Arkham Bait update

When Tim slipped into Arkham, it was surprisingly quiet. He had to check the timestamp on his mask’s HUD display, thinking he might have gotten there on Movie Night or something.

He almost felt a bit of relief. If this stillness held, if the inmates were indisposed, it meant he wouldn’t have to face Harley for a little bit longer. All week long he hadn’t been able to concentrate, at school or as Robin, just going through the motions to look busy. His mind kept flying back to Harley, one way or another. Either reliving the astounding feeling of her mouth ferociously sucking at him or worrying that word of his indiscretion would get out.

The memory of the blowjob, the fuck, it should’ve paled in comparison to the concern that she would spill the beans. But whenever he closed his eyes, there he was. Looking down at Harley’s gorgeous face, dimly lit and gleaming sweatily, her plush lips stretched tightly around his girthy prick. And that tremendous relief at the end, when he’d finally unloaded all his pungent cum into her mouth. Which she’d actually wanted; how greedily she had sucked it all into her belly!

Harley might have made a pretty lousy villainess, but still, a villainess had seduced him. And he’d seduced her, in a way. Left her so hot for him that she’d gone back for more after he spent himself just once.

Tim had made three trips to the shower that day alone to try relieving the aching tension that thoughts of Harley gave to him. Three times he had locked himself under the shower spray and jerked off to a half-imagined memory of Quinn. She’d left him plenty to remember her by, but his fantasies were intoxicated with the prospect of still more. Of fucking her face. Of fucking her ass. Of hearing what new, sexual craziness she would voice when he was inside her again.

Three times he’d orgasmed, struggling to keep quiet as his pleasure crested, imagining each load flowing into Harley’s welcoming body. Three times and still he was half-hard under his costume. In-between masturbation sessions, Tim had to wonder why he was depriving himself of her at all—why not enjoy what they’d both found so pleasing?

At first, it was his gut reaction to Harley Quinn—post-nut clarity. She was insane, she was a villain, she didn’t even know his real name. The secret identity thing was the least of it, but still. All the taboos he’d broken by being with her overwhelmed him until he even managed to be ashamed of how ecstatic it had been for the both of them.

But as Tim mulled it over… and he had to mull it over, when his balls demanded to be drained again and again… most of the reasons why he shouldn’t fuck Harley didn’t seem to apply. Harley certainly wasn’t a child. And she might’ve been crazy, but she chose to be crazy.

Joker wasn’t manipulating her anymore. She kept dressing like she did and doing what she did and pursuing her off-again, on-again relationship with Poison Ivy because she was an adult, fully capable of understanding what she was doing. Hell, ‘understanding’. She was the one who had offered herself to him!

And as for her being a villain: so were Catwoman and Talia al Ghul. And that was just Bruce. Dick, Kon, even Superman… they’d all had at least flirtations with bad girls. Why should Tim be any different?

As if he’d given his subconscious permission, now his thoughts started wandering to how it had actually felt to fuck petite little Harley. Watching her squirm and groan under him while he rammed her until her whole world was pleasure… and his was her tight little pussy.

Tim still turned these thoughts up and down in his head as he ascended the stairs leading to the female wing of Arkham’s most dangerous ward. At this time of night the room was in shadows. Tim went to where he knew Harley’s cell was; he froze in shocked surprise when the light inside came to life and he was left staring into the cell with startling clarity.

“Hiya, Daddy,” Harley cooed, stretching her naked body under the sheets of her cot. “I’ve been waiting for you all day!”

“Harley… I… what do you mean, ‘waiting’?” Tim stammered out.

Harley had the sheets pulled up to just under her chin, with her asylum-issued scrubs in a self-evident pile at the foot of the bed. She’d taken off literally everything; the barrettes for her pigtails laid on top of the heap.

“You and I have unfinished business, Daddy,” Harley told him, her voice kept at a little-girl squeak. The way she licked her lips and flashed her big blue eyes at him was entirely adult, though.

“Why do you keep calling me Daddy?” Tim asked, quickly overriding the lock to slip into the cell and shut the Plexiglass door behind him. He dimmed the lights as well; it wouldn’t do for them to wake anyone else.

Thankfully, Arkham’s cells were all but soundproof, to allow the inmates some sleep even when one of them was going on a psychotic rant or other loud madness.

“Because you’re going to be, Daddy. After you fuck me and pump me full of cum again, I’ll definitely be knocked up!”

Tim pressed himself against the door, afraid to get any closer to the bed. His eyes ran over Harley’s outlined body, the supple curves completely delineated… there were no folds in the sheets covering her. Tim’s imagination went under the blanket, sensing the warm, naked flesh she had waiting for him.

“You need help, Quinn… you’re sick… I didn’t come here for that…”

“Then why did you come here, Daddy? Just to look at me?”

“I just wanted to see if there was anything I could do to help you…” Tim said it knowing damn well what Harley would ask for. And he knew, even as he spoke, that he wanted to give it to her.