Chapter Four

I'm Begging You to Beg Me

Jack's POV

Somewhere in this dump that we're shacked up in for the time being, a faucet is dripping, keeping me awake, but every time I go check, there's no evidence of malfunction with any of them. I'm afraid that the constant drip, drip, drip is going to wake up Violet, and if she wakes up she might realize that she's all snuggled up with me, her leg thrown over the top of mine, and a sense of propriety might influence her to return to her own side of the bed. I can't let that happen, not until I've basked in this sensation for the rest of the night, with her arm thrown over my chest, her t-shirt ridden up high on her body to reveal her panties, and the torturous warmth of her femininity burning itself against my thigh.

I'm happy to learn that she is the cuddly type in bed, because I have a feeling that I'm going to enjoy being cuddled. This whole intimacy thing is new to me, but I've always been a quick learner, when properly motivated, that is. She is an affectionate woman, despite the lack of warmth that I imagine she experienced with her family and I am more than ready to fulfill any emotional needs that she has.

I'm tempted to place my hand on the curvilinear fullness of her bottom, to test whether it feels soft and lush, or if it's actually more muscular than it appears to be. I would really, really love to give it a testing squeeze, but I don't. I hesitate for two reasons, the first being that I hope that her bottom is squashy, as it appears to be, and I would be disappointed to find that it was otherwise. Secondly, and much more importantly, she might awaken to find me copping an inappropriate feel, and would become angry with me if she caught me, and might give me a resounding smack to my face, followed by a big dose of the silent treatment. For these reasons, I keep my hands to myself, thinking that it would be wise to wait until we have kissed before attempting more...um; intimate...pursuits with her, if we ever manage to get to the kissing stage, that is.

This was how I'd wanted things to be with her, the thought that had driven me since I'd put the pieces into play for the escape. Of course, I would like to have plush accommodations surrounding us while we got cuddly and close with each other, a nice house that was climate controlled, with facets that didn't drip and an atmosphere devoid of the pungent odor that our current lodging seemed to possess in every nook and cranny, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and we would just have to make do with what we had until something better could be found.

Back at Arkham Asylum, that palace of nonstop luxury and fun, I had laid in my bunk every night with the frustrating knowledge that she was right next door to me, lying prone in her own bed, and it had nearly driven me mad...heh,heh...to be so close to her and to not be able to hold her the way I was right now, and it was just a tad bit disconcerting to find myself in a place and situation which would have always seemed like such a longshot before, and I pinched myself, more than once, to ensure that I wasn't dreaming.

I was ashamed to admit that I satisfied myself nightly, imagining her as I did so. I would close my eyes and think of her, placing her into scenes of erotic awakenings and vigorous desires, stifling moans of pleasure as my rigid flesh slid back and forth through the warm, dampened confines of my fist, which proved to be an adequate, though altogether poor substitute for the real thing. Of course, it had been a long time since I had even gotten close to the real thing, let alone placed myself within its silken confines, but my memory where such things were concerned hadn't been taken from me, as so many others had, and I longed for the day when I would experience my Dainty and taste all that she had to offer me. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that once I'd had her, had possessed her fully, that all memories of my past encounters would vanish, and I wouldn't mourn their passing in the least.

I hadn't allowed myself to place any of my real interactions with her into my fantasies, holding those moments too dear to my heart to soil them with my lustful pursuits. I only allowed myself to think of her as she was in my heart during the times that I was not aroused, and therefore posed no risk of sullying the purity of those memories. When I was able to think of her, the Violet who had taken over the ownership of my heart, I remembered the first time that she had smiled at me, that shy curving of her lips that I had christened as Jack's Smile. I thought of her sitting beneath the solitary shadow of the oak tree in the yard, brushing her hair back out of her face when the breeze would blow it forward. I recalled her sitting across from me as we dined on the delicacy of Meatloaf Surprise at Arkham which I swear to you consists of the stray cats who wander too close to the gates of the asylum, and wrinkling her nose delicately as she stifled the urge to spit the bite of meaty garbage back into her napkin.

I was eagerly anticipating our new life together, the memories that we would make together. I hoped that she was looking forward to it as much as I was, and that she would stay with me. I had never even considered the possibility of a somewhat normal life with a woman, you know, the whole golden ring, two-story house in the suburbs, white picket fence enclosing the rug rats and the family dog. These thoughts would have disturbed me before I met Violet, but with each day that passed the American Dream appealed to me more and more, and I hoped that happiness like that would be available to a guy like me, even with all of the baggage I dragged along with me.

Violet's POV

I woke up scared, sitting up straight in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by unknown walls, wondering for just a moment if I had completely lost my mind, then remembering fleeing from Arkham with Jack, after avoiding an attack by King and his flunkies, again with the help of my Jack. He had apologized profusely for the state of the house...well, shack, to be honest...that he had arranged for us following the escape, but I was so relieved to be out of Arkham that I wouldn't have cared if we'd had to stay in the sewers, as long as I was free and as long as I was with Jack.

I could smell the mouth-watering aromas of breakfast edging out the stale cigarette and dank cellar rot odor that had assaulted us since we'd arrived at our hideout. I smelled buttery toast, fried eggs and bacon, accompanied by the sound of Jack whistling as he cooked breakfast for us, scents which made my stomach growl and my mouth water with anticipation. I climbed out of bed, pulling on the hem of my t-shirt in a vain attempt to make it longer, and hurried to position myself beside the makeshift table he'd assembled from a large piece of cardboard laid across a pile of cinderblocks, hoping that I didn't flash my panties at him as I scurried past him.

I indulged myself with a long look at him while he finished cooking, and was shocked by the change in him. He'd scrubbed the greasepaint from his face, leaving a surprisingly youthful countenance behind, and I felt a little zing of awareness course through me when our eyes met. He seemed to be a little self-conscious of his bare face, to begin with, but brightened when he saw that I approved of the look.

"Hey there good-looking," he said with a smile, causing me to blush as his eyes traveled the length of my body, first down and then up. "Want to see what I got cooking?"

I was really going to have to get over my propensity of shyness around him, because he wasn't going to cease his penchant of flirting shamelessly, not that I really wanted him to. "It certainly smells scrumptious," I answered, walking toward him slowly, my hands clasped together in a bid to keep them from pulling on the hem of my Arkham t-shirt, which hit at the immodest level of mid-thigh.

He watched me closely, his gaze still shamelessly traveling the length of my body. "Well, it's not exactly a gourmet feast," he answered, his voice deepening into that seductive tone that always seemed to reach out and grab hold of me right between my legs. "But it will be sufficient to satisfy our hunger...for now, at least."

There was no question of the fact that he wasn't just talking about our need for food, and I felt my face heat self-consciously, in spite of my desire to do away with my bashful inclinations. Jack walked over to me and took me by the hand, his thumb gently caressing the sensitive flesh of my palm and led me to my seat, pulling out the spool which had previously held large copper wiring, but now served as my chair. I sat down, ignoring its rough texture, and smiled widely, with my stomach loudly rumbling, as he presented me with a feast of two eggs, two pieces of toast and several slices of bacon.

"Bon Appetit, ma Mignonne," he whispered, bending to kiss my forehead.

I tried to tell myself that it would be best to wait for him to sit down with his own breakfast before digging into the bounty that he had laid before me, but hunger trumped my desire to be polite, and I laid into the food with all the delicacy of a pig slopping at its trough. Jack didn't seem to be offended by my sudden lack of manners, thankfully, if anything he looked pleased, as well as amused. He took up his own knife and fork and put me to shame in the genteel dining habits department, making me wince at my behavior and force myself to slow down despite the fact that I was starving and the meal he had cooked tasted better than any I'd had in six months, between County Lockup and Arkham Asylum.

"I have to meet with a contact of mine in an hour," he said softly, diverting my attention from my meal. "He can put us into a nicer place tonight, somewhere clean, with a decent shower and more comfortable beds."

It was obvious that he meant to go alone, and that scared me, both for him to be out in the open, and vulnerable, and also because that meant that I was going to have to be without him. I chastised myself for acting like a ninny, reminding myself of his capability to blend in with his surroundings, and that he would always come back for me. It was a tiny bit alarming to realize how dependent I had become on him in such a short amount of time.

"I'll have him put some decent clothes for us at the new place," he said, gesturing to the orange inmate garb tossed across the foot of the bed that would make us stand out like a sore thumb in the crowds of Gotham. He was garbed in his lounge wear from the asylum that had "inmate" across the back in black letters, but with the odd styles of dress that were popular throughout the city, he would go unnoticed, more than likely. "Make a list of things that you like, clothing, food, books, music...anything, and I'll give it to him."

"Won't it be difficult to gather everything together in such a short amount of time?" I asked as I rose to clear the paper plates from the table, tidying up as much as possible.

"He has several employees," Jack answered, his eyes following me as I placed the plates in a metal trashcan, and then grabbed the frying pan, looking around for some soap and a rag to wash it with. "Don't worry about cleaning up, sweet girl," he told me. "Someone will be coming in after us to torch this place, to get rid of evidence. Why don't you come over here and give me a hug before I leave instead."

He had gotten to his feet and was standing beside the door, hand on the knob. I put down the frying pan and walked toward him, taken aback once more by his bare face, which gave me the opportunity to take in just how handsome he was, when the white, black and red weren't hiding his features from me.

I stood on my tiptoes and twined my arms around his neck, pressing myself up flush against his body. He bent down to accommodate me, and I pressed my lips against his neck, causing him to groan deep in his throat. He twined his hands in my t-shirt, pulling me tighter against him and I gasped as I felt the proof of his arousal pressed against the softness of my femininity. I was lost in a fog of awakening, finally graced with the freedom that we needed to explore one another, but then a tiny niggling of concern over something that he'd said broke through my stupor, and I leaned back in his arms so that I see his face.

"Why did you say beds instead of bed?" I whispered my worry evident in my voice.

"Why did I say what...huh?" he asked, perplexed by the interruption of our closeness.

"You said that your contact would get us a nicer place, with more comfortable beds," I explained, knowing I probably sounded like a total nincompoop.

He smiled slowly, bending his head to kiss the tip of my nose. "I thought that maybe you'd be more comfortable if you had your own bed, instead of having to share with me," he explained.

How could he possibly think I wanted to sleep in a bed alone, no matter how comfortable or luxurious, as opposed to sleeping curled up in his arms? I'd just as soon lie down on a bloodstained mattress stuffed with rabid sewer rats and scurrying cockroaches. "I want to sleep with you," I answered vehemently, pulling him down into my embrace once more. "I would be very uncomfortable in a bed all by myself."

He chuckled, pulling me closer to him, shocking me a little as his hand stole down to cup one of my butt cheeks.

"You're not going to hear me complaining about sharing a bed with you," he replied, his hand caressing, and shamelessly squeezing, my ass. "Ooh, nice and squashy booty...just like I hoped it would be."

"Are you saying I have a fat ass?" I asked my voice filled with indignation, trying my best to pull away from him.

He had started chuckling again, effortlessly holding me captive right where he wanted me. "Why is it that anytime a woman receives what is intended as a compliment, she automatically searches out a malicious undercurrent in the words?" he asked, clamping both of his hands on my butt, squeezing each cheek appreciatively. "A woman is supposed to have a squashy butt, not a muscular one like a man's."

He demonstrated this by capturing my hand and dragging it back toward his backside, curling my hand against his butt cheek. "See my Dainty," he said, manipulating my hand so that it curled into the firm roundness of his butt. "Mine is a little soft, but mostly it's hard," he said, raising his eyebrows at me suggestively. "But yours is nice and soft...kind of pillowy in comparison."

It occurred to me how odd this conversation was, as we stood in the middle of the ramshackle room, groping one another, each of us growing more and more aroused with each moment that passed. Suddenly Jack remembered his meeting with his contact, and with a muffled apology he turned abruptly and left me standing alone, dazed by what had just happened, and frustrated by the unfulfilled need that was coursing through my body.

Jack's POV

Violet and I were enjoying a late night sumptuous feast of Chinese takeout, the first in what seemed like years for me. We were curled up on our brand-new sofa, watching Jerry Springer on our new television set. My Dainty had explained that the show was a guilty pleasure for her, a chance to watch the drama of other people's lives unfold, making her own seem more normal in comparison.

I wasn't one who watched very much TV and I hadn't ever watched Mr. Springer and the parade of trashy guests whose lives he took malicious glee in exploiting, but I decided that the experience was akin to eyeballing a train wreck as you passed by the scene. What was astounding to me the most was the fact that Violet and I had been locked away, left to rot in the cuckoo nest, while people with severe mental problems paraded their lunacy on national television, left free to show off every degradation humanly possible, aside from live rape and murder.

I had been a tad apprehensive when my Dainty arrived at our new abode, ferried to that location by my faithful servant Wonko. It would take a while to situate everything to our liking, but it was going to be a very nice place once we got everything in order. I was worried that my behavior earlier in the day, grabbing hold of her bottom and squeezing it, might have upset her, but she seemed to be more comfortable around me, perfectly at ease with my flirting, surprising me with a new show of aggressiveness where I was concerned.

We finished our food and sat back on the sofa, snuggling up close to one another. It was then that I noticed that she had removed her bra, and I could feel the push of her nipple against my arm. I rubbed my arm against her softly, wanting to see what would happen, and was rewarded for my effort when I felt the flesh harden further and heard her gasp of surprise.

I had put off every impulse to kiss her before this moment, a real kiss that is, on the lips. I had argued with myself that it would be too soon, that I would be pressuring her, but I had reached the point where I had to kiss her...I needed to kiss her...and I would be willing to plead with her for her permission, if that was what was necessary.

I turned her in my arms, clicking the television off with my free hand. I looked into her eyes, memorizing every detail, shaken by the trust and the emotion that I saw staring back at me. My hands shook as I held her and my mouth felt dry, and I licked my lips nervously, chewing on my bottom lip as I summoned the courage to embrace her mouth with my own.

She raised a hand up to cup my cheek, making me wince self-consciously as her fingertips brushed against my scars. She stopped for a moment, perhaps to see if I was angry, or perhaps to make sure that I didn't want to tell her to stop, and when she saw that I wasn't objecting to her touch, she caressed my scars once more, using her lips this time in lieu of her hands.

I would swear that I stopped breathing at that moment, when I felt the soft fullness of her lips caressing my damaged flesh, those ugly wounds that had been carved into my face. She ran her lips along the disfigurement on the left, repeating the motion with the one on the right, finally ending with a feather soft smooch on the scar beneath my lower lip. I hoped that she wouldn't comment on them, or make remarks with regard to pity, because I wasn't ready to explain them to her, and I had no desire for her to regard me in any fashion that could remotely be compared to sympathetic, and thankfully she said nothing.

I had been so worried about this moment, our first kiss, and how I would initiate the intimacy, but in the end she resolved that issue for me, straddling my lap as she lowered her face, her lips meeting mine softly, a new acquaintance with someone who I felt I had known all of my life. I behaved myself quite well for the first few moments, balling my hands into fists on the sofa, resolutely avoiding the need to grab Violet inappropriately, but when I felt the warm silkiness of her tongue trace the seam of my lips, I lost all my ability to conduct myself in a gentlemanlike manner.

My hands stole round to grasp her rear once more...I was becoming quite fixated on my Dainty's tush...and I thrust her forward, brushing her quite nicely against my straining manhood. She gasped against my mouth and I took that opportunity to steal into her mouth with my tongue, eagerly exploring her as I'd been dreaming of for the past couple of weeks. There was the flavor of our dinner, the General Tso's Chicken and the egg rolls, but beneath that there was sweetness, a honey like flavor that I concluded was the taste of my Dainty, or at least one facet of her.

Our tongues undulated together, an impression of lovemaking all their own, and I could feel that my control was slipping, and I knew that it was much too soon to pass through that threshold, no matter how much I might wish for it to happen. I could sense innocence in Violet and knew that if she wasn't a virgin, she was the nearest thing to it, and I had no desire to rid her of that purity before she was completely prepared for it.

I pulled away from her, gently kissing away her whimper of protest. "Come with me, my angel," I whispered, placing her on the couch beside me. "It is late and I am tired, and there will be plenty of time for kissing tomorrow...all day, as a matter of fact."

She had seemed a little upset to begin with, and I hoped that she could see that I wasn't rejecting her. In the end she followed me quite easily, and I found myself looking forward to the night, thinking of holding her all in my arms...I just hoped that I was capable of behaving myself.

Ma Mignonne-My Dainty