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“And here I thought the drinks at the Iceberg Lounge were overpriced,” a new voice came into their privately orgiastic world. “Ivy, I can see you’ve found a vintage they don’t sell at any liquor store.”

Shocked, Lark twisted around to see Bruce Wayne smiling at her from across the room. It was a cocksure smile and his cockiness was justified by the naked body he displayed. His prick he outright broadcast, so enormously hard it reminded Lark of a dog straining at a leash.

Lark’s jaw dropped in surprise, suddenly realizing how much Bruce had seen. He’d watched her come, eaten out by Ivy, who herself was down on all fours, her ass blatantly displayed to him as if inviting his attention.

But it was all on Lark. Her naked body heating as though his gaze was scorching her, making her sweat even harder than she had been as Ivy brought her to a blazing orgasm.

Even as all that occurred to Lark, Ivy spoke lightly: “It’s about time you showed up, Bruce. I thought I’d wear her out before you even got here.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Lark looks perfectly insatiable… to you… doesn’t she?”

Bruce strode forward, his eyes devouring Lark—something in them making her not mind the hunger he showed. Looking at her like he knew exactly how to please her, tantalize her, reduce her to mindless ecstasy. And Ivy looking at Lark like she was in for a treat… like the fun had just begun.

“Ivy did a very good job of satisfying me,” Lark said in a stunned whisper, unable to take her eyes off his rigid erection as he approached—wondering if all that motion was it bobbing with his movement or if some was sheer lust—trembling with desire for her.

Smiling, Ivy faced her. “And now Bruce will satisfy you again.”

Bruce grinned, standing before them. “Maybe not. I sense our Lark is a little reluctant. We wouldn’t want her to do anything she’s uncomfortable with, now would we?”

Ivy shook her head in agreement, though the look in her eyes was all mockery at Lark.

“Which just leaves the two of us,” Bruce said to Ivy. “And poor Lark in the lurch. Oh well. C’est la vie.”

Ivy gave Lark a look of pouty sympathy—smiling right through it.

She rolled over onto her back and brought her knees up to her chest. Her cunt lay upturned and ready. Bruce lowered himself down to her, handling his cockhead to the mouth of her pussy, and then he took it with consummate familiarity. Entering all of her with one smooth stroke.

“Oh, CHRIST, yes!” Ivy gasped. “Always so damn big… like you’re trying to break me!”

Lark held her breath, hearing them fuck, seeing them fuck. She knew what Ivy’s pleasure looked like from when her tongue had been inside Ivy. The redhead hadn’t been faking then. She wasn’t faking now. Her bliss was more enthusiastic than ever.

“Deeper! Bruce! Push that big cock deeper into my tight pussy! Goddamn, I know it’s wet enough for you!” Ivy encouraged him. Her voice was becoming shrill, edging into pleading. She was more lustful than she’d been with Lark too. As if she knew how good it could be and wouldn’t settle for anything less.

“You think I’m holding anything back? No. Not when I know it’s a whore like you,” Bruce gritted out, grimacing as he felt the sharp pain of her nails raking down his back.

This wasn’t an exploration, an indulging of curiosity as it had been between the two women. Ivy knew what she was getting. And she was all but addicted to it.

Lark held her hand over her mouth, afraid to make a noise and give herself away. She didn’t know if Bruce and Ivy were still aware of her presence. They certainly seemed single-minded enough in their fucking to have forgotten about her.

And Lark had to admit, Ivy was worthy of all Bruce’s attention. Bruce too was rapidly proving himself worthy of the worshipful expression on Ivy’s face—Lark saw no indication that Ivy wanted to go back to the lesbian passion she’d shared with her.

“OOOOH, husband! Mr. Brucie Wayne!” Ivy squealed, pushing her cunt up to Bruce’s never-ending efforts to please her. “So glad I married you… let you into me… do this to me every night!”

She flung her head from side to side with the bucking coitus. Her long red hair whipped across the carpet while she thrashed for him, spurred on like a winning racehorse by every pump Bruce gave her. Even if all she could do was writhe, she put her heart into it. Leaving no doubt of how much she loved every thrust she got from her man.

***

“Every night?” Bruce grunted, wincing as her cunt squeezed at his thick cock. It was as if Ivy wanted to hold him inside her every time he thrust into her. “I’d fuck you every minute if I could. Good little cock-holster like you… I’d keep you on my prick twenty-four-seven if that pussy didn’t need a rest!”

Bruce looked down at his wife’s voluptuous body and smiled smugly, seeing the rapturous expression on her lovely face. It was more than just how much she was enjoying the sex. Now she knew that he was Batman and the sexual tension of their old rivalry added to the fun for her, spicing every moment he spent inside her.

In a way, she’d finally conquered him—getting the attention she’d always sought to tempt out of her nemesis. It freed her up to submit to him. She surrendered wholeheartedly, knowing that with being his wife came being his whore.

It affected Bruce too; he had to admit that. As he pummeled her with his cock, thinking of the old enemy who had nearly taken his life so many times, his erection throbbed and his scrotum churned with seed. It was an undeniable turn-on to look down at this bitch in heat and see the woman who had menaced Gotham so many times.

Now his—still a challenge to his skill, but this time victory over her meant far more than packing her away in Arkham. It meant this beautiful, troubled woman was granted peace and pleasure. It kept Gotham safe from her anger, in a way that the walls of the asylum never had. It made her eyes well up with love, love for the only man she could trust to protect and cherish her as she had always wanted.

Once, he’d thought Ivy was insane to fixate on him, thinking she could seduce the Batman. But perhaps, in a way, she’d known the truth even then. He was the man who could take care of her the way she wanted. And master her the way she needed.

Harley could never be more than a plaything to the darkness within Ivy. But Bruce could dispel that darkness. He could give her the control she needed, as well as the affection. Bruce couldn’t help but love holding that importance in Ivy’s life.

“Mine,” Bruce whispered, plowing his wife’s tight sex and seeing her love him for it.

“And you’re mine too,” Ivy crooned back at him, wrapping her long legs around his back. “Mine to play with as long as I want…”

***

Ivy couldn’t help but compare Bruce’s muscular body to the brutal, domineering figure he cut in his armor. Ivy felt her nipples burn against his massive chest as she thought of Batman: the cape, the cowl, the drive that was the same but diminished when it was only Bruce. She thought about the last time she had seen him in his full costume. She had been unable to take her eyes off the man who struck fear into all of Gotham.

“Give me what’s mine. Give me that cock!” Ivy moaned, thinking of her former nemesis as she took his cock—imagining herself giving him a titjob before he took off in the Batmobile or sucking him off as he sat at the Batcomputer.

***

Lark had no way of knowing that such a powerful aphrodisiac was at work. If she did, perhaps she would’ve felt a little better about how much more vocal Ivy was with Bruce than she’d been with her. But it wasn’t like she was at all depressed over her own efforts. Watching Bruce’s toned ass flex as he pistoned into Ivy’s cunt, Lark wasn’t making any comparisons. She only thought of how exceedingly horny the two were.

Bruce was making Ivy act like an absolute whore. That, more than anything, Lark found absurdly arousing. After years of pretending that the Penguin could put her in such a state, here Bruce was—really making Ivy beg for it. No prompting, no role-playing. This was who Ivy was, thanks to Bruce’s splendid cocksmanship.

Lark envied her. Ivy was living the fantasy that Lark was paid to pretend.