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So Joker escaped from prison this one time and went downtown to Gotham. There were these skanky ass hookers all, "hey baby, wanna have a good time?" and since Harley had left to join the Amazon Lesbian Heroes Club he was feeling really horny and sayd, "yeah, ho, get in my bad ride!" An he was driving this pimped out chevy impala with spinning chrome rims and purple neon chassy lights under and like those fake bullet-hole stickers. And an inverted crucifix with Batman on it hanging from a modified purple and green rosary he decorated the rear view mirror with.
So Joker takes this hooker back to his penthouse apartment and fucks the shit out of her. He's all bangin her from behind and she's all, "oh god, it's so big, omg i nbever seen a cock that big!" and he's all "take it bitch!" and then Harley opens the door and is all like shocked@!!! But then she gets all horny too, seeing Joker all naked and buff and shiny with sweat so she can't help it and starts touching her privates. Joker notices her jerking off and is all, "Hey Harley, why don't you come over here too!" so she tears her clothes off all sexy and starts jumping on the bed with her boobs bouncing and shit, so Joker starts to laugh and grabs her boobs and she's all "OHHHH!" and she almost cums and he puts his dick in her tight cunt and she's all screaming and cums really hard and that makes him cum. he dumps his whole load inside her and then pulls out and has to hooker suck the jizz back outta Harley's cunt and then the two girls start making out and pass Joker's cum between them and he thinks that's so hot he starts jacking his beef.
But! That's right when Batman finally comes out of the shadows 'cause he was watching the whole thing and now he's got this huge boner pokin outta his pants. Batman walks up behind Joker pumping one out and is about to grab him when the hooker screams (harley passed out 'cause she orgasmed so hard and didn't see) and Joker turns around all shocked to see Batman@!!! But he had been jerking himself all well, and touching his balls, and Joker cummed again, all over Batman. Batman thought that was so hot, he ripped off his tights and Joker saw his giant boner! Joker started sucking Batman's cock and Batman started moaning real deep as his throbbing manhood passed through Joker's lips. Batman grabbed Joker's face and pulled him up to kiss him and suck his cock-juice and pre-cum back out of Joker's mouth. Joker rips off Batman's shirt, exposing Batman's stacked bod and Joker moans, sucking on Batman's nipples and then they grab eachothers' huge wangers and masturbate eachother until they both cumm hard at the same time. They cum for like a whole minute straight and Harley and the hooker come over to suck it all up out of them.
Then Batman remembers his station and handcuffs both Joker and Harley and takes them back to Arkham...
...but not before ass raping them both in the batcave!!!!
the end
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Living the dream 15000+ posts
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Living the dream 15000+ posts
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living in 1962 15000+ posts
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Uschi's been raiding rob's fanfic again.
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Who will I break next? 15000+ posts
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It was good till the gay stuff.
November 6th, 2012: Americas new Independence Day.
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faggot 15000+ posts
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NO, reax. Pay attention. It were shite.
You want a good one, I've wrtten good ones.
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Jun 2004
Posts: 46,308
Who will I break next? 15000+ posts
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Who will I break next? 15000+ posts
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November 6th, 2012: Americas new Independence Day.
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Joined: Mar 2003
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faggot 15000+ posts
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faggot 15000+ posts
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That one was funny 'cause it's so terrible. This one's better: http://community.livejournal.com/jokerxharley/266140.htmlA Beautiful Friendship
He could feel her. Touching him. One fingernail dragged slowly across his shoulders, along his spine. A touch so light it was hardly a touch at all. What she intended to be sensuous was instead making his skin crawl. He crossed his arms tighter in front of his chest in discouragement, but only succeeded in pulling the skin taught, making each movement that much more evident. And of course she was so stupid, she probably thought he was angry at himself, having a battle of urges – trying to hold out as long as possible before succumbing to her feminine wiles. A tiny giggle confirmed it; the dumb broad had zero concept of personal space. She continued with the fingernail and moved closer to his sides where she would eventually try to tickle.
He sometimes tried to show her, taking her violently with the kind of touch you really feel. None of this damned ghost-touch, nothing that could be mistaken for one of the cockroaches in the mattress, or something to mark the passing of a rat. None of it should be like a rat – except, maybe, when they bit you. Fingernails should sting and leave wounds to get infected. Mouths ought to draw blood. Hands should bruise and pressure internal organs when they feel someone, because that -- that is the kind of feel that is real. Sometimes he would show her, but she never learned. In fact, it sometimes seemed to be the kind of reward that reinforced that type of behavior he so disliked and she would do it more. So most times he wouldn’t even bother, just kick her around a bit until her libido calmed.
Maybe three times since she was his shrink, he had done things to her of a more conventional taboo. Maybe she had done something very right while they were performing one of his schemes; maybe she just hadn’t been as annoying as usual… maybe it had nothing to do with her. He didn’t think that much about it. A wicked thought would enter his head and he’d grab her, wherever she was, and throw her to a bed or table or whatever was handy. A dirty smile and a wink and he’d open her legs. Her whorish moans and screams were muffled by her thighs, clenched tight around his head. She was never louder and it always made the boys in the other rooms extremely uncomfortable for days… so maybe he just did it for the laugh.
But here she was again, softly rubbing his shoulders and breathing softly against his ear. His brow furrowed as her thigh crept about his waist, her foot rubbing slowly between his legs. Like a cat flipping in the air defies physics, he spun in the bed, landing his fist square on her hissing lips. Blow after blow his mind replayed the unnerving sensation of her fingernail until her face was a mess of red and the sounds bubbling out of her were soft and indecipherable. He looked at her lying there, bleeding at him, and softly chucked her on the chin, “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid.”
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106
faggot 15000+ posts
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http://community.livejournal.com/jokerxharley/306028.html#cutid1Title: Happy Birthday, Dear Commissioner! Author: Uschi E-mail: dangermaiden at hotmail dot com Permission to archive: sway Category: Joker x Harley Ship Genre: humor, ECP (yay) Rating: MA / R Summary: Joker got sick and... just read. Keywords: Joker, Harley, Gordon, ECP, nurse, illness Spoilers: none. takes place after they have a fully established relationship. Disclaimer: DC pwn3s Author Notes: Um... I accidentally wrote some fluff. But only on accident. Really. She was going to have to do something. He wasn’t getting better and she had the sneaking suspicion that he had started faking it for the attention. For over two weeks now, Harley had been waiting on her Puddin’ night and day – more so than usual, even. But he had simply descended into quiet depths of depression and illness. And Joker was very scary when he was quiet.
Twelve days ago was the birthday party. His birthday party. No, not HIS birthday, “his.” GCPD Commissioner James Gordon’s sixtieth birthday party. Gordon was going all-out and having a huge gathering with the Mayor and almost everyone at the Gotham Police Department… and Batman was probably going to show up. It was going to be huge because that stupid fop Bruce Wayne was throwing it, and he had some real money to throw. It was going to be huge because Joker was out of the Asylum and “unaccounted for.” It was going to be a real blast. Because a shipment of explosives was hijacked out of Metropolis’s commerce port.
“Was” was the operative word.
Poor Puddin’ didn’t make it.
He got sick.
Harley had never known Joker to take ill. The thought that he would be susceptible to a virus never crossed her mind. He was immune to most poisons and toxins (not to mention her feminine wiles), so why not microbes and bacteria? Alas, he must have been running on good luck – or maybe just ignoring the situation. There were, after all, many times when he had gone on heists and sprees while under influence of powerful drugs (administered by the fellows back at Arkham) despite their sedative or hallucinogenic effects. Once, had he not been shaking uncontrollably due to neurological drugs (from some treatments administered before his escape that same day), Mr.J might have even killed Batman. As it was, Joker’s every shot missed wildly as he tried to force his aim.
Whatever it was, Joker had never before been sick like this. Vomiting, fever, chills, and other, even less savory effects all combined to make her big strong man into a puddle of miserable. The first day he tried to ignore it. It was, after all, just two days before the Grand Party. He brushed off his suit and shined his shoes (or, at least, watched Harley do so) all in final preparation for the big day. He was going to blow them out of the water! But the coughing… at first it had been a simple nagging tick. Then it progressed into a rasping, ragged hacking that doubled him over and left him gasping for air. By the next morning he had even lost his voice. If only he had gotten some rest…
Harley made him gallons of chicken soup at a time. She robbed three pharmacies of everything she could carry. She even set him up with a VCR and all the Laurel&Hardy tapes she could find, just in case laughter really *was* the best medicine. Poor Harley. All that work and all it got her was first degree burns from having nearly-boiling soup kicked over onto her, almost arrested by some stupid night-watch rent-a-cop at a pharmacy, and those weird L-shaped bruises you get when a VCR flies at you and strikes you corner-first. Well, that and puke in her shoes every day when she woke up. Even when she hid her shoes, Joker somehow found the strength to hunt for them while she slept. Because it meant so much to him, she eventually just gave up and put them on anyway, just so he could get a few giggles in the morning.
But now it was all starting to stretch thin. She knew he wasn’t feeling ill anymore. Heck, he hadn’t even been able to force himself to vomit in her slippers in four days. Joker just stayed in bed all day, in the quiet, in the darkness she tried to supply him with (she had to nail an old blanket and overcoat she stole from some bum to the wall to cover the two windows). Occasionally he would sigh, but he had stopped talking. Stopped threatening. Stopped caring. It really broke her heart to see him like this. She would have to do something to cheer him up.
Harley knew that she could never match the draw of a party with police officers and Batmans and balloons all by her onesies, but she had a friend. A friend called PVC. She found a kinky store just a couple blocks away that sold costumes, and there was one that was simply perfect. He would *love* it! Well, he BETTER love it… Stealing away into the bathroom next to Joker’s depression chamber one night, Harley donned her get-up. She wore a skin-tight white mini-skirt and a similar top, with a bright red cross on one of her breasts. The zipper on the front of her Naughty Nurse costume had a large silver bull-ring that she pulled halfway down to show maximum cleavage. She had some trouble moving at first, being unused to the shiny, plasticine cloth, but soon got the hang of it. She pulled her hair up into the sort of loose bun she used to default with when she was a doctor at Arkham. Taking particular care with her makeup, Harley made sure her thigh-high leggings had the seams straight and pushed open the door to her Puddin’.
“Mistah J, it’s time for your physical,” Harley pouted and stepped into the dim room.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Joker mumbled as she did a small pole dance with the door frame, his first words in a day and a half. She was getting somewhere! Pulling down the zipper of her shirt with each writhing step, Harley snaked her way toward him and slithered up onto his bed.
“Medicine’s in my blood, Puddin,” she whispered, “almost as bad as you. Now: turn your head and cough.” With a wry smile, she slid over further on the mattress, closer to his side. Joker closed his eyes as tight as they would go and crossed his arms on his chest, face forward, resolute and determined to ignore her. Harley frowned and bit her lip. This was it, her last run. If she couldn’t cheer him up now… Harley was saddened by the thought that her Puddin’ might stay in this funk forever. He was certainly stubborn enough.
Since he refused to watch her, she hiked her skirt up and out of the way above her hips and tossed a leg over, mounting him. It had been more than two weeks since he last had a smile. No longer was she going to wait for him to fix himself. She let out soft “mmm” sounds to encourage him and dug down at the elastic bands of his pajama pants and boxer shorts, dragging them out of the way also. Joker’s eyes popped wide open in shock at her blatant defiance against his *perfectly clear* indications of wanting her the hell away, but then the pupils shrank and his eyes narrowed considerably when she began to grind slowly against him.
“Hey! What are you… RAPE!” Joker struggled to pull his left hand out from under her knee to give her a good smack, but Harley had foreseen this possibility and was intentionally pinning it down. She also held his right wrist captive in her fist, and their arms jerked about in tense struggle to gain/maintain some sort of advantage.
The words Joker said were certainly a colorful sort, running the gambit of crude to absurd, as he spat insults and threats at Harley. She might have been more frightened if not for two things. One, she had the physical upper hand in the current situation. Two, he was getting excited in more ways than one. Harley shushed him softly, pressing her finger to his lips that foamed with rage – just barely pulling the finger back out of the way as he snapped his teeth at it. Still struggling with her left hand, Harley used her right index finger, moist with his saliva, to drag slowly down his breast bone and follow the curve of his rib cage down to his side. When she reached the place at his hip where their skin joined, she ran her palm up her inner thigh and up her stomach, moaning like a whore, and finally unzipping the last remaining inch of her top and exposing the her breasts completely. She shoved her left hand (holding his right) into the mattress and sighed softly as she played with a couple fingers at her lips, licking and sucking them, still humping him rhythmically. Joker groaned and rolled his eyes at the fellatio pantomime as she dripped warm saliva down her hand. But then Harley suddenly popped her fingers out of her mouth and shoved the dripping wet digits as far up Joker’s nostrils as they’d go.
“WHAT THE – FUCK?!” Joker jumped in shock, ripping both hands back into his own possession, wiping his nose desperately with the back of his hand. Harley couldn’t help cracking up. Joker sat up as far as he could with Harley on his lap and was completely silent for half a second before bursting into a roar of uncontrolled laughter. He threw himself back into his pillow and gasped for air between peals of belly laughs, “Harley! You finally… the timing, misdirection… perfect!” He smiled and giggled genuinely at her, and a real twinkle of affection crept into his eye before he grabbed her waist and twisted her around and started spanking her ass with open palm. Harley squealed and Joker chided merrily, “You nasty, dirty little girl! I oughta-“ and he bit her right cheek, teeth sinking deep into the soft flesh and taught muscle. Harley screamed, but only for a surprised second. Joker rolled her over and leaned over her prostrate form, his elbow by her head, her blood dripping down his chin from a wide, crescent-moon smile, and he kissed her.
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106
faggot 15000+ posts
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OP
faggot 15000+ posts
Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106 |
http://www.jokerxharley.net/efiction/viewstory.php?sid=28&chapter=1It had been nearly twenty-five minutes of silence. Harley hadn't spoken a word since the guards had brought her in and Joan was getting tired of it. It was obvious why she wasn't speaking: she didn't want to talk about the incident that had landed her here. Joan needed her to discuss it, because once Harley began the whole story would come spilling out and then they could move forward with her therapy.
But first Joan needed to get her talking. So far, all of her attempts had been met with indifferent shrugs and her patient refusing to meet her gaze. This wasn't like Harley though, who was usually so joking and talkative. Something had definitely happened that had affected her so deeply she wasn't even willing to discuss it with Joan, her one true confidant.
Finally, having had enough of this, the psychiatrist sighed heavily and decided to be upfront about it. "Harley, what happened?" she asked firmly, leaning forward.
Beginning to sob uncontrollably, the young woman managed to work her story out between sniffles. "Well Joan, it all started with a surprise…”
Harley crouched behind a small wooden crate trying to stifle her own giggles and the soft whimpers of the woman she held against the floor. The woman, or really, the girl – she couldn’t have been more than nineteen, had stopped struggling a few minutes ago. Maybe it was the wire they had used to bind her hands, which had probably started to dig in. The woman seemed to regain her drive and tried to fight again at the sound of her husband? boyfriend? baby-daddy?’s voice. Harley leaned down closer to the woman’s tear-stained face and softly shushed her, trying to calm her down with a gentle petting on the woman’s pregnant belly.
Harley perked up at the sound of a second man’s voice. Mister J. She listened carefully to the conversation taking place elsewhere in the cavernous room, ever approaching her concealed location. Harley chewed her lip. She had to wait for her cue. She had to hit it. Or else.
“Dear boy, did you think it was a present? That I would not expect my due?”
“No, sir. I-“
“You thought I was a fool, then.”
“No! I-“
“Then the problem here is rather eluding me. I let you have a generous loan… it was quite generous, don’t you think?” Joker’s brilliant grin was visible to Harley now, peeking slightly around the crate. The second man’s back was toward her hiding place.
“Yes, sir. It’s j-“
“And all I wanted was a tiny smidgen of gratitude with the returns, that cannot be too much to ask for, can it?”
“Oh, oh NO sir, it’s just the amount-“
Joker smiled wider, “The amount, boy, is non-negotiable. You will see this.”
“It’s just so soon! I don’t have it yet! I tried-”
“You didn’t try hard enough.” His smile fell, replaced with feigned confusion, and Joker continued, “Do you expect a bank to let you slide on your payments? The government, even?”
“But those loans are for years! You loaned me last month!”
“Ah, and that is really the point, now, isn’t it?” The pair stopped. They were mere feet away from Harley and the woman. Harley shivered with excitement and tried to concentrate on Joker’s words and not his voice. “I’m not a bank. I didn’t run your credit. I gave you thousands, no questions asked…” Joker’s eyes sparked up and his voice became quiet, “although you told me anyway, didn’t you? Yes you did. You told me all about your little sob story, your little oven cooking up your little bun.”
“Oh god…” it finally dawned on the man what a terrible mistake he had made.
“It seems to me you have a choice.”
“I have a kid. Oh god. I can’t -” He looked at the tangle of hot wires looping along the wall.
“You could give me my money…”
“Oh god pleasedon’tkillme!” the man dropped to his knees; his eyes followed the wires to a dark corner behind him where, near a wooden crate, there was a large vessel full of water.
“OR…”
Harley sprang from behind the crate, jerking the woman along, shouting, “Surprise!” The man screamed.
“…maybe I burn the toast.” Joker finished with a hearty laugh from the belly.
“Don’t you touch her!” the man demanded as he rushed Harley to protect his wife. Harley kicked him in the face, knocking him back into a sobbing heap on the floor. The woman screamed a little under her gag and Harley shoved her toward Mister J, turning her attentions to restraining the man with more wire.
Joker dragged the woman and tossed her into the tub of water, clipping the wires around her wrists to a tie affixed to the side so she couldn’t remove herself. Harley grabbed a handful of power-cords and the wire-clippers, skipping into place by her man. Joker took the supplies from her and addressed the pitiful, horrified boy, hogtied on the concrete. He cut the wires.
“What’s it gonna be?”
“Harley, stop. I know what happened next,” Joan looked a bit nauseated.
“Oh yeah, you probably got the police reports, huh.” Harley blew her nose again and sat back, slightly less tense than before, on the sofa in Joan’s office.
“Actually,” Joan corrected, “he’s one of our patients now.”
“He did have a pretty bad day…” Harley got a scowl out of Joan.
“Harley, you weren’t found for two more days after this incident. What does it have to do with anything?” Harley returned a scowl to Joan and dropped her eyes. “You’re avoiding the issue; what happened?”
For a long moment Harley was quiet and Joan feared she had clammed up again. When Harley finally spoke, all the animation and life that her previous recollection had afforded her was gone again. She looked down to the far corner of the room, her eyes unfocused. Her voice was at a whisper, “It got me thinking about babies…”
“Puddin’?” Harley peeked around the front door for the fifth time in the last hour and a half, convinced she had heard them come back. Like before, the hallway was empty. “Phooey!” she sighed and again closed the entrance. Mister J had gone out with the boys to get some celebratory booze forever ago. They should have been home with it by now.
Harley sauntered back to the couch and tussled her hair. After this morning’s escapades with the electro-shock “therapy” she felt all sweaty and gross, so she had taken a shower to freshen up. Her hair was dry now and she busied herself by pulling it back up into their familiar piggy-tails as she slouched into the worn cushions.
Time passed as it always does when you’re waiting for someone: slowly. Harley turned on the television for a distraction. Some show about prenatal babies was on. She watched the grainy images and the CGI wantonly. Her hands rested on her stomach, remembering the different feel of the woman’s belly earlier. She sighed and daydreamed, as she often did, of a day that she and Joker could have a couple rug rats tearing around whatever abode they happened to be living in.
Mostly she anticipated how fun it is to make the little bundles of joy.
“HARRRRRLEY!” Joker exploded through the door, obviously skunked. He clapped his hands together and smiled drunkenly at her. Harley rocketed off the sofa and smashed the television set to “off” in a mad dash toward her beloved companion.
“Puddin!” she squealed and leaped onto his tall and currently unbalanced frame. They toppled and the two ended in a pile halfway out into the hall of the apartment complex. Harley grinned and adjusted herself to straddle his waist. Joker put his finger to her lips.
“Shhhhh… we gotta be quiet” he pushed her off and tried to stand back up, pausing to motion downstairs “the boys are sleeping!” He fell over again in a fit of giggles and Harley helped drag him into their abode. Before she closed the door she peeked down the stairwell to make sure; a pool of blood crawling across the floorboards confirmed she and Joker would have to wake the dead to wake the boys. Harley giggled at Mister J’s joke, skipped back into the apartment, and bolted the door behind her.
Joker was leaning on the wall behind the door and grabbed Harley when she entered. She gave herself to the embrace and initiated a kiss.
“Today was wonderful, Mista’ J,” Harley beamed at him. “I especially liked how you took care of the Bat-Brat!” They both lingered on the memory of dispatching the little mute cutie and Joker laughed at her misfortune. Harley pressed herself against him to absorb the rumble of his mirth that resounded through his chest, and lightly commented her wonder on whatever became of the old redheaded Batgirl. Joker grasped Harley’s shoulders and pulled her off him, pushing her down. She trailed her hands along his sides, expecting to stop at her knees. To her surprise, Joker knelt instead and took her down to her back on the floor.
Joker’s fingers traced lightly over her bosom as he unbuttoned Harley’s fitted blouse. He leered at her nakedness for a moment before the change. It wasn’t a big change, just a slight dulling of the wildness in his eyes. He continued to stare at Harley who was becoming anxious under his gaze. After an extended moment of his continued inaction, she became restless and asked, “What’s wrong, Puddin?”
He pressed a thin finger into her stomach, hard, about halfway between the bottom of her sternum and her navel, “bang.”
“Ouchie! …Puddin’ …?” Harley called after Joker as he abruptly stood and stalked out of the room to the back of the apartment. She stood and followed to find him rummaging through a collection of old belongings they had pulled out of a storage facility a month prior. Poisoned joy-buzzers and flag-pistols and other random gadget projectiles launched themselves out of the pile Joker rummaged through with seemingly reckless abandon. As suddenly as it started, the furious search froze and Joker again stood at his full height. In his hand he held a collection of photographs. He flipped through them and started to laugh.
“It was a GIRL!!!” Harley sobbed into the chair in Joan’s office. “Some red-headed floozy and she was naked and he had pictures and he wanted THEM and not ME-e-he-“ her words again became indistinguishable from the blubbering tears. It was obvious that Harley had reached her limit for this session so Joan closed her notebook. She walked over to Harley and reassured her that things will eventually make sense (although she was far from believing so herself) and to calm down. At Joan’s direction the guards approached to manacle Harley for the trip back to her cell. Joan sighed and hoped vainly that a comparison to the notes of the next few Joker therapy sessions might shed some light on the girl in the photographs. She knew the possibility was slim to none and Slim didn’t live in Gotham. If it actually meant something it was assured that the Joker would never divulge it to a doctor.
Joan sighed again and looked through her top drawer for the aspirin.
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106
faggot 15000+ posts
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OP
faggot 15000+ posts
Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106 |
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106
faggot 15000+ posts
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OP
faggot 15000+ posts
Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106 |
this I didn't write, but is very pr0n: http://jokerxharley.net/efiction/viewstory.php?sid=55&chapter=1Deadly Weapon by princessbee from a group collection: http://community.livejournal.com/jokerxharley/371905.htmlShe knew she shouldn't but she just couldn't help herself. Mistah J was dozing on the couch, his long legs stretched out onto the table in front of him, an old Abbott and Costello flickering quietly on the television screen. His head was lolling against the back of the couch, exposing his long white neck and in this attitude of repose his face seemed strangely composed - gentle even. The laugh lines that mapped his skin were temporarily invisible, his mouth soft and slack, and a long lock of green hair tumbled down over his forehead. He'd showered, washed all the pomade out and without it his hair unexpectedly curled, was longer than it looked when neatly styled in the 40s pompadour he favoured. It made her heart melt. She wanted to curl her fingers in that hair, lay delicate kisses over his eyelids, stroke his cheeks and rub her nose against his. All innocent and all so lovely and all so rarely indulged in anyone of them would be a treat but she couldn't be satisfied with that, oh no, not little Harleen. No, where her eyes were drawn now, what tugged hard at a spot much lower down than her heart, what made her fingers twitch and her tongue dart out to flick against her lips, was where the folds of his purple silk pyjamas stretched over his lap. One of his legs was crooked up a little higher than the other, his ankles crossed. It pulled the fabric taut, hinted at what lay below and she'd been staring at him - at his crotch - for a full twenty minutes, getting more and more squirmy by the minute. He won't even know, she thought to herself, I just want to touch it. Just a little. The thought had her leaping up from the corner of the room, moving silently as a cat across the plush carpet. She didn't dare sit down on the couch beside him, fearing the weight of her body shifting the cushions would wake him and the moment would be lost. Instead she knelt beside him, holding her breath, her every movement slow and careful. This close she could smell his soap and the silk and she breathed it in deeply, and sighed, feeling a silly sort of bliss well up. This close she could see the dip where his thighs met, the tell-tale outline of slippery fabric clinging to that precious thing he hid so often and so cruelly from her. She resisted the urge to bury her face in his lap. She just wanted to touch it. Just a little. She tilted her head to the side and examined the fly. The buttons were undone, it gaped a little. She could just make out a small bare section of his pelvis. God. Her throat got dry and she swallowed hard. There was a tightening sensation between her legs. She could slip her hand in, if she was very, very careful. She could pull it out and look at it. She hadn't seen it very much. She even - God - she might even be able to - taste it. She'd done that even less. Only very, very good girls get that sort of treat, he'd jeered at her a few times, but she knew he liked it when she did it. She knew because - and she felt blood spring to her cheeks - because he wouldn't let her stop until he'd finished. Maybe if she started it, he would wake up feeling good and let her finish. Maybe he wouldn't hit her, scream at her and kick her out. Maybe. Her heart was thudding as she lifted a hand and lowered it so slowly and so softly towards his lap. She had to breath carefully through her mouth because she was becoming a little breathless, a little giddy with excitement and danger and anticipation... God touching him, putting her hands on him, feeling him... her other hand drifted down between her legs and she stroked herself teasingly, through the sheer fabric of her nightdress. Her lower lips were swollen and she imagined it was his hand touching her, his long, strong hand. He did it so well, he always seemed to know when she needed it rough and hard or gentle and soft and did exactly the opposite so that she screamed in mingled pain and frustration and ecstasy, he laughing and teasing all the while. Her fingertips brushed the purple satin and her pussy twitched. Yes, yes, yes, she could feel it. Soft right now of course, but long anyway. She felt a goofy smile travel up her face as she ran a finger up its length; it was folded upwards to lie against his hip. When it was hard she couldn't wish for anything bigger, anything thicker, anything more capable of filling her up just right. Just the way she needed to be. Could she make it hard? Her finger travelled all the way up its head and she felt it twitch. She could. She could, most definitely. She would. Hardly daring to believe her boldness, moving quickly before she could lose courage and back away, she slipped careful fingertips into the fly, still trying oh so hard not to move too suddenly, to pull, to drag. It seemed her hand crawled across empty space, millimetres above his pelvis in search of what she sought, for an eternity, her heartbeat crazily loud in her ears. Then finally her fingers grazed it and she had to swallow the squeak that nearly burst out of her mouth, almost choked. The skin was satiny soft and smooth and she swooned to think of how it looked all bare and hard and ready for her. God, she'd barely been able to commit it to memory, so little she'd seen it. Time, time was all it was going to take. It had been happening a little more regularly. She could wait. She'd wait forever for her Puddin'. It was worth the wait. But she hoped she wouldn’t have to... Yes, it was hardening. She could feel it as her fingers glided upwards, over its smoothness. Hardening and thickening. God she wanted to taste it, she wanted it in her mouth, she wanted to feel it harden between her lips. The hand in her hair ripping her backwards was so sudden she shrieked. She was slapped, no not slapped, belted with something cold and unyielding, so hard it sent her spinning backwards, her jaw ringing with pain and stars shooting before her eyes. Then she was wrenched upwards again, still by the hair, and tossed onto the couch where she gasped and gasped again, the second time at the ferocity of the pain in her jaw. Then Joker was there, a knee pressed against her stomach, one hand wrenching her head back and the other with his .38 pressed right against the spot where the handle of the gun had caught her moments before. He was grinning in such a way she almost wet herself, his eyes glittering nastily as he looked down at her. "Well, well, well," he sneered. "Look who's going for a midnight dip in the cookie jar. And after I‘ve warned you about touching what doesn‘t belong to you. Tsk, tsk, tsk ,Harley." "I'm sorry Puddin'," she said desperately, but with her rapidly-swelling jaw it came out as "Ah'm thowwy Puhdehn,". She hoped it wasn't broken. He ignored her. "Do you know what happens to little girls who can't keep their hands to themselves, Harleykins?" Tears were welling up and she couldn't say if it was from her fear, the pain in her jaw, or disappointment at having been stopped before getting very far. "They geht punithed?" If she answered correctly he might go easy on her. His brow grew heavier, his smile wider. "Indeed they do, my little Pumpkin Pie. And as I seem to recall, the very best lessons are learned when the punishment fits the crime. " He abruptly removed his knee from her stomach and wrenched her nightdress up to her waist. It was nothing but a pale blue cotton shift and she was naked beneath it. He pushed her knees apart, exposing her pussy to his gaze and she felt a flood of humiliation, shameful and thrilling, wash through her. He ran a finger up her cleft and she shuddered; the feeling of his bare flesh on her was almost too erotic to bear. The punishment should fit the crime... oh if only he'd keep rubbing her like that. Her clit was tingling beneath the weight of his gaze alone, it would take barely a few strokes for her to come and right then even with the throbbing pain in her jaw and the frantic beat of her terrified heart, she wanted to come and wanted him to watch her while she did. Yes, even wanted him to laugh at her for it. She ground her hips forward, unable to help a little gasp as Joker ran his fingers back down, probing gently at her entrance. He tsk'd, and shook his head. She was soaking wet, out of her mind with desire for him. "I've been spoiling you," he declared. "You’ve gotten greedy. Far too overindulged." "No," she whimpered, no he really hadn't been! She hadn't been getting enough! She could never have enough of him. She realised he was kneeling on the floor beside her, as she had been only a short while before. And he was staring down at her, his eyes lit with a strange glow as he looked from her face to the place between her legs, both of them hungry for him. She let the foot closest to him slip off the couch, slide against his hip and crotch and her heart leapt and her pussy clenched. God he was so hard. She'd done it. But he didn't take too kindly to that either, and snarled and lifted the gun and she gasped and pushed back against the cushions, squirming. Surely it wasn't worth killing her over this - surely this wasn't the worst thing she'd done - But he was leering at her again, enjoying her fear, his free hand keeping one of her knees pushed wide apart, keeping her exposed. "Ya know, I‘ve been thinking, Harl. The only way to sate that appetite of yours is to give you something that’s gonna last a bit longer. Something with reeeeeal staying power.“ and suddenly the butt of the gun was pressed into her stomach and then he was drawing it down, past her hips and onto her groin. She panicked, thrust her hips up and he shoved her back down with one hand hard around her throat, squeezing until she gagged and her vision began to spot out, the muzzle of the gun still cold against her pelvis. "But Harley," he whispered, mocking her, "I thought you liked it hard and dangerous.’ He continued to squeeze on her throat, holding her still and choking, as the gun trailed ever lower, its hard tip scraping against her pussy lips. Joker leaned over to her, his purple eyes dark with vicious humour, and whispered: "I can assure you this fellow doesn't shoot blanks. Just what my Baby needs to fill up on." His breath was hot against her cheek and his lips grazed it just slightly and in spite of herself she savoured the sensation and felt her nipples harden in response. Then it was there. Against her opening, hard, harder than any cock she'd ever known, even his. Completely inflexible. Cool, but steadily warming from her flesh. He teased her a little at first, nudging the end of it in and out softly, his smile lurid in the corner of her terrified gaze and then he pushed it forward and the whole damn thing slid in. His grip on her throat had loosened a little and she gasped as the whole barrel of the gun entered her, stretching her wide, gliding in easily due to her former state of arousal. Had he cocked it? She couldn't remember. Oh god, oh god, oh god. She was being fucked by a gun. He started off slow at first, gazing at her with a vicious smile, an expression of savage delight lighting up the face that not so long before had seem so relaxed and gentle. She kept still, terrified as she felt that long tube of deadly metal slide in and out of her, praying, hoping, wishing fervently his finger wouldn't slip, that he wouldn't get carried away, that damnit, he wouldn't just think it would be the funny thing to do. And it didn't feel bad. It wasn't wonderful the way his cock was, but it was smooth and so hard and it was his hand controlling it after all. An image leapt to mind, unbidden, of his white hand tight and strong around the gun, sliding it in and out of her pussy and she felt her muscles clench down hard on the barrel, so hard he noticed the resistance as he pulled it out and one eyebrow shot up and he looked enquiringly between her legs, something slightly hungry sharpening his face. And he began to go harder and faster and she was overwhelmed entirely by what they were doing. God, he was fucking her with a gun - never in all her life had she imagined she would ever - but who would ever - except him - and who could it ever make it sexy like this except him - God. It did feel good. Not just that long barrel of metal thrusting in and out of her, but that he was doing it to her and that she was letting him, or was helpless, or both or whatever and who cared except that she was doing it for him and that was really the only thing that mattered. For him. Everything for him. Without even realising it she had begun thrusting back against the gun as he fucked her with it and his eyes were round and bright, feasting on her as he let go of her throat and watched her get into it, riding the deadly weapon like it was his hand, or his cock. With her throat free and air coming easily into her lungs again, blissful little moans began rising up out of her mouth, growing increasingly louder and longer the harder he went. He knotted his free hand in her hair and bit her jaw and her pussy clenched again. Her clit was aching to be touched, she could feel it tingling, knew it must be hard and swollen and she wanted him to touch it, stroke it, squeeze it, but also knew it would all be over too quickly then and she didn't want this to stop just yet. Still, it was demanding attention, furious for it. She lifted her hands to her breasts instead, running her fingers over her hardened nipples, feeling them send jolts of pleasure coursing through her. Joker was breathing harder, his teeth bared, his gaze still intent on her face and she could feel herself being devoured whole by it. Every so often he dropped his eyes to her crotch to watch himself fuck her with the gun, a low rumbling growl in his throat. He let go of her hair, sat up straight and fumbled at the fly of his pyjamas. A moment later his cock was in his hands, hard and tinged red at the tip and he was jerking on it fast and furious. Oh God, He's jacking off over this, over me, over what I‘m doing for Him, she thought deliriously and felt herself perilously close to the edge. Her moans hissed higher and she felt desperation as she teetered at the point between giving in to ecstasy or holding back. It was decided for her when, not slowing his gun thrusting or masturbation in the slightest, Joker bent at the waist and flickered his tongue twice against her clit. It was all she needed. She tipped over the edge with a scream as waves of pleasure thundered through her, her muscles contracting hard around the gun and she heard her Joker snarl again and before she'd even finishing coming, he'd wrenched the gun painfully free and replaced it with himself, his cock filling her up completely and she came again, from the sheer delight of the feeling, of knowing he was there, of his slim hips between her thighs, of how full he made her feel and how complete. He was vicious as he pounded into her, grunting a little, more vocal than he'd ever been before and she swooned and crooned, clinging to his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. His eyes were frightening, staring at her with an intensity that threatened to consume her but she didn't look away, instead revelling in the feeling of being swallowed up by them. Then he was shoving the gun in her mouth and she didn't hesitate, just started sucking, sucking her own juices off the barrel, sucking it like it was his cock and he could feel it. She wished he could, could feel his cock pounding hard into her pussy and his gun in her mouth. If his finger slipped now she'd be dead, her brains splattered against the back of the couch. He pressed his nose against her cheek, his other hand gripping her hip so hard it was bruising already and sped up. It hurt, she thought a part of the gun might've scraped inside her and made her bleed, but it was gorgeous, fantastic pain and she didn't want it to ever stop, didn't want him to ever stop fucking her. He was so hard and so big and so strong and knew, just knew how to make everything feel so damn good, knew how to make her his. The gun was pumping against the back of her throat and that hurt too, it clanked against her teeth and her already aching jaw protested with a stab of pain but she couldn't stop. He bit her throat, grunted again then pulled the gun free of her mouth, gripped her neck and kissed her brutally. It She could not kiss him back, he would not let her, just forced her to take his mouth and tongue, to let him work her mouth whichever way he fancied. And somehow he thrust even harder, his hand slipping further around her hip and under one buttock, lifting her of the couch cushions as he bit down hard on her lower lip and she felt his cock jerk and pump, emptying himself as deep inside as he could get as he came. She tasted blood. When he finished he blinked rapidly, seeming surprised and then swept a hand over his forehead, up through his hair. Then he abruptly pulled out of her and stood, tucking his softening cock back into his pyjamas bottoms, leaving her there on the couch, dazed with bliss, delirious with love. "Spoiled." He muttered, walking away from her. "Any wonder... such a ... troublemaker." She felt utterly spent, limp and weak as if she'd been drained completely dry. Gingerly, she closed her legs, relishing the ache in her thighs, the twinge of pain in her pussy that she was quickly associating with a really good fuck, and gazed after him as he wandered toward the bedroom. The high was already beginning to ebb the further away he got and she felt an aching little tug at her heart watching him go. At the bedroom door he suddenly whirled around and yelled at her, all clenched fists and bulging eyes: "Well? Are you coming?" And it was sheer elation that gave her the strength to propel herself from the couch and limp-skip after him, ready to wrap her arms around him.
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Oct 2001
Posts: 47,824 Likes: 8
Hip To Be Square 15000+ posts
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Hip To Be Square 15000+ posts
Joined: Oct 2001
Posts: 47,824 Likes: 8 |
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Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106
faggot 15000+ posts
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OP
faggot 15000+ posts
Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106 |
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Mar 2008
Posts: 42
8====D 25+ posts
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Are you done with these yet? I'm getting worn out. You've almost pulled all my skin off.
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Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106
faggot 15000+ posts
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OP
faggot 15000+ posts
Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106 |
no! you know when it hurts I like it more
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Mar 2008
Posts: 42
8====D 25+ posts
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8====D 25+ posts
Joined: Mar 2008
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Go back to shoving pariahs dick in your ass. I need a break.
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Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106
faggot 15000+ posts
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OP
faggot 15000+ posts
Joined: Mar 2003
Posts: 24,106 |
it IS called "the trying hand" ...
Old men, fear me! You will shatter under my ruthless apathetic assault!
Uschi - 2
Old Men - 0
"I am convinced that this world is of no importance, and that the only people who care about dates are imbeciles and Spanish teachers." -- Jean Arp, 1921
"If Jesus came back and saw what people are doing in his name, he would never never stop throwing up." - Max von Sydow, "Hannah and Her Sisters"
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Joined: Jan 2008
Posts: 4,753
Ignored by 3 users and 2 moderators 4000+ posts
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Ignored by 3 users and 2 moderators 4000+ posts
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theory9 content User betrayal and collapse
5000+ posts Thu Jun 05 2008 01:23 AM Reading a post
Forum: Writer's Block
Thread: the trying hand
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Ignored by 3 users and 2 moderators 4000+ posts
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Ignored by 3 users and 2 moderators 4000+ posts
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sneaky bunny crying Moderator Pooter-cooter
15000+ posts Tue Jul 29 2008 01:38 AM Searching the forums
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Ignored by 3 users and 2 moderators 4000+ posts
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Ignored by 3 users and 2 moderators 4000+ posts
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K-nutreturns ass-kicky User habitual line stepper
10000+ posts Tue Aug 19 2008 01:49 AM Viewing list of forums
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"Youtubie" 1000+ posts
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