Author's Notes: A brief return to the Marvel/DC crossovers. A sort of Fifty Shades of Grey type Batman-Black Widow crossover. Natasha is sent to kill Bruce Wayne but ends up... well, not doing that. Put a lot of time and effort into this one, so hopefully it was worth the wait. I imagine there'll be a few more things popping up on my account over the next few weeks so keep your eyes peeled. Hope you enjoy!

There was something about Bruce Wayne. Natasha Romanoff had known that since she first saw a picture of him. Since she first got the order to kill him. It was clear from the look in his eyes, to her at least, that there was something behind them, something darker. Something that was just a little bit terrifying, and just a little bit tempting. Kill Bruce Wayne. The Black Widow had never failed a mission before, this one shouldn't be any different, no matter what the mystery behind the man's eyes was.

It didn't take much to get close to Wayne. Turn up at a party in a nice dress and men like him were all over you. Despite his reputation, it was harder than she thought to find a party that could guarantee he would be there. The only one she could be sure of, was the one at his own house. Wayne Manor. A place bigger and more beautiful than she had even imagined.

She a master spy and a master assassin, it didn't take much for her to arrange to be sat next to Wayne at the banquet. Most people just assumed she was another gold digger. "It's Miss Rushman, isn't it?" Wayne took his seat next to her with a smile, and his voice was like velvet chocolate, only sweeter. It was also fake. Natasha could tell. But that was okay, her name was just as made up: Natalie Rushman.

She laughed at all the right moments and she looked back at him with that slightly dazed, adoring look that all men loved. She was perfect. She was a billionaire playboy's dream. With almost no effort at all, she was his most trusted confidante at the party. As all the dullards and bores gave their speeches and toasts, Natasha sat with her prey at the back of the room, whispering and poking fun at them.

Bruce's glass of water clattered over and spilt across the tablecloth, rolling off the table itself and landing on the floor with a thud. Thankfully it didn't smash. "Sorry," he grinned, "I have no idea what I'm doing until I've been awake for 4 hours at least." Natasha made herself giggle: "It's 9pm, Mr Wayne…" He smirked: "I know."

He hadn't struck her as a clumsy man, leaving Natasha suspicious as Bruce bent down to pick up his fallen glass. Then his intentions become clear and she understood exactly why the water had to go. His hand pressed itself to her ankle, and she allowed herself a moment of enjoyment. This was going to be even easier than she thought.

Natasha bit down on her bottom lip, enjoying the sensation more than she wished to admit to herself, as he sat back on his chair, and slowly dragged his hand up her smooth leg, dipping underneath her black dress as he reached her thigh. She stifled a noise of pleasure that threatened to escape her as his hand pawed roughly at her underwear. She looked over at the grinning man, and whispered quietly: "If you'll take away your hand for a moment, then I'll remove them for you…" He looked amused rather than anything else and she felt his hand drop away: "Just for a moment though," he winked.

Natasha checked to make sure nobody was paying them any attention, then she reached under the table, and with just a little bit of shuffling, managed to roll her panties down to her ankles. The redhead delicately stepped out of them, one foot at a time, then scooped them up and lifted them to put in her handbag. Wayne caught her wrist. "Spoils of war…" he winked again. She sighed and dropped her knickers into his waiting palm, and he stuffed them into his pocket triumphantly.

Natasha had to control herself again as his hand worked its way back up her thigh. This time though, he found her entrance exposed and waiting. She bit down on her bottom lip hard as two of his fingers slid inside her. Her entrance was moist and ready, and she hadn't even realised until now. Slowly, oh so slowly, he pumped his fingers in and out of her, and Natasha's face contorted in agony as she tried to hold back a whimper. She didn't succeed. The old woman sat in front of them turned around, and glared at Natasha, who forced herself to smile and pretend everything was normal. She felt his fingers slide out of her as the older woman turned away again, and he patted pussy mockingly: "Good girl," he whispered.

Natasha was worried that a man like Wayne might lose interest if she didn't keep his attention. "You're not going to leave a girl all worked up like this are you, Bruce?" she hissed. "Well I think we just proved we'd have to get a room for this to continue…" he replied casually, and a little louder than Natasha would have liked. "If only you had a room here," she tried to hide her frustration at him not being putty in her hands already. He considered for a moment. "Alright," he said, without even smiling, and he took her hand with his and dragged her to her feet. "let's excuse ourselves."

"Natalie," he said once they were in his bedroom, and it was close enough to her real name that an actual shiver ran down her spine. "I think it's only fair to warn you, that I'm a man with… specific tastes." His voice had changed now, the façade was gone. It was deeper, grittier, and Natasha found herself genuinely aroused just by the sound of it. They were alone, she could just kill him now. But she found herself waiting – she needed to know what he was hiding. "Do you think you can handle that?" she felt him breathe the words into her ear. "I know I can…" she found herself replying.

"Good." With that one simple word, he grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off the ground, and tossed her onto the bed like she weighed as little as a feather. She hadn't expected him to be that strong. It took the redhead a minute to recover her senses. "You know that little black dress is a really good look for you," she vaguely heard him say. She watched as he opened and drawer and took out what looked like two cuffs, connected by a metal bar. "You know what's an even better look for you though?" he remarked as he strapped her ankles into the cuffs. "Bondage."

So that was his thing. He liked to get a little kinky in the bedroom. Natasha should have leapt up and finished her mission then, but she didn't. She considered it. But then he yanked on the bar with both hands and it extended suddenly, spreading her legs wide apart and making her yelp with surprise. Suddenly all thoughts of killing Wayne were pushed to the back of her mind. She'd come this far, she wanted to see where he'd go next. She needed to. He'd got her too worked up for this to all just stop now.

Natasha watched intoxicated as Bruce shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. That dazed look of lust she'd been faking earlier: she wasn't faking it now. She watched as his head dived down to her legs, and she moaned out unrestrained now as his mouth pressed into her soft silky thigh, grazing the flesh with his teeth. Her head rolled about on the bed with desperate lusty moans as his mouth worked its way up, swapping between legs with each kiss, and each kiss becoming more and more of a bite. Then his head slipped underneath her dress and his mouth buried itself into her pussy. Natasha's whole body spasmed and she let out a shriek loud enough that the whole party downstairs must have heard it. She went bright red as she realised.

He didn't stop his oral onslaught though, and she found herself whimpering and gasping for her, like she'd never let herself for any other man. Her hands gripped the bedsheets tightly, as she felt his tongue working away inside of her. He knew exactly what he was doing down there. His hands slid up her sides and searched her chest until they found a tight grip on her breasts. Her boobs were already rising and falling with alarming frequency from the laboured breaths he was causing her to take. Now he had a firm grip on them, he pumped them up and down against her chest beneath the black fabric of her chest, and squeezed them tightly. Natasha whimpered: he wasn't putty in her hands like planned, she was putty in his. Completely in his control, and he'd barely even started.

She gasped out for air as he finally withdrew, standing back to admire the panting mess he'd already made of the redhead Russian girl. "Bozhe moi.." she muttered to herself, despite the risk to her cover. He didn't seem to notice. His eyes met hers and she gulped. He gripped the metal pole binding her legs and she found herself chewing on her bottom lip again as he lifted it, and with it her ankles, up off the bed and into the air. There was a second where time stood still. Then suddenly, with only one hand, he twisted the pole and her whole body flipped with it. She landed on her front with an oof.

His hand ran down her beck, tracing the zip of her dress, and then it squeezed her butt-cheek firmly. She closed her eyes, feeling him roll the hem of her dress up just a bit further than it had already gone, exposing her soft round rear end. The palm of his hand struck her ass and her whole body shook. She could still feel the warm handprint on her rear. With barely a second's hesitation, he grabbed a fistful of her red ginger curls and yanked her up so her back was pressed against his chest, like she was an object to be pulled around by a skilled owner.

She felt him nibbling on the side of her neck, and his warm breaths rippled against her skin. Then she heard his voice again, and a warm flush ran through her body once more: "I could break you tonight, Nat…" He'd shortened her name to Nat for the first time that evening. Nat. It could be Natalie Rushman. But it could also be Natasha. Natasha Romanoff. Suddenly the whole thing just got a lot more personal. She realised if she went any further then there was no going back, no completing the mission. She'd be his. "Would you like that?" he whispered in her ear. "Yes…" she breathed out.

She offered no resistance as he unzipped the little black dress and rolled the straps off her shoulders. Then he yanked it down and off her, ripping it as he did. She felt her bra rip apart in his grasp too, and she swallowed, knowing the night was just getting started. She was naked now. She was his. Bruce released his grip on her and let her fall forwards again. She felt the cuffs around her ankles loosen and then come off completely, leaving her free once again. She wasn't completely naked, she realised. The only remaining proof that she had more class than random fuck toy Wayne could have pulled in off the street: She was still wearing her silver high-heeled shoes.

She gulped as she heard his belt unbuckle. She didn't dare move as his trousers dropped to the floor, leaving him in just his shorts underneath. He grabbed both of her wrists and wrenched them behind her back. His belt wrapped around them and tightened, clasping them together behind her back helplessly. Then she felt him grip her ankles and drag her towards him. Natasha found herself bent helplessly over the end of his bed, ass pointed up in the air.

When his hand came down on her ass, it was not kind. The smack echoed throughout the room, and Natasha could feel him smirking at her squeak of pain. The sharp jolt shot through her entire body. She couldn't help the noises she was making as he spanked her. His hand came down on her rear again, even harder this time. Any harder and she might scream. It was like he'd heard her thinking when the third spank came. She screamed.

She had turned bright red, as red as her hair, and she buried her face in the bedsheets. It was no good. The next spank was the hardest yet and her back arched in pain, her face pointing up to the ceiling as she screamed again. Then she slumped forwards once more. She felt his belt loosen and pull away, freeing her wrists, and she realised it was over. She breathed a sigh of both relief and disappointment.

She started to push herself back up off the bed to face him, but as she did so his hands landed firmly on her shoulders and shoved her back down again, this time on her front. "I didn't say I was finished with you yet," he growled at her. She found herself actually trembling as he climbed onto the bed on top of her. "Nat…" his whispered to her with a smirk. There didn't seem to be any point to it except to remind her he knew her name. Natasha lifted her legs and wrapped them around his waist, pulling him tightly to her. She realised his shorts were gone as well now, as their naked bodies pressed against each other.

His lips smashed into hers. Natasha moaned into the kiss, and his lips forced hers apart, his tongue pushing its way inside. Their bodies were still pressed tightly together, and Natasha found she was still trembling as he started to plant kisses across her jawline and down her neck instead, leaving her mouth free to moan and whimper. Slowly but forcefully, his hips started to pound into hers, forcing his rock hard cock deeper and deeper into her warm moist pussy. It was just the tip pressing against her entrance at first, but with each powerful thrust he got deeper and deeper until after just a few thrusts, he was fully inside her. He didn't stop the pounding there though.

His hands grasped hers and stretched them up above her head, stretching her arms further and further, making her back arch and her body press up into his even more. Still his cock crashed into her over and over. It was brutal. It was also short. Natasha found herself giving into orgasm in mere minutes, a first for the redhead Russian beauty.

He pulled out of her, still hard, and forced her legs to release him, climbing off the bed and stepping back to admire her. She flushed, bright red in the face as she realised he was watching her cum, but she couldn't stop herself now. Her body shot up and down on the bed as she orgasmed. "You should learn to be more patient," he commented, "the longer you wait, the more satisfying the finish is, Nat." She didn't have the breath to answer back. He didn't wait for an answer anyway. He was back in the drawer. The drawer that the ankle-spreader bar had come from. This time, she knew exactly what he produced was. Cable ties.

She watched helplessly, but also eagerly, as he took her wrist and tied it to the bedpost. Then he repeated it with her other wrist. She struggled against them for a moment just to test the restraints. They were not coming loose. Then, without speaking a word, he returned to the drawer, and this time, he pulled out a blindfold. Everything went black as he tied it around her head, covering her pleading green eyes. She heard him return to the drawer one last time but she couldn't see what he had gone for this time…

She breathed out hard as she felt his fingers stroke teasingly down the centre of her chest, going just past the end of her ribcage. Then she felt something else stroking her chest. It didn't feel like flesh this time. It felt like… leather. Strands of leather dragged over her body together like flock, sending childishly ticklish sensations through her. She had to stop herself from squealing with joy like a little girl. She couldn't stop her body wriggling around with delight though, and her breathing become faster and harder once more.

She particularly struggled as the leather danced across her breasts, tickling her nipples. But then suddenly it was gone, pulled back by her dark tormenter. Barely second passed before she felt it again, but this time it wasn't ticklish. The leather slapped down against her navel and she gasped at the sting. She realised what exactly it was now. A flogger.

Her whole body shook and shot off the bed trying to escape as he brought it down on her again and again. "Derr'mo!" she called out as he brought it down on her wet cunt. Bruce would start with it over his shoulder, then with intense speed flick it forwards and let it travel down to her soft unbroken skin. As he flogged her, she was gasping and babbling his name, completely in his power. Bruce discarded the flogger. It was time to finish this.

Natasha shivered, feeling suddenly alone. Then she felt something cold and wet against her chest. Freezing cold water was being flicked onto her. Just as she got used to it, the entire bottle was emptied onto her chest without warning. She gasped with shock. He must have had a fridge in his room somewhere she hadn't noticed. Of course he did. He was Bruce Wayne. His tongue lapped at her chest, particularly savouring her taut nipples, and she found herself writhing once more as his hands searched her, spreading the icy cold water across her steaming hot body. Then she felt him climbing on top of her and she knew he was about to fuck her again.

Just as before, his cock pressed into her pussy. Just as before, her legs lifted to meet his hips and hold him tight to her. He began to pound into her again and Natasha was gasping and whimpering once more as he screwed her harder and harder. She struggled against the ties around her wrist to no avail as her whole body and rocked and trembled with each thrust. Then she felt the cable ties snap, only she hadn't done it. He'd released her wrists. Released her. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders just as her legs had his pelvis, and their fucking became more frenzied.

Both of their bodies were going wild, slamming into each other, and Natasha was hanging onto Bruce for dear life. She wasn't the Black Widow anymore. She was Natasha Romanoff, and she wasn't Bruce Wayne's killer, she was his fuck toy.

She was the first to cum again. That wasn't a surprise to either of them at this point. But this time, he kept going, the jerks of his hips becoming more and more jagged and harsh as he got closer and closer to climax. She was screaming, her pussy already gushing yet, when he finally grinded to a halt, shooting inside her. Both of them were making noises of pleasure now, as he finished, all of her limbs still clinging onto him. Slowly, her arms and legs released him, dropping away, and he rolled off of her, breathing heavily to catch his breath too.

"Now that…" he breathed out, "Was a lot more enjoyable than that dirge of a party…" he grinned at her, his voice starting to become the smooth deception it had been when she first met him. "You're Russian?" he asked innocently. Her heart skipped a beat. She realised her accent had slipped back to her mother tongue once they'd got into it, and a few words or phrases may have slipped out through the evening. "…Yes," she admitted. "Good," he said, getting up off the bed now and standing naked at the window, "I'm glad you're not lying anymore, Natasha."

It took her a moment to realise what he'd said. Natasha. As in Natasha Romanoff. Not Natalie Rushman. "I assume you're not actually going to try to kill me now?" he shot a look back towards the shocked naked Russian on his bed. "…No," she admitted. "How did you know?" she demanded. "Same way I know you've never had a night quite like that in your life before, have you Natasha," he turned back to her fully, "And just remember: if you kill me…" he climbed back onto the bed and lay down beside her again, his arms wrapping around her and pulling the redhead close to him, "You never will again…" he whispered. Then he kissed her, and Natasha was lost in him all over again. Lost in the deep Dark Night…