Disclaimer: If I owned Harley, the Joker, and the Batman world, it would be a scary place indeed. Thank God I don't.
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It wasn't until she fell madly in love with him (quite literally) did she realize missionary position would never do. After all, he was The Joker. Nothing short of her wildest imagination, the Kama Sutra of her mind would do. They would need whips, and handcuffs, and all sorts of toys; they would need to be in awkward, uncomfortable positions that would be totally not worth it until the big finish. Than they'd become normal lovers, cuddling and kissing until they fell asleep, or went back to the restaurant table.
She was right until the last bit.
They're first experience was mind-blowing as it was terrifying. All his anger (or passion, as she deluded herself to believe) would be taken out on her. She would be bound, but not gagged (her screams were his fuel) and he'd plunge in, like a knife, and come out with blood spurting and dripping down her backside. He'd hold her down, rock in and out like he was necrophilia and he was trying to raise her from her grave. The positions were unusual to say the least. Her legs spread wide as her gymnastic days would allow, over her head, he'd twist inside her, not stopping until there were tears on her face. Those tears, she told herself, were from ecstasy.
He'd bite her skin raw, and she tried to become a sadomasochist, she really did, but the whips and the nail marks were one thing to think about, and quite another to actually experience. After the "love" making, she'd be a crumpled heap, telling herself she was crying because it was too much, although the faintest corner of her mind, that told her there was still hope, knew the truth: It was too rough to be sex, to painful, too much of something she didn't want. It was as bad as rape. But was it rape when the "victim" told herself she enjoyed it, even though she knew somewhere in her mind, that it was the last thing she wanted from her Puddin, but would take it because it was the closest she would get to fucking her Mr.J?
When she first realized she would have to be artistic in the bedroom, she thought she could take it. Thought she would take the raised pink scars, and bruises that lasted for weeks. But she couldn't, she just wouldn't admit it. And when she'd crumple in a heap after the deed was done, she'd tried to crawl closer to him, try to get him to (gently) lick her wounds. And he would, if he was in the mood, which he really never was.
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Just a little thoughtful piece. Hope you liked. Review.