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Deadly Weapon	By : harley4joker Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 10995 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Deadly Weapon
- 1
She knew she shouldn't but she just couldn't help herself.

Mistah J was dozing on the couch, his long legs stretched out onto the table in front of him, an old Abbott and Costello flickering quietly on the television screen. His head was lolling against the back of the couch, exposing his long white neck and in this attitude of repose his face seemed strangely composed - gentle even. The laugh lines that mapped his skin were temporarily invisible, his mouth soft and slack, and a long lock of green hair tumbled down over his forehead. He'd showered, washed all the pomade out and without it his hair unexpectedly curled, was longer than it looked when neatly styled in the 40s pompadour he favoured.

It made her heart melt.

She wanted to curl her fingers in that hair, lay delicate kisses over his eyelids, stroke his cheeks and rub her nose against his. All innocent and all so lovely and all so rarely indulged in anyone of them would be a treat but she couldn't be satisfied with that, oh no, not little Harleen.

No, where her eyes were drawn now, what tugged hard at a spot much lower down than her heart, what made her fingers twitch and her tongue dart out to flick against her lips, was where the folds of his purple silk pyjamas stretched over his lap. One of his legs was crooked up a little higher than the other, his ankles crossed. It pulled the fabric taut, hinted at what lay below and she'd been staring at him - at his crotch - for a full twenty minutes, getting more and more squirmy by the minute.

He won't even know, she thought to herself, I just want to touch it. Just a little.

The thought had her leaping up from the corner of the room, moving silently as a cat across the plush carpet. She didn't dare sit down on the couch beside him, fearing the weight of her body shifting the cushions would wake him and the moment would be lost. Instead she knelt beside him, holding her breath, her every movement slow and careful.

This close she could smell his soap and the silk and she breathed it in deeply, and sighed, feeling a silly sort of bliss well up. This close she could see the dip where his thighs met, the tell-tale outline of slippery fabric clinging to that precious thing he hid so often and so cruelly from her.

She resisted the urge to bury her face in his lap.

She just wanted to touch it. Just a little. She tilted her head to the side and examined the fly. The buttons were undone, it gaped a little. She could just make out a small bare section of his pelvis. God. Her throat got dry and she swallowed hard. There was a tightening sensation between her legs. She could slip her hand in, if she was very, very careful. She could pull it out and look at it. She hadn't seen it very much. She even - God - she might even be able to - taste it. She'd done that even less. Only very, very good girls get that sort of treat, he'd jeered at her a few times, but she knew he liked it when she did it. She knew because - and she felt blood spring to her cheeks - because he wouldn't let her stop until he'd finished.

Maybe if she started it, he would wake up feeling good and let her finish. Maybe he wouldn't hit her, scream at her and kick her out.

Maybe.

Her heart was thudding as she lifted a hand and lowered it so slowly and so softly towards his lap. She had to breath carefully through her mouth because she was becoming a little breathless, a little giddy with excitement and danger and anticipation... God touching him, putting her hands on him, feeling him... her other hand drifted down between her legs and she stroked herself teasingly, through the sheer fabric of her nightdress. Her lower lips were swollen and she imagined it was his hand touching her, his long, strong hand. He did it so well, he always seemed to know when she needed it rough and hard or gentle and soft and did exactly the opposite so that she screamed in mingled pain and frustration and ecstasy, he laughing and teasing all the while.

Her fingertips brushed the purple satin and her pussy twitched. Yes, yes, yes, she could feel it. Soft right now of course, but long anyway. She felt a goofy smile travel up her face as she ran a finger up its length; it was folded upwards to lie against his hip. When it was hard she couldn't wish for anything bigger, anything thicker, anything more capable of filling her up just right. Just the way she needed to be. Could she make it hard?
Her finger travelled all the way up its head and she felt it twitch. She could. She could, most definitely. She would.

Hardly daring to believe her boldness, moving quickly before she could lose courage and back away, she slipped careful fingertips into the fly, still trying oh so hard not to move too suddenly, to pull, to drag. It seemed her hand crawled across empty space, millimetres above his pelvis in search of what she sought, for an eternity, her heartbeat crazily loud in her ears. Then finally her fingers grazed it and she had to swallow the squeak that nearly burst out of her mouth, almost choked.

The skin was satiny soft and smooth and she swooned to think of how it looked all bare and hard and ready for her. God, she'd barely been able to commit it to memory, so little she'd seen it. Time, time was all it was going to take. It had been happening a little more regularly. She could wait. She'd wait forever for her Puddin'. It was worth the wait. But she hoped she wouldn’t have to...
Yes, it was hardening. She could feel it as her fingers glided upwards, over its smoothness. Hardening and thickening. God she wanted to taste it, she wanted it in her mouth, she wanted to feel it harden between her lips.

The hand in her hair ripping her backwards was so sudden she shrieked. She was slapped, no not slapped, belted with something cold and unyielding, so hard it sent her spinning backwards, her jaw ringing with pain and stars shooting before her eyes.
Then she was wrenched upwards again, still by the hair, and tossed onto the couch where she gasped and gasped again, the second time at the ferocity of the pain in her jaw.

Then Joker was there, a knee pressed against her stomach, one hand wrenching her head back and the other with his .38 pressed right against the spot where the handle of the gun had caught her moments before. He was grinning in such a way she almost wet herself, his eyes glittering nastily as he looked down at her.

"Well, well, well," he sneered. "Look who's going for a midnight dip in the cookie jar. And after I‘ve warned you about touching what doesn‘t belong to you. Tsk, tsk, tsk ,Harley."
"I'm sorry Puddin'," she said desperately, but with her rapidly-swelling jaw it came out as "Ah'm thowwy Puhdehn,". She hoped it wasn't broken.
He ignored her. "Do you know what happens to little girls who can't keep their hands to themselves, Harleykins?"
Tears were welling up and she couldn't say if it was from her fear, the pain in her jaw, or disappointment at having been stopped before getting very far.
"They geht punithed?" If she answered correctly he might go easy on her.
His brow grew heavier, his smile wider. "Indeed they do, my little Pumpkin Pie. And as I seem to recall, the very best lessons are learned when the punishment fits the crime. "

He abruptly removed his knee from her stomach and wrenched her nightdress up to her waist. It was nothing but a pale blue cotton shift and she was naked beneath it. He pushed her knees apart, exposing her pussy to his gaze and she felt a flood of humiliation, shameful and thrilling, wash through her.

He ran a finger up her cleft and she shuddered; the feeling of his bare flesh on her was almost too erotic to bear. The punishment should fit the crime... oh if only he'd keep rubbing her like that. Her clit was tingling beneath the weight of his gaze alone, it would take barely a few strokes for her to come and right then even with the throbbing pain in her jaw and the frantic beat of her terrified heart, she wanted to come and wanted him to watch her while she did. Yes, even wanted him to laugh at her for it. She ground her hips forward, unable to help a little gasp as Joker ran his fingers back down, probing gently at her entrance. He tsk'd, and shook his head. She was soaking wet, out of her mind with desire for him.
"I've been spoiling you," he declared. "You’ve gotten greedy. Far too overindulged."
"No," she whimpered, no he really hadn't been! She hadn't been getting enough! She could never have enough of him.

She realised he was kneeling on the floor beside her, as she had been only a short while before. And he was staring down at her, his eyes lit with a strange glow as he looked from her face to the place between her legs, both of them hungry for him. She let the foot closest to him slip off the couch, slide against his hip and crotch and her heart leapt and her pussy clenched. God he was so hard. She'd done it.

But he didn't take too kindly to that either, and snarled and lifted the gun and she gasped and pushed back against the cushions, squirming. Surely it wasn't worth killing her over this - surely this wasn't the worst thing she'd done -
But he was leering at her again, enjoying her fear, his free hand keeping one of her knees pushed wide apart, keeping her exposed.
"Ya know, I‘ve been thinking, Harl. The only way to sate that appetite of yours is to give you something that’s gonna last a bit longer. Something with reeeeeal staying power.“ and suddenly the butt of the gun was pressed into her stomach and then he was drawing it down, past her hips and onto her groin.
She panicked, thrust her hips up and he shoved her back down with one hand hard around her throat, squeezing until she gagged and her vision began to spot out, the muzzle of the gun still cold against her pelvis.
"But Harley," he whispered, mocking her, "I thought you liked it hard and dangerous.’
He continued to squeeze on her throat, holding her still and choking, as the gun trailed ever lower, its hard tip scraping against her pussy lips.

Joker leaned over to her, his purple eyes dark with vicious humour, and whispered: "I can assure you this fellow doesn't shoot blanks. Just what my Baby needs to fill up on." His breath was hot against her cheek and his lips grazed it just slightly and in spite of herself she savoured the sensation and felt her nipples harden in response.

Then it was there. Against her opening, hard, harder than any cock she'd ever known, even his. Completely inflexible. Cool, but steadily warming from her flesh. He teased her a little at first, nudging the end of it in and out softly, his smile lurid in the corner of her terrified gaze and then he pushed it forward and the whole damn thing slid in.

His grip on her throat had loosened a little and she gasped as the whole barrel of the gun entered her, stretching her wide, gliding in easily due to her former state of arousal. Had he cocked it? She couldn't remember. Oh god, oh god, oh god. She was being fucked by a gun.

He started off slow at first, gazing at her with a vicious smile, an expression of savage delight lighting up the face that not so long before had seem so relaxed and gentle. She kept still, terrified as she felt that long tube of deadly metal slide in and out of her, praying, hoping, wishing fervently his finger wouldn't slip, that he wouldn't get carried away, that damnit, he wouldn't just think it would be the funny thing to do.

And it didn't feel bad. It wasn't wonderful the way his cock was, but it was smooth and so hard and it was his hand controlling it after all. An image leapt to mind, unbidden, of his white hand tight and strong around the gun, sliding it in and out of her pussy and she felt her muscles clench down hard on the barrel, so hard he noticed the resistance as he pulled it out and one eyebrow shot up and he looked enquiringly between her legs, something slightly hungry sharpening his face.
And he began to go harder and faster and she was overwhelmed entirely by what they were doing. God, he was fucking her with a gun - never in all her life had she imagined she would ever - but who would ever - except him - and who could it ever make it sexy like this except him - God. It did feel good. Not just that long barrel of metal thrusting in and out of her, but that he was doing it to her and that she was letting him, or was helpless, or both or whatever and who cared except that she was doing it for him and that was really the only thing that mattered. For him. Everything for him.

Without even realising it she had begun thrusting back against the gun as he fucked her with it and his eyes were round and bright, feasting on her as he let go of her throat and watched her get into it, riding the deadly weapon like it was his hand, or his cock. With her throat free and air coming easily into her lungs again, blissful little moans began rising up out of her mouth, growing increasingly louder and longer the harder he went. He knotted his free hand in her hair and bit her jaw and her pussy clenched again.

Her clit was aching to be touched, she could feel it tingling, knew it must be hard and swollen and she wanted him to touch it, stroke it, squeeze it, but also knew it would all be over too quickly then and she didn't want this to stop just yet. Still, it was demanding attention, furious for it. She lifted her hands to her breasts instead, running her fingers over her hardened nipples, feeling them send jolts of pleasure coursing through her.

Joker was breathing harder, his teeth bared, his gaze still intent on her face and she could feel herself being devoured whole by it. Every so often he dropped his eyes to her crotch to watch himself fuck her with the gun, a low rumbling growl in his throat.
He let go of her hair, sat up straight and fumbled at the fly of his pyjamas. A moment later his cock was in his hands, hard and tinged red at the tip and he was jerking on it fast and furious.
Oh God, He's jacking off over this, over me, over what I‘m doing for Him, she thought deliriously and felt herself perilously close to the edge. Her moans hissed higher and she felt desperation as she teetered at the point between giving in to ecstasy or holding back.

It was decided for her when, not slowing his gun thrusting or masturbation in the slightest, Joker bent at the waist and flickered his tongue twice against her clit. It was all she needed. She tipped over the edge with a scream as waves of pleasure thundered through her, her muscles contracting hard around the gun and she heard her Joker snarl again and before she'd even finishing coming, he'd wrenched the gun painfully free and replaced it with himself, his cock filling her up completely and she came again, from the sheer delight of the feeling, of knowing he was there, of his slim hips between her thighs, of how full he made her feel and how complete.

He was vicious as he pounded into her, grunting a little, more vocal than he'd ever been before and she swooned and crooned, clinging to his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. His eyes were frightening, staring at her with an intensity that threatened to consume her but she didn't look away, instead revelling in the feeling of being swallowed up by them.

Then he was shoving the gun in her mouth and she didn't hesitate, just started sucking, sucking her own juices off the barrel, sucking it like it was his cock and he could feel it. She wished he could, could feel his cock pounding hard into her pussy and his gun in her mouth. If his finger slipped now she'd be dead, her brains splattered against the back of the couch.

He pressed his nose against her cheek, his other hand gripping her hip so hard it was bruising already and sped up. It hurt, she thought a part of the gun might've scraped inside her and made her bleed, but it was gorgeous, fantastic pain and she didn't want it to ever stop, didn't want him to ever stop fucking her. He was so hard and so big and so strong and knew, just knew how to make everything feel so damn good, knew how to make her his.

The gun was pumping against the back of her throat and that hurt too, it clanked against her teeth and her already aching jaw protested with a stab of pain but she couldn't stop. He bit her throat, grunted again then pulled the gun free of her mouth, gripped her neck and kissed her brutally. It She could not kiss him back, he would not let her, just forced her to take his mouth and tongue, to let him work her mouth whichever way he fancied.

And somehow he thrust even harder, his hand slipping further around her hip and under one buttock, lifting her of the couch cushions as he bit down hard on her lower lip and she felt his cock jerk and pump, emptying himself as deep inside as he could get as he came. She tasted blood.

When he finished he blinked rapidly, seeming surprised and then swept a hand over his forehead, up through his hair.
Then he abruptly pulled out of her and stood, tucking his softening cock back into his pyjamas bottoms, leaving her there on the couch, dazed with bliss, delirious with love.

"Spoiled." He muttered, walking away from her. "Any wonder... such a ... troublemaker."

She felt utterly spent, limp and weak as if she'd been drained completely dry. Gingerly, she closed her legs, relishing the ache in her thighs, the twinge of pain in her pussy that she was quickly associating with a really good fuck, and gazed after him as he wandered toward the bedroom. The high was already beginning to ebb the further away he got and she felt an aching little tug at her heart watching him go.
At the bedroom door he suddenly whirled around and yelled at her, all clenched fists and bulging eyes:
"Well? Are you coming?"

And it was sheer elation that gave her the strength to propel herself from the couch and limp-skip after him, ready to wrap her arms around him.
- 1
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Deadly Weapon