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A gentleman's gentleman	By : Triyune Category: DC Verse Comics > Batman Views: 1232 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don’t own Batman nor the Joker and I don't make money from writing this fic.

Chapter List
- 1-A gentleman's gentleman
- 1
A gentleman’s gentleman
Take a deuce
take a look
take a lesson
take a lover
take a dessertspoonful

Sitting on the pot, reading the Glory magazine on a Sunday morning with a cup of coffee next to me always either served for amusement or enlightenment, especially the ads section.
This time, it was a mixture of both.
‘Hardsports - slave wanted. Can be fully trained or novice. Payment in kind. Write to PO Box 3.50.’
I scoured my brain for the meaning of that word. Blood came to my mind. That and utter violence; bones cracking, windpipes collapsing. But it couldn’t be about that. I dropped an afterbirth and put the magazine away, feeling like being done for the day.
Since my dopamine level was fucked up and I was going through one of my self-destructive cycles I would write to the man, asking him.
The reply I received three days later, consisting of one single word, shocked me a little.
Typically, I was having a closet session again when I opened the letter.
Shit.
Shit, what?
Shit, as in ‘faeces’?
Shit, as in ‘Damn!’?
I screwed up my nose, trying to keep the molecules of rotten eggs from penetrating my nostrils.
Considering the circumstances, taking the situation into consideration, probably, it was shit, as in ‘shitkink’.
The thought put me off. Disgusting, filthy shit.
I wiped my ass clean and left the sacred place.
While I got me a cup of coffee I thought of it again, finding it strangely fascinating. What exactly would that be? I had always been open to most things and if I refused something it was just because I was prejudiced and I tried to keep the prejudices as reasonable as possible. Mostly, when I got past the prejudices and it was shown to me I agreed on it being ok.
In this case, I was lacking any prejudices, which, admitted, worried me a little.
I searched for a piece of paper and pen again to write to him.
The second reply was very polite and encouraging so I decided to go ahead with it. It was obvious that it was a male individual, but I didn’t consider myself too good for that sort of thing. Why not. A long time ago I had ditched all social rules and unwritten rules, freed myself from all sexual inhibitions, embraced my drives and gone on a trip of exploration and field studies. What would they all expect from me? I was a white-faced freak; naturally, people would think me wicked and unpredictable, so why not live up to those expectations and have fun thereby?
I was invited to come to the Asylum Club. I knew that kind of nightclub; a location to party, drink, coke and fuck. Just one floor above hell.
‘Come in rubber or leather.’
Sure as hell I would.
In the evening of that day, I got dressed. I hadn’t worn that kind of stuff for a long time anymore, having become lazy lately, rather staying in and playing with knives.
When I had put the pants on I realized how much I had missed that. Instantly, my self-confidence rose to 95% when I looked at myself in the mirror and touched my leather-clad thigh. For fuck’s sake.
Happily, I searched the cupboard for the matching top. However, when I couldn’t find it I took the rubber shirt, polished it and wrapped myself up with it. It was a sleeveless top, tight-fitting and shiny. I knew how to make it shiny.
Grinning, I opened a drawer and took the choker. If he wanted a slave I’d give him a classic slave. For the finish, I put a knife into my back pocket together with some notes. A knife had always saved me.
I left and got me a taxi to that address. The man at the entrance didn’t even blink when I entered. As expected, the walls of those vaults were painted in black, the furniture black as well. There was a bar to the left and to the right some tables; straight ahead a corridor with doors and a larger room with a stage at the end of it. The location was pretty crowded, gasmasks, latex dresses, patchouli, strawberry vanilla and all kinds of kinky fabrics were confusing my senses till I remembered our arrangement: The third table on the left.
With my heart beating too fast and too hard I passed the first two tables and stopped in front of the third.
A man dressed in a fine suit and white gloves, nipping his Martini, sat there. A top hat hid his hair and when he looked up to check for his ordered man I could only see his lips; the rest was hidden by a leather mask going from his forehead down to his lips, only baring these and some chin.
When he spotted me he almost spilled his drink on the floor. I asked myself what he had expected...
Yet, the familiarity of that kind of mask struck me and for a moment I was about to give in to the urge to turn around and run, but eventually, I could convince myself of him not being him. He just couldn’t be that man.
Boldly, I took a seat at the other end of the table. We waited in silence until the waitress came to take my order. Just when I got the drink the man faced me to talk to me.
“I am pleased that you came.”
His voice was low but clear. However, he was disguising his voice; I just didn’t know how.
“Who are you?” I demanded to know.
“Does it matter?”
“Not really.”
He sneered at me.
“You’re quite the bossy one, aren’t you?”
“If you want a bootlicker you can just ask at the next table,” I snapped back and was about to get up. I wanted to see where he was coming from and where his politeness would have an end.
He didn’t get up to keep me from leaving; though, I stopped to watch his reaction.
He was rubbing the stem of the Martini glass between his thumb and forefinger, looking at the glass.
“A little fight in you. I like that.”
The words hit me like a hammer.
My words.
How could he...
He looked up at me, still sneering.
“Yes, I like them with a defiant attitude. Would you sit down now again, please.”
I did so, to my surprise.
“So, you’re into shit?” I continued boldly.
“Yes, I am.”
No hint of embarrassment, no change in his expression, no sign of annoyance.
I sipped at my drink.
“What exactly turns you on?”
“What turns you on when you get spit at?”
I clenched my teeth and glared at him. Just a few moments and he had psychoanalysed me already. But that was an easy one; the ones who acted so defiantly took the greatest pleasure in humiliation. But I didn’t want to lose yet.
“The loss of power. Getting stripped bare of my own will and being forced to take something I don’t like.”
He tilted his head.
“Turn it into the contrary and you got the answer to your question.”
“So it turns you on to exert power and to inflict things on someone he doesn’t really enjoy?”
“Yes.”
I couldn’t win. He was too smart for that and that implied that I was too dumb.
“Well then, let’s do it,” I said to end that game.
His smile grew.
“But you will allow me to empty my drink, will you.”
“You’re the Master. I’m just your fuck toy.”
“Oh really,” he smirked, taking the glass. Shortly before it touched his lips, he added: “Thanks for assuring me of that.”
I started to like that man. There was a kind of vim in his attitude, a kind of disarming honesty and openness which appealed to me.
When he had emptied his glass he gave me a sheet of paper. In the dim light, I could read about some recent blood tests.
Negative.
Negative.
Negative.
Negative.
Negative.
And surprise. Negative.
“What does that mean. That I have to look for someone else who’ll gift me syphilis?”
“Well, yes, if you want to put it that way...”
He took the sheet, folded it and put it away.
“Don’t wanna know what I will do to you?”
I snorted.
“Honestly, no. I will take it, whatever it is.”
“Well, if you don’t overestimate yourself there...” he whispered with a leer.
His sense of superiority made me feel humbled already. My dick made a shy attempt at reconciliation but it was nipped in the bud when I shamelessly squeezed it silent in front of his eyes.
“I guess it’s about time,” he said and got up, leaving the table. We took the corridor in the middle and went to a room without a door.
That room was full of those typical things; crosses, all kinds of pillories, a cage and so on. More than I could take at first sight. Many of these facilities were occupied, yet, he led me to the end of the room where there was a kind of rack.
Like a bolt out of the blue, his hand pushed me down and I found myself lying on the wood. Cuffs held my arms down and when he was about to close the neckpiece around my throat I protested. I wouldn’t make it easy for him, but he knew how to handle such people. Without another word, he slapped me and I was left dumbstruck. He seized that moment and fastened the strap around my throat. I was just about to open my mouth and curse him when he gave me a small rubber ball.
“Drop it when it gets too much.”
Fear spread. Yet, it was always the same; when I did something which I hadn’t done yet I always felt afraid. As much as I was considered a freak, I still was human.
While I did my best to swallow my fear away the man took off his shoes, socks and pants. With every piece he dropped on the floor my anticipation grew.
He climbed the rack and squatted down on my stomach. His dick was lying on my chest, no doubt he had taken a long shower before he had dressed for the night. My fears dwindled. A little.
Cotton caressed my chest and helped me relax. He was wearing those gloves on purpose.
Fingers invaded my mouth, gently, until he shoved them down my throat and made me retch. I clenched my fingers around the rubber ball and gave in.
Having little to no respect for my own body anymore since that incident years ago I didn’t care what he just did and would do to me as long as it wouldn’t kill me. It would just serve my self-destructive tendencies.
Again, he touched my velum and triggered another wave of retching. I wasn’t exactly a fan of that, but it was far from being too much for me to drop the ball.
When he was done I felt spent already. His dick had grown meanwhile; I had been watching him feeding on my tears and torment. This one was a leptosadist.
Yet, the tough shit was yet to come. He got up on his knees and positioned himself above my head. His dick was so hard by now that it didn’t even touch my face anymore; only his balls were delicately exposed.
Shaved.
I darted out my tongue and licked them, making him shudder and moan. He remained in that position for some more moments till he straightened his back and I knew that he was about to start now.
“If I get to find just one crouton on your cheek or on the wood I’ll punish you.”
I smirked, being used to that kind of language. They were just all the same, talking about punishment and obedience while I enjoyed being disobedient. He noticed my smirk and slapped me so hard that my head collided with the rack.
I decided then to better not miss one single crouton and get it all right.
He straightened himself again and spread his ass cheeks with his hands. Shaved as well. A gentleman’s ass.
With a mix of excitement and insecurity, I watched his sphincter relaxing. For a moment, I wanted to get up and leave, yet, fear and excitement took turns and a moment later I was thrilled to see the shit spilling from his ass.
I swallowed hard when it moved past the ring of muscles and the odour reached my nostrils. A sudden bolt of panic made me buck, but he reached down and pressed against my jawbones so that I had to keep my mouth open.
I just could have dropped the ball, of course...
A generous amount of shit fell into my mouth and I squinched my eyes shut, desperately trying to keep myself from retching again. Gentleman that he was, he helped me get over it by pressing against my mouth and nose, forcing me to swallow before I was allowed to breathe again.
That was hard work for me. I had never done anything close to that before; always had made sure that not even my own shit would touch my fingers when wiping my ass and now it was in my mouth. Filthy, disgusting shit.
I swallowed.
Then, I needed a few seconds to gather myself together. He was waiting for me to look up at him.
“Are you okay?”
Admitting that I was okay would have meant to drop the last piece of decency I still clung to in my despair.
Not admitting that I was okay would have ended this all.
I was up for some rebellion.
“I’m okay,” I whispered with a shaky voice.
“Doing that for the first time, aren’t you?”
I looked away.
“Yes.”
“It’s alright. I love that more than someone who’s been eating shit all his life long.”
He straightened up again and I prepared myself for the next round.
A long string of faeces wound itself from his ass down into my mouth. I took it all and he watched me, eyes filled with pleasure. It was a strange feeling; I was just exploring some unknown part of my self, tied to that rack, taking the shit of another man and not freaking out at all.
I probably deserved it.
Though, swallowing it gave me quite some trouble since I had to concentrate on not throwing up. I wasn’t used to the smell and taste of it and the consistency was just giving me the creeps.
I did feel like shit.
For the life I led, for the things I did, for the kinks I enjoyed.
That man was the first one who really understood me. It was right where I belonged; right under the ass of an intellectual caviar cavalier.
My dick pressed against the unrelenting leather.
When he had emptied his guts he left the rack and got up. My cheeks were burning from embarrassment and shame, but as much as he enjoyed that I enjoyed it too. He cleaned my lips with his gloves, then opened the straps. I sat up, took a deep breath and ran my fingers through my hair.
And then, hell fell down on me again. He approached me from behind and while holding my head in place he stuck his fingers into my mouth again and tormented my palate until I started retching again; however, this time bringing up more than just saliva.
While I was desperately fighting the urge to vomit his shit up he placed a bowl between my legs and then continued stroking my velum.
The stench and the feeling of that served to make me feel even worse and I noisily puked my guts out. From the corner of my watery eye I could see guests turning around and staring, some coming closer and watching. A disgusting mix of faeces and gastric juices came to light.
How I hated that. When I lost total control of my body. Yet, I didn’t have a choice; he wouldn’t stop deliberately.
When I was done finally, I spat into the bowl several times to get rid of that taste but it stuck with me.
Again, he gently cleaned my mouth and I just waited until he was done, then I left the rack as well and leaned against the wall, trying to get my body under control again. If there was something which could unsettle me it was vomiting. Not that it turned me off but every time that happened it made me feel helpless and confused. Then again, I enjoyed torturing this body too much.
The man took the bowl and dipped his dick in the shit. With tearful eyes, I watched him doing so, still debating on whether that was one of my favourite kinks now or something I would never ever agree on being part of again.
Again, he helped me decide. I was sent down on my knees and my lips gave way to his intruding dick, smeared with shit. There was that taste again, fresh and though, foul, mingled with digestive juice. A horrible mixture. If he had pissed in my mouth now it would have been complete, together with the ejaculate.
He fucked me senseless until I was crying. Every time he entered me again my head hit the wall and not even my fingers tearing at his skin could stop him from fulfilling his wishes.
His thrusts became more violent when he was close to the climax and I just let the tears flow.
I wasn’t hard anymore and I was far from reaching any climax and though, something like satisfaction filled me up from head to toe and that was the only reason for still squeezing the rubber ball to death in my hand instead of throwing it against his fucking head.
He spilled his orgasm into my mouth finally and I tried really hard to suppress the urge to gag and swallow instead, otherwise I would have pressed the semen through my nose and I knew what that felt like. Semen mingled with shit was the last thing I wanted in my nose.
His moans faded and he stood still finally, holding my head in his hands, keeping me close to his pubes, his dick still inside my mouth, retreating slowly.
Gagging and coughing around his dick, I wound my arms around his hips and hugged him, otherwise I would have sunken down on my knees from exhaustion.
“You did very well,” he whispered, so only I could hear it. The rubbernecks were still assembled around us.
“I thought you would back out of it, sooner or later.”
His dick had shrivelled to its usual size by now and I moved my head a little to let it drop from my mouth.
Semen and shit. Holy asshole, what a drink.
“You’re the sickest man I ever met,” I replied, my voice cracking.
I heard him sighing.
“I’m not sure whether that is a compliment.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
“I know.”
His hands were stroking my head, his fingers playing with my hair. He couldn’t let go.
Neither could I.
The staring crowd finally lost interest and thinned out.
Finally, I could force myself to get up. Dazed, weak and spent, I sought the comfort of the stone wall and snuggled up to it. He leaned in and kissed my lip.
“How would you like to be paid? In money... an orgasm...or something else I could possibly give you?”
“An orgasm.”
“What’s your kink?”
“I got several.”
I couldn’t hide the smirk crawling to my lips. Yes, I wasn’t someone who limited himself to one thing if there were so many interesting ones out there.
“What would you like to do?” he whispered against my lips, caressing my cheek with the clean side of his glove.
“An enema.”
That made him beam with joy. Obvious, why.
“As you please. We will have to borrow the gear if they got some. You wait here.”
He went to fetch the stuff. In the meantime, I found the time to recover a little. I could have gone home and gone to sleep, but I was up for some fun as well, now that I was here. And the last time I had shoved a pipe up my ass had been months ago. And I had been on my own.
He came back with an irrigator and the other equipment needed.
“You want to stay here?”
“Where else could we go?”
“I saw that the next room isn’t as crowded; just some opium corpses, they won’t mind.”
“Fine then.”
The other room was different from the previous one. Comfy canapés with luscious pillows everywhere, couples lying on them, caressing and touching each other in a kind of unknown ecstasy. Slowly, carefully, respectfully.
There was a sweet scent in the air and low music coming from some hidden loudspeakers. You could still feel and hear the bass from the stage room, yet, it was dulled by the door you needed to open to enter. He sat down on a sofa but I had something else in mind.
“I would like to stand.”
Wordlessly, he got up and went to the sink to fill the container. I looked for a cosy place and there it was; a corner of the room was decorated with velvet curtains. I went to that spot and took off my pants, keeping the top on purpose. Then I leaned against the wall, watching him coming back.
“Turn around.”
I did as he told me. He bent my back so that my ass was bared to him. Immediately, I felt heat returning to my cheeks. I had done such things so often already and still, they made me feel ashamed. But that was my thrill, my pleasure.
Ungloved fingers touched my skin, fondling my buttock. The longer he took, the more I got excited, awaiting that pleasant feeling eagerly.
In the first days of my liberation I had felt so ashamed, drawing pleasure from something like that. Always, images of my past wife flashed through my mind when I touched my dick, hard from the sensation of water filling me up. I felt like a good-for-nothing, a sick fuck. There was a reason why so few people did that sort of thing. And though, I kept doing it, bearing those feelings of guilt and shame and slowly emancipating myself from those social conventions. It didn’t mean that it was wrong just because the masses didn’t do it.
The man pulled me back on earth from my reminiscences by shoving the small tube past the ring of muscles. His hand disappeared from my back and I straightened up.
Immediately, I could feel the water flowing in. Not much but enough to be noticed. I took a step forward and leaned against the wall, my forehead resting on my underarm. He followed me so that the tube wouldn’t slide from my ass.
If he was into shit he surely knew how to administer an enema and I wouldn’t need to explain anything to him.
After about two minutes I could see my belly bulging already and that feeling of being filled slowly spread inside. The rubber top was stretched and just served to accentuate the bulge. By now, I was breathing hard and my erection was moving towards my stomach.
His hand touched it and I gasped. He couldn’t tell me that he didn’t like that, considering the way he was touching me now. I closed my eyes and concentrated on that feeling of my guts being violently stretched.
I waited patiently, standing the cramps which were necessary for my guts to adjust themselves to the amount of substance inside them.
Eventually, I reached down and pushed my fingers between my dick and pubes. The water swallowed everything, making my stomach protrude and hide my genitals and the mere thought of that made my dick twitch.
Still, I felt his hand resting on me as well until it left me and he worked on the valve, reducing the amount of water going through the tube. I had reached a point where my belly wouldn’t stretch anymore but just turn hard now. Slowing that down was just a tease since I was simmering with excitement, awaiting the moment when my guts would be filled to the maximum and give me a stinging pain.
I turned my head to look over my shoulder. He was standing there with his top hat, the irrigator placed on his shoulder and a provoking look, oozing passion and pleasure. He took a step towards me again and pressed his fingers into the tender flesh of my stomach, making me double over in pleasure and pain.
“You’re worse than me...” he sneered the reply.
“In some respects, maybe,” I answered with a leer as well, clutching at his hand and grabbing another handful of bloatedness. The leather of the mask smelled like flowers; I loved the scent of leather.
“How much to go?” I asked him.
“Half a litre. I can get more if you need it.”
“It will do. I’m bursting already.”
No lie; I could feel my guts rebelling against the restrictive abdominal wall, contracting and redistributing the water, making way for some more in the rectum.
I moaned with pleasure and he opened the valve, letting the water flow into my ass at full speed.
My dick leaked precum already and I wouldn’t need much to come anymore. I wiped it off the tip and stuck the finger into my mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of shit.
A resolute squeeze of something that could barely be squeezed anymore made me get on my knees. The nozzle slipped from my ass and I needed a moment to overcome the chaos of excitement, pain and the urge to defecate. The new pose triggered another wave of vermicular movement and discomfort and I moaned against the velvet, clinging to it and breathing deeply to relieve the cramps.
When I was about to get settled he pulled me up and dragged me out of the room and I stumbled along, relapsing into my slave role.
He went down the aisle and entered a room with shower stalls. It was hard work to walk around with a bloated pot and a hardened dick at the same time, each demanding a considerable amount of different attention at the same time. He threw me against the wall and I smirked, losing myself to the dark pleasures of submission. When I turned around to face him he had put down his top hat. Long, black hair unfolded till it stopped at chin-length. He almost looked like a woman, hair as long as that and his face hidden by the mask, only baring voluptuous lips.
“Now jerk off.”
With a grin I reached for my begging dick. I was abruptly stopped by a kick to my guts which sent me down on my knees again.
“Yes, Sir,” he demanded.
Gasping for air I looked up, battered and defeated. I liked it when they treated me like shit. It brought out the best in me.
“Yes, Sir,” I answered breathlessly, then got up again to continue.
It felt like heaven, touching the pleading flesh and finally giving it some attention. While pumping my dick I made sure I hit my bulge every time I pulled the prepuce over the glans which doubled my sexual rapture and made it hard for me to resist the climax any longer.
He noticed that and knelt down in front of me. That image almost made me cum already. Lovingly, he licked my belly, sticking his tongue into what was left of my navel and circling it, then licking across the firm ball and kissing it.
In the middle of that all he brought one hand up to my ass, cupping my buttocks. His other was resting on my stomach, feeling the tremors when I jerked and twitched.
When my moans got more intense he pressed against my belly and triggered another cramp. His fingers wormed their way into my ass and searched for the prostate. Its discovery finally sent me over the edge. I came with a cry of ecstasy.
Still pumping my dick empty and twitching in the spasms of orgasm, I let go of the water. It welled from my ass, hitting his hand with a splosh. Water and faeces dropped to the floor, befouling me and him in his suit.
I flinched at the sounds of air leaving my guts. That was one of the few things I was embarrassed by but he teased me, rubbing my anus and releasing another torrent of water.
With a moan of exhaustion I ended my orgasm and sank to the floor, leaving him alone up there. I knew that there was more to come, but right now, I felt empty or at least empty enough to have a safe seat.
Panting hard, I tried to recollect my senses and ignore the stench around me. It was a very special odour and not appealing to me at all. I was used to it but I didn’t like it.
“Happy now?”
I sniffed and put my head back. He had crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Yes,” I answered drily.
“Congratulations.”
It was irritating. A man who managed to drive me mad with his aggressive remarks. I had never met anyone of that kind yet since usually, I was the one outacting them.
A cramp accompanied by a nasty sound made me hug my stomach. The afterglow wasn’t an especially tasty thing.
When the cramp was over I let my arms fall on the floor and took a deep breath. They lay in shit, but it didn’t matter anymore. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the peace.
After a few moments I opened them again and got up to take a shower. He stepped aside and watched me cleaning myself. During the shower I got rid of the rest of the shitwater and clogged the drain.
“Fantastic,” I muttered, seeing myself approaching the barman to tell him about that with flushed cheeks.
The man turned around but I could hear him snorting with laughter. Yet, he fetched me a plunger, together with my clothes and shoes.
When I was done and felt somewhat cleansed I stepped out of the stall and put on my clothes.
“You up for another drink to round off the session?”
“Of course.”
We went back to the bar area and sat down. Few tables were occupied since most of the guests were either dancing, fucking or using the other rooms in some other ways by now.
He ordered two Martinis without asking me. While I glared at him he lit the candle on the table with a smug smile. I felt that he was a match for me. A good one.
“Well, I don’t care what I drink anyway as long as it kills that awful taste in the back of my mouth,” I said in a provocative manner.
He just sneered at me.
If he was able to take my jokes he was the right one.
When we got the drinks I raised my glass for a toast.
“May your days be jolly and your nights be full of folly.”
He raised his glass as well and we clinked them.
“I may take you up on that some time,” he replied.

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A gentleman's gentleman