Make You Love Me (warning: NC)

Barbara Gordon awoke abruptly, alone in bed, the house as silent as the dead. The clock on the nightstand said that it was around six, and that had to be A.M, because no light was coming through the windows. Usually, Barbara would’ve buried herself deeper into the sheets, forced her eyes closed, and hope to be able to lure sleep back, but she wasn’t in her bed. She wasn’t even in her apartment. This was Wayne Manor. 

Barbara got out of bed wearing a nightie and went to the dresser, which of course had clothes in her size. None of this was entirely unusual. She’d gotten conked on the head enough times to be familiar with short-term memory loss, and staying at Wayne Manor overnight was nothing new to her. It was odd that no one was looking in on her. And she didn’t feel like she’d been concussed. Running her hands through her hair, Barbara didn’t find any lumps or anything. Maybe it was a magic spell. 

She put on a morning gown and staggered to the kitchen, where she started up the coffee machine. She watched the coffee trickle down into the pot, knowing that she was putting the kibosh on getting back to sleep, but also wanting to get away from the sluggish tiredness she was feeling. It was almost like she was jetlagged.

“Fresh pot? Nice of you,” Bruce said, and Barbara whirled to look at him. He was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms. Barbara was unused to him in anything less than a full set of sweats. He wasn’t a man who let himself be vulnerable lightly, at least around her, but at the moment, Bruce didn’t seem to mind showing off his burgeoning muscles, or even the thick member slightly visible under his thin pants. Barbara made herself look away from there—and it was then that she noticed the moustache on his face, big and burly, reminding her a little of her father.

“Is everything alright?” Barbara asked him.

“Everything’s fine now that you’ve shown up. You look good. Nice and sexy, even without any make-up.”

Uncomfortable, Barbara abandoned the coffee and tried to move past him out of the kitchen. He thrust out an arm to block her way.

“What’s your hurry?” Bruce asked.

Barbara went onto his other side, but he thrust out his other arm. “I need to use the bathroom.”

Bruce looked down at her, smiling under his moustache. “No you don’t.”

He leaned in close, making Barbara shrink back, feeling like a rat cornered by a dog. She could smell Bruce’s masculinity as he trailed after her. She shuddered and her gown fell open, his eyes taking in the sight of the nightie underneath. It was thin, almost translucent—nothing she would ever have expected Bruce to take an interest in. She pulled the gown shut. Bruce reached out and pulled it open again. Moving with perhaps ill-advised frustration, Barbara gave Bruce a hard shove, but his body was like solid metal. She actually slipped, unable to move him, and he seized her by the wrists, keeping her from falling. 

“You’re feeling frisky today,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought you had any more fight left in you, but I guess that’s women for you. Surprising to the end. One day, we’re going to replace you all with artificial wombs and fuck robots. They won’t say no, won’t get old, won’t talk back, and they especially won’t put up a fight. But for now, you’ll just have to do. Good thing for me you’re in your prime. I’ll get some fun out of you before you’re all fucked out.”

Barbara felt her eyes misting up as his crude words assaulted her ears. “Bruce, please… I don’t understand… why are you saying these things? You’re talking like some kind of… monster!”

“Don’t judge me yet, Babs. Not until you’ve had a taste of my fat cock.”

She wrenched one hand away from his grip in a panic, and his face clouded over. With his newly freed hand, he slapped her across the face. Barbara was used to being punched, but not being cuffed like that, especially not by someone she trusted like Bruce. Her dressing gown nearly flew off her as she fell onto her ass, shucking off her shoulders, and when she moved to replace it, he caught her wrist again and pulled her up.

“Don’t be shy, Barbara. It’s nothing we haven’t done before. It’s just an acquired taste, that’s all. The more I have of your pussy, the more I want,” Bruce leered, eying her body through the sheer nightie. “And maybe once you get enough of my prick, you’ll realize how lucky you are. Imagine, being the slave of someone who isn’t as well-hung as I am.”

“Slave?” Barbara muttered fearfully. “What are you talking about, goddamnit?”

“I’ll show you,” Bruce said, before grabbing the neckline of Barbara’s nighties and ripping it off her body in shreds, Barbara screaming and going beet-red as she was exposed. She tried to cover herself up, deny him a look at her naked body, but Bruce collared both her wrists as easily as he had before, pulling them to the sides until Barbara felt like she’d been crucified, her bare tits on full display before him.

“Nice freckles,” Bruce said admiringly. “I always like pale women. Suntans are nice, but there’s just something about a girl who looks like she could be made of porcelain. I swear, it makes her feel even softer.” Letting go of one of her arms seemingly just before it was pulled from the socket, Bruce started touching her breasts. “Yeah. Nice and soft. But firm enough. And those nipples. Good and hard when I’ve barely even touched them yet. Mind if I see how hard they can get? Of course you don’t.”

Bruce chuckled, running his hand over Barbara’s plentiful breasts, bringing an unwelcome warmth with his touch that was both humiliating and pleasant. Barbara moaned and squirmed and tugged, but there was no way she could free herself. His steely grip on her wrist was inescapable. 

“You’ll go to jail!” Barbara said warningly. “I’m the police commissioner’s daughter! He won’t be happy to hear his daughter was a rape victim!”

“You’re hardly a victim yet,” Bruce laughed heartily. “And I’m barely even an attempted rapist so far. Here—let me give it a try.”

He pulled her against his body, his pajama bottoms strikingly soft against her bare belly, and she could feel the cock that she’d glimpsed earlier. It was hard as a rock now and bigger than she could’ve imagined. Barbara screamed, hoping desperately that someone would come to rescue her—she certainly couldn’t fight Bruce off on her own.

“See? Now you’re sounding like a victim. But I have better things for you to do with that mouth.” Grinning, Bruce kissed her without warning. She could feel his moustache scraping against her lips. It was so unlike him—and yet, this felt like Bruce, sounded like him, he even carried himself like the Bruce she knew. But she couldn’t imagine what was making him act this way, so sadistic, so much like a backalley rapist instead of the noble crusader she knew. 

“You taste good,” Bruce smiled. “It’s too bad I’m going to have to leave that mouth tasting like my cock.”

He took her by the throat in one hand while his other swept down her body, caressing her breasts, sliding over the smooth flatness of her belly and down to the furry cunt that proved her fiery red hair was natural. Bruce pricked his fingers on the neatly trimmed pelt, giving Barbara’s pussy a condescending pat when he found it wet and receptive to his touch. 

Barbara moaned in horror, trying to close her legs, keep him out, but all she was doing was locking his hand against her sex. Blushing so hotly she might’ve been on fire, Barbara opened her legs. 

“That’s good,” Bruce said, still fondling her pussy, the tips of his fingers moving over the lips of her slit, making her hips twitch underneath his touch. “Open up nice and wide. I’ve got something a lot bigger than my fingers to give you.”

“Fuck you!” Barbara hissed, forcing herself to breathe—she felt woozy, like she might faint. “Fuck you, Bruce!”

“Here? On the floor?” he asked. “Hardly fitting for a nice piece of ass like you.” He looked around. “Ah. The table. You can be my breakfast.”

He dragged her there, shoving her down on the elegant wooden tabletop, freezing the bare skin of her face and chest. Her ass was left sticking out, swelling out what remained of her morning gown and torn nightie. Bruce moved those aside, then stood behind her, pushing himself against Barbara’s bare ass. His bulge rubbed into Barbara’s flesh. It was even more enormous than Barbara remembered from a few moments ago.

As she felt his manhood, he felt her ass, running his hand along the curve of her buttocks, delving into the deep valley, finally lowering his touch to her unprotected sex. Barbara moaned despairingly as he touched her from behind, making her buck and moan. He entered her with his finger, and instead of warmth, there was a feeling of cold clamminess, a panic just behind her eyes.

“Please!” Barbara sobbed, feeling like she could cry but no tears flowed. She wished they would—maybe that would shame him out of doing this. But she knew in his heart that the only shame would be hers. He was going to humiliate her by fucking her, maybe even by making her come. 

“Please? Of course, Barbara. I’m going to please you. I know nothing pleases a slut like you more than a big prick in your snatch.”

Barbara let out a shrill cry. “Please don’t rape me! Please!”

“You sound like you did the first time I had your cunt,” Bruce said insidiously. “You were nothing back then. Just warm meat. If you want to try again, that’s fine, but this time I want a nice hot cunt, Barbara. I want to feel you enjoying yourself, not pretending you don’t like it. I want your legs wrapped around me like a good little girl. I want to hear you moan while I’m fucking you. And I want to do it on the bed, just like last time!”

He picked her up, carrying her through the mansion like she was nothing more than a piece of meat. He kicked open doors, keeping both hands on her, feeling her up as much as he held her captive. Barbara tried to pry her way free, making Bruce laugh heartily. He really was treating her like some kind of pet he was playing with—like a sex slave.

Finally, they were in the master bedroom. He threw her on the king-sized bed. The carefully made sheets rumpled when her weight fell on them and she knew with an aching certainty that they would get a lot more rumpled before Bruce was done with her. Her morning gown was nearly off, only clinging onto her by one sleeve. She shook it free, trying to cover what her ripped nightie didn’t, which was nearly everything.

“Bruce, I’m not who you think! We’ve never done this before! I swear, I’m not your… I’m not the woman you think you know!”

“You do a good job of acting like a virgin again,” Bruce said. “I thought I’d raped all the playfulness out of you, but you’re acting as shy as you did the first time. Let’s see how far you can go, pretending you’re not the cock-crazy slut I know and love.”

He grabbed her ankle and pulled her back across the bed to him. That finished off her nightie. It broke apart entirely, releasing her nubile flesh, all of it quivering with fear. Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed, holding her foot playfully in his lap as he slid a hand up her leg, onto her thigh, between her legs—

“Your pussy’s tight,” he observed. “With anticipation? Or with dread? Which is it, Barbara? Or is it that I just haven’t been fucking that cute little snatch nearly hard enough?”