Jim surprised himself by actually enjoying a decent night's sleep, even if it was alone. The roller coaster of emotions his sensory deprivation had brought on left him depleted, and his time decompressing with Claire afterward calmed him enough to rest. He took comfort in the fact that while she might not see their relationship exactly the way he did, she at least placed a similar value on it. The rest, he would have to trust, would work itself out.

He spent the morning availing himself of the comforts of a hotel, not sure exactly how long they would last. Even a promotion to Commissioner didn't mean funds that could sustain that kind of lifestyle. It must be nice to be like Gotham's favorite billionaire Bruce Wayne and be able to live wherever you wanted. Jim supposed he could sell the old house and afford something else, but sorting through his old life and packing up anything worth keeping sounded exhausting and depressing. He couldn't think about that today. Hotel it was, for now. At least there he could make breakfast his big meal of the day and didn't really have to worry much in the way of food. He'd never had to cook. Barbara was a great cook.

Could Claire cook? She brought a lot of salads for her lunch break and bowls that had a bunch of things thrown together. Jim was more of a meat-and-three kind of guy. But he was open minded. His hunger pangs kept his mind on food during his workout in the gym and morning swim at the hotel pool. Where would he take her if he got the courage to ask her to dinner? He'd mentioned it last night, so it probably wouldn't throw her for a loop if he broke over and asked. But was there some kind of rule about that? Did they make a handbook for this stuff that he should read? How To Not Piss Off Your Mistress, maybe?

As he jumped out of the indoor pool and was drying off, another fifty-something man walked in and gave Jim a knowing smile. At first he thought the man was commiserating over shared lonely bachelorhood until he noticed the man's eyes trailing over the faint pink lines from the beginner flogger. Jim reddened and wrapped the towel around his torso, exiting the pool house quickly. He hadn't even thought about that before stripping down to swim trunks. How the hell did people in this lifestyle function?

Jim showered next and returned downstairs to catch the tail end of breakfast, filling his plate twice and taking some donuts and muffins back to the room for later. At least he had a gym to help counteract this new bachelor diet. Commissioner was more of a desk job, especially since the passage of the Dent Act had gotten many of their mob headaches off the streets. But he didn't need the team to see him going soft.

He flipped through the television channels and found some of his old favorite westerns, but all he could think was how cheesy they suddenly seemed. He didn't want Claire to see him as the kind of guy who sat around in flannel pajamas watching cowboy movies. What kind of movies would she watch on her day off? Porn?

No, Jim chastised himself. Mistress was a persona; Claire was a person... favorite foods, favorite movies, favorite songs. Hobbies, interests, beliefs, opinions. Knick-knacks around an apartment, photos on the wall. Stories to tell... she'd told him she and a friend had gotten into the lifestyle because of some experience she'd had at 18. She'd indicated she would tell him about it sometime...

Suddenly he longed to call her. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand but realized he didn't even have her number. That sure had changed since his days dating Barbara. You couldn't just look a girl up in the book anymore— you actually had to hit it off with someone enough to ask. It was insane. He'd been inside the woman twice now, yet he didn't even know her phone number. Maybe he just wasn't cut out for dating in this new world. Maybe he was just too old for this.

Jim jumped, startled. Barbara's name had just popped up on the phone along with the annoyingly perky default ringtone he'd never bothered to change. He just stared at it for a few seconds, not quite sure how to react. But ultimately he knew talking to Barbara meant talking to his kids, so he swiped and offered a nervous hello.

"Hi, Jim."

Silence. It was their first call since the divorce filing had been delivered. He'd signed it; what else could he do? He'd promptly called a lawyer who owed him a favor or two and wasn't afraid to admit it. He'd assured the guy it would be an easy case— paper pushing, really. Jim wasn't in the mood to fight, and there wasn't much worth fighting over. He trusted Barbara to do right by the kids and make sure he was a part of their life. Surely.

"How are the kids?" he finally asked.

"They're good, Jim. They'd like to talk, if you have time."

"Of course I have time."

He knew Barbara probably had a thing or two to say in response to that, but she held her tongue. Jim talked to Jimmy about karate and Barbie about gymnastics, heard all about their teachers for the new school year, and about how their Cleveland school had better lunches than their Gotham one. They also divulged that "Dan" was taking them to a football game next weekend— news at which Barbara quickly took the phone back and told the kids to say goodbye. Jim sighed. He couldn't really say anything, could he? But he did.

"Dan, huh?"

"He's a friend of mine from work, Jim."

"You're working?"

"Of course I'm working. I couldn't live off my parents forever, Jim. They're getting up there in age. And child support isn't the same as being together."

"Well, I could have told you that. In fact, I think I did."

"Jimmy, go play outside with your sister!" Barbara's muffled voice called. "And what kind of marriage would that have been, Jim?" she countered when she returned. "Me sitting at home never knowing when you're coming home? Resenting the fact that you're out there locking a quarter of the city up in the name of the man that tried to murder your family? And all so I can sleep easier at night about my bank account balance? No thanks, Jim. I'd rather get a job and start over. And you should too. My attorney said you signed the papers. That's good. You need to start moving on."

Jim bristled. What made her think he hadn't? If she only knew... he didn't think Barbara Jean Gordon knew that some of the things he'd done existed let alone imagined her husband doing them. That gave him the unsettling thought of what this "Dan" fellow may be teaching her. No, he wouldn't go down that road. Even if "Dan" was, that was a good thing, right? Maybe Jim and Barbara had come to the end of their road and now it was time to explore with others. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing. If it weren't for the factor of his kids, he might even be happy about it.

Jim sighed and chose not to discuss the matter of him moving on. Even if she wasn't hurt by it, mentioning it seemed disrespectful. Their relationship needed to be strictly about the kids now.

"I want to visit the kids, Barb."

"Of course, Jim. Anytime. Do you have a date in mind? I'll pencil you in."

"No, it will depend on work. You know I can't schedule anything too far in advance."

"Well, you can't just drop in last minute. We may have plans."

Jim massaged his forehead. When they were married, they could never make plans as a family for this very reason. He couldn't possibly predict when Gotham would need him. Although post-Dent Act it was certainly improved. Maybe if Barbara had just stuck around...

"Okay. Let me get with the team and look at my calendar, and I'll call you next week to set up a weekend. Okay?"

Jim hung up and sank against the pillows. Weekend... who would Claire have in room 9 on a Saturday night when he was in Cleveland? The Mayor? Some movie star? Billionaire Bruce Wayne? The papers had featured less and less of the billionaire playboy over the past year. Gordon himself was tasked with reaching out to see if he'd sponsor the big Children's Hospital benefit the GCPD was hosting for Christmas this year. But that's the caliber of man Gordon pictured going to a club like The Asylum, and the caliber of man Claire would be used to entertaining. Not some washed-up, straight-laced yawn-fest like him. It was only a matter of time until his hot young thing kicked him to the curb. Cleveland would be her perfect opportunity.

Jim beat the hotel pillow into a satisfactory wad and settled down for a nap with a final sigh. Mistress had told him to sleep, after all.

Claire spent all Monday morning staring forlornly at the Commissioner's empty office through its glass walls. His dark gray racer jacket was slung over the back of his chair, and she kept finding herself picturing exactly what it would smell like. And the thought of the smell made her horny as fuck. She'd spent her Sunday the usual way— sleeping until noon then heading to her favorite market to get stuff for lunches for the week ahead. After filling her labeled bowls for each day she'd flopped on the sofa to veg out with TV, texting Grace here and there. Her friend had wanted updates on "grandpa" thanks to Zac, even though Claire knew Grace didn't mean that moniker as derogatory. Claire had been intentionally vague over text, but Grace was always skilled at knowing when there was something more going on. This was no exception.

Claire had been hoping she might get to introduce Jim to Grace tonight at the club, but that was looking less and less likely the more time that passed with that jacket-clad chair empty. As it approached lunchtime, she truly started to worry.

"Um, Kay?" she asked her boss hesitantly. "Is something big going on today? I, um, noticed that a lot of the team is missing."

The older red-haired woman was the administrative officer for GCPD. Claire got along well with her for the most part, mostly because Claire came in, got her work done, laid low, and got out. That would be a bit more difficult if her relationship with the Commissioner were to actually grow into something. Claire internally kicked herself for even having the thought. Taking things beyond the club would complicate work something awful. She could even get fired, she would imagine. It was all the more reason that Claire and Jim needed to take a backseat to Mistress and Toy. In fact, Claire and Jim needed to just throw themselves from the car at the next stoplight and let Mistress and Toy take the rest of the ride.

"There was a massive accident on the main highway today," Kay answered. "Eighteen cars piled up because one bread truck tried to wreak havoc during morning rush hour. Just another maniac trying to cause chaos because they think Gotham's too boring now."

Claire frowned. Whoever it was wasn't the first Joker wannabe they'd seen since the passage of the Dent Act. It seemed all crime left in Gotham nowadays was theatrical and absurd in the wake of the Joker and the Batman. But eighteen cars was nothing short of a tragedy, and that meant she likely wouldn't be seeing Jim today or maybe even the next. She understood though; the man was a hero. It wasn't the first time his desk chair had sat empty for days because he was out in the field. It just meant he would need her to give him that much more of a release when she saw him again.

Jim finally came back to the office Wednesday afternoon. The person who had wreaked havoc on the highway and taken twelve lives had managed to walk away from the rubble, but there were many witnesses to interview as well as evidence to comb through on the abandoned vehicle. There were also numerous families of victims to meet with, cleanup and traffic workarounds to coordinate, and injured victims to interview in the hospital. Even though Jim was well over a year into what was supposed to be a cushier new job, he hadn't lost his drive to be on the scene and in the thick of the action when a big event happened. It was where he belonged.

The jury was still out on whether he belonged at The Asylum, but there he was... 10 p.m., just as Mistress had commanded. Claire had jumped a bit when she'd seen movement in his office out of the corner of her eye. Jim had felt a strange, pleasant quickening in his stomach when he'd noticed that. Not arousal, but butterflies. The kind he'd gotten back in more innocent days. He'd met her gaze with a smile and a wink, relishing her blush. Jim marveled at how such a commanding dominatrix could seem like an innocent schoolgirl outside of the club. The dichotomy intrigued him like a seemingly unsolvable case.

Claire had delivered him a "requested file" about an hour later, in which he'd found a sealed envelope containing instructions to arrive earlier than normal and to wear jeans, a white t-shirt, a leather jacket, and tennis shoes. "Think high school bad boy," had been her scrawled instruction. Jim had frowned, looking to her in an attempt to communicate that he owned no such jacket, but she'd stared fixedly at her computer screen until leaving promptly at five.

Just as the tired Commissioner was contemplating how the hell to find a clothing store selling leather jackets in time, he'd spotted one of the younger officers shrugging into one on his way out the door.

"LeSalle!" he'd called. "Can I borrow your jacket for tonight? I'll trade you for mine."

The young man had surveyed the Commissioner's old racer jacket hesitantly.

"How about the jacket and a $50 rental fee?" Gordon had countered. "I'll have it back to you tomorrow."

LeSalle had taken the offer. "You going undercover tonight, Commissioner?"

Jim had grinned. "You could say that." He'd slipped on the black leather and headed back to the hotel for a pizza and some well-deserved sleep after his chaotic two days.

Gordon parked his car, donned his mask, and walked confidently into the club he'd been terrified of just days earlier. He looked a bit like he'd walked out of the movie Grease, but he assumed Mistress had a plan and that he would love it. Even the things he hadn't been keen on in the moment so far, he now looked on fondly in retrospect. The woman knew her craft well, that was for sure.

10:03. Crap. What would the punishment be for three minutes? He wouldn't have to wait long to find out. Claire stood with one elbow on the bar, propping herself up with a wooden yardstick. Jim's eyes roved upward from black pumps and knee-highs to a short Burberry plaid skirt and a completely sheer black shawl tucked in and held with suspenders. The shawl had no fasteners, so her breasts sat on either side of an open, plunging neckline, her nipples entirely visible through the blousy chiffon. She wore her glasses from work, a noticeable change from their previous two visits to the club. Damn, he wanted that woman. His body responded to her within seconds.

"I apologize for being tardy, Teacher," Jim said immediately. It didn't take an experienced detective to deduce what game they were playing this evening.

"Open your palm," Mistress responded, and she gave him a swift tap with her enormous but lightweight ruler. Jim bowed his head, his body naturally falling into submission. It felt... like a relief. Like the stress of the last few days could melt away at his Mistress's administration of controlled pain.

"Good boy. Now, I've asked you to arrive early tonight so you can become better acquainted with the club and what goes on here on the floor. I will be acting as your teacher and you will address me as such. You may ask me questions freely about what you see, but in a quiet and respectful manner. We will be interacting with others, as you would expect at any club. You are not to address anyone, however, without seeking my permission first. And if you wish to address another Dominant's submissive, you will need their permission as well. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Teacher."

Mistress nodded her approval and linked her arm with his, her fingers stroking the smooth leather. "This jacket appears well-loved. How long have you had it?"

"It's not mine, it's LeSalle's," Jim said with a laugh. "Your last-minute instructions threw me for a loop and I had to improvise."

She smiled. "Well, congratulations on following the dress code. That's one less ruler-smack, I suppose." She escorted him to the members-only area quickly and took the liberty of removing his mask. They settled into one of the central booths along the back wall where they had a good view of the room and the activities of its inhabitants. It was more or less the same as he'd witnessed the previous night, the only difference being a show taking place on an elevated platform. A radiant red-head was splayed in an X upon a St. Andrew's Cross paneled with purple leather. Jim's first thought, other than how beautiful the naked bound woman appeared, was how cool the leather would be against skin. He imagined it would have a tranquil calming effect, and he thought maybe he'd find the courage for that someday.

"Pet," Teacher whispered. "You were such a good boy dressing for me, but remove the jacket, just for now." He promptly did as told. She tossed the jacket onto the booth and drew his arm around her shoulders, burying her nose in the thin fabric of his white cotton tee. "There," she sighed. "The jacket didn't smell like you." She ran a hand up his denim clad thigh, squeezing the muscle. Her touch was like a drug after the way this week had been so far.

They were soon joined at their booth by another couple— a man about Jim's height but a couple years younger, with very dark blond hair and a full mustache with beard. He wore an off-white belted tunic with a long, light brown overcoat. His companion was a woman dressed in a lovely silvery blue satin gown, her shoulders exposed but adorned with strands of pearls acting like delicate sleeves where they flowed out from the center diamond brooch on her dress. She was slender, with wide eyes and a shy demeanor, following several paces behind the man as they approached Jim and Claire.

"Pet, I'd like you to meet Master Ben and my best friend Grace."

Jim nodded with regard but found himself uneasy about saying anything, replaying Teacher's instruction in his head. Ben extended a hand to Jim, and they both glanced to Teacher for confirmation before shaking. She gave Jim a pleased smile and a nod of permission.

"You're such a fast learner, Pet. You make your teacher so proud."

The couple took a seat across from them and watched the show for a few minutes before beginning a rather intense make out session. Ben soon reached around to unclasp the thin satin neck straps of Grace's dress. The embellished front fell to reveal shapely round breasts, which Ben began to palm as he pulled her back to his chest. Claire, nestled again in the crook of Jim's arm, watched them intently. Ben grasped Grace by the chin to get her attention, and she turned to him immediately in what was obviously some predetermined method of communication. Ben pointed a solitary finger downward, his face kind but still demanding. Grace slipped quickly underneath the table.

Jim's mouth fell open. The man was going to get a blow job right here in front of him? It shouldn't be a surprise— Jim had seen as much on his last visit. But having it happen right here at their table was a bit of a shock. Ben's eyes closed, his posture stick straight as if meditating while having his dick sucked by the beautiful woman. Jim was painfully hard, and his unmoved stare was eventually broken by a swift tap of the ruler on the stiff protrusion in his jeans.

"Ouch!" Jim cried.

"Down boy," Teacher chastised.

Ben's concentration never broke, even at Jim's outburst. He maintained the steely posture throughout the entire act, Grace eventually rising to resume her place at his side. Ben wiped her mouth gently and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. About that time a round of drinks were delivered to their table, presumably a known favorite of either Ben or the girls, since they hadn't been ordered. Jim took his gratefully, only to receive another thwack the moment he set it back down.

"Permission, Pet."

Jim cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Teacher. May I please drink?"

"You may."

"You may drink also, my queen," Ben said to Grace, who had made no such move. She smiled at him before accepting a sip from the glass he lifted to her lips. Well, that was interesting. She was his queen but also his sub. That seemed sexy. Jim found all of these dynamics fascinating.

The redhead onstage was being caned now, and the man administering the skilled blows was tall, sturdy, and dressed in a tight black frock. His long black hair moved in the breeze he created as he moved about the stage artfully. He had an unquestionable mastery of the woman, his own actions, and the overall room.

"He was one of our first patrons," Teacher explained. He calls himself The Prince. Women fall all over themselves to scene with him."

"Have you...?" Jim trailed off nervously but then remembered with relief that she had given him permission to freely ask questions.

Teacher shook her head. "No. I very, very rarely switch. And The Prince never does." She cast a quick look at Ben and Grace, who had resumed kissing, before whispering almost inaudibly in Jim's ear. "The Prince is one of Grace's favorites though. She much prefers to sub, and she says subspace with The Prince is pure Nirvana."

The redhead onstage certainly seemed to agree, writhing and moaning in ecstasy with each blow he delivered to her pale, curvy body. Jim shifted, unsure of how many more new sights his cock could take tonight. It dawned on him he hadn't even jerked off in the past few days; he'd been too busy and down in the dumps. He found himself thinking he should have opted for a Dom role instead. It would be nice to just point a finger and have a woman drop to her knees for him right about now...

No. The thought left almost as quickly as it came. That wasn't him. But surely Teacher could sense his need. He tightened his grip on her upper arm ever so slightly.

"Are you all right, Pet?"

"I need to come, Teacher. Please."

She ran a loving hand over his cheek and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I believe you probably deserve some relief after the week you've had." She moved herself to straddle his lap, her core wasting no time arching against the length in his pants. The sound of his zipper pierced the air, and Jim's senses focused on some kind of dark, pulsating swirl of rock instruments blasting hypnotically. Layered on top of it were the whooshing thrashes of The Prince's cane, the wet sounds of lips clicking and panting from across the booth, and the very wet sounds of his desperate tip being dipped in the folds of Teacher's aroused cunt. She wasn't wearing any panties under that tiny Burberry skirt.

Part of him wanted to protest. When he'd made his request, he'd assumed it would happen in one of the private rooms. He briefly met Grace's eye when Ben's head dropped to suck her breast, and Jim swore she dared to give him a reassuring smile. It did little to help. He was the police commissioner, for crying out loud. He couldn't have sex in public. He was pretty sure he could arrest himself. No, it was a legal club in Gotham, that much he knew. But what the hell was he even doing in a place like this?

Ohhhh god, did she feel good. She didn't have him inside of her, instead just swirling the head of his cock around her labia, gathering her juices, using him to please her clit. She sucked and nipped his earlobe, and he could smell the way her jasmine and citrus perfume had haunted the fibers of the chiffon shawl.

"You're amazing," Jim breathed. "May I please touch your breasts, Teacher?" He was quite pleased with how well he was doing tonight, for the most part, in remembering to be submissive.

"Please do, Pet."

Jim slid his hand into the plunging v-neck and thumbed the rock hard pebbles, his hand kneading the bell-like globes. There was truly nothing in the world as soft and delightful as Mistress's tits. He swore he could hold them and play with them all day and never get bored.

"Ohhhhh," Jim moaned. She had begun a torquing motion on his shaft as she continued her preferred rhythm of his tip on her clit. She shielded their actions well with her body, but anyone looking their direction would know the exact nature of them by the look of desperate abandon on Jim Gordon's face. The room was becoming a blur... until a familiar figure in head-to-toe black caught his eye.

Hope you are enjoying the work so far! We will be posting more soon. This was born out of a one-shot that turned into a full work. We are having so much fun with it and hope you are too! Stay tuned!