Back to the kink! A fun, sorta silly smut chapter... but it does culminate in an important plot point. ?Mistress and Toy are back for some sexy roleplay... but with consequences.

Jim and Claire had been packing up his house in the Tricorner for several hours now. They had been getting along exceptionally well over the past few weeks since their romantic Valentine's date and what practically amounted to an engagement— at least in Jim's mind. They hadn't really approached the idea again outright, but there seemed to be a understanding between them now... a closeness... an inevitability.

Jim was still sensitive at times on the topics of Stan, Hans, and her past— but they'd at least started to fall into their old rhythm as they recovered from their injuries and mental trauma. They'd split their time between each other's homes as previously agreed, and Claire had contacted the EAP at work to get connected with a therapist. She didn't share much of what they discussed with Jim, but he could tell it was helping her, and not just with decompressing from the kidnapping. She seemed more open, more relaxed.

Helping Jim research the housing market and prep his old place had given her a project to enthusiastically embrace. He hadn't found a new place yet, but he knew he needed to pack up the past and put it behind him. Plus, he needed the windfall from the home sale in his bank account after the rather expensive "car" he'd purchased at the damn mob hospital upstate.

"Come on, Jim. Let's take a break," Claire suggested from her perch on the now-empty desk in the dining area. "Do you wanna order a pizza or something?"

"Yeah, that sounds good, kiddo." His voice fell flat and emotionless; he was tired and drained from sorting through the old memories. He couldn't take it all with him, and paying for bigger storage units for nonessentials seemed pointless. But it was also his life, laying there in boxes labeled "keep," "toss," or "?." He was as dejected today as he'd been elated on Valentine's day. Finding a way to coordinate his old life with his new one wasn't always easy.

Claire placed the pizza order while they sat at the kitchen table. After she put down her phone, she felt a smirk spread across her face. Her Toy needed a lift.

"Hey, Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna play 'race the delivery driver?'"

Jim barked out a laugh. "What the hell is that?"

"Well," Claire said seductively while she quickly tossed off her t-shirt and threw it at his head. "Stand up for me and I'll show you," she purred.

"Mmm, I think I might like this game... is Mistress coming to play too?" he added as an afterthought.

Claire picked up on the hesitation in his tone immediately and wasn't quite sure what to make of it. True, Mistress and Toy hadn't really played for awhile now. Valentine's Day hardly counted, as they'd drifted in and out of all the roles they'd ever played, it seemed.

"Well, I didn't really bring anything with me on this little vanilla overnight," she answered carefully. "But... there's one thing I've been dying to try. Do you trust me?"

That was a loaded question. Try as he might to leave it alone, Jim's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he'd found himself pulling up some databases on Norman Stansfield last week. It was that inner voice of his, nagging and trying to find some excuse to derail Jim's happiness.

Now Stansfield's old DEA badge photo haunted a corner of his mind whenever Claire stood back and Mistress entered the picture. He'd been a handsome devil - blue eyed, stubbled, wild light brown hair, and certainly a bit maniacal in expression. But there had been an intelligence behind his eyes - one that Jim knew well from the field, one that he was sure had drawn young Claire in like a magnet. Jim was starting to think "Mistress" play might give him some insecurities now... some latent, painful doubt that at the heart of every Mistress game lay a memory of the man who had started it all.

But Jim loved her. He'd marry her this second, if it weren't for her insistence that they chew on the idea a bit. Obviously if he loved her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, he should trust her. So Jim stood as he was asked and tossed his own shirt off. He took a standing submissive position, legs spread wide, fingers laced behind his neck, with his back ramrod straight. "Yes, Mistress."

She walked towards him, her breasts drawing his attention immediately. She saw the start of an erection through his jeans. She scraped her nails down his chest, drawing pink lines into his skin. He hissed from the slight pain she caused.

"Awww, seems like Toy is out of practice. Maybe we shouldn't go this long between sessions anymore, hmm? Did you get too soft on me?" She reached up to pinch a nipple roughly. She wanted to shock his system back into his submissive role.

"No, Mistress! I mean... y-yes, Mistress?"

Mistress giggled at his frantic attempt to please her. She'd missed being Mistress over these past few months, and she'd missed her Toy. Even though she was working through her tendency to cling to roleplay as a defense mechanism, she was excited for the prospect of owning those roles in a new, more confident way.

She'd told her therapist how she'd seemed to slip in and out of her Mistress role since their breakup and her kidnapping. It was harder to maintain now. That was when the doctor had suggested that she fully own the roles instead of letting them take her over and feeling like she was "giving in" to them. Play with them... have fun... don't be so rigid— the doctor had advised. It was a fine line, full of nuance, but it was something she was willing to explore.

"Strip down and bend over the table, Toy," she commanded.

Jim frantically ripped off the rest of his clothes before placing his palms flat on the table and pushing his ass out towards her. His cock was bobbing against the table as she pushed his shoulders down even further. Mistress walked behind him, inspecting his posture. Jim couldn't help but catch a glance at her as she shimmied out of her jeans. She was wearing the sexiest underwear he had seen in a long time – it seemed Claire was hoping this would happen. Her tight bottom was on display in a lacy red thong that matched her bra— which was at least two sizes too small. His two favorite attributes were jiggling as she walked, and his cock wept with joy.

"You've been such a naughty, naughty boy lately. I think you need a spanking." She paused for dramatic effect. Without warning she spanked him the hardest she ever had on his right ass cheek. Jim bit his lip; he knew better than to cry out already. She'd been so light-handed with him since their stint in the hospital, and he was woefully out of practice. She raked her fingers in his hair before tugging his head back, rewarding him with her tongue down his throat.

"Good boy."

Jim had really missed hearing that, he had to admit.

Mistress smacked him 30 times in random succession. Sometimes she hit the muscle; sometimes she aimed below the cheek – just at the upper thigh— when she wanted to cause some real pain. Some slaps were gentle and followed up with a soothing kiss or lick. Others were so hard her own hand throbbed. But Jim held his own. His muscles tensed and he gritted his teeth, but he didn't cry out at all. She was so proud of him.

"Good job, Toy. I'm pleased with your restraint. Tell me, where do you keep your cooking utensils?"

"What?" Jim squeaked with obvious concern. He was answered with a hard smack to the back of his thigh.

"You forget yourself, Toy... Where are the utensils? Wooden cooking spoons, perhaps?"

"S-side drawer, by the oven."

Mistress walked over to the table, swinging her hips as she was sure he was watching her. She grabbed a large wooden spoon and spun quickly to face him. He averted his eyes back to the floor as she smirked, having caught his hungry leer. She made a quick stop by the fridge to pull out some butter, placing it on the table by his face.

"Today is about to get kinky, Toy. Be a good boy... the app says the pizza is out for delivery, so we don't have a lot of time to stop for a punishment."

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered. What the fuck is the butter and spoon for?

Claire smacked his already sore bottom with the wooden spoon. The crack it made on his skin was satisfying, but not as much as the string of curse words falling from Toy's mouth. He stomped his foot to ease the tension as she laughed. "Aww, it's not so bad. Let's keep going, shall we?"

"I hate this," he growled. He was acting like he did the night of his paddling. Jim apparently wasn't the biggest fan of wooden implements. But she didn't hear safewords, so she assumed it was a love-hate.

"Would you like a little distraction? Something to make you feel good?" Mistress dared him.

Jim hesitantly shook his head, unsure if it was a trap. Claire reached for the butter and scooped a dollop in her hands, softening it in her grasp before reaching around Jim and stroking his cock with her left hand. The cold butter felt amazing on his warm skin, and he couldn't help but let out a deep groan of relief.

"Yes! There's my good boy... that feels good, doesn't it? Do you wanna come?"

"Yes! Mistress, please!" The words "good boy" messed with his head, making it hum every time he heard them.

She smacked him hard with the spoon again as she continued stroking his length. The pain and pleasure were overwhelming – short-circuiting his brain and throwing him into full sub-mode. She picked up her pace with both her stroke and strike, watching his micro-expressions to see how close to climax he was. Once she was satisfied that he was close, she stopped touching him completely. Jim's tense body clenched in anger. She was sorry that she couldn't see the look in his eyes; she was sure he was murderous.

Stepping back for a minute, Claire observed her work: his bottom was bright red – even bruised in some areas where the spoon broke some blood vessels. He had a mixture of clear handprints and spoon marks across his pale skin. It was truly a work of art. Maybe she could take a picture and frame it.

Jim watched as Mistress reached for the tub of butter again. His cock bobbed with his own eagerness and the hope that she was lubing up to finish him off.

"What are your safewords, Jim?"

Why do I need safewords for a hand job?

"Red and Green, Mistress."

"Good boy. Stick your ass out and rest your head on your forearms. I want you to relax for me." She stroked his back lovingly. Like a moth to the flame, he relaxed, unknowing of what was to come. With a lubed finger, she lightly caressed his virgin hole.

"Absolutely not!" he squealed as he jumped up and away from the table. Claire glared at him as she marched over, threw him back over the table, and spanked him hard- ten times in a row.

"You are to use a safeword if something is a hard limit, Jim. It's dangerous to act like that," she scolded as she spanked him.

"Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry."

"Now, Jim," said Claire. "This really will feel amazing if you relax and let it. But if you want to safeword, I obviously will respect that. Safeword... not yelping like some terrified little dog."

Jim took the time to think about it. Hesitantly he agreed – he had seen prostate massages being done on the internet and obviously had seen men getting off from anal penetration and play at the club. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious what all the fuss was about.

"O- okay...yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Mistress."

Claire kissed Jim's back as she returned her attentions to his cock, and she very slowly eased her finger inside his ass. She didn't tell him, of course, that she wasn't really using butter inside of him. She'd reached into her panties and used her own plentiful juices from between her legs to lube a clean finger. Mistress knew that food products were not made for intimate recesses. But she liked the forbidden aspect of him imagining the use of the kitchen condiment in such a kinky way.

She was patient and waited for his muscles to relax as she slowly made her way in. Jim arched his back and whimpered as she worked diligently. Once she was inside, she started stroking the smooth bulb faster and faster, relishing his groans. She'd wanted to give him this pleasure for so long, and she was so happy he was no longer fighting it.

Jim had never felt full like this before. When she'd bumped his prostate the first time, he'd seen stars and had to hold back his orgasm. It felt outstanding – he wasn't sure why he had never tried this before. Mistress started twisting her wrist as she twirled her hand around the tip of his cock, and she started thrusting with her fully-inserted middle finger. Jim's groans were so loud that they didn't hear the front door open, nor the footsteps that were creeping around the corner.

"Please! Please let me come, Mistress! I need it!" he moaned pleadingly.

"Not yet, Pet. Hold on for me... just a little longer." She kept stroking and thrusting inside him.

"Please!"

"Oh, god, I love it when you beg, Jim. Yes! Come for me... Come right now!"

"What the actual hell, Jim?!" screamed the ex-Mrs. Gordon... just as Jim forcefully released all over the kitchen table.

Fuck.

"B-Barbara!" Jim gasped as he frantically searched for something to cover himself with. Finding nothing but the butter container, he quickly shielded himself behind the Country Crock. Claire had yelped when Barbara made her entrance, frantically scooping up her clothing and running into the hall to dress.

"You told me you were packing, and you brought a goddamn whore into our house?!" Barbara exclaimed.

"She's not a whore," Jim mumbled as he bent down to grab his jeans and a jacket tossed over a chair nearby. He quickly tugged them on as she continued to scream.

"How much did she cost? If you can afford a slut like that, I want more in child support!"

"I told you," Jim stated through clenched teeth. "She's not a whore. We work together."

"So she's a cop? Or no... let me guess, some kind of secretary, right? It's always a secretary. Were you together while we were still married?"

"Barb, no. It's not like that." Jim took a step towards her, but she held up her hands in a warning to stay away.

"I can't even think about this right now," she muttered.

"Why are you even here, Barb?"

"Well, if you wouldn't have been sitting around all day with your thumb up your ass... oh wait... not your thumb... you would have noticed that I called twice to let you know I was coming for our wedding china before you move out."

Jim blushed, humiliated. So she had seen what they had been up to. He was getting ready to defend himself when the doorbell rang.

"Who the hell is that? You have more whores coming over?" Barbara screeched as she stomped towards the door and threw it open. "We don't want any fucking pizza!" she yelled to the teenaged delivery boy.

Sighing, Jim walked around her to the kid and gave him some money with a more than generous tip. Jim offered Claire an apologetic smile before she slinked off to the bathroom.

Jim returned to the kitchen and placed the pizza box on the counter. With a sigh to calm his nerves, he turned around to resume his conversation with his scowling ex.

"Look," he started, "I apologize that I didn't answer your phone calls, and I apologize that you... well... walked in at a rather poor time."

Barbara scoffed, and Jim sent her a chastising glance before he held up his hand to silence her.

Continuing on, he said, "But I will not stand here and listen to you call Claire horrible names. She is a sweet, loving woman, and she's very special to me."

Jim took a couple steps closer, crossing his arms as he stood before the kitchen table in what he hoped was an intimidating stance. It was somewhat hard to focus with his asshole still quivering with sensation. He would have to take some aftercare time to decompress from that later.

"I- well, I..." Barbara stuttered. "Oh, hell. Can you clean that up before we get into this? I can't focus."

Jim dropped his eyes to the spot on the table where Barbara was pointing. Blushing, he rushed over and grabbed a paper towel to clean his mess from earlier.

"And sorry for that too," he muttered under his breath. "Look, Barb, we can talk about this later. Claire and I still have a lot of work to do around here, and the pizza is getting cold. Let me grab the dishes for you, and I'll call you sometime this week, yeah?"

Barbara stared at the wall, clearly too embarrassed to meet his gaze. "I don't even see what there is to talk about, Jim. You spent the whole last year of our marriage at the station, and now I see why."

Jim stood with his hands on his hips, still trying his best to hold the upper hand and not cower. It was tough; he'd spent nearly three decades submitting to Barbara on almost everything, by default. But for some reason it had never held the intrigue or the excitement that submitting to Mistress did. It had felt degrading rather than empowering.

"Barbara, I'm going to say it again. I was faithful every day of our marriage. And yes, I've known Claire for a few years. She helped MCU out tremendously putting together the RICO case. But I would never cheat on my wife. You know me better than that."

"But you wanted to," Barbara muttered. "I mean, look at her." Her fiery red-headed temper had simmered down now, and she just looked sad. With her lips forming a dejected frown, she sauntered over to the pizza box and helped herself to a slice.

Jim glanced at the microwave clock and paced nervously, thinking of his poor Claire in the bathroom. He had no idea how she'd taken this, but he could imagine this was far from the introduction she'd wanted to his ex-wife.

"Barb," he began again. "I'm being honest, okay? When I'm all in with something... my wife, a case, the kids... I'm all in. I was all in with you for twenty-eight years, but I was also all in on keeping Gotham safe. The two things just didn't work well together. I needed two of me back then, if not more. But never did I even think about touching another woman. And let me remind you that you're the one who left. You moved on, and I presume you're happy. So let me be happy too, okay?"

Barbara eyed him for a few minutes, her eyes still faraway and sad, her lips opening and closing like she wanted to speak but was reconsidering every word in real time. Finally, her sharp eyes zeroed in on the long chain around his neck.

"What is that you're wearing?"

Jim jumped and closed a hand around the dog tag, feeling himself blush. "It's... it's my... Valentine's present," he finally answered, defeated and disappointed in himself. He should come right out and own it, he knew. But things with Barb weren't that simple. He watched her frown, obviously trying to understand this new man she saw before her.

To Jim's surprise, Claire took that moment to re-appear. She was back in her jeans and t-shirt, a humble smile on her face.

"Hi, I'm Claire," she said with a deep breath, brushing her blonde strands back with one hand while she extended the other in Barb's direction. When Barb's eyebrow raised, Claire added, "Um, don't worry. I washed my hands. In the bathroom. Where I was hiding... I mean, um, waiting. It's nice to meet you."

Barbara still stared at Claire's hand like it had tentacles and fangs. Claire finally withdrew it with a shrug and grabbed a slice of pizza, chomping down with an expectant look as her head ping-ponged from Barb to Jim.

"Claire Greene," Jim added to Barb. "I had hoped you two would meet soon, but certainly not like this."

"I honestly can't do this," Barb said hurriedly. "Pack the dishes next. Make sure you use bubble wrap and paper. I'm getting a hotel tonight and will be by in the morning— 9:00 a.m. If you can manage to keep your pants on for an hour or so around that time, I'd appreciate it." She stalked to the front door and slammed it behind her without looking back. Jim rushed over to Claire, who was still mindlessly stuffing her face with pepperoni and cheese.

"Are you okay?" Jim asked, wrapping his arms around her seated frame, which was once again perched on the desk.

"Nope," she answered after swallowing a bite. "Before we broke up, I actually daydreamed about meeting your kids... about being a part of your life. I'm sure that's out the window now."

"No," Jim said firmly. "If Dan can be in their lives, so can you. And don't tell me for a minute that he and Barb aren't banging. She's being completely hypocritical."

"I thought you told me she wasn't much for sex," laughed Claire.

"Well, to be fair, neither was I. Now look at me." Jim grinned and sucked her lower lip into his mouth, nibbling. "Now, I'm going to eat a slice of this cold pizza, then I believe I owe you an orgasm. Or two. Or ten."

Claire shook her head. "Could we just cuddle instead? I don't need to feel like any more of a slut than I already do."

Jim gave her a scolding look. "You're not allowed to call my girlfriend that either. But yes to the cuddling. After we pack this damn china."

"Oh, Jim?" she added. "We also need to go wash the butter off your cock. Wouldn't want it to irritate your skin."

He blanched. "Irritate? It can do that? What about my asshole? Is that why it's still quivering?"

Claire smiled. "That wasn't butter I put in there. See— I told you that you could trust me. And it's quivering because it's happy. You liked it, Toy. Admit it."

"Okay, fine," Jim said begrudgingly. "Not my favorite thing on the menu, but I might get a taste for it from time to time."

—-
This chapter was obviously all in good fun and some comic relief. Food products are not lube, friends! ?

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