Disclaimer: I don't own anything, but according to my roommate I have Slade under my bed.

CHAPTER 4

The girls had been really supportive of me once they knew who my new patron was. Hands showed me some good move to stretch out soar muscles, Cat worked with me on building up pain immunity, Terra contacted our outfitter and had a Robin costume made. Even Barny pitched in helping me master a more Robin-like fighting style.

The outfit had been the source of a few good laughs. The girls held a kind of turn-a-girl-into-a-male-super-hero-in-one-easy-step party. They had insisted on me modeling it for them after Terra presented it to me amidst a pompous "christening" ceremony. It hadn't taken much persuading. The costume was a work of genius, tighter across the chest, to help flatten my boobs, and consisting of a slightly thicker material around the stomach to make the chest area appear smaller. Other than those two things it was exactly like the boy wonder's costume: Red sleeveless shirt with green short sleeves added in, green tight-fitting pants, green gloves, black-on-the-outside yellow-on-the-inside turtleneck-like cape, yellow belt, black steel toed boots, and the trademark black mask to complete the ensemble. I'd spiked back my hair as the final touch then stepped out, right in to our pimp who had stopped in to hand out a few new assignments.

Daimion was not the most intelligent man nor was he a very brave man, but he was a very capable pimp. He knew how to advertise his girls to their best advantage, whether it was for actual whore work or for the sometimes more light hearted party business. He never cheated us or intentionally sold us out to violent clients, if he knew we had a problem with a certain customer (and said customer was not going to kill him for it) Daimion would arrange for that customer to meet with a different girl. However, if the customer was rich, or powerful, or just plain deadly Daimion had no problem with telling us to suck it up (or in some cases just suck it) to save his own hide.

This last fact was why I hadn't even bothered to mention to him who my latest client was. Or who I was playing for him. So Daimion upon seeing "Robin" step into his whore's room had made the most reasonable assumption his little mind could come up with. It ended up sounding something like this:

"Ha...urm...you...I...So?...See anyone who interests you Robin?"

After the laugh and the explanation Daimion calmed down and (unfortunately for me) seemed a bit turned on by the idea and (even more unfortunately for me) seemed to think that our customers would be also. So Terra was told to commission another Robin outfit, this time accenting the fact that I was female. Daimion then began to verbally plan the coming-out celebration he would have (it had been a while since we had added a new look-a-like to our repertoire) and all the money he would make at the celebration. I could hardly wait.

The rest of the party was fun, not exorbantly so (Cat said she had asked Barny if he would strip for us but he had only glared). It was relaxing and good just to hang with the girls.

Not to say that any of this made my nights with Slade any easer. The thing that made it the hardest was the fact that he was always so damned aware of what he was doing. Even though he paid me to act as Robin he never treated me half as roughly as he would have the real Boy Wonder. He never all-out hit me when I mouthed off (using titan-esq wording of course) it was more of a condescending look (don't ask me how I could tell that with his mask on, he just seemed to radiate his displeasure). He never fucked me in the ass, it was always vaginally (Not that I was complaining about that point, but unless he knew something about the BOY Wonder that I did not, I'm guessing that the ass-hole was the only entrance at that end of Robin's body). And not once, NOT ONCE, did he call me Robin, not when we fought, not when we fucked (ok, not when he fucked me), never. No matter how in character I was, no matter what I did or how I did it he always called me "little bird".

It fucken pissed me off. If it had been anyone but Slade they would have come in their pants just watching me fight, but not Slade. So that was my goal, to make Slade Wilson, Deathstroke the Terminator, believe, even if only for a few moments, that he was fucking Robin.

Every night consisted of the same basic schedule; I arrived, we fought, I got fucked, and I left. But in that schedule only the basics were the same. Slade liked to make our encounters...inventive. Every fight had a different purpose behind it. Sometimes it was simply Robin trying to bring Slade to justice, sometimes it was Slade punishing a wayward apprentice, sometimes it was a skilled teacher imparting knowledge to a rebellious student, and other times it was simply polar opposites colliding in what could only culminate in the submission of one to the other.

Each fuck session corresponded directly with the fight of the day. When Robin tried to catch Slade it ended with Robin on his hands and knees with Slade behind him whispering mocking encouragement as Robin tried to escape. When the apprentice needed punishing it was swift and violent, Robin's chest pressed flush against the wall while Slade hammered in to him. When it was teacher to student the experience was confusing, Slade firmly shoving in to the younger body while murmuring instructions on how to move, which muscles to clench, and toward the end, scream, an instruction all to easy to follow.
I'd had little problem with most scenarios we played out because once the fighting and the sex was over, the acting was over and coming out of the pain of what Slade had done to me combined with the knowledge that I'd, that is the character I was, had lost the fight made it all to easy to slip back in to Sparrow's skin just to avoid being beaten as Robin again. As hero Robin being raped by Slade, the character could only pick up the pieces and go home, never mentioning it again, only swearing to beat Slade next time. As the apprentice I knew that Slade was my Master, I could fight but I would never win, making it easer to simply surrender after so much pain and let Sade have his way with me. As the Student it was so simple, just follow the instructions and it won't hurt too much.

But when it was just Robin verses Slade, Good verse Bad, Hero verse Villain it was a little more complex. It shouldn't have been, it should have been just black and white, just the fight, but it wasn't. As Robin in this phase I wanted nothing more then to rip off Slade's mask and put the bastard in jail where he belonged. My character screamed for dominance, the need to win, to triumph at all costs. But I couldn't. Slade beating me back into a corner ripped at the part of me entrenched in Robin's psyche. As bad as the physical pain of losing was, the knowledge that everything Good that I, Robin, stood for could so easily be beaten, crushed, raped, by the evil that was Slade stuck in my throat long after the scenario had been played out. Held a foot off the floor, my pelvis pressed against his stomach and his hands on my hips being the only thing suspending me there hurt like hell, but being eye-level with him as he one-handedly stripped off my, Robin's, pants and lowered me onto himself was worst than degrading. Feeling his complete control over the entire situation as he would lift my hips up only to push them down again a little harder than the last time. Feeling him begin to roll his hips upward to meet mine as I was forced back down his length. Feeling my feet pressed against the wall and my hands grasping his wrists in a vain effort to free myself. Feeling the grates of his mask brush against my neck, in a twisted parody of a kiss, as every muscle in my body screamed with the need to be out of his arms, to be winning the fight, to be anywhere but here, impaled by this evil man.

These feelings never just went away, even long after I had left his lair, even while I tried to sleep, surrounded by the other women of the streets, I could feel him still. The sudden tightening of his fingers leaving bruises for the next time we meet, his short intake of breath, the slap of our flesh meeting, the quick jerking of his hips as he attempted to bury even more of himself in me, his near silent moan as I felt him climax within me. These things would not leave me in peace because I knew that Robin should have won. A criminal can escape, only to be hunted down later. The master, after trusting his apprentice to be beaten into submission would not expect the knife in the back. The instructor, after teaching all he knew to the student could be killed by the very knowledge he had dispensed. But the triumph of Evil over Good was complete. Once the Good was shattered it was over. It might rise again but it would always carry with it the knowledge that it had lost and could very easily lose again, and again, and again. And that fear of defeat, not my own, but the True Robin's, the doubt that my loss had instilled in me, was the poison that ate away at me long after I had fled Slade's dominating embrace.

There, I updated. And on my honor as a Lady I will never again scold another author for not updating quickly enough.

Lady Jecalyn, out