Marry The Knight update

At about the same time, it occurred to Dick how lucky he was. He’d lost sight of that, counted only his misgivings and not his blessings, but Kory’s physicality was easily trumping his neurosis. The blowjob she was giving him in the middle of this orgy managed to be both heartfelt and sensual. Her lips quivered and shook with the reverberations of the tentacles writhing inside her, connecting him to the mad depravity happening all around them, but filtered through Kory’s sweet, loving nature. It wasn’t just sex. Somehow, having masterminded all this conveyed a sense of ownership to him. He was making love to all of them, all at once, they were all sharing in this. 

His balls bulged, aching horribly, and Dick knew he was lost. His groin filled with embers, his scrotum ready to explode, his cock filling with burning blood until it could only burst into flame. Dick closed his eyes, trying to shut out the licentious enjoyment he was very nearly a part of, but it wasn’t possible to quell the flames rising inside him. 

“I just can’t believe someone like you exists!” Dick moaned, nudging his cock deep down Kory’s throat, realizing that she was letting him, that she was welcoming his prick and his ejaculation and his cum fully into her body. He felt like a new man, this orgy relieving him of all his worries, and it was only right that Kory welcome him into this new life: his first love, the woman he’d lost his virginity to, the woman he had married in his heart if not in law long before this crisis brought them all together.

Kory felt his cockhead swell and contented herself once more with the knowledge that she’d broken Dick’s iron will once more, to his own satisfaction more than any other’s, and now neither one of them had to control their passions. The vines were stirring her bowels, making her cunt water with desire for more, but though this was some of the best sex she’d ever had, she still longed for the satiation she could only have with Dick—in her arms—between her legs—breeding her as he’d promised the day he made her his wife.

But for now, having his cock in his mouth and girthy vines buried so deep in her ass and pussy that they nearly entwined in her belly was a fine substitute. She sucked harder, rubbing her tongue on the gnarled veins of Dick’s shaft, and knew the instant he submitted to her as she’d so ably submitted to him.

His tip erupted with a flare of flavor, immediately coating her tonsils with sweet jism. More and more flooded down her throat. Kory pressed her tongue over his glans, forcing his seed to blast into her taste buds rather than ramming down her throat. As much as she loved cock, she equally loved its delivery, the taste, the warmth, and she wanted every sperm she could get smeared over her taste buds for a long time.

The vines’ thrusting rose to a fever pitch inside her. The feel of Dick’s seed filled her senses, his perspiring flesh musky with a cousin of its taste, so it was like her whole world had become jizz. She gulped down the river flowing into her mouth as the writhing vines began her own orgasm, tossing her so high that Kory barely felt like she was in her own body, but forcing herself to concentrate on sucking Dick’s cock, devouring his cum. He moaned as she served him delightedly, his flaring cockhead amply rewarding her.

After that, they didn’t seem to move so much as pass from one dream into another. Exhausted, they lay side by side, wrapped in each other’s arms, the vines leaving them in their contented sleep.

“Ahhhhhh!” Renee’s scream brought Dick bounding to his feet and running to her side while he was still hardly even aware of himself. It was a testament to the training he’d gotten out of his personal mentorship with Bruce. Even Kory, who’d trained with the Warlords of Okaara, was not as responsive as he was.

In one second, Dick had both come to his senses and arrived at the sprawled out Renee. She was taking a vine up her ass, while more slapped themselves against her contorted face, trying to get inside of her mouth—stuffed though it was by an engorged vine already.

“What the hell?” he asked.

Renee looked at him. She tried to remember the last time she’d seen a man naked. It’d been a long time—she’d done everything she could to avoid it—but now, in the sexed-out atmosphere of the greenhouse, awash with pleasure, uninhibited by pheromones, relaxed by the sisterly presence of the equally satisfied women all around her… she saw the beauty of his thick cock. She realized she would love to suck him. 

The abuse of her childhood, the masculine violence of Gotham itself, they all seemed miles, lightyears away. And without them holding her back, she felt starved. Deprived. She needed Dick… the contentment she could see even now on Kory’s face, cock-drunk and sweetly satisfied and still licking her lips of the cum that plastered them, relishing its flavor with a joy that could not be faked. 

Renee wanted that. Not bitterness. Not cynicism. Not even a drink. If this was a sex cult, fuck it, she wanted to be a member. Just so long as she got off… Dick looked like he could get her off. He looked like he could fuck her right through the floor, the rough, dangerous stuff so many women were too soft for. The rut that was only a rut because it wasn’t a fistfight. Madre de Dios, she wanted him to hurt her until she came from it.

Renee held out her arms, barely able to believe herself. She’d gotten off with plants, rethought her sexuality, and now she was ready to lose her virginity—such as it was—to a man. A very male man. It had been a busy sixty seconds. 

Maybe she was a dry-drunk. They’d warned her about that in AA. Like she cared. “Don’t just stand there… fuck me!”

“Officer Montoya?” Dick sounded as amazed as he was disbelieving. “I thought you left.”

“I’m back… it’s a woman’s prerogative… don’t want women… not now… I want you… I want cock!”

Dick blinked. He’d had Renee pegged as a dyed-in-the-wool lesbian. But he’d certainly experienced plenty of open sexuality with the women he’d married. Girls like Helena and Zinda, who he’d seen as being straight as an arrow, had proven all too willing to enjoy the female form, and almost more zealously than he did. So was it really so bizarre that it could work the other way, with an apparently gay woman experimenting with the opposite sex? 

Or maybe it was a White Martian. 

All he knew was that his cock was rising. The sight of Renee, her legs open, her muscular thighs tensed to receive him inside her, was irresistible. He came closer to her, his groin level with her head, and wondered what she thought of the traces of Kory’s lipstick visible all along his length.

“Gonna let me suck it?” Renee asked, her excited voice pleading a little, demanding and begging not to be refused. “Gonna put it in my mouth and my pussy and everywhere else?”

Dick smiled at her as he clinched his manhood in his hand and held it up to offer the end to Renee. He doubted it would take long before it was standing up all on its own. Dick was trying not to get a big head, but a part of him had to be a male chauvinist pig about it… after everything he’d done with Babs, with Kory, with Donna and Helena and Dinah and Zinda and even Misfit… what was left but to take a lesbian and show her that a man could indeed find a G-spot? 

“I’m gonna put it everywhere you can take it,” Dick said, his cock right in front of her mouth, and Renee opened her lips by way of agreeing to the deal.

It wasn’t the best blowjob he’d ever had. After Kory’s superlative skill, it was in fact a real comedown. Renee treated his organ like something between a baby animal and a weapon, a little afraid of it and a little afraid of breaking it. She was working with enthusiasm, not know-how. But then, a blowjob was like a pizza. Even when it was bad, it was still pretty good. 

Dick still held onto the tablet that controlled the vines. Leaning against a nearby wall, Dick rested one hand on Renee’s head to help show her how to properly fellate him. He raised one knee, settled the tablet on his thigh, and tapped at the screen with his other hand. 

The lurching vines started toward their violent conclusions, pistoning at a fever pitch inside all the orifices they had occupied. The women, exhausted and pleasure-numb as they were, sent up a new chorus of moans and gasps as the tentacles sprinted toward their orgasms. The friction proved painful, but in their current state, the ladies found it only made their ecstasy more intense. 

Satisfied with how receptive they were proving, Dick manipulated the controls further. More vines whipped violently at the girls with the slender tips of their tendrils, reddening delicate lines along their thighs, their asses, even their breasts. The orgiastic moaning intensified and Dick found himself wishing he was personally using a flail; spanking Helena himself or using a riding crop on Dinah. After how they’d worn him down and wearied him with sheer numbers, it was beyond satisfying to master all of them at once. 

With his hand on Renee’s head, he forced her further down his lengthy member, gagging her, her throat gurgling around his thrusting cock, but it only increased her lust. When he pulled at her hair as if to draw her off his manhood, she moaned in disappointment and redoubled her efforts to deep-throat him.

Dick’d had enough. Firmly gripping Renee’s skull, he drove himself to the depths of her gullet, throttling her with his cock, before coming down her throat, his cum firing directly into her stomach. Renee actually put her hands on her belly as she felt his seed pumping into it. 

At the same time, Dick triggered the vines. Every one that was embedded inside a woman—whether it was in her cunt, her anus, or her mouth—was suddenly at a point of swelling release. A final symphony of moans went up, like every woman in the greenhouse shared one stuffed mouth, as their orifices were flooded with never-ending surges of hot, thick sap… specially designed by Poison Ivy to have the taste, the texture, the consistency of Dick’s own semen. 

As pleasurable as the girls found the sudden surge of warmth and weight inside their already brutally used pussies and assholes, the pain part of the equation came from having the vines ejaculating in their mouths, filling their cheeks and blocking their throats. They swallowed desperately, gagging as excess cum spilled out of their stretched lips, but many were so tense in their orgasmic agony that they couldn’t muster any control of their breathing. They could only violently gasp as the viscous torrents were fed into their bellies, barely getting any air into their lungs—the choking, gasping strangulation setting their pleasure on fire, burning their way from the beginning of their multiple orgasms to the afterglow, when the vines finally judged their splayed holes to be full. 

The tentacles pulled away, leaving their holes stretched and dripping, still leaking as the women’s mania came to an end. At long last, they stopped thrashing around, managed to breathe deeply once more, and shuddered as their rapture left them, replaced by an almost painful contentment. 

Dick was the last to go. Somehow he managed to outpace the tentacles which had been grown from him—some human touch that their blind instincts couldn’t replicate. While the other women were mewling their way out of their ecstasy, Dick was still pumping his seed down Renee’s throat, showing her she could take minutes on end with minimal air as her face turned a shade exotic enough to rival Kory or Komand’r. Then he released her, and even as she panted for breath, he still came, covering her face with more pearly strands of his cum.

It was degrading. Humiliating. An insult to a woman who had long considered herself such a lesbian that it would be impossible for her to feel sexual pleasure with a man. She was literally marked by proof of how she had submitted to Dick’s cock, serviced it, pleasured him, and earned herself a dripping mask of white to prove her cockslut status. A part of Renee wanted to scrub her face clean and run screaming from everything she had done, everyone who had seen her do it.

The rest of her was still coming.

She licked her lips and looked up at Dick with the same eyes as the other women there. Even Kory’s all-green eyes were the same. Grateful. None of them could speak, they were still breathless, exhausted beyond all reason by all the orgy had taken out of them, but their eyes showed they realized what had happened. The tentacles that had pleasured them were no dumb machines. They were Dick—handled with his sexual skill, wielded with his deep knowledge of their bodies and all they enjoyed. And they had all enjoyed what had happened. 

They had surrendered to him, allowed Dick to do whatever he wanted with their naked, submissive bodies, and it had resulted in some of the very best sex of their lives, for all of them. Even if the tentacles couldn’t quite compare to the lovemaking of the man himself, there was something about all of them experiencing it together, all of them being bound to Dick and subject to his one overriding lust, that had made the fuck near-perfect. They were all either deeply happy to be married to him or wishing that they were.

For Renee, conscious thought couldn’t go that far. She still was not thinking at all—absorbed in the heat and heft of the cum Dick had deposited deep inside her… inches above where his seed would’ve landed if he’d actually fucked her instead of merely her throat. But, unthinking, she wrapped herself around Dick’s leg, laying her head on his thigh, and happily licked her lips as more of his cum ran down her face. 

Dick couldn’t help but chuckle a little. As insane as it sounded, he had a feeling Renee was about to become a permanent fixture at the Clocktower. And why not? If they were One-Percent-Fertile, even gays and lesbians were expected to contribute to upping the birthrate, if only with surrogates. But who would gainsay Renee cutting out the middleman? 

As Bruce’s ward, he’d been a minor celebrity in Gotham, and as Barbara’s boyfriend, he’d heard far more than he wanted about the speculation on his personal life that went on online. No matter how affectionate he was with Kory or Barbara, people seemed determined to believe he was in a relationship with one of his male friends. Roy or Wally or even Bruce. He wondered how the average Tumblr user’s laisse-faire view of sexuality would respond to this. 

As a point of fact, there was a Tumblr user there at the moment, though she wasn’t thinking of Renee and whether or not the cop was bicurious. No, Misfit had no idea what she’d just witnessed. But she knew she liked it. She liked it a lot.

***

Over a breakfast of buttered toast, scrambled eggs, and orange juice, Bruce finished scanning the Gotham Gazette and moved on to the New York Times. Maybe it came with his graying hair, but he found it harder to commit the news to memory than he once had. Between the bland prose, the stupefying nature of most of the events deemed newsworthy, and the blatant bias, his eyes developed a tendency to glaze over. 

He kept at it, though. Oracle was a wizard at data gathering, the Batcomputer kept a lookout for several developments he would consider concerning, and even Alfred was something of an amateur sleuth, prone to bringing news stories or suspicious activities to Bruce’s attention. But Bruce saw it as important to at least skim what was being reported for himself. See if there was anything between the lines that he should know about, any innocuous thing that a reporter might dismiss but he could see as a shark fin in the water.

Nothing much presented itself as reward for his efforts. Wayne Enterprises stock was heading back up, having taken a hit with the risky news of his marrying Harley and Ivy. But Gotham being Gotham, the city had gotten used to the idea. Now that they were done being scandalized, they were titillated. The gossip columns were flooded with speculation, if not outright fantasizing, about what the playboy millionaire and his two bad girls were up to. Wayne stock was actually recovering faster than anticipated, like it was spurred on by the thought that the CEO might be having a threesome.

Normal people. Bruce would never get them.

Harley Quinn came into the kitchen, moving with a slinking stealth that would shock anyone who remembered she’d named herself after a figure covered in jingling bells. Even in the brightly lit room, awash in dawning light from the many windows and filled with birdsong from their opening, she managed to avoid Bruce’s senses like she was wearing all-black in the middle of the night. She carried an axe from the woodshed for cutting firewood. The way she hefted it was a perfect example of how deathly competent Harley could be when pressed.

Bruce Wayne was Batman. Batman was Bruce Wayne. It would be impossible to describe her thought process in a way that would make sense to anyone sane. Harley’s thoughts did not make sense even to herself, but tended to push and pull her in directions that made her feel good either physically or emotionally, no matter what relation those directions bore to the real world. Her history with Bruce, his treatment of her, even her love for him—it was swallowed up by what was practically a Three-card Monte game of incompatible thoughts. Bruce was Batman. She hated Batman. She hated the Joker. Joker would love her if she killed Batman. She loved the Joker. She loved Bruce. This and other thoughts rolled around in her scattered mind, like a Vegas slot machine with an endless amount of slots.

Ivy was walking by the house when she saw the situation through the windows.

Bruce sitting at the breakfast nook, Harley creeping towards him, the axe slowly raising above her head. Ivy considered herself rational in comparison to Harley. Her philosophy of plant supremacy wasn’t a psychosis, it was a logically thought out reaction to humanity’s misanthropic nature. Plants were superior. They deserved unhindered growth and prosperity. Humans oppressed the plants. They had to be eliminated. 

And yet, when she saw Harley behind Bruce, the axe raised high overhead, she didn’t weigh the pros and cons. She didn’t have any thoughts at all. She shouted “Watch out, Bruce!”

Harley brought the axe down, but Bruce’s instincts, once roused, were impossible to deny. He juked to the side; the axe smashed down through his breakfast platter. Bruce reacted without thinking, his well-honed body instantly lashing out in the direction of his attacker, the only check on his motion being a modest care not to kill whoever had assaulted him. 

His fist smashed unerringly into Harley’s face, almost lifting her from her feet as she stumbled back into the refrigerator. Dazed, her tongue lolled out to feel her split lip and follow the trickle of crimson blood down to the point of her chin. A thrill of arousal shot through her. That was how Batman would hit her. That was how Batman would hit her if he was really pissed off.

He does care!

The blow Harley had taken had succeeded in taking the axe out of her hands; it remained embedded in the breakfast nook next to an overturned glass of orange juice, which was soaking into Bruce’s copy of the Daily Planet. But Harley wasn’t finished. 

Her eyes manic, she scooped up a knife from the bamboo block and came at Bruce again, unable to discern her rush of sexual pleasure from adrenaline from the narcotic high of packing all her feelings for Bruce and Batman and the Joker into one neurotic cocktail of motion. She hadn’t even registered that Ivy was there, or had objected to her sudden attack. She came at Bruce and he caught her by the wrists, the muscles of his arms bulging from his smoking jacket as he checked her momentum. In one brutal twist that nearly sprained her wrist, Bruce forced the knife out of Harley’s hands. 

Then he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, putting her pigtailed hair into disarray, leaving it fluttering around her face like she’d walked through a cobweb. When Bruce heard Harley’s teeth clicking together, he stopped, shoving her down into the chair he’d left and holding her down.

“You crazy bitch!” he snapped. “I give you everything you want and this is how you repay me!”

Harley laughed hysterically. “Cut the reality TV, Brucie, I watch too much as is. I know, bubbe! You ain’t no broken-hearted simp! You’re Batman, The Batman, batty-batty-bat MAN!”

Bruce’s eyes were bright, almost glowing, watching Harley with both burning anger and cool consideration of her. Fine. She would no longer be fooled by the playboy act. He didn’t have to bother pretending to feel betrayed. Or if he did, he could let it be the small, warped black hole of feeling that it was instead of something big and theatrical.