The next few weeks became somewhat routine after establishing the plans for Jim's training. Mornings became an awkward Gift of the Magi type game where either Jim or Claire would bring the other lattes or breakfast, trying to sneak in early enough that most of their co-workers wouldn't notice. But more often than not due to the surprise nature of the gesture, they ended up making the effort on the same day, both meeting each other with suppressed laughter through the glass barrier that separated their workspaces. Claire finally sent him a note in another disguised file one day in an attempt to put an end to the laughable game:

It's your Dominant's job to take care of you. Let me take it from here.

To which she received a file in reply:

It's a gentleman's job to spoil a lady. Let me take you to dinner.

Claire felt his pointed stare burning through her as she read the note. She scrawled a quick response, and her heels clicked briskly across the station floor.

"I made a few notes for you, Commissioner."

Jim waited nervously for her to saunter away before he opened the manila folder. Be a good boy tonight and I might say yes.

He closed his eyes and tried to steel his nerves. That was as good as a 'yes'; Jim would do anything the woman asked if it meant there was a real date for them at the end of all this. They'd spent a few nights together at the club each week since their Teacher's Pet session, as promised. Each had been carefully designed by Claire to advance Jim along his path as a submissive. She was an expert instructor— knowledgeable and intuitive. She truly did know his needs before he did. Her aftercare was gentle, thoughtful, and warm. It always made him feel euphoric from his head to his toes; his toes would actually curl with happiness when she kissed and lotioned his wounds, stroked his hair, and let him lay his tired head on her beautiful breasts or the soft skin of her stomach. And as the warm feelings overtook him, still coursing through him as they dressed, Jim would ask her to let him take her home in his car.

And Claire would say no. It was always a no! She needed to talk to Zac or check on Grace. She needed to return some items to the costume room. She wanted a drink. She had some friends she promised she would say hello to that night. Jim would offer to wait, but her Mistress persona would return, telling him he needed sleep for work the next day. He couldn't argue with his Dominant, so he'd return to his car alone, a wistful pang in his chest.

Jim Gordon, you've gone fucking soft.

He shouldn't care that much. But it was hard not to, as each session also seemed to be less and less sexual. He feared she may be drifting away. Mistress would focus on his breath, his centering, his surrendering. She'd coach him through the best ways to endure the pain she inflicted, although many of these techniques he already knew as a seasoned officer. Jim's tolerance for pain had been field tested hundreds of times.

She'd ask him if he was dealing with any particular stresses at work or with his family. Of course he was; his phone calls with Barbara and the kids left him with a nagging emptiness; no matter how much they talked on the phone, it wasn't the same as tucking the kids in at night or hearing about their days at school "in the moment" at the dinner table, instead of a quick summary days later. Add to that his faux "Batman" sighting at the club, which had resurfaced the guilt he felt over the real Batman out there living a life on the run. Of course he didn't tell Claire that, but Mistress respected the fact that in a job like his, revelations had to be vague.

Mistress disapproved of Jim's bachelor eating habits and had started focusing on his diet, challenging his body, and inquiring about his sleep habits. "Just because you still look hot doesn't mean you're healthy," she would caution him. Well, at least she thought he was hot. She was starting to gently hint that perhaps pizza and donuts wasn't a sustainable lifestyle and maybe he should consider returning to his house. But Jim wasn't ready for that. At all.

They would work through any stressors he mentioned either with a scene or with her written instructions on ways to manage it with thought patterns or new approaches. He felt like he was in therapy half the time rather than a relationship. While he was grateful and he sure as hell needed it, it wasn't what he wanted.

Jim wanted her, next to him in his car. He wanted her to invite him upstairs and fuck his brains out and let him spend the night in her arms. He wanted to sleep with her perfume scenting his dreams and her breath synchronizing with his. Instead of bringing her coffee from the shop, he wanted to wake up early and brew a pot they would enjoy together on her balcony while they watched the sun come up. If she even had a balcony. Jim wouldn't know, because she hadn't invited him to her place.

But if he was a good boy tonight, the game would change. Dinner as Jim and Claire. He'd keep Mistress and Toy cuffed and chained in some basement while he asked her questions and got to know her. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy their time at the club; he still did— immensely. But he needed more. And like a tenacious cop with an evasive suspect that refused to crack, Jim Gordon was determined to get it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"AGGHHH!" Jim pressed his nails into the spongy leather of the X-Cross.

"I said count, Toy."

"Nine!" he groaned, praying she wouldn't use that transgression as leverage for canceling their date. He felt stinging train tracks emblazoned on his backside from her nylon cane. His trapped cock ached, and his mind had been distracted trying to remember the last time he came by her hand, her pussy, or her mouth. Their last few sessions had been by his own hand, if he'd been allowed to come in her presence at all.

"Ten! Fuckkkk... Eleven!"

"Good boy. One more."

"I— I..."

"You can. You will." Thwack.

"Twelve..." he gasped. Sweat was pouring off of him. It was only twelve lashes, and Mistress had varied her skilled strokes between stings and thuds. But he was sensitive from their play earlier in the week, and sensitive in general. Aside from pent up sexual desire, he was full of nerves now that the date was set for his Cleveland trip to see the kids, and to potentially see his ex-wife with her new squeeze. That fact, along with the two days he'd spent interrogating the suspect in the highway fiasco, rendered his tolerance threshold fairly low today. But he'd made it. If there weren't so much at stake, he probably would have safe-worded just to get the hell out.

"How do you feel, baby boy?" Mistress lifted a cold bottle of water to his mouth. Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on the chill flowing through his throat and down to his stomach. She poured a bit onto her hand to splash his sweaty face and stood on her toes to press a soft kiss to his bicep. Her hazel eyes were soft and wide and flawless, framed by her dark blond lashes. She wore little makeup tonight and was dressed rather simply in a black lace bralette and matching panties with a criss-cross front, fishnets over top, and bright red heels.

Jim panted, his ribs heaving against the leather X. "I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine."

Of course he wasn't fine. He'd just allowed himself to be caned a dozen times for the simple pleasure of having someone join him for dinner. Life would be so much easier if he'd just give up and find himself a nice girl. Maybe a woman his age— a divorcee. Someone who liked it old school.

Mistress slowly began releasing his restraints, and Jim gasped, feeling the sensation flood back into the points where he'd been tied. That was one of his favorite parts. The rush when it was over. His cock jumped as his breathing began to still and she came into better focus. He reached a hand out to take a curl of her hair, allowing the back of his fingers to barely brush the swell of her breast.

"I am fine," he insisted. "Because I'm taking you to dinner tomorrow night."

"Oh, are you, Toy?" she laughed. "I don't recall granting you that reward yet."

Jim took the bottle of water from her and took another swig, hand on his hip. He was completely naked with his cock wagging at her, but he was past being embarrassed at such things. "I earned it," he insisted.

Mistress raised her eyebrow. "And what if I don't want that?"

"You do."

She pursed her lips a bit at his abruptness. She hadn't officially declared aftercare yet, even with the administration of the water. So technically she could still punish him for overstepping his role. But she didn't.

"Fine. What type of food?" Her chin raised somewhat in a meek attempt at defiance.

"Italian food? Chinese? Thai, maybe?"

Mistress stifled a laugh, her eyes drifting downward. She slipped closer to him, standing just to the side as she slid an arm across his chest to draw him to her. "You know it's hard to take you seriously, Commissioner, when you're so hard and I seriously want to take you." She traced the very tip of her tongue along his jaw line.

Jim planted his feet firmly on the floor, grounding himself. "You may think you'll distract me, but you won't. I can go all night with these types of interrogations, you know? Now choose your meal, or I will choose for you."

"Choose my meal, hmm? That's easy. You." She dropped to her knees and wasted no time running her tongue along the underside of his length. He hissed, his deprived member getting the better of him temporarily. She devoured him, head bobbing, her throat relaxing with every thrust forward so he slid like a sword in its sheath. When she backed off for a second, a combined string of her spit and his arousal dragged back with her. Her eyes darkened with lust as she gazed up at him.

"Fill my mouth, baby. I'm hungry," she murmured and immediately returned to her wicked assault. Jim's hand formed a claw around her head, holding her in place by his fistful of her hair. She had wanted him to be a good boy for her tonight, so she was going to get what she asked for. Jim closed his eyes and tuned out every thought but the feeling of his tip hitting the back of her throat. He soon painted her, his head spinning a bit as he realized this was his first time ever cumming in a woman's mouth. His build-up was so profuse that even his expert Mistress made gagging sounds.

"Dinner not to your liking there, Mistress? May I suggest a different menu for tomorrow night?" he chuckled mischievously. She rose and promptly smacked his cheek, then kissed him hard, allowing him to taste his own spunk. He jumped, not quite sure how he felt about that. But he also knew she was trying to irritate and distract him. So he recovered quickly in spite of the foreign taste, kissing her back even harder, like that night weeks ago when he'd seemed to take her breath away.

"You still need to come, Mistress," he whispered in her ear, daring to prod at the junction of her thighs with two fingers.

Claire tensed and shook her head, backing away. "Thai."

Jim blinked. "What?"

"Thai. For dinner tomorrow night. It's my favorite food."

Jim's brain fired like it did when he finally extrapolated an answer after spending hours at the table. At last, he knew something about her. "What time should I pick you up?" he asked eagerly.

She shook her head again. "I'll just meet you after work. Send me a note with the address tomorrow."

It was Jim's turn to shake his head. "Nope, no more manila folders, little girl. It will start looking suspicious." He strode over to his discarded pants and took out his phone, placing his glasses back on. "Give me your number and I'll text you the location." He raised his eyebrows and patiently waited for her face to cycle through its hesitancy. She finally relented with a sigh, watching him as he stood there naked, typing into his phone. He shrugged his pants and shirt back on and followed her to the door, jumping ahead of her before she could make a quick exit.

"What's wrong, Claire?"

"Nothing, Jim."

"Then let me take you home. And pick you up for dinner."

"We just agreed to meet at the restaurant."

"That was just a ploy to get your number," Jim teased with a grin, leaning one arm on the doorframe.

Claire giggled. "No wonder the big bad Commissioner always solves the case. You're relentless."

"So you're letting me take you home?"

Her hazel eyes stared down at the floor uncertainly, but Jim could see a smile playing at the pink curve of her mouth. "Okay. Let me change."

Jim opened the door for her with a sweeping "after you" motion, still grinning from ear to ear. He watched as her curvy, fishnet-clad thighs made their way across the club floor to the locker room, his head buzzing with how lucky he was.

"Having a good night?" Zac asked him cheerfully as Jim approached the bar, sliding his mask back over his eyes.

"Things are looking up," Jim confirmed.

"What can I get you to celebrate?"

Jim peered over the bar to peruse some of the more inventive choices. "How about that apricot brandy?"

Zac nodded. "Let me make you something special." The bartender, clad in his trademark leather harness, threw vodka, mezcal, and lemon juice into a swirl with Jim's requested brandy.

"A water too, please," Jim added. "I have the honor of driving Mistress home tonight." He couldn't help but brag a little. He felt like he was on a cloud and wanted someone to share the high with.

"Ah...congrats, my man. But don't say that too loudly. Mistress wouldn't want her cover blown. Would she, Master B?"

Jim turned to see Ben take the seat next to him at the bar with a warm smile. "Who, Claire? Certainly not," Ben agreed. "But what exactly are we speaking of?"

"I think our new friend here is trying to get a collar out of her," Zac said with a wink.

"Oh?" Ben asked with interest.

Jim cleared his throat and hesitated, not sure if he was allowed to speak to the Dominant. The bar was outside of the members only area and neither Claire nor Grace were present, so it seemed like it might be safe. And Mistress had said at one point he could come there without her to meet new people.

"I'm just hoping to get to know her better," Jim explained with a dismissive shrug. He didn't want to look like a lovesick idiot.

Ben chuckled. "Good luck, sir. May the force be with you."

"That hard, huh?" Jim replied a bit glumly.

"She's tough," answered Ben. "I've only been here a few months but I've noticed several men and even a couple of women angling to attach themselves to her. She's one of the best. But she never breaks."

"Women?" Jim clarified with surprise.

Ben nodded. "Claire scenes with both. She and Grace still play together occasionally as well."

Jim downed a sip of Zac's custom cocktail. Well, that was something to think about. He felt his blood rush a little at imagining that. "Still play? Were they together at one time?"

Ben and Zac exchanged a glance, Zac indicating for Ben to take the lead, presumably since one of the subjects in question was his frequent submissive.

"Claire may want to tell you this at some point, since she seems to be bending her rules a bit for you," Ben began carefully. "But she and Grace had a rather landmark event at eighteen. Their first true sexual encounter was together, with two men. It was a bit... unorthodox. And could be interpreted as frightening. From my point of view, the two women helped each other cope and figure out where to go from there. They helped each other learn and establish their preferred roles."

Jim stared into his martini glass, suddenly uneasy. The thought of anyone taking advantage of Claire, especially at eighteen, threw up his protective ire.

"My advice? Don't ask her about it," Zac offered. "You might really piss her off. Claire likes to play her cards close to her very lovely chest. Oops... sorry... forgot she's kind of your girl now, JJ."

Gordon shot a confused look in the bartender's direction. "JJ?"

Zac laughed. "Gotta call you something out here on the floor. Keep people guessing. I like 'Jimmy John.' JJ for extra protection, in case the wrong people come around asking questions." He gave the Commissioner a knowing wink. "I got your back, JJ."

Jim was about to inform the kid that his middle name was Worthington, not John, when he heard a familiar clacking of heels coming around the side of the bar. Claire was dressed in jeans and a fitted white blouse, the top few buttons undone to reveal a blue bustier.

"Make my sour a sunrise, Zac," she requested, giving Ben a squeeze on the shoulder before taking the barstool on the other side of Jim. She laced her arm through his. "I'm in the mood for something sweeter tonight." Her blonde head nuzzled the sleeve of Jim's shirt, an action that apparently warranted another exchanged glance between Ben and Zac.

"Permission to speak, Mistress?" Jim asked her with a shy smile.

"Permission granted, my toy."

"Would you like to try my drink?" he slid the golden martini toward her.

"It's called the JJ," Zac informed her. "Adding it to the menu in honor of our newest member, if enough people like it."

"It's delicious," commented Claire. They nursed their drinks and chatted a bit more with the men before making their way down the dark, narrow street to Jim's car. He surveyed their surroundings carefully of course; that was one of the reasons he'd been so keen on taking her home. He didn't like the idea of her out in this part of Gotham after midnight.

Jim moved ahead of her to open the passenger door; his heart still leaping like a teenage boy as the reality set in that this was Claire, not Mistress, and she was in his car.

"Thank you for accepting my offer," he said as they sailed through the nearly empty Gotham streets. He noticed a huge man with a shaved head eyeing them as they pulled to a stop at a red light, and his hand dipped on instinct to the gun he'd returned to his hip. Claire noticed the move.

"Everything okay, Commissioner?"

"Your brain just learns to respond to a certain type of stare after awhile," he muttered, checking the rearview as they continued on. The man's gaze followed them, and Jim took mental note of every detail he could. He'd made too many enemies to count in this city over the years, and he'd often lay awake at night wondering who they might be.

"I just assumed you lived near the station," he said, changing the subject. "But I suppose I need your address."

"Not near the station," she replied. "I take the monorail more often than not. I live in Gotham Village." She gave him the address, and Jim was relieved she at least lived in a somewhat quiet part of town, even if she frequented the nearby shady parts for amusement. Real estate was rather pricey in the Village though, so he found himself curious how she'd landed there as an office clerk.

"The Village, huh? How long have you lived there?"

"Since I started working at the station."

"Ah. You have family close by?"

"No."

She was certainly the quiet girl who tended to keep to herself at work rather than his bold Mistress. But instead of her deliberate mystery frustrating him, it just turned him on.

"Why the Village?" he pressed. He meant 'how,' but he didn't want to be insulting.

"My little studio is cute. I like the view from my balcony. And the market down the street."

"That's good. Any Thai places you like in this neck of the woods?"

Claire shook her head. "Nope. The good ones are mostly in East End. The Commissioner might have to get out of his comfort zone," she teased.

"You're worth it," Jim replied, pulling up to the curb just outside her building. It was just a few minutes from the club— a very tall building with a series of balconies that were identical save for a few unique decorations scattered here and there.

"That's me, with the three light strands in the window." Claire pointed to one of the highest levels of the white brick building where a warm glow of string lights illuminated a hammock hanging across a small balcony. It would be a perfect vantage point for a view of the city, and, as he'd daydreamed, an ideal spot to enjoy morning coffee.

"Stay," he told her, opening his own car door and jumping out quickly. He opened hers for her and offered her a hand.

"You really weren't kidding about the gentleman thing, were you?" she laughed.

"Not in the least." Jim slid a hand to the small of her back as he walked her to the door. "Should I see you up?"

Claire wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. "No. I would make it very hard for you to be a gentleman. I'm excited for dinner tomorrow night though." She trailed off, clearly wanting to say more, and sighed. "But you scare me, Gordon."

"I scare you?" he repeated incredulously. "You're the one with the cane."

She paused, toying with the zipper on his jacket. "And you're the only one who has ever made me think I might stop using it— at least every once in awhile."

Jim smiled and brought his arms around her, his hands cupping her delicious curves through her jeans. "I'd never make you do that. But it's nice we might have options. Don't you think?"

Claire nodded. "Good night, Jim."

"Night, kiddo."