SMUT WARNING

Chapter title inspired by "Criminal" by Fiona Apple
_

Claire and Jim had dinner together after work on Monday at a small, red brick establishment down the road from the station that served burgers, sushi, and really good drinks. He gave her the rundown of his time in Cleveland; he could tell right away that she was uneasy, and dare he say jealous? But he was sure to tell her that Dan had been there, along with Barbara's parents and the kids of course, so there was truly no reason for her to worry. The relief on her face made Jim's heart skip a beat, and he dared to hope for the first time that she might actually love him.

He carefully broached the subject of an overnight, but of course she shut him down. Her approach was markedly different this time, though, as Claire seemed mentally ready to commit to a timeline.

"Friday night, after the ball," she said, squeezing his hand with a warm smile. "My place. Pack a bag and stay the weekend."

"Really?" Jim was wary of getting his hopes up.

Claire nodded. "Yes. I'm ready. But I want it to feel special."

Jim let out a breath. "Me too, kiddo." And he resolved himself to wait, giddy and on cloud nine all the next day. But Wednesday was rough at work. The Mayor had Jim in all-day meetings with more visiting officials, and Jim had to spend the day smiling and schmoozing and singing Harvey Dent's praises. When he finally finished up around seven, he called Mistress and asked her to reserve a room, and to make it rough. He needed one hell of a release.

"Wear your street blues under your coat, baby boy."

Jim hadn't worn those in ages. He wasn't even sure if they'd still fit. He had a sinking feeling as he brought the shirt around him and felt the pull around his slight pudge. Even the sleeves felt tight, but he was fairly certain that was because he'd bulked up a bit with more workouts after Barbara left. He was having trouble escaping late-middle-age spread, however. He took a deep breath and sucked in, finally managing to squeeze into the unforgiving buttons and get the bright blue shirt tucked into dark navy pants. He put on a shiny belt and shoes, combed his hair, and threw a dark gray trench coat on to hide his look until they could get into a room. Excited didn't even begin to describe how he felt to see what Mistress had planned, although he was careful not to breathe too hard on the drive over to The Asylum, afraid he might pop a button.

Jim arrived right on time, and Zac promptly directed him to Room 1, but not with his usual jokes and grins.

"We have a situation in Room 1, officer. It requires your immediate attention," the young bartender said.

Jim tried to play his role and not laugh, but it was tough. Zac wasn't the best actor, and playing around with work scenarios would always feel fairly disingenuous. None of these people had any clue what he really dealt with on a daily basis. Still, he was anxious to see what his skilled Mistress had prepared. He'd called her in more distress than he ever had before, and he fully expected she would respond in proportion. He wasn't disappointed.

Room 1 had a series of metal bars erected all over the room, cooled under dim blue lights, chains and cuffs hanging at various points all over the bars. The floor was painted to have a rather dirty look— shades of brown and red that suggested years of filth and neglect, even though it was truly just paint upon closer glance. The walls were likewise painted with graffiti and scratch marks, and impact play items hung on a pegboard-like wall on the far side. There were cages, an inversion table, the usual St. Andrew's Cross, and a simple table with two facing chairs that Jim assumed was for interrogation. There even seemed to be a mini-courtroom of some kind in the far corner.

The room affected him, if he was being honest. He could see why Claire had never brought him here before, even though it was technically the "first" of the ten rooms and the largest he'd seen so far. He assumed with the multiple cages forming "holding cells," it saw a lot of group play and voyeurism.

Jim draped his trench coat over a chair by the door and stood at the room's center, hands on his hips, gazing up and around with his mouth gaping and his breath hitching. The door was still open and Mistress had not arrived. It wasn't too late to duck and run. He could always tell her he had a sudden stomachache— bad takeout, maybe. Jim only had a second to ponder that possibility before he felt a thud as a body collided with his back, like a feral animal leaping upon him. His sixth sense had felt a presence approaching in the fraction of a second before impact. Had he been in the field, he would have already wrestled the unwise perpetrator to the ground. But this wisp of a figure now straddling his waist with her knee-high leather boots and smooth bare thighs belonged right where she was.

"Might want to get someone in to look at your locks, officer," she cooed, and she licked the back of his ear. "You seem to have a... security problem."

Mistress slid from his back and pranced into his field of vision. He felt his face relax into a smile when he saw her, dressed in a short orange jumpsuit with a long zippered front, lowered just enough present him with the swell of her breasts. A pair of handcuffs on a thin silver chain served as a low-slung belt on her hips, and a prison number was emblazoned on her lapel. The knee-high black boots were soft-soled, hence her ability to take him almost completely by surprise. Her makeup was dark and a bit smeared, giving her a wild edge— her mouth a light pink pout against the orange of her jumpsuit. Her hair was just as untamed, looking like she'd just released her curls from their confines and forgotten to purchase a hairbrush from commissary.

"Inspection— hands at your head," Mistress commanded.

Jim hurried into position as she prowled around him, building tension. Her eyes remained fixed on him, but he focused on the x-cross as a focal point straight ahead, awaiting her permission for anything further. He could hear the teasing swoosh of her zipper as she moved it up and down with the rhythm of her pacing. She was daring him to look, but he behaved.

"It's time to pay your dues, officer," she whispered, stopping behind him and cupping the firm muscle of his behind in her hand. She reached around and cupped his bulge next. He'd been mostly soft up until that point, but he felt himself stiffen right there in her hand.

"The only rank you've earned tonight is that of Toy, and that is what I will call you. You think I'm just some common criminal you can kick around, don't you? But tonight I'm Mistress, and you're at my service. Do you understand? Answer."

"Yes, Mistress." Jim's voice came out laden with relief, communicating just how much he needed this.

"Very good, Toy." Her voice had a kind of casual, cavalier air about it— different than her normal, more eloquent and authoritative statements. She was clearly flirting with her more pedestrian role as a common prisoner.

Jim remained in position as she stalked away and retrieved her tools from a metal cabinet. He resisted his curiosity and did not allow his eyes to dart in her direction. When she returned behind him, he felt the sensation of soft cuffs closing around his elevated wrists and heard the jangle of the rings and supports tied to them. This let him know they were suspension cuffs. She walked him over to one of the metal bars and locked the rings around it, placing the supports in his hand to ease the strain on his wrists. The bar she'd chained him to moved about quite bit, a fact that made him nervous until he heard the whirring of a motor and felt himself being gently moved along a track. The bar clicked into place and held him near the center of the room, where Mistress could make a wide circle around him. He was endlessly impressed by Bruce Wayne's fancy toys.

She was soon behind him once again, and he saw her hands coming around his face in his peripheral vision. Her fingers teased at his lips, her thumb beckoning his mouth open. If he were making love to her like he wanted, Jim would have immediately sucked it into his mouth, but he simply opened this time and awaited her next move, which he was surprised to see came in the form of little black ball on a bright blue ribbon.

"We save this one just for naughty boys in blue like you," she informed him. "To remind you of your right to remain silent. If you need to safeword while the gag is in your mouth, you will hum— like this."

Mistress demonstrated three staccato hums, the second higher pitched than the first and third. She ordered him to echo the sound, both before and after the placement of the gag. It wasn't very large— in fact Jim found it rather pleasant, in a strange way— the way a baby might find a teether or an adult a lollipop. He liked oral sensation, and he already found that the mental exercise of relaxing his jaw to make it more pleasant also sent a nice, calming feeling through his mind.

"Show me how to say 'yes' or 'no'," she commanded next, and Jim experimented with pitches in "Mmm-hmm" and "Mmm-mmm" until Mistress was satisfied with their established communication. She then stepped forward and unbuttoned the straining buttons of his blues, relieving his poor stomach. He wore no tank or tee underneath due to the already small size. As Commissioner he always wore a suit and tie in the field, so it had been a long time since this shirt had seen this much action.

"Mmm, bare chested, Toy. It seems you came prepared to give Mistress a show." She tugged on his belt next. "So shiny, and it matches those shiny shoes." She lifted each leg to remove those and his socks next. "So pressed, fancy, squeaky clean... I bet you never get dirty. Do you ever get dirty, Toy?"

Jim thought mumbling in the negative might be what she was going for, so he did, watching her lips curl into a smile. She lowered the zipper of her dress to expose more of her breasts as she straightened up and made a move to remove his pants.

"I'm going to get you very dirty tonight," she murmured, lifting the orange fabric aside to reveal one of her beautiful tits to his gaze. Jim felt himself salivate around the ball. He tried to swallow it back, but it was hard to coordinate his throat movements with his mouth held open, and he felt drool begin to pool. His pants hit the floor, and she teased her fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers before drawing them down, her hand inside and manhandling him on the way down. Her nipple brushed against his chest, and he flinched at contact with the hard pebble. Even the simplest touches were more intense when playing like this.

When Mistress had him nude except for his blue shirt hanging open and loose on his shoulders, she moved away and zipped her jumpsuit back up before quickly returning with several crops. Each one featured a different shape and thickness of tress. Jim was a little surprised to see she'd picked crops; he'd asked for something rough, and they'd used a crop here and there before. But he trusted her.

She began by laying the crops neatly on the floor parallel to one another before circling behind him again. Jim felt her hands caress his back, followed quickly by her soft lips and tongue.

"Is this dirty enough for you?" she asked, tracing her tongue down his sensitive spine. Jim shivered but gave his 'no' mumble.

"How about this?" He felt her cup his ass next, giving it a squeeze. He answered no again, eager to see what she'd do next.

"This?" Mistress pushed his thighs apart kneeling down to run her tongue along the underneath of his sack. Jim let out a groan, and he was quickly punished with a smack to the ass.

"Yes or no!" she barked.

Jim dared to answer in the negative once again. What the hell other tricks did she have up the sleeve of that orange jumpsuit?

"This is as dirty as I get Toy, so you better say yes this time, or you're getting one hell of a punishment."

Jim felt the fingers of one hand playing with his ass cheeks, prying them apart. He was truly terrified and trying to think how to take his answer back. He heard a wet smacking sound like she was licking a lollipop, and he assumed she was wetting a finger.

Oh, god, she wouldn't...

He felt her wet index finger run along his ass cheeks in figure eights, teasing, inching nearer and nearer to the point he dreaded. She then used her tongue to trace the same pattern, leaving him to guess what was coming next. Surely not her tongue... surely...

Mistress suddenly straightened and came back in front of him, chuckling. "I guess I'm not that dirty after all. What kind of girl do you think I am, Toy?"

Jim felt his chest heaving with relief— glad to see she had some limits. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. She bent down and grabbed the first of her crops, smacking it against her palm before returning to position behind him. Jim grimaced and braced himself for impact, but he was met with the smack of her hand on his bottom instead— pleasant, familiar, comforting. She repeated the movement several times to warm his skin, kissing his back sensuously at the same time. He knew it was supposed to feel like a violation— a prisoner crossing the boundaries and turning the tables— but in his mind it was still Mistress Claire, and he reveled in it.

Her next move was to trace the rubber tress of the crop all over him— back, arms, stomach, legs... she made pacing circles around him, locking her eyes to his whenever she passed by his front. The heat he saw there made his cock ache — he just wanted to stare at her face — a beautiful mess of intentionally smeared makeup, pouty lips and smoldering eyes. But she continued to circle, this time landing in back of him and delivering the first of her light, concentrated taps with the crop.

Jim had forgotten how much he liked this. She'd used a leather one before; he could tell once she got going that this rubber one was going to be evil. But he liked her steady, rapid strokes and how they landed perfectly on target each time, the heat a radiating bloom in one spot before she'd move to the next. Jim felt them gradually building in impact, but it was indeed so gradual that it was thrilling, not jarring— like the hot buildup of an orgasm in a single spot on his skin. Before he knew it each spot felt like it would burst open, and that was when Mistress would stop and begin building the sweet pain in yet another place. The radiating bloom of each smack seemed to erase each tedious, insincere moment of his day and replace it with fire — fire in his skin, fire for her.

Having completed her rounds on his ass with the intense rubber tress, Mistress placed that crop back on the ground and selected a leather one this time, tracing it lightly along his front. Jim loved the contrast between the stinging pain on his backside and the light, feathery tickles opposite it. His eyes closed and his head lulled, and he was once again conscious that he was drooling a bit around the ball gag, but even that didn't bother him. He was firmly in subspace, his conscious mind blurring as his sole focus became sensation. He jumped when the crop's leather tress made contact with his thigh the first time, but Mistress quickly followed up with more rapid taps. The leather was certainly less hardcore than the rubber, and he found it enjoyable as she kept a steady rhythm on points around his front thighs.

Just as Jim thought how nice of a cooldown this was after the roar of his backside, he felt a thwack right on his midshaft, followed by another on his balls.

"Ummmmphhhfff!" he cried against the gag, but the transgression of the sound was met with one more whack to his shaft.

"Yes, no, or hum, Toy. Otherwise silent. I thought I was clear."

Jim heard a clack as she let the crop fall, and she shimmied up to him with a sly smile, caressing his face teasingly. He felt her hand in his hair, reaching around to untie his gag. His jaw felt awkward, almost locked on the one side, but he was scared to visibly work it out until she gave him permission.

"It's fine to relax, Toy," she assured him. "Work out the tension in your jaw. I'm going to get you some water, and you'll have a few minutes to rest. You're not done with your mouth yet tonight."

Fuck, Jim muttered. What the hell else did she have planned? It better not be another gag. He exercised his jaw in every direction possible while she released his wrist cuffs, and he felt the blissful rush as he lowered his arms and feeling came back. That's what he loved most about his time with Mistress— the feelingof feeling. He'd gone fifty-one years not even knowing half of what his body was capable of. He'd experienced plenty of pain in his line of work, some pleasure in his personal life of course; but now he knew what it was like to have pain and pleasure marry together, carry him to the highest peak, and then let him fall down into this amazing, numbing stupor.

Mistress brought him the promised bottle of water, and while he recovered she began lotioning his tender ass and thighs. She applied a lighter, clear ointment to his cock and balls as well, and Jim hissed at the contact. He was so distracted by sensation elsewhere that he'd almost forgotten he was still painfully horny.

"Don't get too comfortable there, Toy. Sentencing hearing is today." She picked his discarded pants and underwear up and deposited them next to him on the floor.

Jim's face wrinkled in confusion until he saw her walking to the far corner of the room, her bottom swaying side to side, covered by the thin orange fabric. He could see from this rear angle that the crotch was held together by a strip of Velcro for easy access. He had to squash the urge to run up behind her and tug it loose. Instead he focused on her destination— a wooden high back chair with a padded leather seat— rather grandiose, with some sort of restraint built into an open box underneath. Next to the chair was a flat piece of wood upon which laid a gavel. Mistress hoisted her petite body up and onto the seat, her demeanor still brash like a prisoner as she ripped the jumpsuit open herself, her grin triumphant.

"Button that uniform back up and take your seat, Toy, while I deliberate my verdict. This prisoner is your judge and jury today."

"Um... I ..." Jim looked around frantically for another chair while he hastily rebuttoned his street blues, but he saw none. Maybe she wanted him on the floor? After a few more moments of hesitation on his part, he saw Mistress cock an eyebrow and point downward to the open area below her seat. Jim stepped forward carefully, bending a bit to get a better idea of her command. That's when he saw it; secured to each side of her seat were straps that held a u-shaped cushioned headrest in place within the lower enclosure. As he knelt down in preparation, he saw a clear view of Mistress's gorgeous cunt hovering above the headrest; it was an open seat and allowed perfect access to her by anyone lucky enough to hang below her.

Jim's heart took off to the races with excitement as he shimmied backwards and into place. If this was a reward he wanted to thank her a million times over; if it was a punishment, he never wanted a reward again. He loved this. It was so comfortable, not having to support his neck or worry at all about himself. He could completely focus on her, and that's what he intended to do. Mistress was permitting her first orgasm in nearly three months from him, and he was damn well going to give it to her.

"Mmmmm," he heard her purr from up above as his tongue swiped up and down her glistening slit. Her taste was even better than he remembered it— sweet with just the slightest hint of salt, slightest bit of something deeper that instantly made him hard again in his refastened navy blue trousers. Jim wanted more, so he eagerly shoved his tongue up inside of her, hearing her cry out again. The tip of his tongue found her front wall and dug in, flattening against the spot as hard as he could before coming out and swirling upward to flick at her clit. This move caused a series of moans— pained, strained— from deep within her. The support beneath his neck allowed him to completely bliss out as he ate, and the new angle allowed his nose to rest inside her entrance as he focused his tongue's attention to her clit. He arched up and fucked her a little with it, enjoying the new cries of surprise and pleasure elicited from his prisoner Mistress... now his judge. Hopefully he was earning points for good behavior down here.

"You feeling dirty down there, yet, Mr. Good Cop?" she asked him in a deep, breathy voice. "Such a messy boy... with a dirty prison slut like me cumming all over your face. I own you, Toy, don't I?"

"Yes, Mistress!" Jim answered emphatically.

"Good... keep showing me who you belong to, Toy. Lick me and fuck me with that nose and tongue."

"Yes, Mistress!" he growled. He drew her pussy lips around her clit and sucked her mound into his mouth— hard— wiggling his face back and forth a little to provide her with extra friction. She let out a scream that sounded a bit more like Claire and a little less like Mistress, which made Jim eager to do it again. He then released the suction and traced circles on the head of her clit before diving back inside and scooping up more of her juices. His mustache was soaked now, and he knew he'd be licking it the whole way home.

"Yessss... tongue on my g-spot, Toy. Tongue it until I cum!"

Jim obeyed, snaking his tongue inside until he found the spongy spot that made her hips squirm and caused a frenzied squeak on the leather above. His tongue worked the spot while his face rocked into her, allowing his chin to bump her clit rhythmically. It was a workout to hit her g-spot with enough pressure from this angle; Jim had to bear down with the back of his tongue and swirl it a bit, but he was up for the challenge. His Mistress's moans were enough to reward his efforts, escalating and dancing with fevered pants as he brought her closer and closer. He heard her rocking and grasping desperately on the leather above, and the clenching of her walls around his tongue signaled her explosion. The minute her orgasm began he withdrew and slithered down to her clit, sucking it into his mouth to feel its tremors as she rode out every wave.

"Oh, GOD! JIM! Fucking YES!"

Jim grinned from his hiding place beneath her, considering it a victory once again that she'd screamed his real name at that moment she reached her peak— her first in months. This was probably the longest she'd ever gone without an orgasm, if he was making a bet. He relaxed against the suspended sling, allowing his jaw to finally rest and his mind to come down from the high of making the woman he loved scream. He was startled by the smack of her gavel on the wood above.

"Get up here for the verdict, Toy," Mistress ordered, regaining her breath. Jim slid out of the enclosure and knelt at her feet at a forty-five, eyes on the ground.

"Guilty," she said silkily. "Of being hot as fuck and giving me the best orgasms of my life." She dropped the gavel and stood, sauntering over to him and lifting his chin in her hand. "Sentenced to stand and kiss me."

Jim got up excitedly and pressed his lips to Mistress's hungrily.

"And no orgasms for twenty-four hours."

"WHAT?"

Mistress gave him a light smack to the cheek. "You came here tonight asking for a release," she reminded him. "Did you not get what you were after? Tell me all the things that brought you release tonight."

Jim thought hard. He knew this was another one of her tests, and he wouldn't let himself fail this time.

"When you first assigned our roles and gave me a command," he recalled first, "it was like you were giving me permission to forget my shitty day. Then pleasure when you placed the ball gag— something to fixate on orally instead. I like things in my mouth."

Mistress seemed pleased, so he continued.

"I felt a lot of relief when you didn't tongue-rim my ass. I'm not sure how I feel about that one."

She stifled a giggle.

"I felt a release with every little tap of the crop. I like the crop... I think it's my favorite. I like the speed and the concentration of the taps, and how the build of the heat in different spots is like multiple orgasms under the skin."

She was grinning now like Jim was reading her poetry.

"Then the release when you took me out of the restraints and the release when you freed my jaw. I like the flood of sensation coming back, and the freedom."

"And making you cum. I liked that a lot, Mistress." His voice was lower now, warmer. His eyes locked to hers. If he wasn't Toy right now he'd kiss her again. "Making you cum released tension I've had for months... watching you suffer, knowing you wouldn't let me help. It meant a lot to me that you finally allowed it."

She nodded, and Jim immediately noticed a change in her body language. "I know, Jim. And I allowed it for a reason. I meant it when I said I want us to really be together this weekend, after the ball. But I wanted one last orgasm as Mistress first... in case... in case it's different, after that. I wanted to remember what it's like."

Jim smiled. He hoped it would be different... better. But he didn't tell her that, for fear of scaring her.

"But about my orgasm," he began. "Why am I on deprivation for twenty-four hours? Wasn't I a good boy?" His hands came to his hips, and he was feeling a bit bratty.

"What made you need the release tonight, Jim? What happened at work?"

He pondered for second what he could possibly tell her. He couldn't tell her about Harvey Dent, about the Batman, about the extent of the guilt that wracked him when he was left alone too long with his thoughts.

"Knowing I'm never going to be the hero," Jim finally answered. "Knowing that true heroes, as we understand them, don't really exist. They're all dirty, in some way."

Mistress stepped forward and held him close, pulling his head down to rest on her shoulder. "Then think of this as your punishment for being dirty," she told him. "And when the twenty-four hours is up and you give yourself some relief, remember that we all deserve a break. And to find something that makes us happy." She pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"You make me happy," Jim murmured. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You make me happy too, Jim. And don't forget about that orgasm tomorrow night. I'm going to need you to last a good, long time for me Friday night after that holiday ball."