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Harley shuddered with fear of what more Bruce might do to her pussy, what more he might make her feel. She already felt rubbed raw by how much he had fucked her—him and the women he’d sicced on her like animal dick at a donkey show. She ached in every joint she had. Being stuck in the doggy door had put a lot of tension in her shoulders and hips. Her legs were going numb from lack of circulation, just like her hands already had. She was as helpless as a girl could be, butt naked and at the mercy of a sociopath and the harem of beautiful young women who were unutterably devoted to him.

Naturally, Harley was enjoying herself. All but the part where Bruce ignored her to play around with Summer and Vicki.

“Hey! Brucie! Hey! You better not ignore me!” she told him warningly. “Brucie, if you don’t fuck me some more, I’m telling those sluts you’re Batman!”

For a moment, everything froze.

Bruce retreated behind his poker face, only a glimmer of annoyance in how he stared at Harley. All the furious calculation in him was hidden by his mask.

Vicki burst out laughing at the thought of Bruce Wayne being Batman.

Summer was more stunned. She considered it, casting her mind through everything she knew of Bruce, everything she knew of Batman…

“Oh my God…” Vicki was doing the same thing. The idea wasn’t so funny anymore. A lot of it was only coincidence, circumstantial evidence—someone with Bruce’s resources, Bruce’s obvious fitness, and everyone knew what had happened to his parents—could all his partying, his drinking, his womanizing really be a disguise?

It was a crazy, paranoiac notion. How could you disprove that anyone wasn’t secretly an entirely different person living a lie for whatever twisted reason? But Harley’s accusation was so believable, an entirely sincere-seeming accident, a slip of the tongue utterly in keeping with her character. It was exactly how Harley would give away a secret she was trying to keep. No one who’d dated two separate supervillains, back to back, could be smart enough to fake that.

Bruce went to Harley and kicked out the panel bordering the doggy door. With one of its edges suddenly removed, Harley was free to try to continue out of the kitchen. Bruce seized her by an ankle and pulled with gentle pressure, not hurting her, but not showing a lack of willingness for her to be hurt either. Cringing all the way, Harley backed into the kitchen with the other three and stood up. Bruce moved his hand to the back of her neck, collaring it firmly while he gazed at Vicki and Summer. He was deathly calm.

“You should come with me now,” he informed them.

Summer gulped, suddenly intimidated. It occurred to her that Bruce was a very big, very strong man, all of which she had greatly enjoyed when that power was being used on her or Vicki. She wasn’t sure she would enjoy it so much now. “Maybe we shouldn’t go to any secondary locations,” she whispered to Vicki.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” he said to them. He was not stating an opinion.

Properly cowed, Vicki and Summer turned on their heels and went where Bruce directed them, leading the way out of the kitchen. Nothing was keeping them from fleeing but Bruce’s orders. His voice moved them ahead of him and Harley while he held her by the scruff of her neck.

Summer was keenly aware that she was naked, as were all of them. Before, it’d felt delightfully absurd, like some obscene take on Alice In Wonderland—Stately Wayne Manor a place exclusively of fantasy and phantasmagoria. Dreams and nightmares too unbelievable to do any real harm.

Now the surrealism was gone. She realized, quite sharply, that they were naked because they were simply that far from any power but Bruce’s, any authority but his. If he wanted to go naked, for all of them to go naked, it was his property for as far as the eye could see. He could do it. He could do whatever he wanted. Good God, what had she gotten herself into?

“In here,” Bruce said, marching them into the study.

He let go of Harley after a squeeze that made her squawk, then he went to the grand piano in the corner and tapped out three discordant notes. A charge went through the room. Something was different, something nearly unnoticeable. If Summer’s senses weren’t so heightened by the adrenaline rushing through her veins, she wouldn’t have noticed it. It was like the ozone in the air following a lightning strike. Of course, you paid attention to anything after lightning struck.

Vicki thought of making a run for it while Bruce was distracted, but the force of his personality was so potent that she couldn’t seriously consider it. She knew herself—from deep in her subconscious, she could feel subliminal urges ordering her thoughts, arguing against any plan to defy him.

Sometimes, it was hard to believe that the carefree bachelor was also a wildly successful captain of industry, regardless of how much he credited Waynecorp’s good fortune to Lucius Fox and other subordinates. Now it made sense to her. Usually, he kept this darkly powerful charisma fettered, restraining it from spilling out and overwhelming the psychic atmosphere of a room.

But now that he wanted to, the man wrapped mystery and menace around himself. Even naked, his body held such a palpable sense of strength that Vicki could’ve believed he went head to head with presidents and CEOs on a daily basis—maybe even superheroes and supervillains.

Vicki could think about what has happening, speculate wildly about what would happen, but she and Summer could do little else. They watched helplessly while Bruce opened up the face of a grandfather clock and twisted the hands to a carefully chosen time.

Now Summer understood. It was a password. The first part was the seemingly random notes played on the piano and the second part was the time on the grandfather clock. With both those in place, the room did as it did now—a wall opening up, revealing a staircase spiraling down to the mansion’s foundations.

Dank, chthonic air, musty and humid, swirled up into the cool, civilized air conditioning of this seemingly beatific house. It felt like a rotting skeleton under pristine flesh. Summer thought about how long Batman had been operating in Gotham, when Bruce had set all this up. For all she knew, the man might very well have invented escape rooms.

“Move,” Bruce ordered, giving a reluctant Harley a businesslike slap on the ass to motivate her, and once again his voice and force of personality brooked no disagreement. Summer and Vicki started down the staircase, hearing Harley and Bruce’s bare feet padding down the steps after them.

Behind them, the wall closed up again. Vicki imagined the system resetting, the grandfather clock displaying the correct time again, the piano once more a simple musical instrument. It would be like they had never been there at all.

Vicki had been in the Batcave before, for a vanishingly small time when Batman had taken her into ‘protective custody’ after a story she was doing hit Mr. Freeze close to home. Summer had never seen it. It still awed both of them. The enormous, natural majesty of the cave seamlessly merged with the gothic designs of the Batman’s technology.

The mystery pulsed through them. Why this dark, Jungian elementalism? In his own secret sanctum, why not simply folding chairs and office furniture? Was it something not unlike a serial killer’s ritual? A way of psyching himself up to make the transition from Bruce Wayne in the day to Batman at night? Something even more primordial—all of this a shrine to the very idea of Batman, the cultish devotion that now included Robin, Batgirl, Nightwing, and so many others as acolytes?

The man’s inner workings, the grandeur of his psychology, silenced and stilled even Harley, who gaped at it. Although she’d known Bruce was Batman, the idea hadn’t truly penetrated her shallow consciousness. Now the primal subconscious that ruled her actions, drank in the mammoth truth. It was not simply a secret, an alter ego. It was that Bruce Wayne was part of something—was something—vastly bigger than himself.

For Summer, it reminded her of the mandate of heaven. The notion that certain people were actually chosen, by divine right, to rule their chosen kingdom. Only Bruce’s kingdom was an infernal one indeed.

“I’ll give you a moment to collect your thoughts,” Bruce said to Summer and Vicki. He sounded both more, and less, like himself. Not quite the growl of the Batman—that deliberately intimidating sound that chilled criminals to their bones—but it wasn’t the high, lighthearted tones of Bruce Wayne either.

It was much like the voice he’d used when he’d talked so dirtily to them, ordered them around to submissive bliss. In fact, his coal dust voice was so very much like the one he’d employed when he’d brought them to their dominated pleasure that both women found their fear replaced with at least a touch of arousal.

“It wasn’t my intention to frighten either of you, but your cooperation was required and the quickest, most efficient way to do that was to intimidate you. Even I’m only one man. I’d be hard-pressed to deal with the three of you being… difficult… at once.”

Summer wasn’t sure she bought that. She thought Bruce might very easily handle them all three at once. Then she considered that he might mean he would find it hard to deal with all of them… without inflicting harm. As ruthless as he was, he wasn’t immoral. Just as there’d been when he’d fucked them, there were rules. But was this a true code of honor or simply a sociopath’s paraphilia?

Bruce clearly knew his way around his lair like a cardsharp knew a deck of playing cards. Still showing no consideration of his own nudity, he walked to one point in the bizarre, yet fitting architecture and pushed his thumb into a scanner Summer never would’ve noticed on her own. A safe emerged from the floor and opened up. Bruce reached into it, came out with three collars.

“We’re doing that again?” Vicki asked. As dubious as she sounded, Summer noticed that her thighs squeezed together. She knew that under no circumstances would Vicki ever say no to Swiss chocolate. Guess this is something else she doesn’t have it in her to say no to.

“These are derived from the Mad Hatter’s tech,” Bruce explained, stalking towards them slowly but steadily, like a wolf about to pounce. Summer felt like if she ran, he would bring her down before she got three steps. “We use them to test out ways of resisting and blocking his mind control. Otherwise, I only use it under the most dire circumstances. A weapon this powerful cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands or be wielded lightly. Hatter’s madness at least prevents his technology from being easily disseminated. But, at the moment, I’m going to have to make use of these.”

He moved with incredible, shocking speed for such a big man. In a heartbeat—in less than that—he had snapped one of the collars around Harley’s neck. She shrieked, moving instinctively to fight off the hold it had on her… then she was suddenly quiet. Her hands dropped down to her sides. For all intents and purposes, the collar looked like nothing more than an ordinary choker. It was even red and black, with a pink heart in the middle. Neither Summer nor Vicki would think anything of Harley wearing it if it weren’t the only thing she had on.

“This was always meant for you, Quinn,” Bruce explained. “You’ll still be able to think for yourself, but it will limit your options. You’ll no longer be able to orgasm without permission. You can’t swallow cum. And you can’t divulge my secret, no matter how much you want to.”

Harley’s hands twitched at her sides. “I—I can’t move—you dumb bat, you paralyzed me!”

“It also doesn’t let you take it off,” Bruce continued. “Stop trying to take it off and you’ll be able to move.”

“But—I—wanna!” Harley insisted with shrill cadence. Then she gritted her teeth, silently fuming as her body tensed and strained.

Bruce took his attention off her to return it to Vicki and Summer. “That may take a while,” he said casually. “In the meantime...”

Summer looked at the two remaining collars. He held one in each hand. “Then those are for us? To keep us from ever revealing what we know?”

“That’s pretty despotic for a member of the Justice League,” Vicki said.

“They’re not for that. They’re for a thought experiment.”

A lightning-fast move… at least presumably. Neither woman saw Bruce move, but the collars he’d been holding were suddenly wrapped around their necks.

At a distance, the collars were silent, but now they were so close to the women that they could hear a hum of electricity—quickly lost to familiarity—as the collars powered on.

“What… what do these do?” Summer asked, nerves trembling in her voice.

“To your minds? Nothing,” Bruce said, eyeing her and her naked body with more interest than he’d shown before. Summer felt a pulse pass through her at the reminder of their lurid circumstances. “But every time you think of having sex with me, the collar gives you a tingle.” His eyes shifted to Vicki. Summer saw her preen; the slut. “And the more you think about it, the stronger the tingles get.”