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Marry The Knight	By : Ksennin Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 96985 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics, the Batman franchise, or any other Batman characters. I make no money from publishing this story.

Chapter List
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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.
Bruce laid on his back, hands behind his hand, cock erect, a picture of unselfconscious masculine confidence. “Put it on me.”
That, Harley had experience in. Even if the Joker didn’t use condoms, all her college boyfriends had. And she’d had a lot of boyfriends. Being a psychologist meant taking a lot of classes, after all.
Bruce’s hips only jerked slightly as Harley fit the condom snugly onto him. Then she turned her eyes eagerly to Bruce.
“Suck it.”
Harley’s face fell. How come Ivy got it inside her—even in her ass?—and she didn’t even get to blow him without a condom? She at least wanted to taste him on her tongue when he went.
But, submissively, she ovaled her lips…
“Wait,” Bruce called.
She looked back at him with eager eyes.
“Come here.”
On all fours, she traipsed over his prone body to his head. He caressed her cheek, cupped her chin in his hand, and pulled her mouth to his. Her tongue flicked out to meet his, softly pushing together in their joined mouths for a long minute, their heads turning from side to side until Bruce broke away entirely.
“Now,” he said.
Feeling much better about it, Harley snaked back down his body until she was lying on her belly between his legs. His cock jutted up before her. She took one more second to marvel at it, at her effect on him. She could smell its powerful aroma. It still smelled of Ivy.
Harley raised her head, opened her lips, and lowered herself down to slip Bruce’s warm cock into her lips.
She was surprised to feel his hand again, gathering up both her pigtails and pushing down on her head. She unresistingly let him push all of his cock into her mouth, her throat, neither of them stopping until his wiry pubes were tickling her chin.
It wasn’t like with Ivy. She didn’t have to think about how to please him, what he wanted. He showed her. As she sucked, he moved her head from side to side, back and forth, sunk his hips back as he pulled her away, pushed forward with his cock as he pulled her in.
When her head was pulled back, she licked at the tip of his cock and the sensitive collar of his helmet. When she was pushed back down, she sucked hard. He let go of her hair and she kept up the rhythm. She moaned softly to herself as she did it.
Bruce looked down at the young woman kneeling on all fours before him. His wife. He stared hard at her pale lips gripping his cock in tight, desperate need. Harleen Wayne-Quinzel. She looked so right sucking him off. He could tell she was liking it.
He had always pitied her somewhat, but perhaps some people were born to be submissive. That was Diana’s belief. It wasn’t good or bad—just a question of having a good master, not falling prey to a bad one.
He watched the light hit his cock as she pulled away from it, leaving its entire length slick with saliva, then saw it disappear back between her lips. Even he wouldn’t be able to last much longer.
Bruce ran a finger over the nape of her neck, alerting her to his attention. “Stroke it. Rub my balls.”
Harley nodded eagerly, his cock still in her mouth—slightly awkward, that—then fondled his heavy balls with her left hand. Her right squeezed his cock at its base. As she hefted his balls with one hand, the other slowly started to pump his cock. Soon, she was jacking him off into her mouth.
“Yes,” Bruce said, with tight approval, the word almost becoming a groan. “Very good.”
Harley beamed with pride. He could see her resolve to do even better. Her head bobbed on his dick, tight lips sliding from his glans almost to the root. He’d grown in her mouth too much for her to fully hilt him anymore, though Harley wished he would grab her hair once more and push his cock into her throat until she couldn’t take anymore. Still, she kept her hand on his cock and stroked what she couldn’t suck; dragged her tongue along his underside when his cock went in and locked her lips around his collar when he slid back to keep him from getting away.
Soon, she noticed his cock was swelling even more, seeming to fill her whole mouth. Harley worried that she’d have to unhinge her jaw to keep blowing him. She didn’t stop though. Not when he was stroking her face with his hand, wordlessly telling her how proud he was of her.
Her softly sucking mouth smothered his cock, milked it, finished it off. His engorged cock throbbed one last time, then a spasm ran its length, preceding a flood of hot cum that shot into the latex that had so frustratingly stood between Harley and the true taste of his prick. Harley could almost feel it coating her tongue, practically taste it, but it all flowed into the reservoir of his condom, denied her.
Hungry for cum, Harley licked and sucked as best she could, hoping to somehow break the seal of his condom and guzzle down her reward. But though she felt Bruce’s cock soften in her mouth, the condom stayed intact. Bruce needled his forefinger on her brow and pushed her away with a limp groan.
“Well done,” he gasped, his brow lightly dusted with sweat. “Now take care of it.”
Obedient to the last, Harley rolled the condom off him, tied its end, and dropped it into the wastebasket by the bed. Bruce rolled over—easy now that he didn’t have a railroad spike jutting from his loins—and opened the nightstand drawer further. In the carefully sorted bric-a-brac was a lighter and a carton of cigarettes. He opened the carton, neatly extended one of the cigarettes and offered it to Harley.
She obligingly leaned forward to clench it in her teeth, then watched him bring the lighter to her and flick it on. She moved to light the cigarette in her mouth, but he pulled the lighter away. Harley looked at him in acquiescence, and he lit her cigarette.
Puffing contentedly on it, she let herself be folded up in his arms, slackened and content. “Thank you, Brucie. Thank you…” Her next drag took a long time blowing out of her mouth. “Was I a good girl, Mistah Bee?”
“Yes, you were, Harley. Very good.” He moved a strand of her hair out of her face. It’d all come out of her usual semi-pristine pigtails, a ruffled mess now that looked exactly as it was: like she’d just been fucked. Seeing her so grateful, so piteous, he felt a stab of affection for her. Even with all the crimes she’d committed, all the hurt she’d caused, he had no desire to chasten her. “Tell me something, Harley.”
“Mmm?”
“How can I be a better husband?”
“You’re the best, Brucie. Look at me. I just came, like, a billion times, between the spanking and the touchy-feely and the really touchy-feely…”
“I know. I know you’re happy. But what do you want me to do, when you think about what you want me to do?”
She looked up at him with puppy dog eyes, the cigarette almost like a lollipop in her dolefully set lips. “Welllll… Red, she always holds me. Always-always. Even if I have to beg and plead for her to whammy me, she’ll take a half-hour longer than she has to, just cuddling with me and snuggling me… and Mistah Jay, sometimes he let me hold onto him really tight, that’s almost the same thing. Like, if he’d be pacing, he’d let me hold onto his legs and drag me across the floor for a while. That was great. But also Ivy, we always sleep in the same bed, even if we don’t do nuthin’, because I love hanging onta my Ivy. But it’s okay if that’s not your thing. It’s not really Mistah Jay’s thing either. You know, sometimes when he kicked me out, I’d go to Red and she’d hug me and stroke me and tickle me all night. Not that I liked getting kicked out, you understand, I’m not some vixen, but it was almost worth it, havin’ her pay so much attention to me…”
It was funny, body language. He’d learned its ins and outs, all the academic information, but he hadn’t really known it until meeting Cassandra Cain. It’d gone from a dead language to a live one for him. And he’d seen how Cass was with Tim and Steph, how she asked to be held, to be soothed, to be touched. It was what Harley was asking for now, far less eloquent, but no less imploringly.
She was on his right when he gathered her up in his arms, so he ringed his left arm under her knees and put his right arm under her back, lifting her against his chest like she was weightless. Harley squeaked, a spot of ash flying from her cigarette, then relaxed into his closeness.
“You’re right, Harl. I should’ve let you had a cooldown after I punished you the other night. It was irresponsible not to.”
“Ah, don’t beat yourself up.” Harley stopped to purr a little as he ran a big hand down her spine. She squirmed around, happy as a clam. “But, if you really wanna make it up to me…” She ran her hand down his stomach.
“I don’t.”
“Okay!” Harley said, moving her hand quickly back to his chest.
“And is there anything else you’d like me to do differently next time? To make it better for you?”
“Mmm? Yeah. Yeah, I think there is.” Harley reached across him to stub her cigarette out on the nightstand’s ashtray, her nipples brushing against his chest. “Next time you punish me—spank me harder.”
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Marry The Knight