Marry The Knight update

“I’m sorry it’s come to this, beloved… but you’ve brought it on yourself.”

Batman struggled through the pain pounding in his temples, trying to restore order to the jumble of images swimming through his consciousness. The sound of a car crash, an explosion, still rang in his ears. He remembered being dragged across the ground… the cockpit of the Batmobile being pried open… chains on his arms, his legs… the blast that had catapulted his vehicle through the air, into one of the empty warehouses he’d been searching, further damaging it…

Assembled into some kind of order, he realized his predicament. Talia and Nyssa had been waiting for him, laid a trap. He opened his eyes now, trying to get his vision under control. It swam in and out of focus, multicolored spots dancing through his attention. Hard to focus, but he made himself do so. Only when his vision started to clear did he test his surroundings. As he’d suspected, he was manacled.

He was in an abandoned foundry, strapped spread-eagled to a mold. He could see Nyssa and Talia nearby, Talia in the catsuit she favored, Nyssa in her more traditional armor, vaguely Arabesque, but skintight and decidedly light.

Despite their differing mothers, their bodies were nearly identical. All Ra’s’s concern over finding a virile suitor to produce strong heirs was clearly not in compensation for anything—both of them showed powerfully his Middle Eastern heritage. Talia trended slightly Indian, with rich caramel skin and smoky eyes in a classical, open face. Nyssa’s Slavic ancestry showed in her lighter, café au lait skin and strong features: high cheekbones, a brusque jaw… she could’ve passed for a tanned Caucasian were it not for the Asian cast to her eyes. Ra’s’s eyes. Talia didn’t have them.

And if there was ever a body worthy of being repeated, they had it. Tall and toned, with dark hair that flowed down their backs like a waterfall at night, lit only by the moon, reaching vertiginously for the right round cheeks of their asses. Their skin was amply displayed in all its smoothness, its softness, all but the beautifully swelled breasts themselves, the classic hips. And then there were their eyes. Whether round or slanted, they were the jade green of the Lazarus Pits, perhaps from use, perhaps from genetics—perhaps just because the legend of Ra’s al Ghul bent phenotypes to itself, the dominion of the Demon’s Head extending across reality as well as time and space.

It was ironic how Talia’s catsuit was zipped to the throat, while Nyssa’s armor displayed a broad swath of flesh. It stretched from her lacking neckline to the hairs of her pubis—where there would be hairs if she was not clearly shaven bare—in an impossibly steep vee. The inner curves of her breasts showed flagrantly, as did the toned muscles of her belly and the jewel of her naval. Were it not for her cloak—its wavy folds again in counterpart to her sister’s tightly constrained leather—she would not even have a semblance of modesty.

Bruce could only attribute his lack of awareness to his recent head injury. For while Talia was facing him, talking to him, Nyssa was cajoling the destitute machinery back to life. Heating up molten lead to fill a suspended vat. A vat which would then proceed down a track to spill onto the mold he was tied to.

And from the briefcase laptop open across the room, he concluded Ra’s al Ghul would be making sure it went according to plan.

Some people just didn’t take rejection well.

“I gave you every opportunity to be my groom!” Talia was saying, fist clenched, the woman scorned—while Nyssa prepared the hell. “Begged my father to give you time and time and time to reconsider! This little clan you’ve built, your ‘Batman Incorporated’—it’s nothing next to the League of Assassins! You could command them, command me! But instead, you lay with street trash. You have the audacity to give them your hand in marriage! Did you think this insult would stand!?”

“The difference is,” Bruce said calmly. “They agreed to reform. You clung to your father.”

“And why should I not?” Talia demanded. “He has ever been there for me, while you refuse to give me even a token of your affection. I bore your son, and still you deny me!”

“I have to.” Maybe it was just the pounding in his scalp, the slippery feel of blood trapped in his cowl, but he couldn’t summon up the reserves of reserve that he could usually call upon. “If I let you in, even a finger… it would end with me as the Demon’s Head. I can either deny you everything or deny you nothing. I choose everything.”

Nyssa let out a shrill laugh. “Typical man. He’ll prattle on to justify himself, but really it’s that he can control his two whores. He can’t control you, sister. He said as much. And that’s why he won’t marry you.”

Bruce glanced at her. “And you’re just crazy.”

“Perhaps,” Nyssa allowed. “But I’ve lived longer than you, and that’s not going to change.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce echoed. “I always did wonder, though… you were rendered infertile in the concentration camps, but couldn’t the Lazarus Pits repair your body?”

Nyssa stiffened. Talia saw it, and lashed out with her hand, slapping Bruce across the face for his insolence. “Silence!”

Bruce ignored her. “The obvious inference is that Ra’s has some control over the ritual. It would be easy for him to command his adherents to simply subject you to the Pit in such a way that you remain unhealed. So the daughter he’s deemed an unworthy heir is left unable to continue her bloodline.”

“Nonsense!” Nyssa cried before Talia could react. “I assumed control of the League! I submitted myself to the Pit and the fullness of its energies! If it were possible for me to be healed, I would be.”

“And who do you think the League of Assassins would truly be loyal to? You, the usurper? Or the standing orders of the Demon’s Head? Even beyond his death, he’ll control you. He’s already proven it.”

“This is pathetic!” Talia hissed, and now she drove her fist into his stomach. Even through the armor, it hurt. Bruce groaned—cracked rib from the crash, aggravated… “You can’t manipulate me anymore—can’t wheedle me around with promises of affection to come, so now you taunt my sister?”

“I have a Lazarus Pit in the cave,” Bruce replied. “It’s a last resort, but I know how it works. What would happen, Nyssa, if you used that Pit?”

Then Nyssa proved true to form.

She gave him an insane smile as she walked over to join Talia, standing before him. “You don’t have to turn me against my father. I’m as against him as allies can be. But you’ve insulted my sister. And I’ll gladly trade your promises for her happiness.” She put an arm around Talia. “The Daughters of the Demon will hold dominion over the League long after its Head has been cut off. And neither you, nor he, can offer anything above that.”

Nyssa returned to the control panel she’d been rewiring. Whatever last adjustments she’d made to it, they worked. She pressed a button and it obeyed, albeit with a burst of sparks. Liquid fire ran down from some process on a higher level, filling the cauldron and lighting the room with a ruddy glow, a tingling heat coming with it. While Talia went to the laptop, making her last preparations on it.

It was then, in that hopeless moment, that Bruce smelled it. The scent of Ivy’s pheromones. Almost undetectable, a near entirely useless skill, as recognizing her power meant falling prey to it… but he could recognize its growing effects. His inhibitions lowering. His lust increasing. He now realized how earnest his perusal of the two women’s bodies had been. Somehow, Ivy had followed him, and was now spreading her spores throughout the foundry unnoticed.

He remembered how Nyssa—never the most ‘touchy feely’ woman--had put her arm around Talia, how Talia had shuddered in response. Perhaps Nyssa’s choice of garment as well, if she’d changed before he’d regained consciousness. And Talia’s closed catsuit… an overly anxious repression of something? Aware of her own desire, but choosing not to acknowledge it.

Ivy’s efforts were subtle—it was possible she hadn’t even intended for him to realize them. They were not overpowering. Talia and Nyssa, with their minds set on vengeance, could still resist any errant urges and murder him. But Ivy had given him an opening. And with that opening came opportunity.

While the sisters toiled, Bruce toggled his cowl’s communications. They’d removed his utility belt, but thought nothing of the tools built into his armor. “Oracle, are you receiving?” he whispered.

“Yeah… sorta… bit busy over here…”

“They have a laptop here with a direct connection to Ra’s al Ghul. I need you to own it.”

“Yeah… mmm… sure thing.”

Bruce frowned. It wasn’t a pristine connection, but he thought he could hear other signals leaking in. Moans, sighs, even screams. He didn’t like the thought of his communications being compromised, possibly being picked up by some idiot with a CB radio. He’d have to run an equipment check when he got back.

“Mmmm, yes, that’s good…”

“Oracle?”

Her distracted voice seemed to snap back to something like attention with a deep breath. “It’s good. I’ve got it.”

“Good. When I give the signal, open the connection, but transmit only. Don’t allow Ra’s to respond.”

“Don’t allow him to respond, yes, got it, yes… yes…”

Bruce toggled off the link. It was clear he’d caught her at a bad time.

He focused his attention on Talia again. Despite their differences, she was still so attuned to him as to notice. She lifted her head from the laptop, her back to him, her posture rigid and straight.

“You really want to leave it like this?” he asked her. “After everything?”

Her head turned slightly to the side, bringing her delicate profile into view. “How else would you like to leave it?”

“I know how Nyssa would have it. I know how your father would have it. But we can at least part on good terms. I do care for you, Talia. Even love you. We were married once. Even if not by my laws, in our hearts.”

“And I wed you,” Talia agreed. “I pledged all of my heart to you, and it is yours still. But… you never gave yours to me. I waited for it, and waited for it… but you gave it to others. Countless others!”

“No,” Bruce said. “Only to you. There were others, but not like you. Different aspects of me… the physical… stratagems, even, as when you were engaged to Bane…”

“Do not even compare what we had to my father’s selection of that brute! You know that by the ancient law, only the bride’s consent is required for a marriage… but it is required!”

“And we were married by your father, trying to prevent my interference in his plans. I married Quinzel and Isley for similar reasons. It’s the emotion that gives it meaning. I didn’t mean it as I meant what we shared.”

“Then if you meant what we had, why did you stray? Or do you then deny you strayed?”

Bruce couldn’t resist a dark chuckle. “Just a rollcall of the room will prove your father had more than one bride.”

“So you intend a harem? Is that it?”

“A harem… and a wife.”

She stared at him, eyes glimmering, swimming in tears. “I cannot accept. You know this. Even if I wanted to, my family would not tolerate another allowance for your… ways! The time for you to become Heir to the Demon has passed. You are now his enemy!”

“But am I yours?”

It took a long time, like she was struggling against unimaginable restraint, but Talia’s head finally shook. “No. Never. The father of my child…”

“Don’t listen to him!” Nyssa shouted. Her nipples pressed through their scant covering, as if trying to slide out into the open. The sexual tension was driving her to frustration. “He’ll say anything to save his own skin!”

Bruce reclaimed Talia’s attention without even raising his voice. “Talia, you’re the mother of my child. If this is necessary, then I want you to be alright. I want you to know that if it weren’t for everything that happened… we could’ve been very happy.”

“Beloved…” Talia’s voice cracked. “I have always known that.”

“Then kiss me. I forgive you, Talia. But grant me one last kiss…”

As if drawn to him by a magic spell, Talia proceeded on one foot, then another, unspooling her way to him without thought of the molten lead bubbling overhead, the chains that held his body, the computer waiting to broadcast his demise to Ra’s al Ghul. Nyssa turned to her, but seemed ensnared in the same spell her sister was under. She watched breathlessly as Talia went to Bruce. Her hands settling on his cracked chestpiece, fingers finding the fractures in the symbol of the Bat that had so long separated them. She leaned forward, her hair cascading down to skitter over his armor, her perfume finding his nostrils, her eyes filling his.

The kiss was slow, even nervous, but languid to the point of easiness. It began as a slow testing of Talia’s lips against his, full of nervous apprehension as to how sincere he was, if the old spark was there, if he was still hers when so many women were his.

Then it relaxed into something even slower, lazy but no less heated, her lips gently meshing with his as their tongues found each other. Talia’s body melted against his bound one, the feel of the unfamiliar chains over the familiar armor jarring her a little, but that soon gave way as she was dragged down into the passion of his kiss.

It continued, with Talia stroking the scant flesh left bare by his cowl, tracing his cheeks and chin as he gently devoured her lips, sucking on the lower one, nuzzling it between his teeth, stoking her fires before she was pulled back to him by the growing intensity between them.

The needy passion grew in Talia, far beyond what she had reckoned on. It scattered her remorse and regret, banished all knowledge of his impending doom, and laid bare all the feelings she held for him no matter how deeply buried. More than that, she felt herself growing wet… her legs opening to his supine form, her mound purring pleasure as she rubbed it against his body. The chilly armor sent a spiky tear through her warm sensations, but nonetheless, it was pleasant, satisfying—wonderful. Anticipatory of the wonderful meeting there would be once his armor was stripped away, as it had been before, and she met him bare.

Talia moaned against his mouth and he devoured it with similar ecstasy, sucking her tongue against his, his muscles flexing under her with the same lust she felt.

“Sister!” Nyssa cried out, and with a jagged bolt of self-awareness, Talia pulled her mouth clear of his, denying him the opportunity to prolong it any further. Free of him, her lips stung, swollen by the sheer force of the kiss they’d shared, oversensitive and aching for more, but she refused to come one inch closer. She could feel the barest hint of warmth from his breath, tingling on her wet lips, and even that was almost overwhelming.

“T-there…” Talia husked. “You’ve had your kiss. A kiss before dying, beloved… I have given a warrior more than he may lay claim to.”

Bruce looked at her squarely. She could just see his eyes through the opaque white lenses he stared through. “I didn’t say a kiss on the lips.”

Following his thoughts, his wants, as if they had stolen right into her head, Talia looked down. His ramrod of a prick stood straight up, pressing his protective cup far out into the trunks he wore over it. She shuddered, knowing from experience that its actual length and heft were not much smaller than the tent produced by his codpiece. It reminded her of the hilt of a sword, the pommel oversized—but all of her father’s swords were far more slender. And shorter.

“I see we missed a weapon,” Talia breathed, “when we removed your belt.”

“You did remove my belt,” Bruce reminded her leadingly.

“Yes…” Talia agreed, panting breaths making her tits heave so heavily that they dislodged her zipper. It drew down her chest, all by itself.

“Sister!” Nyssa said again, but this time, the realization that she was being watched only made Talia keen in delight, eyes closing, a shuddering exhale shaking her body.

“One last time,” Talia said, to Talia, to Bruce, to herself. “I want your taste on my lips for all eternity.”

“One last pleasure,” Bruce agreed. “As only a woman of your breeding can give me. It’s worth dying to know your skill…”

Nyssa’s shoulders rose and plunged with her deep breaths. One of her tits had slipped out of its confinement, the pink nipple shockingly obvious, the feeling of it scraping against her clothing as it escaped bringing with it a distinct pleasure. “Fine. But I get to watch.”

Either Talia did not notice what she’d said or she had long since assumed that would be the case.

Talia bent over his midsection. Her hair landed on his stomach. She peeled down his trunks. Her mouth fell in astonishment. Behind her, Nyssa craned her head for a better look. Not that one was necessary. His size would’ve been obvious from across the room, outside the room.

He had not been wearing a cup.

Still staring wide-eyed, Talia took it between her lips. Her full breasts pressed against his knees as Bruce laid his head back more comfortably, giving up the sight of the beautiful woman kneeling between his legs, but awash in the sensation she produced. He could just barely feel her running her hands up his legs—then, one hand clasped his cock gently, so softly that the feel of her eyes on it was far more intense. Talia’s mouth opened and moved toward the swollen prick. Her full red lips were pouted.

She held the straining cock between her fingers and guided its head to her lips. They enveloped it slowly but with a hunger that seemed impossible. She let her lush lips capture his cockhead and held it in her warm, succulent mouth. Her tongue was still.

Instead of the obvious movement Bruce expected, she rotated her head in a circular motion, squeezing softly while she did it. Bruce let the last bit of nervous tension subside and relaxed his body to enjoy her efforts, vowing that of all the cocks Talia had sucked in her long life, his would be the last.

Talia felt the same relaxation easing through his body, seemingly into hers, and felt triumphant. She took pride in her ability to please men, despite the limited opportunities her position had provided her. It reminded her of the stories she’d heard of ancient Rome and the great orgies of slaves and courtesans. Ra’s al Ghul had told it as if that justified the fall of the empire, but she wasn’t sure. No, she was sure. Sure she would’ve enjoyed those orgies if only she had been born a bit sooner. Just as she was enjoying her beloved.

Her only regret at the moment was that Bruce had clearly come directly from the Batcave, without the blood and sweat that came from one of his lengthy patrols. She liked the odor of a man’s body. A warrior’s body. Without it, Bruce seemed far too clean-cut. But the equipment between his legs proved the lie there. He had the cock of a barbarian.

Her lips tugged on his manhood, eyes beaming at the dark hairs growing out of his stomach below the chestpiece of his armor. She loved men’s bodies, the way they were so broad, so sturdy, so hairy. Without realizing it, her mouth had lowered itself almost all the way down his monstrous cock. The tip pressed the back of her throat. She pulled her head back, pulled hair away from her face, and descended down his strong shaft again.

Bruce’s groan told her she was pleasing him. She wanted to do more than that. She wanted to drive him wild, make him forever regret what he had missed out on as he went into eternity. Eagerly, she advanced on him with her mouth. Her throat burned with the pressure of his massive organ inside the delicate tissue, but she was experienced enough not to gag. Talia took pride in being able to suck any cock. Few women in the world are as good at this as I am. Otherwise, they’d be fucking Batman.

Bruce was amazed at the succulent pressure she was applying to him. He watched her dark hair fall as her head bobbed up and down, his cock disappearing and reappearing from her mouth. Every now and then she rolled her eyes up to his face to see his reaction to her hard work. She seemed satisfied by his contorted face, his mouth issuing pants and groans. He could barely care about his escape plan when his cock was down her throat. This was sensational.

But Talia’s cunt was burning.

Between gentle sucks she managed to say, “My father… always kept me beholden to him. Under his thumb. Chaste. He wanted a heir, but all I wanted… all I wanted…”

She crawled up the makeshift bed on her knees, straddling his legs, hanging her body over his hips. She pulled the zipper of her catsuit deep between her legs, revealing the delectable hair of her pussy. Pulled the leather out of the way of her sex, positioned her supple thighs over his cock. Her aching cunt was just above the head of his cock. In only a second it would be penetrating her swollen lips, filling her needy pussy. Already the juices were flowing in anticipation. She wanted to feel him inside her deeper than ever before.

She dropped onto his prick, feeling sudden warmth inside her, stony hardness, an incredible pressure already, as though he could barely fit inside her slippery sheath. She had forgotten, since Damian had been born. Forgotten so much… or he had gotten even better.

She tightened every muscle that could possibly touch his swollen cock. Her clit had swollen larger than ever. Bruce could feel it rubbing against the swollen ridge of his prick. She was moving her well-controlled sex now, riding back and forth on him with equestrian grace.

“You ride like you’re on a horse,” Bruce said.

“You’re hung like one,” Talia replied, trying to keep joyous laughter out of her voice. “Keep me in the saddle… fuck me…”

Bruce obliged; she brought out the gentleman in him. He thrust his narrow hips up and her whole body moved, jouncing as his cock parted her liquid arousal. The sensation was magnificent. He pulled his throbbing cock back and she pulled her warm body up, their bodies dancing together, interlocking as far as possible. She grabbed fistfuls of Bruce’s cowl and pulled herself down on his cock even further, yelping with how deep she took him, but tightening her pussy more, smiling as if she were in heaven.

Her labia made a sloshing noise as they circled and circled his cock, finishing the undulations that began in her hips, shook her torso. Bruce bucked his hips up off the table and drove his steel-hard manhood deep. Her swollen clit was standing out forcefully and he relished running his veiny prick against it as fast as he could.

Talia moaned and squirmed. Her breasts jiggled. All over her head the hair flouncing and spread every which way with the exertion of meeting his strokes, riding them out with fluid circles in her hips. Every thrust seemed to meet her G-spot, send stinging energy up her body and down to tingle her toes. Every time she bounced she saw his groin glistening with her wetness.

Talia ran her hands down her inner thighs, trailing the sharp nails lightly along the sensitive flesh. She grinned wickedly down at her beloved as the feeling swelled inside her, grew and grew. Leaning back, bracing herself with one hand, Talia parted the engorged lips of her cunt with two fingers, exposing the wet pinkness of her inner flesh to Bruce.

A stream of her juices squirted from her there.

Bruce let out a bark of a laugh, feeling her warm ejaculate drenching his lower body. Talia shared his laughter, squealing it out as she held her cunt wide and spurted in short, quick sprays over his armor. She laughed with delight, playful and pleasured—what she was doing made her feel very, very sexy.

Bruce lay still, holding his cock inside her, watching Talia’s cunt as her juices shot from it, splashing over his body almost to his cowl. He could almost feel its warmth through his armor. Talia lowered a hand and smeared her honey across his chest.

Then she felt his cock swell inside her. “You like it!” she moaned happily. “Your cock’s getting so hard… going to come on you, on your hard cock, and then fuck it, fuck it all over again…”

But Talia didn’t get to fuck him again. Her cunt convulsed even as she came, and it felt like she was climaxing all over again, pleasure flaring up to the point of pain inside her. The two fingers she had holding her sex open began to rub at the sudden burning, itching need inside her, and she came in spurts, soaking the wiry hairs of Bruce’s loins. Underneath him, her juices had reached his cape, and it grew sodden and slick in a huge puddle.

“Oh God, oh God, I don’t believe it—it’s too much, too—I can’t stoooop!”

She weakly climbed off her drenched lover, his cock pulling from her sex as it tried to clamp around him forever. She slumped against the table between his legs, her flawless breasts heaving up and down, nipples arching to the ceiling.

Bruce’s cock loomed over her, as if mocking the oversensitive ache her pussy had become—longing to have him inside her again, but unprepared for the pleasure he’d brought her. She hadn’t known. She hadn’t been ready.

Nyssa laughed harshly. “No wonder the marriage didn’t work. At least I take it Damian was an easy delivery…”

“Oh, have your little girlfriends been fisting you?” Talia asked. “Because that’s the only way you could possibly take him.”

Nyssa scowled. “My breeding is as good as yours. But I have more resolve than you ever will. You don’t possess the will to be the Demon’s Head, and you don’t possess the will to satisfy this man. Yes—no wonder he couldn’t be persuaded to become Heir to the Demon when you couldn’t even make him come!”

“And you can? You, who fancy yourself the next Ra’s al Ghul?”

Nyssa shuddered. She stared at Bruce. At his cock. “I can do anything you can do. I can take away anything you possess.”

“Then take him,” Talia challenged. “Give me a show like the one I just gave you.”

Nyssa hesitated a moment. But Bruce could see the nipple hardening on her exposed breast. It looked razor-sharp. “Alright,” she said, practically moaning. She pulled open her plunging neckline, revealing possibly the only body in existence that was Talia’s equal. “I’ll get him off. Then we kill him.”