Chapter Text
It's her taste.
I don't mean that in the prurient sense, though there is that too and that is definitely a longer conversation for another time.
She was currently in the manacles, standing on her tip toes with her arms over her head, and I loved running my tongue over her exposed, lithe midriff, feeling her whole body tense, writhe, hearing her moan, and tasting the sweet, salty flavor of her skin--her sweat, just a hint of the strawberry body wash I made and gifted her for her birthday. She'd been sweating, edging, orgasming for the last hour--I hadn't been very merciful, I'd been relentless, I'd kept her panting, begging, and gasping the entire time and perhaps I should have felt a little guilty but I loved this. She loved this.
It just took work to get there.
He's the reason it was such a struggle, of course. Before she met me, he corrupted and twisted her until her perceptions were so polluted it was like trying to clean up the Alaskan shoreline after Exxon-Valdez. His greasy fingerprints are all over her fractured mind, but slowly, ever so slowly, I've been piecing her back together. It's much easier to break something than it is to repair it, and no matter how proficient I am, there will forever be cracks. For the millionth time I wish I'd met her first, been able to guide her into this sort of play. She had no idea I had a taste for it until we stumbled on evidence of what he'd done to her.
We were picking up gear from one of their hideouts in preparation for a theft of some equipment I'd been planning, Harley in her unitard promising to 'only be a minute.' Mildly curious, I'd been exploring the old toy factory they'd stayed in, noting the sort of squalor that made up his living space. I suppose most would have been concerned or afraid, but I am beyond fear of clowns or dolls, and the man himself just fills me with contempt. Prior to meeting her, to learning of the abuse she'd suffered at his hands, he wasn't even on my radar. Now, it's all I can do not to kill the little meatsack on sight...
I'd wandered into what passed as their bedroom--a couple of pallet stacks with an old, stained mattress tossed on top and a pile of blankets and comforters. Broken picture frames and a lamp marked Harley's side of the bed. Harley'd let slip once he only slept a couple of hours a day, and it was fitful at best. I was idly looking around the sad little room when I saw them. Manacles. Made from cold iron and formed crudely with a blowtorch, they hung from a chain thrown up and around one of the rafters. The had simple holes drilled to lock with a padlock, and they were rough, and covered with sharp little burrs of metal. Both were coated in old, dried blood. Suddenly, I understood the odd little pattern of scars that covered her wrists. Not much horrified me, I'd seen my share of terrible things and the process Jason put me through all those years ago was beyond description, but the image forming as I found several leather belts, a dull razor blade covered in old, dried blood, an ashtray full of cigarette butts, a broken broomstick handle, and the needles. Big ones, little ones, hypodermics, safety pins, suddenly had me matching up scars I'd glimpsed on her lithe body (in those days Harley never came out of her unitard, she always wore cloth, chin to toes).
I was trembling with horror and rage by the time she bounded up, her duffel bag full of Joker themed gear. She froze, her eyes immediately defensive. I was running my fingers over one of the manacles.
"Harley," my voice was husky with emotion, very unusual for me. "What is this?"
She tried to play it off. "Oh, well, Mistah J, y'now, he likes to play a little rough. A little slap and tickle." Her eyes were screaming. Pleading for me to drop it. I was so sorry, I couldn't. Not this.
"This is blood, Harley." I gestured at the table. "He cut you? He burned you?"
She stared at the table, biting her lip. She was afraid, I could scent it in the air. Being in here was filling her with anxiety. She looked so small and vulnerable, and that impression only increased when she hugged herself, her shoulders hunching. "I don't expect ya to understand, Red. Mistah J was really...intense. Lotsa pressure. He needed an outlet. So I was that for him." She looked at me, immediately trying to explain. "It was my choice, Red. I consented. Don't be upset, ya don't understand, I'm into kinky stuff too. I...like pain."
I stared at her, and it didn't take long for her to fidget and squirm under my gaze. "You think that's why I'm upset? I don't understand BDSM?" Her eyes were haunted, and I honestly wanted to wrap her up and keep her safe. I swore he'd never lay a finger on her again.
"I...yeah?" She seemed confused, even surprised at my use of the acronym. I came to a decision.
"Grab your things. We're going to postpone the job." I cut her off when her mouth popped open, a look of disappointment crossing her face. "No arguments. There's something important I have to show you."
The drive out of Gotham was quiet at that time of night. Harley looked curious but wasn't speaking, lost in her own thoughts. She was crowded against the door, leaving space between us, and I realized she was afraid I was angry. I wasn't him. I didn't want her to fear my anger. As we crossed the bridge and I turned the car toward the little town my safehouse was in, I said, "Harls?"
She looked at me with a bit of a deer caught in the headlights look. "Y-yes?"
"I'm not mad at you. Nothing here is your fault, ok?" I held out my hand until she nodded and took it. I gave it a squeeze, she smiled almost shyly back.
The little house was unremarkable. I pulled in and shut the garage door, still leading her by the hand and turning on lights as I went. A light lair of dust was over everything, evidence of how long it'd been since I'd last visited. "Ok, we'll stay here tonight. There are two bedrooms. You're welcome to the spare one, but if you'd like, you can take a shower and join me in the master bedroom." Her eyes were huge behind her mask. At that point, we were partners, even friends, but we'd never expressed anything else, we hadn't even stayed in the same place yet. "I'll lay out a change of clothes for you. They may be a little baggy on you, but they'll be enough for the moment." I looked at her pointedly. "I'll leave a jar of my own makeup remover on the bathroom counter for you. I want you to take all of that," and I gestured at her face, "off. I think it's time we got to know one another, don't you?" She nodded slowly, still strangely subdued.
I led her to the hallway, and opened the closet.
Several years ago I'd run a scam where I'd posed as "Mistress Rose," a professional Dominatrix, in order to get close to Gotham's wealthy and powerful and manipulate and control them. It'd been quite successful and gone for several months before Batman took notice of all the environmental initiatives the city's kings of industry were implementing and shut me down. Ironically, I'd learned I was a natural Domme and had a taste for the entire scene, so the scam became a legitimate business I made a substantial amount of money at. I'd stored all my accumulated paraphernalia here--cleaned, bagged, organized into clearly labeled bins, and hung up in dust covers. Outfits, shoes, toys, dildos, strapons, cuffs, rope...I could have supplied a small sex shop with the contents of that closet. Harley's eyes threatened to bug out.
I handed her one of my business cards.
Mistress Madeleine Rose
Domination. Power Exchange.
Professional. Discreet. Irresistible
"Take your time, look through my things. Then go get cleaned up. I'm sure you'll have questions, and I'll answer them in the morning, but come to bed."
She did, but we didn't really sleep. That night we lay together under the covers, face to face, nose to nose, and talked. Really talked. It was, to be honest, the first time we talked as friends and not just partners in crime. I...let her in. For the first time since Jason, I let someone inside my first line of defense. Harley confided in me. In a halting voice, she told me what he'd done, how she'd hung in chains with her arms coated in blood while he hurt her. Never any sex, or pleasure, just him taking his rage out on her flesh, him telling her she needed to be changed to be worthy of him. She cried, and I held her little body as it shook violently with her sobs. I kissed away her tears, stroked her hair, and fell in love with her.
It took time to ease her through the fear and uncertainty, but she was insistent, it was something she said she needed to do. She had a panic attack the first time we slipped soft suede cuffs on her wrists, suffering from a trigger, but I held her close, whispering reassurances to her until she calmed down.
The first time she came from my touch she burst into tears, and I found out she didn't know she even COULD feel pleasure from it all. He'd never been interested in her that way.
Tonight was intense. I'd given her a safeword--Plantains--but Harley is such a pleaser, she falls so easily into subspace and stays in so deep, that I don't trust her yet to use it, so I was watching her closely for signs that any of it was too much. She's still self-conscious and even guilty over her own pleasure, so each time she orgasmed I made sure to be face to face with her, staring in her eyes, and telling her I was there for her. She still needs those reassurances, needs to know she's loved and wanted.
I don't have a problem with that.
I kissed my way up to her lips, covering with hot, wet kisses, devouring them. I am usually much more precise and skilled when I kiss, but she kissed back, exhausted and sated. I loved the taste of her lips like this, and met her gaze, her eyes cloudy from pleasure. "I'm so proud of you. You've done so well."
She smiled. "God, that was..."
"I know. You were incredible." I reached up to unlock the soft cuffs. "My brave, beautiful Harley..." She was tearing up, and when she was free she almost fell, bonelessly, her legs barely able to hold her up. She laughed, a tear running down her cheek and I kissed it away. It tasted like salt and happiness.
"What are we doing, Red?" she mumbled.
"Red?" I asked, more amused than strict and she quickly corrected.
"Mistress, I meant Mistress!" I kissed her again, unable to get enough, and scooped her up, taking her to the shower.
"It's time for aftercare. First a shower, than serious cuddling. Maybe I'll make some cookies later and let you taste the batter."
She cheered and put her arms around me, and I knew I wanted more. I wanted her just like this...all to myself and not having to share with that grinning fool. I can't make due with just a taste anymore.