Warning! Some very triggering, sexual scenarios in this chapter! Best heed this warning from here on out, to be safe!

Chapter Twenty-One:

It was around eight at night when they arrived. Joker left Chauncey with the orders to unload their items and then to make a run into town—there was a small community a few miles back—and get some supplies. Once the chauffeur/jack of all trades was gone, Joker turned to Barbara, grinning devilishly.

"Alone at last," he said.

"Should I get changed?" she asked, still holding the lacy lingerie.

"Do. And I'll get my other present ready for you."

Barbara ducked into the bathroom that was attached to the cabin's large bedroom—the only bedroom—and quickly slipped into the purple, lacy thing. It was cut like a one-piece bathing suit, but with a deep V that cut down to her just above her navel. Her back was barely covered at all, with only a mass of lace in the middle and small of her back, and the bottom cut into a thong. She fixed her hair as best she could, running her fingers through her red locks. Finally, making sure that the strap that bore the green J was straight, she grinned.

"I'm ready," she called.

"Come on out and play, sweetheart," Joker answered.

She exited the bathroom, ignoring the shiver that was dancing along her spine. It was both chilly in the previously uninhabited cabin and in anticipation on what the Joker had planned. She stopped before she even reached the bed, her jaw dropping.

Joker was in nothing but his boxers—a purple silk that perfectly matched her lingerie. And while that image was enough to make her want him, that wasn't what stopped her. Leather cuffs that were arranged on a chain in a small X pattern was on the bed, along with a ball gag, a long black feather, and what looked like riding crop. Barbara's legs shook, and she wasn't sure if it was for good or for ill. Joker moved to the edge of the bed.

"Come here," he ordered.

Her feet obeyed before her mind could. He chuckled, pulling her close.

"I—" she began, but stopped, unsure of what she wanted to say.

He pressed a finger to her lips, gently shushing her. "Now, now, dearest. We'll go slow. And you have your safe word, yes? I promise, I'll stop if you don't like it, okay?"

Her eyes rested on the gag, her brow furrowed. His lips pulled down into a frown.

"Talk me through what's troubling you," he said.

"The gag… what if… what if I can't breathe? Or if I want to kiss you?"

He laughed, quickly quashing it down into more chuckles. "I promise, you'll get to kiss me a whole bunch. But part of the fun is being denied stuff you want to do. Do you trust me?"

That was a loaded question, and it sent a poisonous feeling of guilt spiraling about her system. In the end, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."

After all, he had never hurt her. He grabbed her chin. "That's my girl. Now, step back. Let me get a nice, long look at you."

She obeyed, stepping just out of his reach. He stuck a finger in the air, twirling it to let her know that he wanted her to turn. She did, pausing just a moment when her backside was facing him to let him fully appreciate the outfit. When she was facing him again, he had that feral, hungry look in his eye.

"On the bed," he ordered.

She was standing on shaking limbs, so she was grateful to obey. She clambered up to the center of the queen-sized mattress, sitting upon it as she normally would. Joker tsked his disapproval. "On your knees."

She corrected herself. Joker grinned approvingly at her. He picked up the ball gag and climbed onto the bed behind her. Gently, he lifted her hair and placed the gag in her mouth, fastening it behind her head. Barbara took some experimental deep breaths, finding that she could, in fact, breathe just fine. Joker placed his hands on her shoulders, leaning his face around hers.

"Okay?"

She nodded. He kissed her cheek. "Good."

A moment later, he pulled her hands to her front, placing each wrist in a cuff. Then, he slipped his hands under her knees, gently pulling her ankles up closer to her center. He fastened them inside the remaining two cuffs. Thank God, she was gymnast. Otherwise, she would have immediately lost balance and tumbled off the bed. Her abs were tense with the effort to remain upright. Joker ran his hands up her body, pausing on the muscles in question.

"Poor dear. Not to worry. Let me help you to your knees," he said.

It took a lot of leaning on him—and she relished the feeling of his pale skin on her own—but they maneuvered her until she was on her hands and knees. He petted the small of her back, chuckling.

"You're being so good for me. I have another surprise for you, dear, but I didn't want you to worry. You do still trust me, don't you?"

The ball gag in her mouth was made of some kind of rubber or silicone, and instead of drying out her mouth—as maybe a cloth one would have done—it was making her salivate. She fought hard from drooling, working also to keep breathing normally around it. She nodded, her nerves replacing any guilt she might have felt at the question. She reasoned that, in this, she did trust him. He had never forced himself on her. He had even asked her before he had done anything to her—including taking her virginity. She was safe with him—especially in the bedroom.

"Excellent, my love. Now, wait a tick, and I'll explain the game to you," he said, and she felt the mattress move as he got off of it.

Her cheeks warmed. "My love." He had never used that term before. He had never said anything about love. Barbara desperately wanted to say those words to him—to tell him that she loved him too—but the damn ball gag kept that all inside. She thought that maybe she ought to make some sort of noise, maybe to get him to undo it… but then she remembered what he had said earlier. Being denied was part of the fun. That sounded stupid to her, but she would see where this went.

Joker was back on the bed, and she felt his hand on her rear. She leaned into it, and he chuckled low.

"Ooh, eager, are we? Very well. Here's how we'll start. I'm going to spank you. Just a few times. Five, to be exact. And we'll see how you like that. If you do, then I'll spank you five more times, a little harder. If you like that, then we'll move on to the riding crop. I'll do that five times. And then, if you like that, the feather will come into play. Understand?"

Her legs quaked. She had heard about this. She was a child of the internet age. Of course she had heard of spanking in a sexual sense. But she had never really given much thought to it for herself.

"Babs? Are we still good to go, m'dear?"

She nodded. He had worked intervals into this experiment, hadn't he? He would stop if she didn't like something. He would.

"Here we go."

He landed one sound smack right on her right buttock. She jumped a little at the impact, but it generally didn't hurt. It was more the shock of the sound. She had taken harder falls in gymnastics. He did the second one, and she was proud that she didn't jump that time. Then came the third, and something interesting was stirring inside of her. After the fourth one, he let his hand linger against her cheek, the warmed flesh tingling with the foreign sensation in a way that wasn't unpleasant. Finally, on the fifth one, she realized that she was getting a little wet.

She expected him to ask her, straight out, if she had liked it. Instead, he moved the thong of her lingerie to the side and slid one of his fingers along her slit. She shivered into his touch, and he gave a little moan.

"Can I assume that you enjoyed that?"

She nodded enthusiastically.

"Next round, pet."

He went faster and, as promised, harder. The five smacks hit in quick and hurried succession, and Barbara could almost feel the heat her abused flesh must have been giving off. But it still wasn't the hardest she had ever taken a hit before, and it only made her dampness grow. At the end of the five, she was moaning hard against her gag, rocking on her hands as knees as much as she could without moving too far away from Joker.

"Riding crop?"

She nodded.

"What a good girl… all right. Five more, my love."

She loved the way that sounded, and she could feel some of her arousal starting to escape her folds. He smacked her once with the riding crop, and the shock and sting of it cause her entire spine to stiffen. She whimpered. Joker gently shushed her, saying, "Four more."

He only gave her a few seconds in between hits with the crop, and by the fifth hit, she was accustomed to the sting—finding it not to be as bad as she initially thought. She was still wet for him, still wanted him inside of her. She moaned with the mere thought of him fucking her, his hands on her. God, she wanted nothing more.

"I'm going to play a bit now. But don't worry, my lovely girl. I promise you'll love it."

She nodded, shoving her backside toward him. She wanted him to touch her so badly she could taste it—even around the plastic-y taste of the gag. As if he were reading her thoughts, his arm reached around and grasped her right breast, kneading it for a moment before pinching the nipple. She moaned and bucked. She wanted to touch him, to roll over and pull him down on top of her—but these damn cuffs prevented that very thing.

He pulled his hand away, and before she could protest, she felt the sting of the riding crop on her left buttock. She stiffened again, and he followed with two more hits—hard hits. She jumped when the next thing touched her, surprised by its gentleness. She realized that this had to be the feather, and he was tickling it up and down her backside. He carried on for a second or two like that before smacking her again—this time four hard hits in a row—with the crop. The feather was back after that, dancing over her skin and making her aware of how tender her flesh was.

She found herself surprised by her own body. Her arousal only continued to grow, and she was sure that the seat of her lingerie was soaked now. She arched her back a little, causing the fabric to tighten and slip inside her folds a touch. Some of the lace rubbed against her swollen, aroused clit, and that seemed to tease her more than relieve her. Joker smacked her with the crop hard enough the next round—six hits with no breaks!—that tears formed in her eyes. While it was true that the hits were not hard, not in comparison to how hard she had hit the ground when she had not stuck a landing, her flesh was now so tender that the pain was doubled. The feather was felt more keenly than it would have been on her unabused flesh, and the shock kept her body pushing for release while making sure that it was most assuredly not enough to bring it about. Joker took the feather away again, and this time, he replaced it with ten hard hits with the crop. Barbara yelped and moaned and whined and whimpered all at once, wanting to cry but her eyes not producing the tears she felt. She was done with this part now. She wanted him, and she wanted the punishment to stop. She missed kissing him, and she longed to feel his hands on her skin again.

He tickled the feather down the center of her backside. "You've done so well. I'm so proud of you, my girl."

She took a deep, steadying breath. The effect of his praise surprised her. She was happy that he was proud of her. She was happy that she had taken the hits without backing out. Joker slid a finger into her slit, and it met no resistance. She moaned at the welcome touch, pushing back into it. He chuckled.

"Is someone ready to be fucked now?"

She nodded.

"Well, then it's time for my last surprise. Take a deep breath, my girl, and I need you to keep your body relaxed, okay?"

Her ass was on fire, so it was a struggle to meet this request. But she took another deep breath, telling herself over and over that it was almost time. He would grant her her release; he would touch her like she wanted. She had done good for him, and now she would be rewarded. In the next moment, she felt the head of his dick against her slit, and she moaned. Yes… this is what she wanted. He slid inside her with ease, and her whole body seemed to do the relaxing he had asked for. That all changed in the next second.

She felt something chilled—but not cold, exactly—at her more puckered hole. Before she could think, something that felt like it was the width of three fingers held together, slid into her virgin hole. She yelled against the gag, mentally begging him to stop.

He began to thrust, his left hand gripping her hip hard, his right hand pumping the unknown object in and out of her ass in the same rhythm as his manhood was in her pussy. She cried out and tried to buck out of his hold, but he held tight, going even faster.

"Yes, yes, that's it," he moaned, shoving the object in as deep as he could get it.

Barbara shouted her safeword, black, against her gag, but it came out muffled and distorted. Joker kept on his assault of both of her lower holes, and Barbara's hands fell out from under her, getting locked underneath her torso because of the cuffs as all of her weight was now on her shoulders, face, and knees. Now that she was a bit more stationary—she didn't rock as far on her shoulders as she had on her hands—Joker let go of her left hip and snaked his hands around to her sex. He worked his finger over her clit, rubbing at it as he continued to fuck her holes.

The sensations were too much, not to mention her still-tender backside taking every slam of his pelvis. She tried her safeword again, but it was no use. Her body was still reacting to it all, finding that it liked it a touch better than she did. Her clit was taking the focus off her pussy and ass, and she could feel a climax fast approaching.

"Getting so tight," Joker moaned, shoving the object in and out of her ass even harder.

She cried out, wishing that that was the one thing that was missing from this equation—or that he had at least asked her about it, specifically. Everything would be perfect, were it not for the feel of her ass stretching and relaxing around this thing. She wanted this to be over.

Some magic combination happened between the fucking of her pussy and the rubbing of her clit. One moment, she was laying down, her cheek shoved into the bedding, waiting for the end of it, and the next she was hurled off cliffs of arousal and floating on a wave of the hardest, most violent orgasm she had had yet. She screamed against the gag, and Joker—thankfully—abandoned the foreign object to grip her hips and slam his way home. She was just catching her breath, the overwhelming feelings of what was happening to her taking over, when Joker's thrusts grew erratic. She could feel tears spilling over as Joker finished inside her.

He held his softening member inside her for a moment, breathing hard. Then, gingerly, with more care than he had taken toward the end of their lovemaking, he removed himself and undid her cuffs. He tossed them carelessly to the floor and then undid the gag, doing the same with it. Then, he moved up the bed and turned Barbara to face him. He seemed surprised when he saw her face.

"Oh, my dear… You're crying… and those don't look happy. What's wrong?"

He encircled her in his arms, and Barbara moved her own in between them, to form a sort of barrier.

"What did you do? What was that? You hit me so hard at the end… and then you… you put that… that… whatever it was in my ass!"

"Oh, Babsy, I'm so sorry. Here," he said, pulling up a pink, silicone anal plug. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I thought you'd like it."

She sniffled, hating that she was crying at all. "Y-you didn't ask. And my skin was tender…"

He placed a chaste kiss to her forehead. "I never meant to hurt you like that."

"I-I used my safeword, but you couldn't hear it because of the gag."

His eyes widened a touch. "I didn't even think of that. Oh, Babs…. Will you let me make it up to you?"

He gently laid her back, one arm underneath her, and the other snaking down to rest on her abdomen. She sniffled again, blinking at him.

"Depends."

He smiled at her. "How about… a little sixty-nine? That way, you're on top and in control. You can stop it at any time. What do you say? Then, afterwards, I'll rub a little lotion on your poor, sore bottom."

She fought back another sniffle, and only half succeeded. She looked down at herself, then back at him.

"Even though I'm a sniveling mess?"

He booped her nose. "You're beautiful."

She leaned forward, kissing him deeply. Then, pulling back and regaining her breath, she nodded.

"Naked or still in the lingerie?" she asked.

Joker lay back, all grins. "Player's choice."

#

Barbara awoke several hours later, groggy and sated, and wondering what in the world had woken her. She blinked at the digital alarm by her side of the bed, willing her eyes to focus. After a moment, it became clear that it was just now three in the morning. She rolled over, ready to snuggle in next to her beau, when her arm hit nothing but bed and pillow. She leaned up, her brow furrowed. Then, in the distance, she heard a noise that sounded like people talking. And, if she kept listening, it sounded like it was coming from somewhere underneath her. Did the cabin have a basement… or a cellar? She slipped out of bed—now dressed in a long, cotton nightgown that had a winking set of eyes and red lips making a kissy face on it—and found her slippers to guard against the chilled floor. The cabin was now quite warm, since they had turned up the heat right before falling asleep. She grabbed a robe that she had hung on a hook on the back of the bedroom door and pulled it on over her nightgown. It wasn't quite as long as the gown, nor was it very thick, but it helped a little. She tied the sash about her waist and tiptoed out of the room, following the sound of the voices.

It wasn't hard to find the source… the door to the cellar—which was in the middle of the cabin's kitchen floor—was still open, and light glowed from within. Careful to step as lightly as possible, trying to avoid anything that felt like it might make noise, she crept closer. She found herself at the cellar's entrance, staring down at a set of plain wooden stairs. The voices were a lot less muffled here, and she could tell that it was Joker, Chauncey, and one other unidentified man down below. She tested the first step gingerly, relieved that it didn't make a sound. Slowly, she descended the stairs, pleased to see that a thin, wooden partition wall was constructed between the stairs and the rest of the cellar. She stopped a few steps above the bottom, her ear pressed against the wall.

It sounded as if Joker had thrown the unknown person down on something. The unknown man whimpered, and the crunch of a dirt floor reached her ears.

"Please, Boss. I swear, I wasn't doin' nuthin'. Honest."

"Oh, Seller, Seller, Seller," Joker said, tsking.

His voice was low, but still clear. There was something cold about it, and Barbara pulled her robe tighter about herself.

"Seller, do you know how incredibly rude you've been? Here you are, interrupting my nice vacation with my wonderful girl… and for what? To find out that you were going to go to the Bat. And what, pray tell, were you hoping to tell ol' pointy ears? Hmm?"

Barbara was sure her heart had to audible, even through the wall. She had gone to the Bat, hadn't she? Joker sounded beyond pissed, like this was a betrayal of the deepest kind. What would he think of her if he knew?

"N-nuthin'," Seller said again. "I swear."

"Really? So you went to the police station, asked to contact Batman, all for… nothing?"

There was a sound like a loud zap and then the smell of burned meat. Seller cried out, but the sound was muffled. Barbara placed a hand over her mouth to contain her shock.

"I swear, Mr. J! I would never rat on you!"

"Ah, but therein lies the problem, dear Seller. You see, I'm sure that that was exactly what you were going to do. Guilty conscience, hmm? Were you not paid enough?"

"No, I wasn't. I swear!"

Another zap, and another muffled cry. It was followed immediately by another. Then another. Then another. Then, after one final one, Seller's voice broke free of whatever was restraining his cries of pain.

"All right! All right! It was Abbott! Abbott put me up to it! Said… said we should be ashamed of ourselves, as good Catholic boys, to do that to the lady cop! Said that murder was one thing but hurting a pregnant lady like that was the worst kind of sin. Said we could only confess. B-b-but I wasn't gonna go through with it, see? I was gonna let Abbott take the fall, I swear. Was gonna deny it all. I promise, Boss. I promise I wouldn't do that to you. It was Abbott, I swear. On my life, boss, I swear it was Abbott!"

Barbara felt hollow. And within that hollow feeling was a well of pain that was slowly spreading, like a cancer, to the rest of her. Joker had… She had been right. Joker had put Falcone's thugs up to hurting Sarah, to forcing her to miscarry. She felt sick. She felt like a raging storm. But she kept it all in check. After all, she had a feeling that the worst had yet to come. Summoning all of her courage, she dared a peek beyond the partition wall.

Joker had moved so that he was next to the blubbering young man—maybe in his mid-twenties with short black hair and greasy skin, dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. The man was not tied to the chair. Instead, Chauncey stood over him, both of his hands on Seller's shoulders. But now that Joker was on Seller's right, Chauncey took his hands away, taking a single step back.

"You're right, I'm sure. Abbott was always a coward. I'll deal with him in just a matter of time. Thank you," Joker said, as if carrying on a pleasant conversation.

Seller's grinned, relieved. "No problem, Boss."

Joker pulled a handgun, complete with silencer, pressed the barrel to Seller's temple, and pulled the trigger. Seller's brain matter exploded out of the other side of his head, and Barbara whipped herself back around the corner. She pressed her hand into her mouth hard. Moving as quickly as she dared, she ascended the stairs. It was miracle, but she made it all the way back to the bedroom with no noise. She located her phone immediately, wishing she had heeded her father's advice to take her own vehicle. She unlocked the screen and mentally cursed. She had zero service.

"Maybe outside," she murmured to herself.

She had to get out of here. She had to get to safety. She flicked through her numbers, stopping on the one she knew to be connected to Batman. She peeked out of the bedroom, seeing that neither Joker nor Chauncey had climbed up from the cellar yet. Quick as lightning, she crossed the floor, reaching for the front door.

Her eyes were on her service bar when she opened the front door and stopped.

A woman older than Barbara, but probably still a bit younger than Joker, stood in the doorway. She was dressed in black jeans and a red sweater, her bright blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail. Bright blue eyes twinkled as she took Barbara in, a smile stretching her red-painted lips.

"Ooh… Mistah J isn't going to like this, you bailing on him."

"Oh, Babsy? Where ya goin', my love?" came Joker's sing-song reply from behind her.

She turned, and realized she was trapped. In vain, she hit the call button on her phone, praying for something. The woman yanked the phone out of her hand, smashing it to bits against the threshold of the door.

"Shouldn't have done that, miss," Chauncey said, shaking his head, a giant roll of black plastic garbage bags in his hands.

"Good job, Harley," Joker said, and Barbara could feel the pride rolling off the woman behind her. Then, turning his attention back to her, he shook his head. "Oh, Babs… we should talk."