?"
"I'm not playing any games."
A tanned, toned leg stretches across his torso and she eases herself on top of him, hands resting lightly on his chest. "Oh but you are. Your play-dress and your toys and your running around. We're cops and robbers and supervillains. Didn't you know that?"
"People don't die in games, Dr. Isley."
She sighs. Fingers trace down his torso, touching on the divots between each hard clump of muscle.
"Your body is even more impressive than I thought. You do take our game seriously don't you? Just how much do you work out? And does that extend to... everything?"
She lifts herself up off his stomach and a hand slides beneath the robes, taking ahold of his flaccid cock in between her fingers.
His training at least manages to avoid giving her a reaction.
Her smile broadens. "And here I was almost worried this would be easy." She tugs at his manhood again, a little harder this time but still gentle.
"What is this?" he growls again.
She giggles, eases her hand back to his chest. "So much for the world's greatest detective. Well, if I must spell it out for you, this is my bed," one hand lifts off his chest to gesture around them. "And this is my body," the hand folds inward to the robes and pulls out the single knot holding it together. A tug and the robe falls around her, revealing her naked, toned frame, bare breasts bobbing as she moves. "And these are my rules. I'm going to fuck you, Batman, I'm going to feel you inside of me and I'm going to take everything I want from you. You can fight it, like you fight everything, but you will fail and I will win. But you don't have to lose."
She throws the robe off the bed and leans forward, her breasts brushing against his chest. "No reason you can't enjoy it." A few inches lower and she tries to kiss him. But he rolls his head to one side.
"Sigh. Not as if I expected otherwise but still, you'd think after all this time chasing me all over Gotham, you'd be at least as curious as I am."
