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Gotham Buffet A: Punish Huntress
🕑 Added 2022-08-21 07:00:19 +0000 UTCHelena took a deep breath and something shifted in her eyes. She seemed to either come back to herself or force herself into a role: “Chi cazzo credi di essere?” she swore. “Fuck you!”
Bruce didn’t retort, though his narrowing eyelids conveyed he felt the same sentiment in return. “Punishment it is, then. Shut your mouth and take your clothes off,” he ordered, his eyes burning with an angry calm.
“Vaffanculo!” she cursed, and started to raise her fists when Bruce backhanded her. The force of the blow slammed Helena down to the catwalk, her lip bloodied.
She stood more fired up than ever, her blood up, her eyes wide and reddened. She looked into Bruce’s eyes and saw the icy control that shamed her own wildness. There was no reasoning with him. He was decided.
Batman would punish her, but calmly, coolly, as exacting as a machine. And he would be merciful in the same way. There was rage in his eyes, but it was tightly held, harnessed, controlled in a way Helena wished she could contain herself.
She knew there was no fighting that combination of glacier and volcano that could perhaps only exist in the Batman. It intimidated her. It excited her.
“Your clothes off. Now,” Bruce said, deathly quiet, and Helena didn’t think to disobey him now any more than she would think to stop breathing. With trembling hands, she undid her cape and let it fall to her feet.
But while her defiance had cooled, her hesitance was still a problem. She wasn’t going fast enough to satisfy Bruce. He took matters into his own hands. His gloved fingers lashed out, seized vise-like grips of Helena’s costume, and liberally ripped it from her supple body.
Helena should’ve felt a whip-fast anger at this indignity, but all she felt was an exhilarating fright. She stepped backwards and tripped in unthinking clumsiness, topping over onto her back. Batman leaned over her, pulling her panties down her long legs, then tearing away her bra. Now she was naked: her gloves and boots and mask the only thing he let her keep on.
While Helena thrilled with terror, Bruce jerked her arms to either side, making her grip the struts of the catwalk’s railing, then cuffing her wrists to them. He did the same with her legs: pulled them open, then bound her ankles to keep her from closing her legs.
“What are you going to do to me?” Helena gasped, feeling a dizzying climb inside herself, like her stomach would move around while she rode a roller coaster.
Batman’s eyes coolly drank her in, both savoring her nudity and planning out the attack he would make on her vulnerable body. Helena felt like he knew all her secrets, all her weaknesses, everything he could do to her and what effect all of it would have.
“First I’m going to discipline you,” he said. “Then I’m going to enjoy you.”
“Enjoy me?” Helena squeaked, terribly sure she knew what that meant—equally sure she knew how he’d discipline her.
Her feelings were muddled beyond comprehension. Should she fear punishment? She could stand a little pain. But him enjoying her… would that be better or worse than the discipline?
Bruce picked up her long, leathern cape. He tore a strip off of it, then knotted the wide swath of fabric into a tightly wound rope. He knelt over her, the makeshift whip held in his right hand, his eyes on her luscious breasts. The rest of her body was toned and athletic, but that didn’t extend to her gorgeous Italian tits. They were plump and lavish, tender even in appearance, heaving now with the passion Helena couldn’t deny.
They were sensitive to a fault as well—Helena loved any amount of handling or sucking they got, but she’d never allowed a guy to get too rough with them. Not even bite or twist her nipples. She had no idea how it would feel if Batman used that torture implement on them, but her fearful anticipation clenched up her whole body and roiled deep inside her. It was impossible for her to tell if she was panicking or turned on.
“This doesn’t happen to good girls,” Bruce told her with certainty.
The whip cut through the air so fast it whistled, crackling right into her breast, stinging her coral areola and all Helena could think was how lucky she was it hadn’t hit her taut nipple.
“OHHHHH!” Helena shrieked, feeling the burning spasm drop down through her skin until it was deep in her flesh. She managed to stifle her pained voice into a croak. “’m not… not a bad girl…” she moaned.
Bruce coiled the whip around his knuckles, tightening it and twisting it in his hands. “I know just how bad you are, Helena. The high school you work at. The students you teach. You keep track of them—the ones that are attracted to you, the handsome ones, the ones that make you feel desirable. You wait until they’ve graduated… nice and legal… then you seduce them. Let them fulfill all the naughty fantasies they have about you. That’s how you sate your urges. Fucking teenage boys!”
Bruce didn’t roar, but his teeth clenched with the energy of a bellow as he slashed at her again. This time the whip found her other breast, leaving a long red welt bordering the stiff nipple.
“Did you like fucking them?” Bruce demanded as Helena keened in pain. “Was the hot, young cock worth being such a whore?”
“Oh God, Batman! I’m sorry!” she howled. “I’m sorry!”
“Are you?” Bruce huffed, the veins in his neck showing under the skin like serpents poised to strike.
“Yes, you bastard, forgive me!” Helena spat the words out. The wailing agony that sundered her somehow opening up her mind to the truth of his words. It was outrageous, what she’d done. Insane. Yet she loved it. She didn’t know how to do without it.
Fuck him, anyway. It wasn’t like he could keep a relationship going either. If she could get her needs met with Catwoman, maybe she would too!
“If you want forgiveness, then tell me how it felt.” He brandished the whip at her.
“I loved it! I begged them to fuck me!”
Bruce paused, no thought or emotion visible in his eyes—he was like a machine. Helena had the dreadful feeling that he was only stopping so Helena could see that this wasn’t an impulsive reaction, but something carefully considered. So she’d know this wasn’t his emotions raging, but the punishment she’d earned.
“You’re not a good girl, are you?” Bruce asked, without making it a question at all.
Helena tearfully shook her head.
“You’re a bad girl. What do bad girls deserve?”
“Bad girls deserve to be punished,” Helena whimpered.
Bruce did not seem surprised, at least not enough to compel any reaction from him. He responded like a machine powered into action. His hand went up and down in a blur, the leather in it connecting savagely with Helena’s skin. He was as much an expert in this as he was at anything: no matter how much pain he inflicted, there was little damage beyond bruises and welts. And yet Helena’s whipped body soon felt like it was scalding hot.
“Christ! Holy shit!” she cried, bucking and writhing madly, trying to get loose of the bonds that held her in place for whatever punishment Bruce wanted to use on her. But it wasn’t like she wanted him to stop—she knew he would, if she truly wanted him to—she didn’t—she needed him to finish this. “Please, punish me, Batman. Punish me so I’ll never be a bad girl again.”
“Cum-hungry slut. There’s no satisfying you,” Bruce growled, wrapping the whip around her neck, pulling the noose into her throat until her face was turning purple.
Helena’s world spun and darkened. She felt sure she would pass out, maybe even die, but Bruce released the pressure just in time for her to breathe.
She looked up at him, eyes blurred with tears, and felt a tremor of definite, deviant excitement race across her spine. As much as she worried just how much of his rage Batman would vent on her, Helena somehow enjoyed the danger. The fearful blood pulsating in her veins made her more receptive now than simple sex could ever get her. Christ, she didn’t know what she wanted more: to be fucked or be punished.
“Batman…” she crooned, her eyelids fluttering, only caring that he did one or the other. “Make me a good girl. Make me your good, good girl…”
Comments
Shendude
Well, that was brutal. Hot, but brutal
