Chapter title inspired by "Come Undone" by Duran Duran.

This chapter contains more voyeurism, ice play, wax play, cropping, knife play, just general sensory kink, and steamy sex. We collaborated a great deal on this chapter and it's one of our faves. Hope you enjoy.

Claire awakened after about a half hour's rest. She was a bit apprehensive for her scene tonight for a few reasons. Being a sub was still so new, and abandoning control would never be easy for her.

Her kidnapping had really freaked her out, and sometimes she still craved control— her favorite way of coping. Jim had been fairly soft in their previous encounters; it wasn't his natural state either, so they were learning together. But she knew he was seeking to impress Hans and Grace tonight. So Claire expected things to be a little rougher.

The prospect of being restrained physically was gnawing away at her. They hadn't played like that since her kidnapping, and of course it was something she was a novice at anyway. She'd been enormously turned on watching Grace in the Shibari ropes earlier today. But Jim knew better than to attempt something that advanced, and Claire knew full well she wasn't ready for that level of intensity herself.

She breathed deeply, trying to relax. Jim won't hurt you.

But she also worried about being onstage for Hans. Claire was a confident woman. She'd scened in front of people for years. She wasn't embarrassed for Hans to see her body or anything like that. It was just... a lot of pressure. She didn't want Hans disappointed in her. She didn't want him to see her as a failure of a submissive; Grace was perfect, after all, and Claire herself so new to submission.

Shake it off, Claire. It's just you and Jim down there tonight. This is just for you. Block everything else out.

She pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and headed downstairs. She wanted to gossip with Grace; they hadn't had much time to connect on this whirlwind of a trip. She walked down the stairs and found her friend looking out over the balcony, Hans nestled behind her with his arms wrapped around her belly. He was whispering in her ear and kissing her neck. Claire's heart slammed against her chest. She was so happy for her friend and thrilled that Hans was back in her life. They were made for each other.

"Hey, guys!" she greeted.

"Bunny!" Hans returned. "Where have you been? We've been looking for you."

"Doesn't seem like you were looking too hard, Hans," she teased. "Am I interrupting?" Claire smirked at her friend, who blushed.

"Never an interruption, Bunny," answered Hans. "You can always watch again... I take it you saw our show? How did your little commissioner enjoy it?"

"Hans!" Grace giggled as she slapped his chest. "Don't goad Jim."

Hans's eyes darkened as he turned to Grace. "Did you just hit me?" he growled.

Claire smiled broadly as she watched her friend's face morph into something between fear and arousal. Hans grabbed her by the hips and pulled her flush against his body. He rubbed himself against her as he shoved his tongue down her throat. Grace moaned and melted into his kiss.

"Ahem?" Claire cleared her throat and giggled. "Do you two EVER take a break?"

"What's wrong, Bunny? Mr. Cowboy doesn't have enough stamina for you?" Hans feigned surprise. "I suppose I'll find out tonight."

"Please don't harass him too much, Hans," pleaded Claire. "I'm sure he's intimidated enough just by being here and witnessing your little show."

Hans started nuzzling Grace's neck, obviously gearing up for another round of passion. "Yes, yes. I'll behave. I still can't envision him in charge of anything, let alone you. But I'll find out soon enough." He started biting Grace, and she keened loudly. "Now— either shut up and watch, or head back to your cowboy. I'm about to show your friend what happens when she smacks me."

"Oh, Sir, please. Please Sir," Grace murmured.

"And that's my cue," Claire laughed. "I'll see you both for dinner."

XXXXX

Jim had a restless nap. He was nervous for tonight. He wanted everything to be perfect. He loved Claire down to his core. He knew this lifestyle was important to her and didn't want to embarrass himself or her, especially not in front of the damn German. He'd never let Jim live it down if tonight was a bust.

But still.

There's no way Claire would want anything rough like Grace did. She was still recovering from Benny. Hell, she still had nightmares, waking in the middle of the night seeking his embrace to soothe her back to sleep. He'd make sure to show some sort of dominance, but there would be passion at the base of it. Passion and love. Fuck Gruber and his opinions.

Claire was walking back upstairs, shaking her head and smirking.

"Ah, you're awake," she commented. "Did you sleep well?"

"Reasonably," he said with a nod. "What are you smirking about?" Her smile was contagious, and he found his mustache twitching into a smile in return.

"Oh, nothing," Claire replied. "Hans is just fucking Grace on the patio. I swear, that man has no limits. Nothing makes him uncomfortable."

"Well, I suppose it's secluded enough out there. But how does he find the energy?" Jim marveled. "He's older than I am!"

"Who knows, Jim? The man is... well, he's Hans. Come on, let's get ready for dinner," she suggested. She reached up and kissed him on the nose, turning to get dressed. Staring at her man in his white t-shirt with his disheveled hair suddenly had her hungry for more than just food.

XXXXX

Soft violins laced their melodies through the air as sparkling silver plates appeared on the sleek, ebony wood table. A fire crackled at the far end of the formal dining room, and Claire sipped Tempranillo while watching her commissioner, dapper in a fine suit, let out a hearty laugh. Yes, he was laughing.

His voyeuristic adventure and subsequent nap must have done something to loosen him up, as he was regaling Hans with actual Batman tales... relatively safe and well-known ones, of course. And he wasn't even drunk! She noticed that he had barely touched his wine, but she knew his exact reasoning for that one. He was to be her Dominant in less than an hour, and he wanted to be clear headed.

Her stomach was still a little nervous, as much as she tried to dismiss it. She'd merely nibbled at her moussaka, authentic and delicious though it was. With Hans's permission, Jim had journeyed down to the playroom earlier while she'd bathed and dressed for dinner to scope out the implements he might want to use on her tonight. Not knowing what to expect was starting to make her antsy again.

The men spent the meal trading stories of their victories in their respective fields over the years, a fact which left the women watching in awe over just how much the two very different men were willing to divulge. Claire exchanged a wide-eyed glance with her best friend, who hid her giggles behind her wine glass. Apparently their men had silently declared Hans's house as neutral territory at some point these last few days.

"I always thought Falcone rather weak and spineless," Hans remarked, sipping thoughtfully and stroking Grace's hand as the meal wound down. "I must admit the image of him splayed like a splattered bat upon your searchlight is quite amusing."

"So you knew Falcone too?" Jim asked with surprise.

Hans nodded slowly. "In a roundabout way. Think about our world like spokes on a wheel, cowboy. Each spoke holds its own place to make the wheel turn as one, and while they do not touch, they can always keep an eye on all the others as they turn."

"How about Maroni?" offered Jim.

"Now Maroni liked the club circuit," Hans answered. "So we ran together in those circles as well, occasionally. But he was the worst kind of Dom— dominance is not abuse, and Maroni's entitled, arrogant antics were exactly the latter. Even those of us who practice necessary violence in our line of work should never let it cross over into our BDSM space. It's a sacred realm. Maroni would have been removed from many an establishment if not for his connections and others' fears."

"That would never fly at the Asylum," Grace piped up. "Bruce has a zero tolerance policy for abuse and non-con."

"I'm surprised he managed to stay above the fray like that in Gotham," commented Jim. "I would think half the patrons at one point would have been in bed with Maroni and the mob."

Claire shook her head. "No— you know we're a more eccentric bunch. It's always been that way... playful, innocent. Bruce made an oasis for us, really."

"I suppose it would be difficult for you to ever give it up then, wouldn't it, Grace?" Hans said as he turned to his lover thoughtfully. It was by far the closest he'd strayed toward outright asking her to stay.

Claire watched the couple's expressions and mannerisms with interest, knowing this was a key moment. It was funny to her how her often-awkward, unsure commissioner had managed to cart her right up to a jewelry store on her lunch break and ask her to marry him, yet the oh-so-suave, debonair Hans struggled to even approach the subject. He clearly had trouble when it came to life and romance outside his rigid world of rules and games. Surely he had to know Grace would do anything he asked; she loved the man more than her own life.

Grace observed Hans for a moment, her face losing its blissful, carefree smile for a bit. "Well," she began slowly, "It's been nice to have a safe, fun space to play while I'm needed in Gotham." She turned a soft gaze to Claire this time, looking for the encouragement she needed to say more, which Claire gave with an eager nod. But her friend suddenly lowered her eyes to the table and took a quick drink of her wine.

"So yes, it would be hard to give it up," she finally concluded with a reluctant sigh.

Hans's mouth twisted in disappointed contemplation, and Claire felt the need to step in.

"But you won't be needed in Gotham forever, right?" Claire reminded her best friend brightly. "There are hospitals everywhere full of people who need you. And as for me..." Claire turned to Jim and interlaced her fingers with his. "I'll be well taken care of... as Mrs. James Gordon."

Grace gave her a small smile. "Well, I know that much is true. Maybe I should figure out some next steps..."

"I think your next steps might be made of marble... or terracotta... depending on if we are talking about indoors or out," Jim quipped. "This place seems to have plenty of steps to go around."

Claire gave Jim's shin a swift kick under the table. He wasn't supposed to be so damn obvious about the whole thing, but Hans was surveying him with an amused smile.

"Look who's decided to become my ally," he commented silkily. "I would blame the fine Tempranillo, but it appears you've barely sampled it. The vintage not to your liking?"

"No, it's just fine," Jim returned. "But I'm in charge of my princess tonight, and I don't want anything clouding my perception or judgment. A very good friend taught me that." He gave Grace a wink and beamed.

Grace blushed, both from Jim's comment and the very obvious hints now dropping as to her beloved Dominant's intentions. Her eyes raised to Hans shyly, like she was afraid of daring to hope for such a thing.

"Ah, so safe to say any moves I witness from you in the playroom tonight were imparted upon you by my little dove," Hans said with a grin. "And of course she learned from me. So I suppose you should thank me then."

Jim's brow furrowed as he followed this logic. "How about we see how the playroom goes first, then we'll talk gratitude," he muttered. "Besides, I learned a great deal from Claire also." He lifted Claire's hand to his lips, and she felt his scratchy stubble leave a sweet burn on her skin.

"Who was also taught by me," Hans reminded him cheerfully. "But no matter. I'm happy to bestow my wisdom upon others, and I suspect your gratitude will come in time."

Jim let out a cross between a grunt and a growl, and Claire cleared her throat.

"Speaking of, perhaps now would be a good time to get started? It's almost seven now. How would you like me to wait for you, Daddy?" She looked to Jim expectantly, her eyes wide and filled with anticipation.

Hans chuckled. "Daddy? So you weren't joking about that earlier, Gordon."

Jim stood and stretched with a smirk. "Not at all, Gruber. But tonight, Claire, Daddy prefers that you call him by his real name."

Claire nodded obediently, stifling the grin that threatened to form. She read her future husband like an open book; Jim wanted Hans to hear— repeatedly, passionately— just who she belonged to now. Not just a general 'sir' or 'Daddy'— but him, Jim Gordon. She looked up to find his blue eyes fixed on her earnestly, his chest heaving slightly as his mind prepared for their scene. Suddenly she was very ready.

XXXXX

Hans and Grace changed their clothes before heading down to the theater. Hans wanted to be comfortable and didn't want to waste any precious time unwrapping Grace during the "previews" of their evening's entertainment.

Hans strode into his seat wearing nothing but his black trousers from dinner. Grace loved his bare chest and would often stroke it as she was falling asleep. She herself wore nothing but two very red hand prints on her bottom, the direct result of her playful smack earlier.

"Are you ready for the show, meine Liebe?"

"Yes, Sir. I can't wait."

They took their seats, Grace sitting in Hans's lap. Her legs settled on the outside of his so he could control how wide he spread her. He lightly played with her as the main event began.

XXXXX

Jim decided to not care about the voyeurs on the other side of the glass. It just felt damn good to be playing with Claire, and he'd do his absolute best to make his princess feel like a queen. He was thankful for the dinner conversation with Hans, trading stories like that, man to man. It actually relaxed him quite a bit. He was more confident now and would try to block everything out except Claire and her pleasure.

They walked to the playroom, hand in hand. When they got to the door, he pressed Claire against it, leaning in for a passionate kiss. He allowed his tongue to caress hers for a few moments before he spun her around, pressing her breasts into the wall and pulling her arms behind as if apprehending her. He leaned forward and whispered in her ear as a hand groped the shiny ivory silk of her dress.

"It's showtime, princess. Are you ready for me?"

"Yes, Jim," she moaned. She loved that he'd commanded her to say his name tonight; it felt right. This wasn't a Daddy moment, and Jim hardly ever qualified for a "sir" — he was too sweet, too accommodating. This seemed like Claire and Jim, with the only change being that Jim was in the driver's seat.

"Good girl, Claire. Now I want you to go in there, have a seat on the chair facing the door, and wait for me. Can you do that?"

Claire nodded her consent and pressed the door open. Her heels clicked on the floor as she made her way inside. There were two chairs set up, facing each other. It seemed Hans and Grace would be viewing from a side angle, at least initially. She was curious what Jim had planned. She smoothed her dress out as she sat down, crossing her right leg over the left.

Jim walked in next. Claire allowed her eyes to roam over her man's body. He looked so sexy to her, stalking forward in his tailored suit. He took the seat across from her.

"Uncross your legs."

Claire responded immediately to his command. A light flush was already starting to form from hearing his growling voice.

Jim reached over and pulled the skirt of her dress up, revealing the black lace bands of her stockings. He reached over with his right hand and pushed her thighs apart further. He wanted to gaze at his prize.

"You're good and ready for me, aren't you, princess?" he murmured huskily. "I can smell you already."

Claire allowed her eyes to close as she began to relax... enjoying the feeling of her man stroking her thighs, inching closer and closer to her core.

"What the fuck is this?" Hans stopped touching Grace, obviously disappointed with what he was watching. "The man has no idea what he's doing," the German scoffed as he turned his woman around on his lap so she was facing him. "I guess we will be on our own tonight. Nothing that man is doing is remotely stimulating."

Grace kept her eyes cast downward but couldn't help the smirk that crossed her face.

"What?" Hans asked, amused. He grabbed her breasts and pushed them together, running his tongue back and forth between her nipples, drawing them into peaks as Grace arched her back and moaned.

"I think it's rather sweet, Hans. You've said yourself... domination isn't about pain or force. He's taking care of Claire the way he knows how. Besides, it's probably best he takes it a bit gentle... after everything that's happened."

"I just can't see her enjoying this," Hans insisted.

"Well, then... keep playing with me and watching her," suggested Grace. "You might be surprised. I know I was."

"Mmm. That's right. I had almost forgotten you let him touch you. Tell me, Grace— how far did you allow Mr. Good Cop to get with you?" He bit down on her nipple, causing a pained squeal to escape from her lips.

"Ah! He didn't really touch me at all. We weren't interested in anything other than an academic approach."

Hans grunted. Grace thought it was rather cute that Hans actually seemed jealous. He never had been in the past. She wondered what had changed.

"I shall see how well you trained this... man. In the meantime, your pleasure is mine from now on. I'm no longer interested in sharing you. I'm yours, and you are mine. Understand?"

"Mmm. Yes, of course, Hans. Just don't stop touching me."

"Agreed," Hans replied.

XXXXX

Jim had been whispering sweet words, full of love and passion, ensuring Claire was relaxed and comfortable. Claire felt confident they were the only ones who could hear them.

"I love you...
You're everything to me...
I'm going to take care of you forever...
I want to touch you... taste you... make you crazy..."

They were things that would probably make Hans Gruber vomit. But delivered in Jim's low, husky voice, they made Claire's heart pound and her brain buzz with delight. He knew exactly what her innermost self wanted to hear.

His hand finally made its way between her legs, circling her little pearl gently with his thumb while he inserted a few fingers inside to stroke her. She threw her head back and moaned.

Jim withdrew his fingers and brought them to her lips. "Open."

She obeyed, sucking on his digits that tasted of her own arousal mixed with the natural taste of his skin. Damn, she loved this man.

Jim pulled her lower lip down with his thumb, allowing it to pop back against her teeth.

He leaned forward and cupped the back of her head, pulling her into a deep kiss. When they broke away, Jim stood and unbuckled his belt. He allowed his pants to drop to the floor, pulling out his length from his boxers. He shifted a little, a fleeting self-consciousness returning when he remembered the pair behind the glass. He shook his head and willed it away.

"Kneel," he directed. "Take off your dress. And open your mouth."

Claire once again obeyed and let her dress pool on the floor before assuming position. She flicked her tongue against his frenulum, listening to her man groan above her. She grabbed his cock, lifting it away so she could lick underneath. She sucked and licked her way down to his testicles before releasing him. In one graceful movement, she moved back to his head and took him down her throat completely.

Jim allowed this to continue for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of her sweet lips around his cock. His growing arousal emboldened him once again, and he resisted the urge to smirk in the direction of the two-way mirror at the man's "bunny" deep-throating him. Finally, he told her to stop before he combusted. He pulled her up to him, kissing her again before fastening his pants back up. He'd leave them on a little while longer while he dominated her. Jim scooped Claire up, holding her bridal style and carrying her to the bed.

"I'm going to lightly restrain you princess, okay?" Jim warned gently. "But if you're ever uncomfortable, just let me know. You're safe with me. I just want you to have the most pleasurable experience I can give you."

"Thank you, Jim," whispered Claire. "I trust you."

"Good girl. Now lie down on the bed for me."

Jim quickly loosened the knot on his tie as Claire laid down, stretched out on the bed.

"Now we are getting somewhere," Hans proclaimed. He'd had Grace sucking his cock as Claire was sucking Jim. He prided himself on his stamina, as well as his refractory period. He wasn't worried about ejaculating; he'd just pleasure Grace orally until his body recovered.

Once Hans saw Claire spread out over the bed, he pulled Grace off of him and back onto his lap. He spread her legs wide open as she faced the playroom, shoving two fingers inside her roughly.

"If they fuck, we fuck. If they suck, we suck. How's that sound?"

"I'm grateful for anything you give me, Sir," Grace replied.

His cock twitched at that compliment. She really was perfect.

Hans watched Jim take off his shirt. The man didn't really have a lot of muscle tone for a cop. Hans looked down at his own shirtless body and smirked. He took good care of himself and had a runner's physique. Not too muscular but not lanky or flabby either. Jim, to the German, looked like a pale, boiled chicken*. Bunny seemed to enjoy him though, so he tried to hold back his remarks.

Jim approached Claire with his shirt hanging open, his tie removed. He threw the silk material onto the bed before tossing his shirt into the pile with Claire's clothing. He rolled on top of her, grinding against her as she moaned.

He rolled her onto her side, kissing and nipping at her back and shoulders. Spooning her against him for a few moments, he enjoyed the feeling of her warm skin against his. Grabbing his tie, he brushed it across her side, tickling her. Tonight would be about the tiniest, most targeted arousals... micro-sensations designed to allow senses to overtake everything else.

"Roll over, princess," Jim coaxed her.

Claire rolled onto her back. He leaned over and kissed her eyelids before blindfolding her with the neck tie. Claire's breathing increased a little, but as he nuzzled her neck, she relaxed.

It's just Jim. He loves you. He won't hurt you.

Jim felt Claire's tension melt away. He kissed down her body, paying extra attention to her nipples as he headed south and nudged the cups of her bra aside. He was well aware that this was largely "just sex" at this point and probably vanilla to their spectators. But he liked the idea of going at a controlled pace, being sure to let Claire know all along that she was treasured and safe.

The bed in the playroom had sleek, fitted bedclothes that allowed for various restraints to surround the mattress and connect to the metal headboard. During his little sojourn downstairs earlier, he'd decided only to restrain her at the thighs, to hold her open for him. He'd let her arms and lower legs remain free to flex, allowing her to keep some measure of control. But he'd test her with commands and see if she could relinquish it willingly. Jim slid the straps over her thighs and secured them, placing feathery kisses around the restraints as he went. He ran his hand down her inner thigh one final time, appreciating the view her open legs afforded him: her perfect cunt covered by sheer black.

Claire enjoyed the cool air of the playroom on her exposed heat as she heard her Dom stalk across the tile floor. Having her eyes hidden behind his manly-scented tie heightened the power of her hearing, and his footsteps echoed, as did his rustling and his shutting of the cabinet door. Her mind imagined his arms full of all the implements he would use on her.

"Tonight is about sensation, Claire," he explained, his tone authoritative like when he addressed the team at work. "I want you to fully give in to every sensation you feel, and not resist. That means if I tickle, you don't laugh or pull away; if you feel something hot or cold, you don't hiss and jerk back; if you feel something sharp or a blow to the skin, you lean into the pain. You'll trust every sensation, and you'll trust me. Do you understand?"

Claire took in a breath. "Yes, Jim. I'll try."

"Good girl."

Jim noticed her painted toes curl at his words. He reached down and stroked them lovingly. He remembered what Kay had told him back at Thanksgiving, about how Claire would always turn giddy whenever he'd praised her over the years. He smiled to himself. It had all been building up to this moment.

Jim started with a large ostrich feather, right on the spot where he'd stroked her toes, rubbing the soft tendrils of it over the top of each toe, between them, then sweeping gently over her feet and up her legs.

"Try to remain still," he coaxed her calmly. "Concentrate on feeling without reacting."

Claire steeled her jaw, the scarlet bow of her mouth pursed in determination. She did well as he glided the feather over her calves, over her knees, and up her outer thigh. Jim knew her inner thigh was torturously sensitive, and he deliberately slowed his pace and lightened his touch. He heard her suck in a breath and let out a whimper, and he could see her thighs visibly trembling as she strained against her own reflexes.

"Perfect," he praised her in a whisper, replacing the feather with a sure hand, rewarding her with a few strokes to the wet silk between her legs. Claire mewled like a kitten, and he leaned down to replace his hand with his mouth, nipping and nuzzling at her clothed mound and breathing in her scent.

"What do you think?" Grace asked Hans silkily. "Have you ever seen her so relaxed?"

"No," admitted Hans. "He has a certain... command... of her." His hand toyed with Grace's cunt during Jim's brief attentions to Claire's, his eyes taking inventory of everything the commissioner had brought over to the bedside table.

It appeared the man was gearing up for temperature and wax play next. He'd also brought over a crop, and to Hans's surprise, a black steel dagger. Hans didn't know what the hell the cop thought he was going to do with that. Bunny had been fucking flayed by a madman mere months ago, and the commissioner himself a victim of a deep stab wound. It didn't seem a very logical choice for "play," yet Hans was intrigued. It was interestingly, shockingly... dark.

Claire felt Jim's strong, confident hands rubbing her skin all over to a flushed, radiating warmth. She felt like she was being treated to an expensive massage, but so much more intimate. Enveloped in complete darkness from his makeshift blindfold, she felt like she could fall asleep, cradled in his strength. She whined a little when he removed his hands, but he soon returned them, and this time they were covered in a warm, scented oil that he rubbed over her thighs and stomach. She felt his fingers slide between her back and the mattress, and he released the clasp of her bra before oiling her breasts as well.

"Mmm... smells so good," Claire murmured. The aroma of Tahitian vanilla, warm honey, and faint coconut filled her olfactory senses so strongly she could almost feel it like a warm tickle to her brain. Jim fastened his body to hers, his sturdy chest undulating against her breasts and creating more heat from the friction. His mouth closed over hers— open, hot, and wet. Claire's clit was begging for attention, and she attempted to maneuver against his hip bone.

"No, no, sweet girl," Jim chastised. "You'll receive pleasure on my timeline, not yours."

"Yes, Jim," Claire agreed guiltily. She felt his hands grab her now slippery breasts roughly in a small punishment, and he removed his body from hers, leaving her acutely aware of the burning building inside her. No sooner was she aware of the fire than it was soon replaced by ice. Claire hissed, feeling a cascade of cubes tumbling down her slick skin. Jim slid a finger into the waistband of her panties, allowing the cubes to pool within their confines.

"Ahhhh!" she cried out, her hands clamoring to remove them, but Jim caught her wrists roughly, holding them in place as the ice transformed into chilled drops of water and snaked through her aching folds.

Jim continued to hold her, frozen, his face resting lovingly on her stomach as they waited for the melting to finish. Her torso rose and fell beneath his cheek with her labored breath. Claire knew she was failing at some of his commands, but it was all so new and so intense. Jim, though, seemed patient with her.

Lazily, he reached out and grasped another cube from the frosty metal bowl, running this one in a controlled pattern down her collarbone and over the peaks of her breasts. He caught a nipple in his mouth as he felt her shudder, enjoying the taste of the edible oil and the sensation of the cold, hard pebble erect in his mouth. Part of his brain still marveled, in moments like these, that he'd spent so much of his life unaware of these types of pleasures. He thanked the universe for her... and as he did so, Hans's voice echoed: "I suspect your gratitude will come in time."

Jim tensed, and his left arm rained a smack down on the fleshy side of Claire's hip.

"Finally," Hans grumbled. He watched as the cop removed Bunny's leg restraints and flipped her over onto her stomach, grasping the thin crop in his right hand. Claire was still blindfolded, so Hans doubted she knew what was coming.

"Do you trust me?" he heard Jim ask huskily.

"Yes, Jim," Claire said confidently. The words had barely escaped her mouth before the familiar snap of a crop filled the air as it met with her curvy backside. Hans grinned at the resulting jiggle, repeated again and again with the cop's targeted taps, which steadily increased in tempo and impact.

"God, I love that," Grace breathed. Hans nudged her to stand, delivering a few smacks to her bum on the corresponding spot to her friend's. Of course Grace's was already mauled from their earlier play, but his perfect sub didn't mind.

Claire felt the strikes of the crop cease, and she heard Jim's slightly panting breath just before his hands applied oil to her backside now. He slid her panties down and finished sliding her bra away, leaving her completely bare. Once her skin was warmed and shined to his satisfaction, Jim retreated for a second. Claire heard the unmistakable flicker of a lighter, and her body hummed in anticipation, her cheek resting against the smooth silk pillowcase.

Jim held the wide, stumpy candle in his right hand, watching the low-melting wax pool around the wick, demanding his quick action. He remembered well what it had felt like under Grace's administration, and how she'd promised it would be so much better under the passion and heat of the moment. Jim tilted his hand high above Claire's glistening body and watched the wax pour from the candle's spout, landing onto pink skin flushed from the riding crop.

"Mmmph!" Claire reacted sharply, gripping the bedsheets with both hands.

"Still okay?" Jim asked cautiously.

"Mmm-hmm."

"Words, princess. Please."

"Yes, Jim."

"Please?" Hans repeated in disgust.

"It's them," Grace reminded him, softly tracing his bare bicep. "It just works. You should be happy he respects her."

"Are you saying I don't respect you? Because I don't say 'please?'" Hans asked dryly.

Grace shook her head. "Not at all. You respect me by knowing I don't want to hear that nonsense. But Claire loves that Jim is a gentleman. It turns her on."

Hans sighed in acquiescence.

Claire relaxed and fell into the sensation of hot wax dripping on her skin, in circles along her stinging backside. Jim praised her as he drew designs on her back next in a concentrated pattern. She heard him set the candle down and extinguish it, then she felt him press kisses on her shoulder and down her arm.

"Mmmm... what's the design, Jim?" she asked. She knew Grace liked to draw intricate designs like mandalas, while Claire herself tended to outline body parts or trace trails of scars and impact markings.

"XO, of course," Jim replied, his tone amused.

"Christ," Hans muttered. Grace gave him a light slap for the second time that day. He responded by trapping her hand and lightly biting the offending fingers.

Jim began running his fingers along the wax trail, appreciating the bubbly texture. He took a lingering ice cube from the bowl and traced the areas around the wax, creating contrast between the hardening, heated areas and the chilled ones surrounding. Claire shivered at the intense combo, Jim dipping the last of the cube between her ass cheeks to finish melting. Claire felt like a puddle, so relaxed, so turned on, all sensation flooding to her aching core.

"Please, Jim..." she began to beg. "Please fuck me."

Jim pushed her fallen hair aside and kissed the nape of her neck. "I have to clean you up first, baby girl. Just relax."

Claire obeyed and enjoyed the tiny tugs as he broke the wax free from her back, depositing it into the dish that held the ice. He took his time, appreciating the satin skin he uncovered with light caresses and scratches from his stubbled face. He stood briefly to remove his pants and boxers. His arms held hers pinned down to the mattress beneath him, and his naked body lowered to gyrate along the smooth skin of her back. He left the wax on her bottom in place.

"Please..." she whimpered again, her cunt clenching and begging to be filled.

Jim made his way down her body, alternating long licks with tiny flicks of the tongue. He drifted all the way down to her feet and pressed small, targeted kisses to her ankle, cradling her foot, massaging her toes. Claire threw her head back and enjoyed the attentions, even as her burning ache grew. Finally she felt him pry her legs apart roughly, and she moaned with happiness as his mouth made contact with her wet center. He swirled his tongue around inside of her, letting out his own groans of pleasure at her taste. When she moved, she could still feel tugs where the wax had hardened on the skin of her bottom.

From their theater vantage point, Hans pushed his own woman's legs apart, torn between enjoying her and enjoying the show. Grace read his conundrum easily.

"Let's just enjoy the show for now," she suggested. "I don't know if Gordon will ever let us watch again. She'll be his wife in a few days, and he'll probably get all possessive."

"That I can understand," Hans commented with a soft chuckle. He grabbed Grace's hips and deposited her back on his lap, straddling his thigh. He felt her immediately begin to ride as she watched the commissioner devour her best friend from behind. The cop gripped his lover's ass as he flicked her bud with his tongue, and Bunny cried out in ecstasy, obviously worked up from the targeted assault on her senses.

Hans's mind wandered again to the blade the man had selected, and he wondered if the cop had decided to puss out on that front. But as if they were on the same wavelength, Hans noticed the man's right hand creep up to grasp where he'd laid it on the edge of the bed. Hans leaned forward and held Grace to the side, ensuring she couldn't block his field of vision for this part. Grace apparently hadn't noticed the blade before, because she gasped as it came into view.

"What the hell is he doing?" she exclaimed. "Claire will be terrified!"

"Oh, come on, little dove. Stan used to fuck her at gunpoint, and she worshipped him. Give our Bunny some credit."

"Yeah, but just that one night, right? Then she decided to be a Domme. I'm sure she never allowed it again."

Hans shook his head. "No, she asked for it a few times after that. He would brag about it, of course, trying to impress me. But I could always tell it was on her terms."

"But Benny tore her to pieces with his knife!" Grace's voice was high pitched now and a bit panicked.

"Hush," Hans chastised her. "Just watch. The cop might actually know what he's doing."

"Claire - I need you to hold perfectly still for this part. Do not move," Jim cautioned. She affirmed acceptance of his instruction. Jim removed the dagger from its protective sheath and simply laid the flat portion of the blade down on her lower back while he kept drawing circles on her clit with his tongue. He felt her tense ever-so slightly beneath him.

"That's cold, Jim."

"Yes, he agreed. "It was in the freezer before." He pressed the flat blade face gently into her back for a few seconds, feeling her flinch again.

"Shhh, hold still," Jim warned. He sat back on his heels and removed the dagger, laying it back on the mattress as he donned gloves to protect his own hands.

Hans gave a nod of approval. Most rookies didn't think to protect themselves during knife play. He was impressed too that the commissioner had abstained from alcohol, one of the first tenants of the practice. He also watched as the man ran the knife over a disinfecting cloth after removing it from its cover. Maybe the man had done more homework than Hans had given him credit for.

Claire swallowed. The back of her mind suspected what the cold, hard object had been, but she wanted to hear him say it. "Jim... what was that? And can you take my blindfold off?"

She felt a gloved hand close over her arm reassuringly. He moved it up and down, giving her yet another new sensation from the roughly textured glove.

"It's a knife, sweet girl. But no, I need the blindfold on for just a few more minutes. Be a good girl and trust me."

"Jim, I don't think I can... I..."

"If it's a limit, you can safeword," he reminded her. "But I want to challenge you... to help you. If you'll let me."

Jim watched the lump in her throat as she swallowed. He saw a tear trickle down her cheek from beneath his silk tie, and he thumbed it away before kissing her lips softly. Claire returned his kiss deeply, her fingers burying in his hair. His heart threatened to explode with how much he loved her, how much he wanted to make everything that had ever hurt her better. She pulled back from him and nodded with a sigh.

"Fuck," Grace whispered. "They are so fucking in love."

Hans kissed her upper arm and nodded in agreement, finding himself way more invested in the show than he'd planned to be. Suddenly he wasn't so reluctant to give his bunny away on Saturday.

"Okay, Jim," Claire agreed, clutching him to her, her face buried in his neck. "I trust you. Even with this."

Jim let out his breath and nodded. "Back on your belly, baby girl."

He massaged down her back with his gloved hand first, allowing it to scratch her gently, then pausing his left hand at the small of her back to steady her as his right raised the blade. Carefully, with the precision Jim applied to everything in life, he used the knife tip to scrape away the wax that remained on the voluptuous cheeks of her ass. He heard her breathing erratically as he worked, but she didn't flinch.

"Such a good girl," he praised, working diligently to remove the wax circles with the very tip of the blade. He kissed his work when it was complete before running the blade edge slowly down the backs of her thighs. He'd tested it on himself earlier in the day to make sure he understood the amount of pressure he could safely provide.

Claire let out unintelligible moans that hovered between anguish and pleasure. Jim's confidence grew, and he found he liked the artful aspect of the choreographed wrist movements with the reflection of light along the black steel. It was mesmerizing, as was the gentle curve of her behind and hips, so apparent now as he traced them so delicately with the blade.

"Turn over," he encouraged her. "I'm removing the knife; you won't hit it." She obeyed and laid against the pillows, her breasts rising and falling with her escalated breath. He placed his hands at the sides of her breasts as a warning that he was headed there next, barely grazing the sensitive skin once the black dagger made contact.

Jim's brain wandered to the possibility of actual cutting— he'd researched enough to know that people did it, and that people enjoyed it. But he wouldn't go there with her today. She was being so good, working through her fear, her trauma, and trusting him to help her. He would never push her too far. But something about the idea of delicate crimson drops dotting her creamy skin... not placed through terror but with love... struck him as erotic. His cock, which had behaved itself in only a half state of arousal during his focused play thus far, sprang to life at the taboo thought.

"Well, look at that," Hans commented. "At least he's rather well-endowed, for Bunny's sake. Though certainly a 'grower' rather than a 'show-er,' I believe is the phrase?"

Grace snickered. "He's not you, but Claire has always seemed pleased. Apparently he knows how to find all the right spots."

"Hmph," Hans replied.

"I'm removing your blindfold now," Jim informed Claire. "I want you to watch."

Claire blinked to adjust her eyes to the room's ample yet warm, tasteful light. She felt a flooding sensation in her brain as her sense of sight returned and she took in all of the room's visual stimuli. When her brain suddenly clicked back into her reality, she focused on the black steel lying against the soft skin of her stomach.

"May I?" she asked, grasping the leather wrapped handle. Jim nodded.

Claire raised it and surveyed its edges. "It's sexy," she said. "It's funny how the same thing can terrify you and turn you on as soon as the context changes."

She touched her lips to the smooth, flat part of the steel, closing her eyes for a moment, then she focused her gaze on Jim as she handed it back to him. "Please continue."

She watched as he ran it along stomach, down her thighs, and near her center. His movements were dancer-like, and she could tell he enjoyed this... enjoyed the low-key, subtle nature of the power. When the blade drifted near her center she felt a pulsating and an unfolding, absolutely on fire from being edged all night.

"Do you want me now?" Jim asked her, his eyes heavy and his tone dark as he picked up on her desire.

"Fuck yes, Jim," she answered breathlessly.

In one swift move he deposited the knife next to the bed, removed the gloves, and covered her body with his. Claire's legs fell open and quickly closed back around him, securing him to her. His hand came down to run his thick tip along her slit, teasing it along the hood of her clit while his tongue ravished her mouth.

"Inside me, please," she begged against his lips. Jim guided himself to her entrance and surged forward, feeling relieved that this was the easy part of his performance. He felt confident no man had ever commanded Claire's sexual pleasure like he did. He gripped the thigh of the leg wrapped around him, arching into her again and again, imagining what the raw fucking must look like from the theater seats.

"Fuck, you're wet," he said for good measure, making sure the effects of his efforts were sufficiently broadcasted.

"Yes," Claire confirmed in a gasp. "You always get me so fucking wet, Jim." She was squeezing him with her legs and gyrating into his pelvis, her beautiful face twisted and lifted upward. His hand came between them to aid her, massaging the left side of her clit in circles the way he knew she liked. Her mewls confirmed his success, and she cradled his head to hers, making sure his mouth never strayed too far.

"Missionary— how disappointing," Hans remarked.

"Look at them," Grace repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. "Look at their faces... how his mouth worships her face like that, how she looks at him like she might cry. Look how their hips move in the perfect rhythm... look how he caresses her thigh and her hip, and how her legs wrap around him, trying to tie them together like they're one body instead of two."

"Oh, Jim... JIM!" Claire screamed, and her movements became more frenzied, writhing. Grace could feel her own fire building along with her friend's, and she jumped up, straddling Hans and sinking down onto his cock with no warning. Her nails dug into his shoulders, and she rode him harder than she ever had, not even sure of how he was reacting beneath her. Grace was singularly focused on chasing the burn inside of her. She captured his mouth and gripped his silvery, sandy hair.

Finally she heard Hans panting heavily and felt his hips rise to meet her. He wasn't yelling commands or lavishing her with praises, calling her German pet names or letting out sly, sinister chuckles. He seemed as overcome as she did, and save for his heavy, impassioned breaths, he was silent.

Grace had her back turned to the show now, but she heard Claire's ecstatic screams of Jim's name married with the commissioner's guttural moans, then heard their sounds shudder to a silence. Grace and Hans chased their own highs, wet smacking filling the theater, the seat squeaking a bit beneath their hard, insistent pounding. He slid the palm of his hand over her breast and gripped tightly as he arched to meet her.

"Oh, Hans... I'm so close... please let me come..."

"Come, darling," he managed to reply, and she watched as his eyes shut tightly, his whole body shaking as his warm release erupted within her. Grace was only a few seconds behind, getting off on watching Hans come undone with a series of tremors punctuated with almost helpless groans.

Her walls clenched his length repeatedly, sending glorious wave after wave, but her logical mind was focused on his face- and the abandon that she saw there. When he opened his amber eyes to hers, they were warm and almost frightened by the weight of their own sincerity.

"Stay here," he implored her. "Don't go back to Gotham."

Grace didn't even have to think. "Yes."

*The "boiled chicken" comment came from a Gary interview where he self-deprecatingly referred to his naked body as such. ?. While we don't believe it, we're pretty sure Hans Gruber would.