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The Circle	By : Triyune Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 2614 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not make money of writing this fiction and I don't own Batman nor the characters from that universe.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Part 6: The gravity of love
__________

4 weeks to go.
During these four weeks, I would manage to get used to him knowing my real name. I had to, because I knew that I had no choice, having consented to him marking me.
Somehow, I was glad he had done that, since I couldn’t escape that way anymore. No more running. I would have loved to run; to leave the town and start another life somewhere else where no one knew my name, but that also meant committing treason. I was done violating my own honour. In that respect, at least.
He forced me to come to terms with it; by now I was sure that it had been part of his strategy, calling my name. He wanted to see how far he could go. Well, I wanted to see that as well, but I knew he wouldn’t give me his head. Not yet, at least.
Or he wanted to liberate me, having noticed someone else lurking inside of me, waiting to be released when it was safe.
Either way, I had to accept it. These thoughts were untypical for me and my insane ego side was going through hell, yet, my self was melting under the mere thoughts of him.
It was time to lock the crazy up and let the other take over. I had had my fun for long enough, robbing banks, killing people, blowing up the weirdest things for fuck’s sake and nothing else and now I was tired.
Just tired.
Because it wasn’t enough.
I’d offer him my past. Whatever he knew or meant to know about me, I could live with it as long as he wouldn’t use it against me. If he kept silence about it I could live with it.
Sooner than expected, I had settled with him knowing my name. And that scared me. We had always been close and now I realized that I had never noticed how close I had allowed myself to be to him.
Four weeks later, I got dressed in a fine black suit and a purple shirt. I didn’t feel comfortable to go there without a mask; I regretted having thrown it out of the window back then in my confusion. Enough that he knew who I was; I didn’t need the others to know that as well. So I had gone down to the toy shoppe in the neighbouring district and had gotten me another one.
The same again; a Volto where I removed the mouth area so that I could talk and drink. I had painted it in checkerboard black and white again.
When my driver knocked on the door I stepped outside and joined him. I was calm, knowing that he would not say that name again. My reaction had been obvious and much telling and he had sent me that letter. And I trusted him. I had to.
______________

When I entered the castle a Bauta made me understand that I were to follow him instead of entering the ritual hall.
Without any objections, I followed him, knowing that it was about him. We headed down the stairs and stopped in front of a door. He opened it for me and I entered; it was the room where we had gone to after the ritual. The Bauta stepped back and waited outside.
A body lay on the round kind of bed where I had been lying months ago. Red weals were covering the back, blood seeping from some of them. The scars, the muscles…
I swallowed, recognizing him. Worries and fear pushed any other thoughts out of my mind. The moment I started to move a shadow materialized. A man with a long, black cape and a simple black mask looked at me. The Bauta.
“What…”
“He came to us, voicing a wish.”
I looked at him again. No sign of life. The beauty, violated so shamelessly, drove me crazy.
“What happened?” I demanded to know, unable to hide the anger in my voice.
“His wish was uncommon. Quite special. We opened negotiations and finally agreed on the sacrifice.”
“What sacrifice?!”
Rage and a premonition were choking me. I couldn’t stand the sight of my man lying there, hurt and troubled.
The Bauta traced along his flank, slowly. A twinge of jealousy made me clench my teeth. He was doing that on purpose, I was well aware of that; I just didn’t know why he was doing that.
His fingers slid between his ass cheeks and rubbed his anus. I breathed deeply, holding myself back from jumping at his throat.
“We had to prepare him.”
Memories of my own ‘preparation’ forced themselves upon my consciousness.
“You…”
Another glimpse at the shredded skin on his back made me lunge at him in silent anger. I ripped the mask off his face and hit his cheek so hard that he fell down.
I didn’t care; I would leave the castle deliberately, I wouldn’t tolerate that at all. I took my mask off and threw it away as well.
“You’re just a bunch of sick libertines with no respect for the individual!” I yelled at the man in front of me.
He was about forty, fine features and though, edgy somehow; black hair neatly combed back, black eyeliner framing his eyes. I didn’t know him. I just had expected the chief of sin to be somewhat older and uglier.
He inspected his cheek with his hand, feeling for fractures. I hoped I had shattered his cheek bone. He took a deep breath, then got up.
“We know that your compassion, Mister Joker, is very limited. We wanted to see whether it is sufficient for this.”
I didn’t understand any of that. All I knew was that my man was lifelessly lying on that bed, bruised and abused.
“For what?!” I shouted at him, barely able to keep myself from punching his face again.
“Whether you are worth it.”
Me?
That was enough.
The moment I attempted to jump at him again two hands grabbed my arms and held me back. They twisted them behind my back and forced me down on my knees. I snorted at the Bauta, who obviously didn’t even have the guts to talk to me alone. I watched him opening his mouth, testing whether something was broken.
“I said I would make up for it,” I hissed, showing him the most derisive smirk I could just produce right now.
The man took his mask from the floor and hid his face again. Then he came closer and the men forced me to get up. I looked straight into the eyes of the Bauta.
“I would punish you for that if it wasn’t his duty to do so.”
“Fuck you”
I got a slap in the face, less than I could take but more than I was ready to take from this man. I could see the amusement in his eyes. He had to be sick in order to lead this bunch of pathological rapists. To bring him back down to earth I spit on his mask. If I were to perish I’d do that in style.
A punch to my midriff and I was down on my knees again. Those were childish games, a struggle for dominance, but I was determined to win that game. Panting hard, I peered up at the black, emotionless mask.
“Enough now”
His voice filled the room. The Bauta took a step to the side and I saw my man standing there. Confidence, authority, beauty.
The Bauta nodded and I was lifted up and left to stand on my own feet. A little shaky from the blow to my stomach I shifted, trying to not show any sign of weakness in front of that loathsome man.
“I can’t see what makes him like you,” the Bauta mumbled and passed me, “just an obstinate freak…a disgrace for any master.”
He left.
I loudly exhaled my anger and turned to face my man.
What was that look in his eyes? Something was wrong. He came closer.
“It was a test.”
His voice was calm, no hint of pain or anguish. I didn’t quite understand.
“What?”
“I had to make sure.”
“Of what?”
“That you’re serious about this.”
“Me, serious?!”
Unbridled anger flooded me again and I wanted to attack him as well, but I was pressed against the wall, my jaw between his fingers.
“I’m your master and I can do what I please,” he snarled; anger showing in his eyes.
Something broke.
Without me knowing, something broke. I was overwhelmed with emotion, an unpleasant chaos of anger, woe and inferiority complexes. We had been a couple, hadn’t we been? Two people, bound to each other. What had made him cheat on me?
“Why didn’t you ask me to whip you if you need it so badly?” I hissed at him.
I could barely talk, holding back the tears. That man drove me mad. I didn’t know how to handle something like this. I had trusted him, I had shown him about my feelings more clearly than I had ever wanted to and I had thought that he felt the same. Only that had made me open up.
“I thought you weren’t into that.”
His words hurt so much, more than I could take. I clenched my teeth, he let go and I turned to the side to hide my pain. In the end, it had just been about sex. It was embarrassing, I didn’t want him to notice it. I had put him in a position where he could approach me, yet, where he also could easily hurt me. I’d never do that again. But now, it was too late. I’d go down with him and in one last attempt to reach him I spilled my misery: “But…”
“But what”
“But I am your…”
Fingers turned my head so I had to face him again.
“My what?”
Affectionate eyes sought to calm me down.
“Your…”
I lost track. His attitude had changed completely; he had acted in such a hostile and strange way that his tenderness confused me now. Loving eyes looked at me the way he did when we were close. I didn’t understand any of what was going on right now.
Eventually, I got aware of the intensity of this moment and turned my head away, feeling vulnerable again. I wasn’t ready to show that side so deliberately when I was already hurt.
“I have voiced a wish, but it is not what you think it was.”
The pain turned into anger, finally. I was sick of being a pawn in the hands of these men. They pushed me from one side to the other, drowned me, raised me up just to drag me down again.
“I’m sick of being your toy, all of you, you darned sadists. For you, it’s just about sex and nothing else!”
I wanted to leave but he didn’t let me. His look changed.
“I love you more than I want to admit,” he whispered into my ear, his hand grabbing my chin firmly again, his voice sending a shiver down my spine, “I needed to know about your feelings.”
His words were the glue for the cracks.
“I wanted to make sure.”
He was as incompetent as I. Insecure, afraid and damaged by past experiences. I wondered whether we could ever establish a healthy relationship at all.
Fingers caressed my cheek and made me melt. I’d have lost the world.
“I’m sorry about this.”
As far apart as we had been a moment ago, gravity made us move closer again.
The gravity of love.
I indulged in his touch, feeling warmth and security returning. I would have forgiven him anything. Truly anything, if he just returned to me.
“What was your wish then,” I replied with a monotonous voice.
“Uncommon and quite special for someone in my position.”
He did that on purpose.
“I’ll show you.”
With that, he turned around and picked up my mask, showing me his back again. The bloody weals on his back made me cringe.
“Was that the sacrifice?”
“I couldn’t help it,” he said, giving me the mask, “they insisted on it. I tried hard, but they wouldn’t agree on anything else.”
“Who’s done it?”
“So you can hit him as well?”
Boundless jealousy and the craving for absolute ownership claimed my thoughts. Imagining that sick bunch of Bautas whipping him and jerking off to that sparked an all-consuming fire in me and I couldn’t think of anything else anymore.
I gripped his shoulder and pulled him closer for a bruising kiss. I had to mark him. He was my and only my property. He let it happen. When I tasted blood I was satisfied.
That was the moment when I felt lust rising at the thought of him being whipped. The sounds he would make. How he would twist and writhe. I was up for a little test now.
“Did you enjoy it?”
Defiantly, I looked at him, expecting the truth. He licked the bleeding spot on his lip, glancing at my eyes for a moment before he set to leave the room.
No, I wouldn’t let him walk out on me now. I took his wrist and pulled him back.
“Did you enjoy it?” I asked insistently.
His eyes were about to swallow me. I could see a turmoil of emotions smashing his self.
“I did it for you”
Again, he attempted to leave but I tightened my grip.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He closed his eyes and tilted his head. When he opened them again he looked troubled.
“I thought of you. I enjoyed that. But I didn’t enjoy that man doing it. It was wrong, I…”
He looked up at me, searching for help. The authority was gone, the self-confidence in ruins.
I reached behind his back and touched the weals. He flinched and I abandoned myself to the pleasure that sight caused. I definitely was up for switching. If there was something I was good at then it was causing torment. A broad smirk twisted my lips and saved the situation.
I tore at the sore skin and he groaned in pain, catapulting me straight into arousal. He was mine and I would claim him for me only. Yes, I was obstinate and only still alive because of that.
“Did they tie you up?”
My hand was resting on a sore spot; he looked at me with pleading eyes. I knew exactly how far I could go. Maybe I was a bloody neophyte at interpersonal dealings, but there was a field where I was very experienced in. I could easily see the limits of a person; I had a feeling for their breaking points.
“They tied me to a cross.”
The thought of that stirred my blood. Our roles had changed completely.
“And then?”
“He whipped me.”
“With what?”
“With a cat.”
The sound of the leather hitting his skin sent me into ecstasy; a sensual orgy. I kissed him again, moving my hand up and down his back, making him gasp into my mouth. I felt resistance.
“Accept it,” I whispered into his mouth, “let it flow. Give in to your shadow.”
I tore at one of his wounds and his muscles tensed up. I’d teach him.
My anger having turned into wild lust, I grabbed some strands of his hair and pulled him back into a kiss again. My tongue pushed through his lips and he responded, finally, passionately kissing me back.
Time stood still and we touched eternity.
Purified, we let go.
He was breathing hard, looking quite lost. I knew the shock of that force breaking lose for the first time. It had been seething in his subconscious. His eyes searched for mine, looking for steady ground. I gave him that, being experienced in getting lost and accepting it.
There was so much love in his eyes that I barely could take it. It was a dangerous game. But I had always been courageous enough to adapt myself to new situations.
While we kept looking at each other, sharing that moment, I realized that I was just as responsible for him as he was for me. I wasn’t just a passive thing, shambling along behind him, taking what he gave me; I was an active partner who had to be concerned about the well-being of his partner as well.
I jerked when a shadow entered the room. Another one of those indefinite, masked men serving the Bauta. I had no clue why he had come to us, yet, he seemed to know why. He took a bundle of black fabric from him and the masked man left again.
Without looking at me, my man fetched his mask from the bed and put it on, together with a long, black cape with a hood. It covered most of his body, yet, leaving the front of him delicately visible. He picked up my mask and gave it to me.
I had learned not to ask when I felt that I were not to ask what that was about so I put it on and lifted my head to be leashed.
“Not today,” he said, then turned and left the room.
What was wrong? There was something in the wind. This hadn’t been the end of it all yet.
I followed him downstairs, deeper into the belly of the castle to a lonely, long corridor lit by candles. He stopped for a moment and I waited patiently. I wished to know what was troubling him, what he was thinking, but I knew I had to accept it, whether I knew it or not. Finally, we crossed the corridor and entered a round room, similar to the one where I had been marked. He closed the door behind us.
A leather-coated footstool was placed in the middle of the room and a leather sofa two meters behind.
He went to the sofa and removed the cape and the mask and beckoned me to do the same.
Holding something in his hand, he came closer. I couldn’t tell what it was. Yet, I noticed his nervousness.
“Will you finally tell me what we are up to this time?”
I tried to break the silence and encourage him to share his troubles with me. He had difficulties putting that into words.
“Last time...I had the feeling that,” he licked his lips, “it’s not enough. And you just showed me that it’s not enough.”
I didn’t interrupt him because I could see that he was feeling insecure and vulnerable. Something big was on the way, I could tell that much.
His body was the only spot of colour in this room, everything else was black. My libido told me to take him and just suck him off but my reason told me to stay calm and listen to his words, no matter how obscure they were.
“I said we’re bound to each. But we aren’t.”
What the-
“So I will let myself be marked by you as well.”
My blood gathered in my toes and left my head empty within a second.
What had he just said...what had he just talked about?
“What?”
“We’ve got the rings, but I’m not playing by their rules, I am playing by my own rules. Go along, do what you please. I am yours.”
Along with these words, he offered me a jack knife. I glanced at the knife, then searched for his eyes again. Objections futile.
I looked at the knife again. A feeling of proudness crawled into my brain. Megalomania.
He.
Thinking of marking him thrilled me terribly.
He would never look at any other man or woman the way he looked at me again. I would be his lover and he would be mine, bound by blood. The thought filled me up, made we feel whole. As much as that pleased me, I wanted to stretch it. So I took the knife from his hand and moved my thumb down the blade, testing its sharpness. It drew blood immediately. I grinned.
“You are ready to dispense with your first class melon-tits chicks, your sluts and cocksuckers? For someone like me?”
I wanted to hear it, I needed to hear it.
He inhaled deeply, gave me a look which made the blood ascend from my toes again and then fell down on his knees. Better than words.
I felt light-headed, rapt with the beauty of that man who managed to wake the bats in my stomach. It had always been me submitting and serving him and now I had him on his knees, looking up at me. That sight sent me over the edge; mindfucks forever.
His hands were resting on his thighs, his pleading eyes, waiting for me to take care of him. Drunk with delight, I lifted my leg and pushed my toe inside his mouth. He complied immediately by lifting his head and supporting my leg with a hand.
Darn, what a feeling, what an image, what a man.
When he started licking my toes I closed my eyes and pressed my thumb against the blade, drawing more blood. Biting down on my lower lip I left that place, concentrating on the feeling his tongue left on my toes, feeling his lips touching them, his fingers caressing my heel.
When I was sure I was as hard as he was I opened my eyes and let my foot slide from his mouth, down over his chin, further down his chest and stomach. When I arrived at his dick I let my toes rest on the tip, flexing them and making him shudder.
I could get used to that, topping him. However, I knew that I wouldn’t get the chance to do so anytime soon again.
Grinning from ear to ear, I left his dick and kicked his head so hard that he fell to the side. He could learn one or two things by watching me.
We were very different. While he enjoyed doing these things to me to establish and cement his role I did these things to him to lose myself in it. The power, the violence, control. I could get drunk on it. Probably, he was the better top, still being in control of his feelings when he was doing me.
Control...
His hair covered his eyes but I knew that he didn’t misunderstand me. He wouldn’t. His total submission affected me deeply all of a sudden. Me, the reckless mass murderer. That was one side of me but not the only side of me. With him, I could be someone else. I could be honest without fearing to be laughed at. He offered me the safe space, the comfort zone I needed in order to be myself.
Playfully, I touched his dick again with my toes, making it bob up and down.
“So, you love me?”
And how I got drunk on that.
He ran his shaky fingers through his hair but still didn’t look up at me.
“Yes...”
I closed my eyes and smirked, savouring the unconditional devotion. I wanted to stretch that moment to eternity. With the blade pressed against my thumb again, still drawing blood, I stepped behind him and knelt down. He didn’t change his posture but he soon would.
I gripped the knife firmly and perforated the surface of his skin with a light cut. He tensed up but said no word.
I cut deeper, making the skin covering his ribcage leak blood. He inhaled sharply but otherwise, remained calm.
Pursing my lips in pleasure, I pierced the tender skin under his ribcage, shoving the blade inside his flesh, but just a few centimetres. He jerked and gasped and it was like he was taking me in his mouth. Those sounds, imagining the pain I was causing him. I twisted the knife and he writhed but stayed where he was.
Following another notion I pulled the blade out of his body and stuck it into his mouth. He froze, completely. Pressing it against the corner of his mouth I leaned against the back of his head with my forehead. His hair smelled like soil.
With my other hand, I traced down his stomach and finally closed my fingers around his dick which drew a muffled moan from him. I removed the blade from his mouth and let it slide over his chin and further down his throat and chest, now adding more pressure so that it cut his skin in a fine, straight line, down from his throat to his navel. If he belonged to me I could do to him what I pleased; after all, he had been doing that to me as well.
I craned my neck and peered over his shoulder to see the blood and that sight made me close my eyes for a moment.
Another cut across his stomach which drew blood. I pressed my thumb against it and made our blood meet.
My own pain and the sight of that red liquid hypnotised me and I firmly gripped his dick. Thoughts of cutting it off flashed through my mind, how the blood would spill from it, the total despair which couldn’t be more profound. I left our bloody embrace and moved the blade down, piercing the side of his dick. He flinched again but let it happen and I lost myself to delicate fantasies centering around his dick and that knife. The warm blood seeping on my fingers, bathing them in life, so warm and so precious, the blood of a man who’d give everything to just touch me.
He winced and gave a cry of pain and I opened my eyes and dropped the blade reflexively. His body was quivering and I just noticed now that he was sweating heavily. With a pang of panic I got up to see what I had done. I stepped in front of him and knelt down; he was still facing the floor, not looking up at all.
Blood, so much blood dripped on the floor. Too much. Petrified, I stared at the small puddle of red gathering on the floor.
Why hadn’t he said no? Why hadn’t he gotten up? Why hadn’t he pushed me away in my frenzy? He must have noticed my altered state, why had he chosen to endure it?
“Bruce?” I asked, for the first time pronouncing his forename. It left me even more confused, triggering fear and the need to run, as always, when we were getting closer.
He finally looked up at hearing his name; confusion, absent-mindedness and turmoil was in his eyes but he was directly looking at me. His hand was clutching at his balls, blood seeping through his fingers.
Like in trance, I stared at his crotch, feeling sorrow and woe choking me. I thought I had been used to that stuff, making people bleed and despair and now that sight was one single nightmare. With shocked eyes I looked up at him and caught his. Eventually, I remembered that I was the one in control right now and I moved in to embrace him. If he let me.
He didn’t reject me; he leaned in as well. His body was cold. Gently, I pushed his head against my neck and pressed his body against mine, trying to calm him, or myself, I didn’t quite know what I wanted.
What kind of man was he that he would have accepted death by my hands as a last consequence? Blinded by his devotion, I choked back the tears. He left me raw and sore. It needed to be taken from me, that blade, that responsibility, that all.
I tried to draw back but he clung to me.
“Let it flow. Give in to your shadow,” he whispered into my ear.
My words. They must have stung when I had said them to him as much as they were tearing at my confidence now.
Educational pain.
His cheek was pressing against mine, both wet from sweat.
No, that man didn’t accept death readily; he’d take at least another man with him. I stayed for another moment until I withdrew from our embrace, feeling nausea rising. Distance, some distance; he was too close when I was in such an exceptional state.
He noticed my trouble and he took my face in his hands and just held it, forcing me to look at him.
Steady, brown eyes, intently and attentively staring at me, touching me gently and calling me. I should have been the one calming him.
I had not wanted to do that. That had not been my plan.
When I was able to think close to straight again I turned my head and he let go. My gaze hit the knife on the floor. Without spending another thought on that, I took it and looked into his eyes again, getting me the ok I finally needed. I had to finish what I had started, no matter what I had and had not done.
He closed his eyes, longer than a blink, and when he opened them they looked as calm and indulgent as before.
“Sit down”
I spread his legs then and placed the tip of the knife on the inside of his thigh. My hand was shaking from guilt.
No complaint.
I gave him a horizontal cut, about 2 centimeters long, then cut his skin vertically and added a slanting line. He held still, putting up with the pain in silence.
Looking at what I had done pulled me back down to earth finally. I was in charge, I was responsible for this man and I would never forget that again.
Mesmerized by the blood seeping from the fresh cuts I was just in danger of losing myself to that sight again but I looked up just in time to escape that sick spell.
He accepted it. Wordlessly, he accepted what I had done. No reproach, no regret, no disgust. If he accepted that side of me he would easily accept any side of me. That thought made me smile faintly. I could just be who I was.
“It’s alright,” he whispered into the dark between us.
He had held still to teach me. He knew about his limits and he knew about the sacrifice he would give for someone he loved, but I didn’t know. By bearing me, he taught me about myself. I felt like a child again, back to the days when I was young, conquering Gotham, knowing shit about life and believing that I could rule the world. Meanwhile, my world had dwindled to a room in an abandoned house, at least with electricity, yet, not much more than that. A hole-in-the-wall, mirroring the state of my mind.
Boldly, I reached for the deep cut across his balls and covered my fingers in blood. He didn’t need to understand; he should just accept it.
With a million of thoughts on my mind, I stared at my hand. I had barely cared about anything, barely breathed, barely lived. And now there was someone who was willing to put up with me, with all of me after I had shown him about my most loathsome side.
Bruce Wayne got up and fetched the cape, knelt down again and wiped my hand clean.
“It’s just blood,” he whispered, avoiding eye-contact.
“It isn’t.”
“It is what you want it to be,” he said, cleaning himself with the cape as well. Some of the blood had dried already and couldn’t be wiped away that easily.
He put the cape on his shoulders, got his mask and left the room, leaving me sitting in hell, but I was thankful for a few private moments anyway to digest that. Fine tendrils of those nasty thoughts which questioned me being worth that at all were about to proliferate in my prefrontal cortex when I saw the blood on the floor again.
I didn’t understand him; it was a miracle to me how someone could just put up with me. But I was about to accept it. Like him, I didn’t need to understand everything, I just had to accept it.
When he came back after about ten minutes he had his scrotum patched up. The other cuts wore no patches; he even seemed to proudly present them. Realizing that made me feel more confident again and I got up. He stepped closer until we were almost too close for my taste. He had done his hair; it was combed back again and his face looked fresh and unspent. I must have looked like a wreck compared to him now.
“Remember that this is your body as well,” to stress that, he put his hand on his chest, “I did not let me get marked by you to tell you what to do with it.”
Silence. The full meaning of his words revealed itself to me just slowly.
“Neither did you get marked to tell me what to do with yours. Got it?”
Somehow.
His lips closed over mine and kissed me gently but passionately.
What was going on inside him that he didn’t hold my extraordinarily egoistic and ruthless behaviour against me? His tongue moved over my teeth and I kissed back, finally understanding that there was a more powerful and effective weapon than hate and fear ever could be. I wanted to learn how to use it and he surely was a good master.
Bound by blood and bound by affection we let go, having renewed our trust.
He went to the sofa to get my clothes and I got dressed, then I bared my neck for him to leash me but he refused to do so. Instead, he took the collar from my neck, put it on himself and handed me over the leash. I was about to protest, longing for my slave position and dropping all responsibility again, but he took my hand and closed my fingers around the end of it.
“Not yet,” he said and I knew that I were not to object. He didn’t need a cane to teach me.
After a moment, I had settled with continuing my role and I thought about what to do next. There was plenty of time.
Well, I wanted to show them, I wanted to show everyone about my hot stuff so I decided to accept it and show him around. They should see every of his cuts, they should see his broken body and they should see the mark, everything of that and they should understand that it had been me doing that to him as much as they understood that the mark on my thigh was done by him.
In love.
“Put on your mask,” I commanded and he did so and although it hid most of his face I could see that something had changed. The vacant look, casted in black plaster was there, yet, his eyes twisted it into a gesture of total submission.
Now I would finish him off.
We left and went to the hall with the champagne glasses. Many looks hit us. Everyone knew that weird couple by now since we always stood out like a sore thumb, whatever we did. Some laughed at him, some turned around to whisper and speak ill of him. I hoped very much that he would notice their maliciousness. To make sure, I turned my head to take a look at him; he was walking along behind, his hard-on visible since the cape didn’t cover everything, his head bent slightly. His expression, as much as I saw of that, told me that he was experiencing something precious: embarrassment.
Everyone should know that he was as much my slave as I was his.
Burning shame. Jack left the stage and made way and I was caught up in dark fantasies and pleasures again. Embarrassment and humiliation, that was what turned me on, whether I was the addressed one or the one who inflicted it.
Someone laughed to my right. I had never seen that man, yet, he seemed to know us as well.
When we finally had reached the hall I went straight to the buffet and gave him a glass. Since we were in public again we couldn’t speak anymore, but he knew that he were to drink it anyway. When he was to take the third glass he looked up at me, hesitating.
I grabbed his jaw and violently pulled him closer, glaring at him.
“Drink,” I whispered with an angry voice.
He took the glass and did so. I was sure that he was aware of the effects that overdose would have were going to be painful and the thought alone made my dick press against my pants in joyful anticipation.
When I had taken a glass myself I dropped him on one of the sofas and left. I could feel his helpless look following me out of the room and I chuckled, having left Bruce Wayne, mind you, an anxious, desperate Wayne, behind.
I took my time to stride along the corridor and get the needed things from the armoury and with a bag full of specialties I returned.
He was still sitting there, his head bent and his cape covering his front side. I couldn’t accept that. After I had placed the bag on the floor I took the seam of the cape and bared his body again. I could feel the discomfort oozing from him, but he complied, knowing that I would punish him as much as he did when I didn’t comply.
Without ceremony, I gave him a cock ring and beckoned him to put it on. Since his dick was tremendously hard already it meant quite some work for him to put it on but he managed, just to be given a ball ring as well.
Silent protest reached me and I knelt down, straddled his legs and closed the ring around them. The moment it went shut he flinched, feeling the spikes piercing the tender skin. I took care so that it wouldn’t hurt him more than it was supposed to. He wasn’t used to bottoming, but I was sure he’d enjoy it as much as I did, would he just accept his pleasure.
Finished just in time because the drink was going to show its effects soon. To make sure it would kick in at the right time I sat down and waited another ten minutes before I got up and took the leash. He got up as well and I took the cape from his shoulders.
Big eyes stared at me in shock. There was nothing hiding him from the world anymore but a small black piece in his face. Bruce Wayne lost a few centimetres in height at that. With begging eyes, he tried to convince me of getting his cape back at least, but I bluntly put it into the bag and forced him to follow me. He lost himself in that new role as much as I was losing myself in my topping role.
Yet, not even I had been forced to wander around naked in the castle, but I was something else, expert in human degradation and humiliation. I could teach him. And I wanted to see how far I could go in public. What would he be ready to endure for me? Was there a limit? Was he sane enough to have a limit for his love?
Because it didn’t matter whether there would be one; I wanted to see what his limits were. He’d show me.
I searched for the room with the cosy chairs and sofas. Red pillows and golden legs. Various devices and instruments like a pillory or a cage were lined at the wall, rollable so they could be moved to whatever place they were needed in. I decided for something resembling a gym machine, similar to a treatment couch for massages and the sort, knowing that that thing would grant me the pose I’d need for my game.
I let go of the leash and moved the thing to the middle of the room. Expectant eyes followed me, just not those of my man. He was staring at the floor in embarrassment. Eyes traced along his scars, astral fingers touched his already tortured balls and ghostly lips closed around his swollen glans. He could barely resist the effects of the drinks, restlessly shifting, eyes searching for some comfy spot on the floor.
I led him to the machine and guided his body when he lay down. His legs were spread and his ankles tied to the metal, his hands tied to the other end of the device. His cock was delicately towering above the scenery, turning slightly purple. Everything about that man, even that tinge of colour got me to wallow in lust. He was breathing heavily by now; I could see that he was struggling against it all still and just now realizing that he could never win. A fight of a desperate man who had lost already, yet was brave enough to fight on. Or stupid enough.
Some people gathered around us and that just served to embarrass him even more.
One word would have ended it. One look would have made me stop. We knew each other a bit by now but certainly not enough as to know about unpredictable drops, so I held close contact with his eyes. We talked in silence, assuring each other of our trust and finally, he relaxed his arms let go.
It was amazing what effects a slight hint of care could have. It was a constant play of distancing by dominating and torturing him and getting close again by showing him that I cared about his feelings and sensations.
Yes, I could be sensuous as well as sensible. I could read people when I just wanted to do so and I could manipulate them and get them to do what I wanted. But I could also be considerate. I had always believed that trait to be a sign of weakness, a lack of self-confidence when I would show consideration for others. He made me discover the liberating aspect of consideration. Somehow, it felt good to administer to the needs of someone who meant something to me. The acknowledgement and the thankfulness filled me up. It was a different kind of happiness. And I had to act that out.
I couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him. Eyes fixed on him, I went to the head rest and bent down to kiss him on his mouth. He readily accepted it and kissed me back.
The marks were still leaking blood.
The kiss, first timid, now turned into a passionate embrace of our lips. The fire of jealousy was still burning inside me and I wanted everyone around us to know that he was unavailable. To stress that, I put a finger on the mark for everyone to see. His breath hit my cheek fitfully; the intensity of emotions he was feeling must have been unbearable.
“Time for lunch,” I whispered into his ear and a smirk returned to my lips.
I checked the bag for the utensil, then straightened myself and waited for him to realize what I was up to. Turmoil spread in his eyes.
I raised my hand and scourged his dick with the flogger. He gave a yelp of pain and tried to bend his legs but they were safely tied to the couch. Teasingly, I let the leather straps cover the tip of his dick and tickle it. He turned his head to the side, panting and swallowing some times. I did that too when I had to cope with severe pain; it seemed to help, somehow. Or at least it gave me the impression of help.
I moved the straps down and let them fall on his balls. He knew what that meant. His thighs tensed up, such a delicate sight. Well-trained, as hard as rock. Speaking of which...
Again, I reached out and hit his balls. The reaction was the same and I did it another five times, one lash quickly following the other, not giving him any time to recover from a blow before the next one came.
His body was one single tense muscle, shaking, sweating, quivering in pain and lust. I searched for his eyes. When he was done squinting them in torment he searched for mine as well and they met.
Endless love.
So much and so intense that I couldn’t deal with it, causing me to feel fear. I flogged his dick once again and he squinched his eyes shut but remained silent. In a mix of fear and anticipation, I stared at his closed eyes, waiting for him to open them again and show me in all honesty what he felt.
And he opened them and they were full of love.
I was breathing hard now as well and I reached out again, yet hesitated and took a step back. Shocked, I stared at him.
How could he.
My arm sank down and he stared me into paralysis.
Suddenly, the flogger was taken from my hands and a man prepared to whip him.
Within a second, burning rage flooded my brain and I turned to him and grabbed him by his throat, eyes big and gritting my teeth. I could feel the blood pulsating in my veins and I squeezed tightly, making him reach for my fingers and gasp.
“You dare...” I hissed and he dropped the flogger.
I kept him another second, then dropped him and he sank to the floor. People looked at me expectantly. I licked my lips and looked around. Hypocritical, shallow minds. That was my moment, the audience was here.
“If anyone,” I started, making my voice sound as possessive and demanding as possible, which wasn’t hard, in fact, since I felt like bursting from possessiveness, “dares to touch him again he’s a dead man. If anyone,” I continued, raising my voice threateningly, “lays hand on him once again he’s a dead man. And if anyone thinks he can come and make eyes at him, guess what.”
The bulge in my pants was undeniable. Everyone saw that. My words were weighing down on them, the air was thick and dense.
I was his slave, everyone knew that, but I was also his partner, not just his slave. In order to get rid of my agitation I kicked the man on the floor in his guts.
“You may be whores, swinging and swapping your partners as you please, but we,” I stopped to take a breath, “we are above you. This man is mine. I own him and he owns me.”
It was silent.
Consternated faces, amused looks, confused eyes, but all of them silent, hanging on my lips.
That was what they wished for. And what they never could have. Love, so deep that it moved mountains.
And Jack.
I licked my lips again, noticing that my agitation had not faded at all and that I would need a different means to calm myself. I pursed my lips and started to undress in front of them.
When I was naked, when they all could see that my skin was as white as the moon, I dropped my mask and showed them what they long knew anyway. No one said a word.
I turned around and found him looking at me, his expression unchanged, an invitation.
A plea.
He closed his eyes and opened them again, savouring the sight. That was Jack, fighting heaven and hell for love.
I climbed the rack and took off the ball and cock ring. He gasped and threw his head back. I could understand that it was too much for him.
Slowly, I sat down on his dick, pressing it against my sphincter and slightly past it to get used to it. I’d need him inside; not just in my mouth but fully inside me, where he belonged. I enjoyed that feeling so much, the pressure, the first moments of getting it inside when it hurt slightly and already filled you up so pleasantly.
His tip disappeared in my ass all at once and I groaned, feeling the pain turning into pleasure.
“I can’t hold back,” he whispered with a shaky voice, helpless eyes piercing me and giving me a pang in my guts. That man was even more beautiful when he was desperate.
“You don’t need to,” I said, bringing a hand to my hard-on and giving it a few pumps. No, I wouldn’t need much to come either; that foreplay had served to make me leaky already.
Power. What a thing.
Tentatively, I moved a little down on his dick to see whether I could already take him in. He clenched his teeth.
“Ready when you are,” I whispered and he lay down and closed his eyes.
Breathing rapidly, I sat down on his dick and drew a loud moan from him. I had missed that so much; one month between our meetings had served to make me thirst for his sounds and looks.
I moved up and down a few times and he was already out of breath, clenching his fists and tensing his thighs. So was I, ready to cum.
“Let go,” I said affirmatively and started to move again. All eyes were turned on us, greedily watching us.
I started moving again and felt my orgasm coming already and I decided to come since maybe that was just what he needed. I grabbed hold of his flanks and steadied myself, preparing myself for a rough time. A quick glance assured him that I was on the verge and I saw a lecherous smirk flashing over his face before he got back to moaning and panting me into ecstasy.
His hard dick slid in and out so easily, it felt like a metal bar, unpliable. The sound my balls made every time I sat down on his dick again and when they met his pubes was an auditory delicacy he seemed to enjoy as much as I did. Eventually, he lifted his head to watch the spectacle taking place around my ass and our eyes met again.
I quickly put my hand over my dick and came, groaning loudly and unashamedly. Hoping that my clenched ass would make him come as well I kept moving until he gave in and came with a stifled moan. His thighs tensed up for one last time and he arched his back, eyes closed, completely retreating into himself.
I kept fucking him and moved to the rhythm of my pants, riding him empty.
Finally, when he fell down again I stopped moving and wanted to prop myself up on my arms, yet, my hand, slick from my cum, slid and I fell down on his chest with a cry of surprise. Bruce Wayne was busy sorting out his mind and he didn’t mind at all.
Our bodies were heated and wet from sweat.
When he had gathered his senses together he eyed me up. Somehow, it felt like I was the fucked one and not him. Still, even from this position, he was topping. It was that moment when I understood what my role was.
Wordlessly, I laboriously rolled from the rack and freed his body, then I took the collar, put it on and waited for him to adjust himself as well. He got the hint and got up on shaky legs, no less shaky than mine, took the cape from the bag and put it on.
He took a deep breath or sighed, I couldn’t quite tell, then he turned to face me.
Immediately, I felt guilty. These darting eyes ate me up. I wondered whether I had gone too far, but the next moment I realized that we were just back to normal with him as my master and me as his slave.
He leashed me and I stumbled along and while he left the circle of people he pushed some away with his elbows, making room for us.
No one said a word, looks followed us.
We left and made ourselves comfortable in a smaller room with an open fire. Some couples were lying on the sofas, caressing each other. He led me to one near the fireplace. I still felt heated up from the sex so I didn’t think it a good idea to lie down there but I had no choice. My chance was gone.
He lay down and so did I, facing him. Since he was turning his back on the other couples he took his mask off. Beauty. So close, without a mask...but my look had replaced my other mask and had become the one I wore, day in, day out.
He had said that he never would say it if I didn’t like it. I wasn’t ready for it yet. One day, in the future, he could say it, but not yet.
“Happy now?” he asked me with a brow lifted and a faint, teasing smile.
I didn’t reply but kept looking at him, challenging him with my eyes. Just now I remembered my demeanour half an hour ago when I had pitched a fit at someone trying to touch him.
No, someone trying to hurt him. Possessiveness returned and I narrowed my eyes.
“I guess I woke something I never should have woken,” he whispered, smirking.
I licked my lips, feeling that agitation seizing me again.
“You wanted proof, I gave you proof,” I snarled.
Our bodies were pressed together, warm and moist, our dicks sharing cum.
“What do you prefer?” he asked, dealing me an amused smile.
“What do you mean?”
“Top or bottom?”
I went silent. I knew that I enjoyed topping just as much; yet, I was aware of myself being not suited for that. During my raids, I enjoyed spilling agony and leaving people behind in tears; I even enjoyed bringing the Bat to his knees. In public, it turned me on to make people suffer, preferably having a large audience witnessing that. That meant fulfilment.
But this wasn’t a raid. That was someone who mattered to me, as much as I tried to deny it at times when I felt dependent and thus, vulnerable. Denial didn’t change the nature of these feelings nor the intensity.
When I thought of that time today when I had been in control, responsible for his well-being under my guidance, I had to close my eyes. I couldn’t allow these tendencies to influence or even damage our relationship; I was someone who had to be tied up and locked away for the good of himself and others. If I were given the power to do what I pleased together with the opportunity, the means and the victims, I ran amok, I had witnessed that. I was afraid of myself. That was the Joker, doing what he always did and feeding on that power and despair, laughing out loud. The more blood got spilt the happier he was. I had lost myself in that. And it had been an awful experience, in hindsight. Admitted.
Jack was getting stronger.
“Bottom,” I mumbled into my hair, ashamed of admitting that.
He didn’t smile anymore.
“You?” I asked dryly.
If I was suffering he’d have to suffer a little as well. I could see that a similar train of thoughts was rattling through his brain, but it didn’t take him as long as it had taken me to admit it.
“Just the way we started out.”
“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy what happened today,” I added, feeling confident at his honest words. I just needed to remind myself of his letter. However, at the first signs of him making fun of me, laughing at my confessions or refusing my love I’d run. As fast as I could, as far away as I could. And I would never let Jack speak again.
“I know,” he replied.
We looked at each other, sharing a cheesy moment of unison before his smirk destroyed the romance.
“You could have whipped my ass at least,” he said, narrowing his eyes and appealing straight to my crotch.
“Why, they already did so. It was that sick bunch of Bautas, right?”
Anger, coming from the core of my heart since everything else was empty and drained, built up inside me again at the mere thought of that. I missed the fact that he did that on purpose.
His smirk broadened.
“So I’m right?”
My cheeks were burning.
“Well, yes,” he remarked, sending me into a silent tantrum which made me attempt to get up but he pulled me back and laid down on me, facing me, holding my wrists in place. Our dicks touched again.
Breathing hard, I glared at him. If I ever got to see them there again I’d forget myself and my position and break their skulls, with greatest satisfaction.
“Yes,” he smiled at me darkly, “this is love.”
“No, this is neurotic possessiveness,” I snapped at him and almost would have bit his lips.
“As I said, love,” he teased me and moved out of reach, gripping my wrists more firmly.
I clenched my teeth, becoming aware of how much I enjoyed that. It was different; it was very different from the feelings I had to endure when I was in power. Being allowed, no, being invited to let myself fall, sometimes even without being able to see the ground of that hole, liberated me. The feelings I had when I topped only shoved my mind deeper into that kind of forlornness I actually tried to overcome so hard.
I did what I had always been doing, not knowing why. Jumping from buildings, stepping over the edge, hurling myself into an abyss, hidden from view, putting myself in danger and falling.
That was trust.
I inhaled and prepared to say something, my self-confidence fuelled by his openness and understanding, but I closed my mouth again, being too afraid of voicing it in the end.
I wasn’t ready for him to pronounce that name yet.
As he kept staring at me in fascination I became aware of the honest nature of his feelings again.
It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.
“Fine,” I gave in.
“Fine what?”
“What you said.”
“Love?”
“Well...”
I’d rather bite off my tongue than admit it.
He knew that and he just accepted it. When he moved in to kiss me gently on my mouth I almost burst with what I tried to hide from him so hard. Passionately, I kissed back and closed my eyes.
Love.

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The Circle