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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel	By : Risen86 Category: DC Verse Comics > Suicide Squad Views: 6735 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Suicide Squad, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 14
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14
Letting his arm go briefly I reach over to the dashboard and turn on the radio, lowering the volume so it's only loud enough to be background noise. I look out into the streets feeling rather heady and awestruck at my current circumstance. When we pull to a stop at a traffic light a handful of teens in a red mini pull in beside us obviously on a night out on the town. The teens, a group mainly of boys, are at first too engrossed with the car to notice its passengers; that changes quickly when Mr. J leans forward to see what exactly has caught my attention.
The excitement that shoots through the car is instant; the kids freak out, many moving backwards and bouncing in their seat. I laugh hysterically at them then, making a show of it for their benefit, I move into Mr. J's space and kiss him deeply. He kisses me back just as deeply. When I look back at the kids the phones are being pointed in our direction; Mr. J gives me enough time to blow them a kiss before he speeds off, ignoring the red light. For some reason though, the phone flash brings me back down to reality; what are the chances that Batman would see a picture of me with Mr. J posted online? Connecting the dots if he does won't be much of a task.
"Batman visited me again today." I blurt, "He was pissed off that he got shot." I look over at Mr. J but he only looks amused. "He's said if he finds out it was me he'd be back."
He rolls his eyes still smiling "Oh Batsy, he's such a drama queen. It was just one little bullet."
"Puddin' what if he talks to-"
"Don't worry about it." He interrupts as he pulls into a reserved parking spot in front of The Circus. He hasn't even put the car into park before Frost appears; Frost's eyes flick towards me, he nods a greeting then quickly looks back at Mr. J. They fall into conversation about something but my attention is drawn to the radio and I turn the volume up.
"A young man, identified as Dom Cuevas 26, was found shot dead in his home early Wednesday morning. Cuevas, who had been interning at the Elizabeth Arkham Asylum, was reported to have been assaulted by Joker, also known as the Clown Prince of Crime, just prior to his recent shootout with police. It is currently uncertain whether the two incidents are related however the GCPD are –"
He killed him.
I feel myself tear up and, without much thought I let myself out of the car; my stomach churns, my body shakes, my palms are sweating and I dry heave. There is a group of people walking towards us, all of them in various costumes. One of them is holding a bat, a plain wooden bat with a black grip; the whole world disintegrates around it and my hands clench as I walk towards it.
I push the engine start/stop button until the purring completely dies off then I step out of the car and slam the door.
"I want good news, Frost." I reach into the car and pull out my cane before taking a few steps away. "I'm owed a rodent." I continue while still walking away; holding the cane by its purple shaft I point its gold accented handle at Jonniejonnie, "If the boys are too lily-livered to go after the one with wings, they had better provide the one who squeaked."
"The boys are …uh… upset about-"
I slam my cane down "They're upset?" I place both my hands on the handle and put my weight on it "Do I look TICKLED to you?"
"N- uh- boss?" His eyes linger behind me and his hand moves deliberately towards his concealed weapon.
I whirl around just in time to see Harley point a bat (not the muscly kind) right at my face, her moist blue eyes are burning with anger (very sexy) and there is a wild light shinning in them (very, very sexy).
What is it now? Is she going to swing it at me? What? What!
"You killed him!" her voice booms at me catching the attention of just about everybody within hearing range; they were no longer inconspicuously taking peeks at me (routine), they were now openly staring at us (exhilarating).
I feel myself grin at her (yes that grin), the one that makes people beg, the one that makes brave men tremble, the one that makes stone cold killers cry; yes, that one. " I neither confirm nor deny."
Her eyes are still wild "You..." she whispers "You!" it's a yell this time, she doesn't look afraid (god she's beautiful). She makes a noise at the back of her throat; it's a sound born from a combination of rage and frustration (animal!). A few of the boys I keep on payroll (Joker Army to the rescue) come rushing out of the club, they must have heard about the display. One of the boys points a gun at her (the nerve!), he begins to shout an order (who does he think he is?); I throw a clenched fist into the side of his face (Aaahhh) and I beam as he lands unconscious on the pavement. That gets the message across quite clearly; all unholstered weapons are swiftly holstered.
Gripping the bat in both hands, she stomps back to my Maserati (my spotless, brand new, custom, 2016 Granturismo convertible btw) and brings the bat down hard on the hood. She explodes into a frenzy bashing the hood repeatedly, arm muscles bunching attractively as she smashes in the headlights. The laughter bubbles up my throat, she stops to glare at me, JonnieJonnie watches us curiously and the whole world is quiet.
Apparently egged on by my mirth she diverts her attention back to my car (did I mention it's brand new?) and gives herself over to the chaos of destruction (be still my beating heart). She works her way around my (brand new) car, hair whipping wildly, arms working passionately, thigh muscles flexing fetchingly until the whole thing has been properly worked over. Having done as much damage as she can, she hops acrobatically on top of the warped hood (intriguingly arousing) and takes her savagery out on the windscreen. My pants feel a bit tighter than they were a little while ago; why would she keep all that crazy (all that beautiful crazy) subdued, chained, trapped underneath the surface?
Seeming to have worked off her anger, she jumps down off the hood of my (brand new and spotless) car, drops the bat and just stands there. She looks bewildered, breathless and absolutely stunning as I take a second to wipe the tears of mirth from my eyes. I stroll towards her, pausing only to pick up the bat (no pun intended) then continue to make my way around the car inspecting her work. The crowd is silent as the grave as I complete my assessment and walk back over to her.
I point at the car "You missed a spot." I offer her the bat.
"Wha?" I grip the bat tighter in my closed fist and thrust it forcefully into her chest. Her breath whooshes out but she takes it from me then turns to face her (expressive) work of art.
"You. Missed. A. Spot." I point at the rearview mirror that remains undamaged on the driver's side of the car. She doesn't move so I shove her.
"You are getting on daddy's nerves, pumpkin." I advise her when she doesn't smash it in instantly. She reacts with one vicious swing that sends the mirror rocketing through the air towards the crowd, the mass scatters in a frantic attempt to get out of the objects way; no one gets hit (pity).
Speckles of sweat have caused the black paint around her eyes to bleed into the white on her face creating a smudge of grey cheekbones.
"You lost something." I pick up the bat that she has once again dropped on the floor and hand it back to her "Crazy is a good look on you pumpkin pie." I caress a lock of her now unkempt hair behind her ear then I clench my fingers around her neck and pull her lips onto mine; my other hand goes to her round ass and I crush her hips into me. She moans into my mouth when she feels the still discreet (yet growing) hardness in my pants and she grips my shirt pleadingly.
I use my grasp of her neck to push her away "We do need to address your bad behavior though, don't we?"
I take ahold of her bicep and maneuver her through the throng of people, into the private entrance of The Circuis, past the packed dance floor, past all manner of dubious activities and into my own private lounge area.
I shove her unceremoniously onto a couch and make my way to the minibar, "What are you going to do?" her accented voice wavers minutely (what indeed). I pull out two snifter glasses, fill them up with whiskey (Macallan 1946 FYI), down only one and fill it up again.
I look over my shoulder at her sitting there on the plush white couch in silence (very very wisely), her eyes wide with apprehension and (annoyingly) breathtaking.
I offer her a glass of whiskey "Mr. J, I'm sorry about your car." shaking her head in a 'no' gesture her voice wavers; she gets the message and takes the glass when I glare. After a few more seconds of my glaring she attempts a little sip, she gags at the taste and tries to bring the liquor away from her lips; I push up on the bottom of her glass with my finger. The whiskey starts pouring out faster than she can drink it; thick streams of amber course down her mouth and throat (delicious). I take the glass away from her fingers and replace it with the other full sifter. She doesn't hesitate this time to down the liquor; she's resigned herself to the fact that she has no choice. A satisfied warmth spreads curiously through my chest as I watch her chug it.
Now you and I both know I'm no psychiatrist, but I think we can both agree that my particular disposition provides me with some insight into the mentally perturbed(for lack of a better word). As I once mentioned, pumpkin has had a chaotic childhood, it was traumatic; possibly a lot more traumatic than she likes to acknowledge.
"That dazzling outburst was how you got your daddy to pay attention to you, to your feelings, when you were little." I don't need to ask; I know it's true. Her eyes immediately fill with tears. She moves to wipe them away but I stop her, taking the opportunity to place a series of kisses on her teary eyes, down her cheeks, past the corner of her mouth then to her throat, where I spend a little more time enjoying the blended taste of whiskey and salty skin. She moans even as more tears streak down her cheeks.
"You broke his shit...You broke my shit. Congratulation darlin', you got my attention and now some discipline is in order, don't you think?" She shifts (was that a nod?).
I stand up and offer her my hand.
My already fragile emotions are immediately overloaded when he mentions my father. Childhood memories, memories best left forgotten, linger closer to the surface than they have for a very long time; I smush them down. I submerge myself in the growing mixture of desire and violence swirling in Mr.J's eyes; it pulls at me like a vacuum into space.
He offers me his hand and I take it; it's only while getting to my feet that I become aware of the stinging pain in my abdomen. I may have torn stitches during my outburst. It's also only when I trip over my own feet that I realize I'm completely loaded; Mr. J chuckles at my incoordination.
He leads me to what looks like a stripper pole and leaves me there, momentarily disappearing from my vision only to reappear with a pair of long handcuffs. He passes the cuffs through a set of loops built onto the poles then, his eyes riveted on my features, he locks each handcuff harshly around my wrists. The metal is cold and hard, the cuffs are too tight and my wrists will probably bleed if I struggle. I fist my hands that are now suspended at shoulder height and kiss him on the lips; he only allows a quick peck before he moves behind me.
He pushes my head forward so I'm looking down at my feet then he nudges my legs so they are shoulder width apart. I can tell from his shadow on the floor that he moves back, probably to get a better look at me. before he comes closer again.
"Everybody that has ever stood here ended up dead, you know." He places his hands on either of my hips and pulls them outward, so my spine is curved down and my ass is thrust out. My heart is racing, my breathing picks up and I close my eyes.
He leans over me so his chest is flat against my back and his groin is pushed against my behind. I can feel the rigid organ in his pants throbbing against my clothed ass when puts his lips against my ear "Of course I've never liked the view as much as I do right now."
He pulls away from me then inserts his fingers into the back of my collar; I enjoy the silky feel of his digits caressing the base of my neck. At first I think he's going to grab hold of my neck but instead he fists the fabric and wrenches it apart. The material strains then tears, leaving me bare from my neck right down to my black G-string.
"Nice…" the word bring a delighted blush to my face. Shifting so he is standing to the side of me he strokes the sensitive skin just above my butt before a loud crack echoes through the room.
"Uh!" Pain flashes through my behind making my whole body jolt and agitating at my already aching bullet wound. I try to create some distance between us by shuffling away from him.
"Get back into position Harley!"
My hands are trembling; I'm not sure if it's from fear, excitement or muscle exhaustion. "Mr. J-"
"Shut up and get back into position!" This time the slap comes at my face, it isn't hard, his angle doesn't give him much leverage but it's enough to cause another jolt. My breathing is coming out in puffs now, regardless I quickly do as I'm told, dropping my head forward and spreading my legs just as before.
"Good girl." He runs his finger along the seam of my ass cheeks pulling the G-string material out in the process. A harsh tug sways me backwards and I think he's ripped that as well, it's confirmed when I see the triangle that just covered my pussy seconds ago swing between my legs. He moves directly behind me again and uses his hands to spread my ass and pussy lips.
"Wet." It's an accusation and it causes a wave of embarrassment. He pushes his finger easily inside me and I wiggle my ass, hoping to get more friction. All I get for my effort though is another painful slap. He inserts another finger in me, then a third as he kneels behind me.
My arms are burning from the fatigue now and my back is strained but it feels… good.
He places his mouth against my pussy and flicks his tongue in tandem with his jerking fingers. A moan slips through my lips and he pulls both his fingers and his tongue away abruptly; they are quickly replaced with a harsh slap. The slap isn't on my back this time, no his vertically turned hand comes down hard on my pussy lips and the tips of his index finger lashes against my clit. I feel the wetness gush from me even as I moan in pain. Mr. J laughs then he brings his hand down again and again and again. My eyes are tearing up but my wetness is dripping on the floor.
"S-Stop…" I barely manage to get out. He grabs a hold of my hair and jerks it backward.
"I " slap "said" slap "shut" slap "up!" I sob quietly, wanting to rub my legs together to relieve some of the unfulfilled pleasure but I don't dare to.
"Do you know why I'm doing this?" I open my mouth to respond then, hesitant of speaking after he has so clearly told me to shut up, I close my mouth without saying a word.
"Good girl." I hear his zipper come down and I close my eyes in anticipation but he doesn't push into me like I want him to. Instead he steps close to me and runs the tip of his cock on my pussy lips; then he presses between them, he nudges my entrance but doesn't penetrate and when I try to push onto him I get a hard slap on my back.
My fingers are tingling now, my wrists are raw from the cuffs, my arms are almost numb, my back and abdomen are aching, and the sensations zinging between my legs are indescribable.
My whole body is in pain and yet I love it.
His dick appears between my thighs and I watch as he uses it to rub my clit gently, massaging and spreading my wetness on his member. Then he pulls away and with no warning he spreads my ass cheeks and thrusts hard pushing right into me.
I scream at the pain this time and grip the chains of the handcuffs.
"Shhh pumpkin." He kisses my shoulders and neck softly then, passing his arms underneath my shoulders he grips both my wrists and begins fucking me in earnest.
My vagina clenches at nothing, the moisture continues to drip on the carpet; he isn't even trying to please me anymore. His movements are selfish, they are hard and fast; I realize through my fog of confused pain and pleasure that there wasn't ever a chance of him allowing me release. This was a punishment fuck.
The thrusting goes on and my frustration mounts until finally he groans; the sound is so full of satisfaction that it leaves me envious and more than a little bitter. He pulls away; I hear the rustle of his clothes and a zipper before he pats my ass affectionately.
He comes around to lift up my head. "Now, I have to go meet up with the boys, pumpkin and I want you to stay here and think about what you've done."
"Please…please don't leave me chained here like this." I ask when he looks like he's about to leave.
He stops, his features are smooth but I sense that he's waging some internal battle. He rolls his eyes at me, or maybe at himself, then disappears. I think he's left but he comes back a few seconds later with keys. He unlocks the cuffs and when I prove to have a hard time walking he picks me up and carries me to the couch.
He points to a closed door at the corner of the room. "There is a full bathroom in there. You can use it. I'll have Jonnieboy bring you something to wear."
He places a goodbye kiss on my lips before he leaves.
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Building up or breaking down of Harleen Quinzel