Chapter Twelve: The Consequences of Choices
"What is your opinion of me Miss Mourn? You may be candid with no cameras around to capture your words, no one else in Gotham will hear what you say," Bane murmured on a ragged, mechanical exhale.
Gwendolyn pressed her lips together as she stared at the flat television screen, now longing to hear her ignorant rant instead of suffering in the potent silence.
"Miss Mourn," Bane prompted.
Gwendolyn began shaking her head before he was even done uttering her name, speaking rapidly as she dropped her eyes to her lap.
"I'm not an expert in anything like that," she stammered before Bane interrupted.
"Of course you do Miss Mourn," he thundered, his words reaching a melodical crescendo as he raised the remote. "Shall we hear more from you and what your panel of experts think?"
Gwendolyn slapped the remote from his hand, watching in slow-motion as it fell to the floor, landing on a luxurious rug, the plastic back falling off and the double A batteries tumbling to the soft fibers.
"I just read what's on the teleprompter," she shouted and leapt to her feet just a moment sooner than Bane anticipated.
Bane's closest hand shot out with the goal of closing around her wrist.
He gave a guttural growl when he narrowly missed as Gwendolyn was on her feet and running.
After whipping her head around, Gwendolyn chose to escape towards a dim part of the store, expecting to find any kind of exit that would eventually lead to the rear of the building.
Bane followed, catching up with each passing second as she wove through staged and ready-to-purchase rooms, flying past pastel cashmere throws and plump, square pillows in bright primary colors.
"I am tiring of this game Miss Mourn," Bane bellowed at her retreating back, the slap of her bare feet on the linoleum flooring was loud and booming in the absence of many other background noises.
"My life isn't a fucking game," Gwendolyn shouted as she darted right into a spacious living room, complete with family photos and a wine glass on a fancy coaster, next to a heavy glass vase on a squat coffee table.
Bane paused and dodged the vase she lobbed at him before making a critical error, something she'd never be able to come back from.
Gwendolyn should've turned left but went right and entered an opulent bedroom, complete with a canopy bed, swathed in rich gold and creamy white linens.
The only other door was just for show she quickly learned as she yanked on the not functional brushed gold-toned knob, she was trapped in a lavish fishbowl.
Gwendolyn twirled around as Bane filled the doorway, his breathing had preceded him, harmony within his labored respiration.
Her hands were extended from her sides, a frightened ballerina in the middle of billowing satin and soothing colors.
Gwendolyn's eyes continued to dart around the room, her vision greying around the edges as the only way out was past his massive form.
Her chest tightened as he took a few deep inhales of his aerosolized Venom, the serum making his eyes rapidly dilate, the visible sweat on his skin evaporated before he took a large step forward.
Gwendolyn continued to back up as Bane drew closer, moving casually as though he was watching the tide come in, no sense of urgency was present now that she was cornered in the room, surrounded with plentiful glass and ceramic baubles.
Gwendolyn backed up, keeping her wide and unblinking eyes locked on Bane, stopped when the oak dresser hit the back of her thighs.
It became difficult for her to take in a full breath, her lungs not completely inflating as she fumbled her hands behind her, yanking at the drawers, grunting in frustration when she found the top two empty.
Bane was ready for her when she grabbed a sky-blue mosaic picture frame and threw it at him like an obscenely priced frisbee.
Her prolonged defiance was beginning to stimulate his primordial lust, gave the stirrings of life to long suppressed basal wants and dormant needs.
Bane watched a bead of sweat trail down between her breasts and disappear, the imported silk fibers drinking the bloated, salty drop.
"Stop," he warned on a musical, dangerous rasp.
Gwendolyn shook her head, "I can't, I can't give up and do what you're demanding."
Bane didn't want to hurt her and reminded himself of that as his frustration at her continued resistance imploded, forcing him to charge her, a steroid-filled football player as he swept her up in his muscular arms.
A cry was forced from Gwendolyn's throat as she seemed to free fall in slow motion after Bane swallowed her in his embrace, she could only hear her heart pounding in her ears before they crashed to the neatly made surface of the bed.
His hands moved quickly to grab and close his strong fingers around her wrists. He slammed her soft hands to the surface of bed, squeezing her delicate wrists too hard, handling her rougher than he intended, emotions and hormones frothing, agitation and frustration turned to dangerous desire and a hailstorm of lust.
Bane became a broken fucking dam, hemorrhaging unrequited feelings, the desire of touch, and vulnerable emotions.
"No, I won't say anything that woman wants," Gwendolyn shouted up into his face.
Bane transferred the grip of her wrists to one hand, squeezing until her fingers tingled.
She yanked at her captured wrists as he moved his free hand to cup her jaw. Bane felt the air she inhaled sharply as he brushed his thumb across her lower lip, subconsciously lessening his hold on her wrists.
Bane felt a spike of breakthrough fury when Gwendolyn was able to angerly tug one hand free and claw at the center of his masked face.
He reflexively squeezed his eyes shut as her blunt, lacquered nail scratched his eyelid.
"Stop this foolishness Miss Mourn," he growled, hauntingly melodious as he recaptured her wrist, squeezing until she cried out before he flipped her over onto her belly. Her cries were muffled as her lips were pressed against a fluffy, down-filled pillow, the feathered accents tickling her nose.
Gwendolyn couldn't breathe as Bane crushed her against the mattress with the weight of his body.
She felt the air leave her lungs as his large hands moved down the length of her arms and splayed them until she was completely captured under his body.
Bane tilted his pelvis forward, forcing his legs between hers, a deep groan tearing through his broad chest as he sank closer to her as her thighs parted.
For a moment neither of them spoke, each lapsing into different fugues, one composed of nightmares and the other with hope.
Gwendolyn's mind whirred with kinetic energy as she felt his hands slide down her sides, coming to rest on the natural swell of her hips, pressing with enough force that grape-sized bruises would quickly form on her supple flesh.
She tried to corral her ragged breathing as she was able to turn her head and gulp the stale room air. She knew if she actually said the words that terrorist wanted that she'd either be pitied, forever a victim or it'd be spun in the news cycle that she was a part of everything that was happening in Gotham City, that she herself was a terrorist, disloyal to her home, city, and fellow citizens.
A strangled gasp slipped from between her lips as Bane lifted up her hips, insinuating himself closer before he sagged over her, finding the capacity to pause, allow his thoughts to catch up to his body's primitive sense of urgency.
Gwendolyn squeezed her eyes shut, the words on the paper she'd torn up still flashing in neon lights in the front of her mind.
She tried to futilely squirm, thinking of the words she was supposed to read while accompanying images flashed behind her.
Commissioner Gordon at ceremonies, ribbon cutting and ass kissing.
Bruce Wayne eating meringue at restaurants helmed by celebrity chefs and the Bat signal shining up into the night sky, unanswered.
Gwendolyn came to life under Bane's assertive touch when he smoothed one hand down and around the front of her body, coming to rest at the apex of her thighs.
Bane's thoughts were only on the thin fabric between his hand and her body while Gwendolyn's thoughts were laser-focused on her options and which combination would equate to a Pulitzer, what she'd have to endure for the chance to break away from her dad once and for all.
How much suffering would secure her future.
Bane narrowed his eyes at the subtle print of her skirt, remembering the episode he'd streamed where she'd worn it. She'd been co-anchoring a Veteran's Day parade and people were crowded around her.
The broadcast was live, and he'd found himself growing infuriated at a moment in time that was in the long ago past. He could still taste the bitter jealousy of the men with whom she took time to take selfies, the hugs she dispensed with great frivolity.
Gwendolyn was shaken to the electrical present when Bane tore at the delicate fabric of her skirt. She shouted louder, trying in vain to gain any ability to move from under his broad frame.
Gwendolyn's whimpering made Bane's double-helixes vibrate with unchained lust as he growled and yanked so hard at her satin panties that he tore the fabric in two pieces, in the same fashion as a god tearing the veil away from the Holy of Holies when his son was nailed to a couple pieces of joined wood.
"Let me profile you, tell your story," Gwendolyn cried in a shrill tone, grateful to any god when Bane's hands stilled at her words.
"My story?" he echoed.
"Yes, I'll tell everyone of your plights, struggles," she began to babble before he interrupted her.
"I don't need you to speak for me," he growled in a low murmur before lapsing into distracted silence, the air charged without sound.
"Talia has plans for her," Bane thought as he rhythmically squeezed her hips, tugging the remnants of her panties away until he could massage her bare flesh. "Her voice belongs to Talia," he reminded himself, bitter bile rising in his throat as his cock began to grow painfully hard against the curve of her bottom.
Gwendolyn shook her head as much as she could from side-to-side as she felt his length pressing against her, kept from contact behind the zippered front of his pants.
"I have a vast network of colleagues, editors, I can get you a book, a film exclusive to theaters, copyrights," she stammered, willing to say anything for his hands to stay firmly on her hips.
His brain was conflicted with the firing of consequences, everything heightened from the electric wantonness of having her all to himself.
"Talia has plans for you," Bane grumbled, his words accompanied by a mechanical hiss from the front of his mask as he lifted one hand from her hip to fumble at his zipper, eagerness making his hand clumsy as he tugged his hardness free.
He knew he should shut his feelings down, turn the boat around and land the plane as he tightened his hold on her hips. She gasped when she felt his rigid length brushing the inside of her thigh, pulsing in time with each beat of his heart.
"Your voice belongs to her," Bane gasped in higher pitched staccato tones as he smoothed a hand low to cover her bare femininity, pausing his hand as Gwendolyn added more and more to her bargaining.
He spoke over her offer of money and a private plane as he began to move his palm in circles against her intimate folds, teasing the rough tip of his finger up and down her pink slit, circling her tight opening before teasing slow circles around her clit.
"Your voice belongs to Talia," he repeated on a breathless, mechanical growl as he gripped his rigid length and slid the round, sensitive head through her shell-pink folds, bobbing at her tight opening.
"Your body belongs to me," Bane managed on a guttural groan, fumbling a hand at his mask to quickly depress a slate grey button, delivering a concentrated burst of Venom to his lungs, his pupils rapidly dilating as he slowly sank his hardness inside of her, mechanical ecstasy bursting from the front of his mask as he pushed his shaft as deep as could, stopping only when their bodies kissed.
Gwendolyn squeezed her eyes shut as Bane smoothed one hand to the center of her back, pushing her against the mattress so he could angle his stabbing deeper, make her breath leave her lungs each time he filled her completely.
Bane felt a sharp stab to his gut when Gwendolyn fell silent. He steadied his rhythmic thrusting as she covered her face, squeezing her eyes shut as she murmured near incoherently.
He curled himself closer to her body, straining his ears to hear over his strained breathing and thudding heart pounding in his ears.
"Hurry up," she mumbled, "get it over with," she added in a strangled garble.
Bane felt a wash of regret that was in direct competition to how alive he felt burying himself to the hilt inside of her.
He reminded himself of how he'd always wanted something so beautiful and fragile. Behind his mask he frowned, he hadn't wanted to break her.
Bane continued filling her despite not knowing if he could put the broken shards back together again.
His mind clouded with an image of his father forcing his mother into their bed.
Bane, as a child, had heard shouting from his parent's bedroom and found the door open a small crack, just enough for him to witness his father slap his mother before shoving her onto the bed and roughly fucking her.
He'd watched his mother cover her face, muttering for his father to hurry up and finish, she didn't want to burn the roast and endure another beating.
Bane was shaken back to reality as his balls pulled up tight, his body deciding he was going to spill his seed. He realized that he was becoming his father, he'd climbed Olympus, killed a god, eaten their heart.
He felt a surge of frustration wash over his free-flowing lust when he felt the tingling inside him deepen in intensity, the uncoiling making him know that he was going to succumb to pleasure, imminently, despite wanting to last longer.
Gwendolyn let herself began to breathe when Bane's thrusting turned erratic before a strangled melody spilled from his lips hidden behind the mask and he slumped over her, filling her with his hot, sticky seed.
"That was just my first taste," he managed, his mechanical breathing turned symphonic as he smoothed a hand low to cover her bare mound, "your body belongs to me."