Bored D&D nerd

The residual anxiety of the pregnancy scare aside, things between yourself and Jonathan are quick to settle back into what passes for normalcy for you both. His work was his, as is your own, and your time together remains limited to the usual mutual convenience which suits both parties.

It has taken some time, but the small quality of life changes which you have made to his basement set-up are proving to be well worth the time investment and nothing proves that more than the comfort of the thick pillows which lie behind your back as you lounge on his couch. Focusing your attention on a small health and safety work video which has been made mandatory watching as part of your job role, the whole thing is dreadfully boring as you endure every second.

Heat has returned to Gotham with a vengeance and you lounge in the comfort of little more than a dark vest top and thin linen shorts – the worst of the warmth being offset by a large tower fan which Jonathan had so graciously plugged into one of the outlets and is gently oscillating across the space to provide a little relief.

Lost in the various ridiculously unsafe simulations which are playing out on your phone with Buster Keaton levels of stupidity, it’s only when Jonathan speaks that you realise he has shifted from his work bench to come and stand beside you.

“Have you ever had anal sex?”

Startling at his sudden presence, you drop your phone to your chest as a soft noise of shock escapes you. Caught so unaware by both Jonathan’s appearance and the surprise of the question itself, you simply blink up at him for a moment as an unfamiliar heat rises into your cheeks. Taking a solid moment to steady your breath, you fall back into old habits and meet his ask with a sly response.

“I know the thought of a baby scared us both but is this where we’re now at?” You tease him lightly, smiling enough to show teeth. “The sin still counts if it’s up the ass you know, despite what all those weirdo preachers like to say.”

“Don’t be glib with me.” Jonathan replies in an instant, his expression barely refraining from an eyeroll. “I am asking a genuine question. If you want to mock me then I’ll return to my bench.”

“No. I’ve never had anal sex.” Confessing the truth with a curious tone, you tuck your legs up closer to your ass and tilt your head up to his standing position, wondering where this is going. “I’ve experimented with a finger and a very small vibrating bullet before while touching myself but I didn’t get enough out of it to go any further.”

“And no partner has-”

“Only one ever asked and I said no. We were pretty young and he wasn’t,” you pause in an attempt to word what you want to say kindly, “experienced enough for me to think it would end well for either of us.”

“I think I would like to try. If you were willing.” His arms folding across his chest, Jonathan’s face is decidedly neutral as he stares down at you.

“This feels like a negotiation.”

“It is.”

Fair enough.

“And what do you want from me?”

“Three sessions over three nights.” Explaining his plan without blinking, Jonathan lays it all out. “An ongoing project where I examine, test, and push your boundaries until finally claiming that first for us both. It has been a while since we have conducted a true experiment between us and this could prove pleasurable for both parties.”

Holding back a smart comment about your pleasure spot not being firmly located up your ass, you instead consider the offer for a moment before a sudden thought knocks your attempted nonchalance loose.

“I’m not staying here for three days.” You blurt out. “In this heat? You’ve actually lost the plot.”

“Your apartment then?” Jonathan counters easily, almost as though expecting the argument. “My work at the moment is mostly theoretical so I can bring what I need with me.”

“You just want to steal my air con.” You mutter under your breath before raising your voice again. “And what do I get out of this? You get to play mad scientist treating me like a piece of meat and I get what?”

“Well,” he pauses and his fingers clutch the hem of his lab coat as he uses it to wipe his glasses clean, “what do you want?”

And there it was.

The opening you had been waiting for.

“A question. One question after every session that you have to tell the truth about.”

That catches him be surprise and his expression immediately closes off and becomes deeply guarded as his eyes narrow in consideration. His internal debate goes on for a few moments and you sit patiently, content to allow him the privacy of his thoughts.

“Okay, but if it’s a question I cannot answer then I will at least explain why.”

Unable to argue with that as you pick your phone back up, you tilt your head at him and smile at the sudden delight which sits in his wicked expression.

“Stop smiling that like.” You mutter at him, feigning irritation. “When?”

“Tomorrow night can be our first session. If that suits you?”

“Yes.” Making the agreement with ease, a thrill of anticipation rolls through your spine. “I’ll be sure to tidy the place a bit before you arrive and if you let me know what you’d like for dinner then I’ll pick some groceries up.”

x-x-x-x-x

Session #1 (Friday Night)

By the time Jonathan arrives for his first session, you are already well organised enough to host him for the whole weekend – going so far as to have even prepared a special surprise for him upon arrival.

From your position, you hear your apartment door open without a knock as an early message to Jonathan had informed him that you would leave it unlocked for his entrance. Unable to see him, you strain your hearing to listen for his movements. The door closing. Footsteps. Something heavy being dropped to your kitchen table, the sound similar to books, and you realise that he is placing his work stuff on the best available surface as he immediately commandeers your table for the job.

“Are you hiding from me, witty girl?” His voice calls, seeking you out with only the slightest curiosity.

“In the bedroom.”

Soft footfalls head in your direction and Jonathan’s voice rings out from behind the door as he approaches to push it open.

“Eager, are we? Well, I am certainly not one to compla-” Filling the doorway, Jonathan stops at the scene before him and you cannot deny the pure delight which rolls through your veins as you watch his body still.

You picture yourself through his eyes; your body splayed out across the bed, completely nude and freshly cleaned. The soft scent of your body lotion filling the air as your hand moves slowly between your legs, gently teasing your aching core as you watch Jonathan stand there - his mouth slightly agape as he takes in the scene with a sudden flush of pure arousal.

"I'm ready for our session, Doctor." You bat your eyes at him, playing the part with all the theatrics you can muster. “I was so happy you agreed to a personal house call.”

“How could I resist with such a stubborn patient.” Jonathan gathers his wits quickly and his hands move with a deliberately slow pace; undressing himself and placing the discarded items over the back of the chair which sits in front of your vanity table. “You need a firm hand, witty girl, and the Scarecrow is the only one with the proper guidance you require.”

Left in only his white vest and white boxer shorts, Jonathan makes no effort to hide the shameless way in which his cock presses at the thin material. His hair is as wild as ever, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he approaches the bed and seats himself at the end – his gaze flitting between your flushed expression and the damp mess between your legs.

“And what does the Scarecrow recommend?”

“A slow experiment, just as discussed.” Sliding one hand up your ankle, the firm touch makes you shudder as it sends gooseflesh up your legs. “I am certain that, given your previous perversions, that the natural discomfort of anal sex will be made much more pleasurable for you with some simple training.”

The clinical nature of his speech tickles that little part of you which has an undeniable kink for his medical know-how and you drop a hand back to your inner thigh as you rub two fingers across your slit. Jonathan watches the display with obvious hunger but continues to speak regardless.

“Have you prepared yourself as requested?”

“Yes.” You huff as your pointer fingers catches the tip of your clit. “I looked online and listened to people a hell of a lot more experienced than me on how to clean out.”

"And do you have it?"

Nodding, you slip your other hand high and pull the small, metal butt plug from beneath your pillow. Purchased and sterilised that morning, the metal was cool to the touch as you present it to him like the gift it is.

"I went with a comfortable size." You weren't seeking his approval but something in your tone makes his eyes flick to your own as he regards the sex toy with mild fascination.

"This should be more than sufficient. Remember, the first session is only to establish a baseline, witty girl. The real fun will come after." He pauses, eyes flashing with shameless desire. “Do you want to change to a more comfortable position?”

Nodding, you have an idea what sort of position he is looking for. As you shift onto all fours parallel to the furthest edge of the bed, Jonathan moves enough to adjust himself so that his legs hang off the edge beneath your stomach – leaving you in a position where you are essentially bent across his lap to give him easy access with his hands.

“Discomfort is almost certain.” Jonathan says, his hand immediately circling to cup at your cunt with a possessive familiarity – the tips of his fingers brushing into your pubic hair as his palm instantly dampens with your arousal. “Genuine pain is not.”

Lost in the sensation of his hand, it takes you a moment to realise what he means and you nod at the unspoken implication that you will let him know if something feels wrong. The heat in the room is unbearable, your skin buzzing where it contacts Jonathan’s own, and you focus on the hard length of his cock where it presses into your side.

“Let’s begin.” Clearing his throat to hide the roughness of his tone, Jonathan taps his hand on your cunt. “First, we must lubricate your toy to ensure a seamless entry.” And with that, he pulls his hand away only to replace it with the cool metal of the plus as he runs it across your slit before pressing it firmly inside your fluttering hole.

Already soaked from your previous teasing, the sensation of the plug pressing within your cunt gives barely any delicious friction even as you try to clench around it.

"Your arousal is enough for now but when we move on to bigger things," Jonathan allows the words to hang for a moment as he diligently twists and coats the metal with your mess, "we will focus more on an appropriate lubricant."

“Yes, Dr. Crane.” Your head tilting back enough to give you a decent peripheral on what his face is doing, you watch as he keeps his attention firmly on his own hands. His face is flushed, arms as steady as a surgeon but you can tell that he’s enjoying himself – his own brazen medical kink and love of control on absolute show.

Jonathan’s finger brushes across the cleft of your ass, the digit coated with your own arousal as he slickens the area to allow for an easier entry. Without hesitating, Jonathan pushes the rounded tip of the plug against your asshole, slowly pushing and retracting the toy as he encouraged you wordlessly to relax.

Exhaling, you loosen up as much as possible and your body only jerks slightly as the plug sinks past the tight ring of muscle to begin the stretch.

“Clitoral stimulation only for the moment.” Jonathan announces quietly, his words clinical yet oddly soothing as his free hand traces its nails across your lower back. “Enough for you to begin associating the discomfort with the pleasure.”

As he works your ass open with the growing flare of the plug, every push and pull adding just a little more stretch to the slightly aching muscles, his fingers tease you with a cruel precision. Circling and teasing the hood of your clit with enough pressure that you find yourself gasping, you are pushed to the brink of orgasm in an embarrassingly short length of time.

“Jonathan!” You gasp his name, one hand worming back to clench around the thin bone of his knee. “I’m going to come.”

“Do it, witty girl. There are no restrictions in place.” He pauses, considering his own words. “Yet. Perhaps down the line, but for now come if you can.”

With the magic words uttered, the groan you unleash is buried within your own forearm as you grind your cunt into his fingers and spur him on to keep teasing you even as the waves of pleasure roll across your frame until they begin to fade. Simultaneously, Jonathan uses the distraction to thrust the last of the plug within your ass – the final flared inch adding a delicious ache to the other sensations which drown you.

Still splayed across his lap as you bask in the slight afterglow, you can feel the ache of your ass and the complaint of the stretched muscles there. The plug itself feels odd. Filling in an unnatural way and you roll your lower body on itself as you try to adjust to the sensation.

“I would appreciate patient feedback.” Jonathan’s voice, deadpan, washes over you.

“It feels odd. Not bad. Just,” you pause to push yourself off his lap and stand up between his legs, “kind of weird. Nice, I suppose.”

“The first session is short. More introductory to the concept than anything else and mostly to establish no physical barrier to further progression.”

His voice taking on a hint of excitement as he considered the fun to come, Jonathan’s teeth appeared from between his lips as he looks up you with a borderline wolfish look – his cock stiff and neglected within his underwear.

Dropping a hand to the faint stubble which graced his cheek, you cup his jaw and make sure his gaze is on your own as you give him a shy smile, “Thank you for being so gentle.”

The soft touch seems to catch him off-guard but something shifts in his gaze as he recognises the words for their truth. He had been gentle, and that fact knocks some of the grin from his lips as his thoughts remain his own.

“We have an agreement.” His reply simple.

“Yes, we do. Now, let’s make things a bit fairer.”

Slipping to your knees between his legs, you move with a determination which seems to almost startle Jonathan as you snake your hands within his boxers and release his cock. Bringing it to your mouth with equal enthusiasm, you adjust your knees and play around with how your ass sits to try and find the most comfortable position that does not disturb the plug.

Already amped up and on the edge, it takes less than a few solid bobs of your head to have Jonathan filling your mouth with his release – his head thrown back and his hand wrapping itself in your hair as he grunts and groans out his pleasure. Swallowing everything, you maintain some dignity as you tuck his cock back into the boxers and rise to your feet – making your way over to box of tissues which you keep on your bedside cabinet to wipe away the mess between your legs.

Crumpling the tissues into the wastepaper bin by the cabinet, you drop back to your own bed and stretch yourself out like a cat – suddenly exhausted from the events of the day and your little session with Jonathan.

Recovered from his unexpected oral delight, Jonathan joins you on the other side of the bed and his body lies as still as ever as he gazes up at the ceiling and brings up arm up to tuck behind his head.

“Will you sleep with it in?”

Not expecting that question as you sniff at the scent of sex in the air, you fix Jonathan with a curious look, “Can I?”

“It’s small enough that no damage should occur, even with the extended wear. Should you feel an unnatural discomfort, or should nature call, then you are under no obligation to keep it there.”

“I’ll try.”

Companionable silence falls, both parties content to enjoy the moments peace after such a heated little encounter, but it is Jonathan who breaks the quiet as he turns his body slightly to pin you with his gaze.

“Your question?”

“My what?” Making a small noise of consideration in your throat, it takes you a moment to realise what he’s asking for.

“A deal is a deal.” Jonathan follows up, his voice slow and measured. “You are allowed one question which I will answer to the best of my ability.”

Having considered a million questions – some stupid, some personal – one of the most pressing ones just so happens to be the one which falls from your mouth in more of a messy blurt than a considered query.

"What was your childhood like?"

Jonathan nods at the question, his face tight but not combative, almost as though already expecting that particular line of inquiry.

"The story is not a pleasant one, little mouse.” He turns to face you more solidly, his thin body on its side as you match his positioning. “Are you sure you want to go down that path?"

Whether you like the answer or not, it really is time to fill in some of the gaps which mar your understanding of the man before you.

"Yes."

"Okay." Jonathan replies simply. "I was born in Georgia to a mother who abandoned me to her own mother, a woman wrapped in the particular sadism that only those who indulge in religious righteousness can manifest. A bastard child, I assume my mother could only handle so much cruelty before disappearing and leaving me in her wake."

His voice painfully even, as though recounting events he witnessed rather than experienced, you know better than to interrupt as you allow him to speak with a blank expression.

"Days were long. A farm rotted from within by decay is not something that can be maintained by a child alone and yet the expectation was set. I cleaned, I worked the fields, I maintained what I could, and what I could not maintain was designated a laziness on my part and punished."

"Punished? She hit you?" Not too surprised, you still blink at the information regardless.

"Sometimes, but she lacked physical strength. Typically, she preferred the use of a birch which I was to personally collect from the yard. However, for the depths of the depravity which she saw within me, corporeal punishment could only go so far. My great granny's preferred punishment of choice was the church."

Confused by that, you fumble your hand against his own and take his fingers within your hand to stroke along the knuckles in a soothing gesture, "She made you go to church?"

"Not for any sermon. We had an old decrepit church close to the outskirts of the land and she would force me into an old suit, my Sunday best she called it, and she would force me to go into that church at night. There, in the darkness, I would be attacked relentlessly by the birds which roosted for the evening."

Thinking of the odd scarring across his back and shoulders, a hollowing weight drops into your stomach as you realise just how deeply those scars must run. Before you can say anything, Jonathan continues and his voice remains steady, as though he were discussing the weather.

"I found out later that the old crone had sprayed a chemical into the suit, one designed to inspire aggression within the crows. Their attacks on me were nothing but a premeditated cruelty to inspire true terror in a god-fearing child."

"Jonathan, I'm not sure what t-"

"I killed her obviously. The first person I ever killed. I dosed her with her own compound and locked her in the church. At her age and with her pre-existing conditions, the attack killed her. I watched from the broken boards which patched up the southern wall. With her dead, the farm fell to me in both name and title. I was 17. I sold the surrounding land and secured my place at college to continue my studies."

The confession of his first kill hits you with less emotion that you are expecting. Always having a soft spot for children, their abuse is something you can never understand and you can’t find the energy to hold this particular crime against him in any way.

“What happened to the farm?” You keep your voice settled, not wanting him to feel you are pitying him in any way as you know he will not take to it kindly.

"I still own that farm. Technically.” Jonathan smirks for the first time since beginning his story. “Outside of her, my school days were almost as miserable. I was a child of neglect and it showed so the other children were not kind. But my schooling was impeccable. Books offered a world different to my own and I drowned myself in them outside of the old witches influence."

Unable to bite your tongue as he revealed more of his misery, you squeeze his thumb within your hand as you meet his gaze without flinching away, "You did not deserve that.” Your gaze is hard, certain. “I don't know if anyone's ever told you that but you should hear it from someone. You were just a kid, you didn't deserve what they did to you."

"No." Jonathan agrees, his lip twitching with amusement as he senses your indignation of his behalf. "However, it helped to shape me into the man I am today. The Scarecrow was not born in that barn but the vague outline of him was crafted within the shadows and his presence remained until it had the opportunity to come forth."

Now that was interesting.

You had assumed that his whole Scarecrow persona was a childhood thing. Like so many other people who had fucked up starts to life, you assumed this story would be what had led them down a darker pathway. Securing that information away for a later time, you breathe deeply to alleviate some of the heaviness which sits in your chest. Your hand gliding across the sheets as you release his hand, you wrap it around Jonathan's forearm and give it a silent squeeze, an unspoken thank you for his truth as you know it couldn't have been easy for him to give it up.

"Sleep well, witty girl.” Jonathan concludes, his tone closing the discussion for tonight. “Our second session begins as soon as you awake tomorrow.”

Shivering with anticipation as you pointedly turn to your opposite side and rub your ass against his hip to allow him to feel the very edge of the flared base of the plug, the darkness which falls as you close your eyes is welcoming and you know sleep will claim you quickly despite the minor discomfort of the toy. The last real thing you feel before falling into sleep is the slight stirring of Jonathan beside you as he slowly wraps his arm around your waist and pulls himself slightly closer.

Session #2 (Saturday Morning)

With the morning light creeping through the slates of your blinds, there is a surprising chill in the air despite the ongoing heatwave and the first thing you do as you awake is pull your sheets closer to your chin as you try to remain sunk deep within the coziness of the bed. Eyes narrow as they glare at the window, you vaguely wonder what time it is as you try to remember where the hell you left your phone.

“Good morning.”

The yelp which snaps free of your throat as your knuckles flinch painfully into the skin below your jaw is jarring and you whip your head to the side to find Jonathan sitting upright, watching you with a vague amusement behind his glassless eyes.

Immediately filling with embarrassment at the outburst, you release the edge of the sheets and press the back of your wrist into your forehead as you exhale and side-eye him.

“I forgot you were here.”

“Clearly.”

“That also explains this weird feeling in my ass.” The comment falls from you without thought as the plug makes itself known with its curious fullness, your body only now properly shifting in place.

“Any pain?”

“No. A little discomfort maybe. But it’s not a bad feeling.”

Glancing between the shock of wild hair which sits atop his narrow features and the visible tent in your sheets where they fall across Jonathan’s lap, you tap a finger to his inner thigh as you draw his attention lower. Something about how easily he seems to get morning wood amuses you as he once again proves himself as basic as any other man.

“Is that a problem, Dr. Crane?” You ask, voice sweet and teasing as heat floods your gut, the promise of a morning quickie immediately tempting you into action.

“Watching you sleep was a larger problem.” Jonathan meets your tease with a crawling hand, the fingers quick to stroke along your exposed collarbone as he speaks. “The restraint it took for me to not flip you over and continue playing with the sweet little toy which is still buried within you was rather intense.”

Jonathan’s voice dropping lower as his explanation presents itself, the air between you grows steadily more charged and you shift your ass to feel the plug jostle in place. Barely noticeable, the slight ache of its presence is easy enough to ignore but you know that isn’t how this morning is going to go.

“Wow. Would you really take advantage of an innocent, sleeping woman?” Matching his groping hand with one of your own, you move the fingers which are on his lap and instead squeeze at his inner thighs with a gentle pressure.

“Innocent,” Jonathan quotes with a familiar scoff, “but I suspect that’s something the woman in question would quite enjoy.” Sidling his body closer, Jonathan pulls the sheets from you both to expose your naked frame as he moves to position himself lower on the bed with his stomach flat and your legs pushed up and spread. “In fact, it’s my professional opinion that a certain witty girl would bask in the idea of a creature as terrible as the Scarecrow finding her so irresistible that he couldn’t help but take her in her sleep. Her body slowly waking up to find itself being ravaged.”

“Christ…” You allow the word to tail off, your head propping up on the pillows as you listen to Jonathan’s filthy words and the truth within them. Maybe you would allow him to tease and fuck you as you slept, the appeal is certainly enough to have your cunt throbbing as Jonathan adjusts to give himself free access to both of your holes.

“Session two can begin now, witty girl. No point wasting a good overnight stretch.” Voice husky, Jonathan’s fingers lock around the flared base of the plug as he plays with it gently – tugging and twisting in a way which makes you shift your lower back further to give him a better angle. “Pass me the lubricant.”

Glancing over to where Jonathan is pointing, you realise that at some point since last night he has retrieved a small bottle of lube and left it on the cabinet by his side of the bed. Reaching over, it takes some manoeuvring but you manage to secure the bottle as you pass it to him with a curious silence.

Jonathan returns his attention to your ass, his fingers slowly pulling free the small plug with a careful precision. It feels odd leaving your body, having been there so long, and you inhale and exhale slowly, savouring the sensation as your ass finally has the opportunity to close around nothing. It was not a peace to last though as Jonathan gently deposited the plug to the side and instead coated two of his long fingers with the lube.

“This will be more intense, witty girl. The plug will have loosened the muscle slightly but not to this extent.”

Nodding as you watch Jonathan’s face and the heat which sits in his features, you nod wordlessly and relax your body as he presses one finger to your ass – the digit sliding within without too much resistance. It feels different to the plug, less rigid and more organic as the tip of Jonathan’s finger rubs along your walls, curling and teasing as he slowly pumps the digit in and out while watching your body give way to him.

As though unable to resist, Jonathan’s head drops to your inner thigh as his free hand wraps around the outside of your gathered leg. Lips, warm and chapped, press into the skin before being replaced by a mixture of teeth and tongue as Jonathan continues to focus his attention on what his other hand is doing.

A second finger joins the first and the additional stretch makes you groan, arousal beating within your veins so roughly that you swear you can hear your heart in your ears. Jonathan takes a moment to allow you to adjust to the second finger before scissoring them as far as possible, forcing a greater spread than you were expecting as your breath hitches and your cunt clenches around nothing.

Now inserting both fingers with greater confidence, your acceptance clear, the stretch slowly grows more bearable and pleasant as most of your focus stays on the deliriously wicked things which Jonathan is doing to your other, just as sensitive, parts. His mouth is warm against your inner thigh as he bites at the skin there, teasing a slow pathway towards your neglected cunt.

“Jonathan, please!” You whine his name, knowing how much he enjoys it. “You’re being cruel, Dr. Crane. Please-”

Responding to the plea with a slight growl, Jonathan chooses to ramp things up as he shifts his face towards your cunt; finally giving you the attention you so desperately crave as his nose bumps messily between your slit while he adds a third finger to the two already pistoning gently within your ass.

With three fingers now maintaining a wicked stretch, the flashes of discomfort which curl your toes only add to the sudden pleasure of his tongue as it swipes across your cunt to greedily taste everything which you have to offer. Dropping your hands to your chest, you pinch at your own nipples and savour the additional sensation as you feel your release approaching quickly.

Jonathan’s free hand tightens against your outer thigh, pinning you into place, and you know he’s planning something mean by the sheer virtue of wanting you kept still. Before you can ask, his lips shift to wrap around the hood of your clit and he sucks at the sensitive bud with a terrible pressure – his tongue flat against the very tip.

Your release hits like a freight train, whole body spasming as the tight band of arousal snaps and your nerves are overwhelmed by the sudden pleasure which drowns you. It’s all too much. The suckling at your clit. The fingers in your ass. Fingers which take the opportunity of the distraction to pump themselves harshly within your hole, twisting and stretching you in a way which only adds to the thrill of your sensitive body.

The come down from your orgasm rides out just as quickly, Jonathan’s face pulling away from your twitching cunt as his fingers slowly pull themselves from your ass – the digits glistening with residual lube. Spent and totally pleased with his performance, you drop your legs back to the sheets as Jonathan crawls his way back up the bed to lie by your side. His mouth is visibly damp, stained by your arousal and you watch as he wipes it off with the back of one spindly hand.

Glancing down at his boxers, you notice an equally damp spot staining the front of the fabric where the head of his cock is pressing against it. Not enough for him to have came, but enough that you can practically feel how excited and close he must be.

“How do you want me to take care of that?” You ask, voice husky with sated arousal and the residual early morning.

“Patients choice.” Jonathan fires back, trying to appear nonchalant even as his hand falls to wrap around his cock with a shocking speed. “For such good cooperation in her trial.”

“You grew up in Georgia, yeah?” Twisting your body, you kneel on the sheets and straighten your back as you tilt your head at him. “Did you ever learn how to ride a horse?”

“What?” Totally thrown by the bizarre question, a flash of unfamiliar certainty crosses Jonathan’s face. “Well, I- I mean, yes. We didn’t have horses for long, but I learned how to ride.”

“Teach me?” Locking eyes with him, you give him a small wink as you to climb atop his thin frame. Making no effort to hide his amusement at the stupid segue as your intentions for him land, the predatory arousal in Jonathan’s face wins out as he allows you to position yourself carefully – the leaking tip of his cock only grazing your hole as you straddle his lap and face him.

Jonathan’s mouth falls open slightly and you hold back a giggle as you realise that it’s a face he only tends to make when confronted with your bolder sexual advances.

“You never fail to surprise me, witty girl.”

Your cunt already soaked and ready to accept him, Jonathan can only grunt as he sinks his cock deep with one, forceful thrust and your hand clenches atop his when he squeezes at your right tit with a terrible pressure.

“I won’t last long.” Jonathan hisses, his thrusts sloppy and uncoordinated as he snaps his hips up and chases his release with a desperation you don’t get to see very often.

“You don’t have to,” you gasp in return, “fuck- I mean- I’m almost there again. This is what you do to me, Dr. Crane.”

And it was true, your cunt already sensitive from your last release, the actual feeling of being properly filled is enough to push you back to the edge without much effort. The sounds of the outside world only really now beginning to come to life in the early morning, your second orgasm hits only a moment before Jonathan’s own; your spasming cunt dragging him over the edge with you as you both remain silent and allow for the frantic fuck to speak for itself.

Sated and delighted to have no major plans that day that would force you to move, you relax your knees as you remain impaled on his cock and feel the heat of his release where it burns deep within you – your updated birth control hopefully doing its part to keep the worst at bay.

“Did you enjoy that?”

Schooling his expression into something much more controlled, Jonathan quirks one brow and settles his hips so that your ass is flush to his groin, “I’ve had worse mornings.”

Feeling bold, you recline slightly as Jonathan raises his legs to give you something more comfortable to lean on, “Do I get my second question now?”

“Like this?” Jonathan asks, his voice tilting in surprise. However, he makes no effort to move and his eyes are sharp as they meet your own. “If you wish.”

"When was the Scarecrow born?" Realising the question was maybe a bit open-ended as you ask it in a rush, you take a moment to quickly clarify your meaning. "Last night, you said that your childhood didn't make the Scarecrow. So, what did?"

“I lost my job.”

The answer is so simple, so dull, and so unexpected that you can’t stop the sharp bark of laughter which slips free of your lips. Shame rises just as quickly as you realise how rude that must have come across and you put your hand to your mouth as you apologise.

“Oh, god. I’m sorry. I just-” you flounder, “I just wasn’t expecting that. God, Jonathan, I didn’t mean to lau-”

“I’m glad you find such joy in my misery, witty girl.” Jonathan inclines his head slightly, no anger on his features as he watches you scramble. “You are lucky I have no feelings left to harm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t me-”

“Don’t worry about it.” His hands squeeze at your ass and you relax into his touch as he continues. “My story remains the same regardless. After graduating Gotham University, my achievements were good enough to secure me consistent work within Arkham Asylum as a psychiatrist. Work which I continued for many years while maintaining personal projects where funding was available.”

You pause before asking, “Nice projects?”

“Legally sanctioned projects.” Jonathan counters with a sly smile turning his thin lips. “Fear was my interest, my specialty, and my wheelhouse. Any paper which touched on fear would cross my path either for my approval or because I was asked for input from my own publications. Humanity is obsessed with fear, whether it wants to admit to it or not, and the funding proved lucrative at points, if a little inconsistent.”

As he spoke, Jonathan allowed his hands to travel along your body. His touch is surprisingly non-sexual, more investigative than anything as his fingertips brush every small imperfection which litters your skin while his digits measure themselves against the flesh.

“Eventually, my collaborations with Gotham University resulted in a job offer. Professor of Psychology.” Even now, pride clouds his tone as he recounts his achievements. “It was everything I wanted, despite the hours. Decent pay. Prestige. Opportunity. Respect. Things I had been denied for so long. A return to the place which helped to shape the man I was.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“The teaching? Yes. My course was known for being difficult, my expectations high but reasonable for those who wanted to enter such a demanding field. Some of the minds I encountered were brilliant, some real and budding greatness among them. Pupils who understood the basics and were eager to learn more.”

As he speaks, you find yourself entranced by his expression. Still filled with pride, there is something peaceful which sits in his features and, just for a moment, you swear you can see the ghost of the man whom Jonathan could have become as the smallest, genuine smile flits on the corner of his lips.

“What happened?” Placing your hands on his forearms as he continues to rub his palms across your body, you can feel him still slightly before his story continues.

“I shot a gun in class.” Tone clouding with a hint of frustration; you allow him to speak without interrupting. “A practical and experimental lesson designed to show the sudden impact which fear can invoke in an unsuspecting body. Obviously, there were complaints but what I had not anticipated was the university using the incident to discredit my name and remove me from my position.”

“Why?”

“I was not a popular man. I did not play at their politics and one of the largest donors to the university had a nephew who recently graduated from a much more prestigious university than my own and was in need of a job.”

Feeling the familiar injustice of that needle at your own chest, your lips tilt in disapproval.

“That’s awful. They fired you just for that?”

“Yes, and with it my position at Arkham also grew untenable. From everything to nothing in the blink of an eye. My response to such an insult was a very understandable despair.  A life shattered, my despair quickly morphed into rage before settling into the delicious chill of vengeance to come.”

“So that’s when you-”

“Their callous disregard killed Jonathan Crane, the professor and respected doctor who was willing to play their games and challenge the lines of their ethics. What rose from the shadows of his grave was the Scarecrow,” Jonathan pauses, “and the Scarecrow went on to claim back all that was his while satiating that need for revenge.”

Too afraid to ask more detail on that, knowing that whatever he had done to get even would no doubt be terrible, you choose the peace of ignorance and instead shift the conversation back slightly.

“I think you would have been a great professor.”

“I was.”

Humming at the simplicity of his answer, you can feel the discussion drifting towards a subtle closure and you accept it for what it is as you place your hands on his thin chest and gently squeeze at his cock where it sits within you. Not to entice him, but as a bookend to your intimate positioning as you finally pull yourself up on your knees and slide free of his lap – his cock slipping free to sit heavily on his upper thigh.

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Yes. Recent events have sapped my strength.”

You keep momentum as you roll yourself off the bed and stand on both feet, arms coming overhead as you stretch like a cat and turn back to face him. You take in the feelings across your naked body for a moment before padding over and grabbing Jonathan’s shirt from the back of your chair. Pulling it across your upper half without thought, you recount what you have to offer, listing them off on your fingers as you speak.

“I have eggs, tomatoes, fruit, and some bread for making toast if you want that?”

“Any bacon?” Jonathan asks, hopeful.

“Did I say bacon?”

A frown.

“No.”

“Then no.” You turn back to him, securing the last few buttons only enough to keep the fabric from flying messily around your lower half. However, as you turn, you see Jonathan staring at you with a strange look, one which is difficult to interpret but fills you with a shy, observed warmth. “What?”

“Nothing.” Jonathan replied quickly, his lap once again covered by the sheets as he reclines with his back pressing into your headboard. “Whatever you make will be fine.”

Muttering something under your breath about how that’ll be damned right, you choose not to think too much about the odd expression which had flashed across his features in favour of making something tasty to set you up for your day. With no plans to leave the apartment and Jonathan’s new makeshift office being set up at your kitchen table, you have no doubt that it will prove to be an interesting day.

Session #3 (Saturday Evening)

“We will need to cut this arrangement short.”

The words taking a moment to register, you glance from your laptop over to the kitchen table with a mixed look of disappointment and surprise as the vague scent of someone else’s late dinner floats in from your opened windows.

“What?”

The day itself had been…nice.

Breakfast, without bacon, had been served in bed with casual discussion of how you both planned to spend the day since neither of you had anywhere else to be. With mutual work projects to power through, it was decided that Jonathan could keep command of the kitchen table and that it would be easier for you to work from the couch since all you needed was a laptop and your mobile.

The day progressed quickly, casual conversation flowing between the long periods of focused silence, and you found your eyes drifting over to Jonathan again and again to soak in the mundane view of him. Whether writing in his notebooks or rubbing at his temple with the pad of one finger, his focus was absolute and the intensity of it ignited a fondness that couldn’t be ignored.

At one point, Jonathan had brewed coffee and, without asking, had brought you a cup which was perfectly crafted to your personal tastes. Following that, dinner had been delicious and you were particularly pleased with how well your chicken had come out as you fried it off in breadcrumbs. Perfectly tender and served with a tasty pasta on the side, Jonathan complimented the meal with ease as he polished off his own generous portion before subtly waiting his turn to clear off the remnants of your plate too.

The domesticity of it all did not go unnoticed, even if neither of you were willing to put any attention to it, as Jonathan handed you every dish which he dried so that you could return it to its correct place within your cupboards. The return to finish off your work projects had commenced with a similar fluidity, Jonathan spreading out his documents once more as you returned to the couch with your laptop to finish off the report which you were proofreading for a colleague.

So, all in all, a nice day.

Looking up from his wide spread of notebooks, Jonathan at least has the dignity to look a little sheepish as he points a sharp finger at his discarded phone and explains himself, “Something has come up for tomorrow. A meeting I cannot reschedule so I will need to leave tonight instead of tomorrow. I apologise for the inconvenience and for changing our plans.

Almost ready to be finished with your laptop work anyway, you glance at the clock and back at Jonathan with a subtle determination lining your features. There wasn’t much light left in the day and, with your final question already set within your mind, you did not want to pass up the opportunity to ask it.

“I don’t mind fitting in time for our final session right now.” You offer, giving Jonathan a lopsided grin as you attempt to sway him into a little fun. “I’m just about ready to wrap up so if the doctor can fit me into his busy schedule, then I’m sure we could go and finish off this little project of his.”

Dropping his elbow to the table, Jonathan steeples his fingers under his chin as he tilts his head over at you, “You want to finish now?”

“Yeah,” you nod before adding, “and I also want my question.”

Jonathan smirks at that, the little hint of selfishness amusing him.

“Fair enough.”

Standing from the couch, you beckon him playfully with a crooked finger as you walk over to your bedroom and quickly strip off the loungewear which you had swapped into after breakfast. Having once again cleaned yourself out during your post-dinner shower to freshen up, you are thankful for that at least as you lower yourself to the bed and wait for Jonathan to join you.

He appears before a minute has passed, his hands already removing his clothing with a forced casualness which could almost fool you if it wasn’t for the slight tremble you can see in his chest as his excitement at finally claiming his prize builds.

Meeting his gaze, you give him a small, shy smile as you spread your legs at the knee and speak with total confidence.

“I’m ready, Dr. Crane. You’ve been so patient and worked so hard on this little project you have created, now it’s time to claim what’s yours.”

Jonathan wastes no time in dropping to the bed and slotting himself up between your spread legs. His cock is already hard and you run a teasing finger up the jutting length as Jonathan cracks open the bottle of lube and squeezes some onto his hand.

Pressing two of his lubed fingers within your ass, he gently twists them to ensure a good coverage of the cool lube even as the digits steal a deep gasp from your lips. Your ass already feels sensitive to the touch, its earlier play maybe not having worn off as much you thought it had, and you curl one hand into the pillow behind your head as you watch him coat the tip of his cock in the leftover lubricant.

“Sensitive?” Jonathan asks, almost vibrating with tension.

“Yeah. Not painful, just a little more tender than I thought.”

“Imagine how it will feel soon, stretched and filled beyond anything you’ve felt before.” Jonathan’s voice is low and husky as he continues to tease you. “A small plug and fingers are no match for what I already know you can take.”

“Then let me take it.”

Needing no more encouragement, Jonathan lines the head of his cock up with your ass – teasing the tight ring of muscle with his blunted cockhead as he allows you to wrap your legs around his ass and make yourself comfortable against the sheets. He enters you with a slow press of his cock until the head slips within with a ‘popping’ sensation, the sudden fullness forces you to drag your hands from the sheets, instead placing them on Jonathan’s shoulders to centre yourself as he continues to press his cock deeper.

Despite the help of the lubricant, the friction is there and the pain is sharp but not unbearable, more of a deep sting that anything else, and you dig the edges of your nails into Jonathan’s shoulder as he pauses to allow you to acclimatise to his size and feel how full he has left you.

Pinned beneath him, you know that he plans on taking what he wants and the sheer pressure of his body pressing into your own paired with the sharp, piercing nature of his gaze is enough to steal your breath; anticipation for being used like the innocent victim you claim to be making your head swim.

As though reading your thoughts, Jonathan begins to move his hips in a sharp, fast motions – the rhythm relentless and fierce as he pulls his cock back enough that only his head sits within your ass before snapping forward to bury his length. His groin hits your skin with every thrust, the lurid sound of skin-on-skin filling the empty space between your mixed gasps and whines.

The discomfort is brutal, your eyes watering as his cock feels like it’s going so deep that it will end up puncturing something; a hollow, dulling ache mostly filling the space where his cock stretches out muscles which have never known anything of the sort.

“Does it hurt?” Jonathan asks, his eyes sharp and unblinking as he drinks in your mild misery like the finest whisky.

“Yes.” The word comes out as a whine, your hand pulling free of his shoulder long enough to wipe at your watery eyes.

“Then tell me to stop.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Jonathan demands, his tone rough and movements bestial as he takes everything he wants. “Why allow a monster to use you like this, witty girl?” As he speaks, he bends his body further and brings his head to your own – his words brushing your lips as his eyes hold your gaze with a magnetic, almost hypnotic, pull. “Are you really so desperate to be devoured?”

“I like it.” You whisper the confession into his mouth, “I like all of it. I like when you hold me like this, when you hurt me like this. How could I not?”

Jonathan pulls back at the soft confession and his expression is wild, pupils dilated and almost desperate with some unspoken need.

“My little mouse. My reluctant mistress of fear. My witty girl.”

He snarls the words like an animal, his cock punctuating each claim like he could brand it within your very flesh through sheer will. His thumb, wet with your arousal as he slides it across your cunt, drags itself over your clit and your body bucks in place – the sensation sharp, sudden, and terrible in its intensity as it threatens to throw you over the edge. Every fresh slam of his hips is enough to pull a groan from your lips, pain and pleasure wrapping up in the other as Jonathan’s cock and hand work in tandem to push your limits.

You come with a high-pitched squeal, Jonathan’s punishing treatment of your clit and ass throwing you into a violent orgasm as you buck against his body and only serve to impale yourself deeper on his cock. Toes curling into his exposed back, you dig your nails deep within the skin of his shoulders as you ride your orgasm out and, somewhere between the waves of pleasure, you hear your own voice.

“My doctor. My Scarecrow. Jonathan.”

The claim, made with equal determination to his own despite your much more desperate tones, is enough to push Jonathan over the edge and he slams his cock deep as his arms wrap around your body to pull you close – your skin flush to his own.

Jonathan’s release fills your ass, hot and pulsing against the sensitive inner walls and you can’t help but tense your body around him as he buries his head into your neck. Muffling his groans with your skin, you can feel his teeth and tongue as he takes out his pleasures on the sensitive flesh even as your hand tugs at the hair which sits on the nape of his neck.

In the aftermath, your frantic breaths take a while to mellow out into something more controlled as Jonathan pulls back from your neck. The lines of his forehead are slicked with sweat, high points of his cheeks flushing with colour and yet his eyes are back to their calm, clinical harshness; the very edges only softening as he holds your gaze and watches you analyse him.

Pulling free of your ass with a gentle tug of his wilting cock, Jonathan rolls to his back and his exhale is deep and personal – coming more from the depths of his chest than his throat as he tilts his head enough to watch you lean over to your bedside cabinet and hand him a box of tissues. The slight motion makes you gasp as your lower half screams its dissatisfaction with its hard use and you are careful to keep the mess at your ass from the sheets as much as possible.

Watching as Jonathan wipes off his cock with the handful of tissues, you take the soiled mess from him as you slide from the bed and disappear into the bathroom to clean yourself up. The movement sparks discomfort across your lower body, specifically your ass, and you wince at the residual tenderness as you snatch an opened packet of baby wipes from the lower cabinet and use them to clean away the mess.

You return to the bed with a satisfied sigh, falling to the sheets with a small stretch as you adjust and turn to face Jonathan where he lays beside you.

“Was it what you wanted it to be?”

“You are always enough, witty girl, but I am glad it was something we shared.” Jonathan answers with a hint of pride. “Did you find it satisfying?”

“It hurt a little, not terrible, and it definitely felt better towards the end. Nowhere near as good as what you can do with the rest of me, but I didn’t hate it.”

“Honest to a fault.” Returning his wire-rimmed glasses to his face as he snatched them up from the bedside cabinet, Jonathan turns back to meet your gaze as he swiftly moves on to the closing part of your arrangement. “Now ask your final question, little mouse. You’ve more than earned it.”

Sitting upright, you bring your legs into a basket and turn your body so that you can face Jonathan fully – the ache in your body ignored in the face of getting what you want. The first two questions had been focused on him, on his past and his history. However, for tonight, you plan on something much more selfish and self-indulgent – even if the answer is not what you want to hear.

“Do you have any regrets between us?” Unlike the first two questions, you ask this with a willing vulnerability, wanting him to know that the question has some meaning. “Since our first meeting in Arkham, do you regret any of it?”

Jonathan’s eyes widen for a moment, his mouth tilting as the question catches him by surprise, but he is quick to bury any further reaction as he brings his spindly hands to his chest and sits them there quietly.

“I have spoken on it before, but I will always have some regrets over that business with Sionis.”

The confession is a soothing balm, his continuing admittance that he had done you wrong in that moment comforting. You are over it, mostly, but there is always a power in a way that the shadowy memories of Sionis’ hands on your body still rankle you in darker moments.

“I do not regret accepting the money which was offered,” Jonathan clarifies as he maintains his position with a stubborn edge, “but I do regret that doing so took from you something that you would have given. I also regret the disrespect which preceded the choice.”

“There is a part of me that’s still sore about it. Not so much the assault,” Jonathan’s lip twitches at the word but you push past it, “but knowing that my first real experience with your toxin could have been something special. I would have come willingly, allowed you to inject me with it. The real stuff, not that pheromone blend, and I would have let you have your fun because I knew it would have meant something – been something special in that moment.”

“I am angry to have robbed myself of that opportunity.” A hint of frustration tweaks at Jonathan’s expression, the self-irritation evident in how his jaw tightens.

“It’s a first we can’t get back.” You shrug. “No point dwelling on it when we can’t change it.”

“No.” He agrees. “We play with the hand we are given, little mouse.”

Another question bubbles within your chest and it rises to fall from your lips before you can stop it, “Do you think, if things were different, we could have had a chance at something normal?”

Jonathan is silent, allowing the question time to marinate as he considers his thoughts and how to respond. Eventually, he settles on something simple.

“No point dwelling on it when we can’t change it.”

His reply parrots your own but there’s a gentle weariness in them which speaks more than any other answer could and you have to accept it for what it is as comfortable silence falls between you.

“That was four questions.” Jonathan challenges after a minute, his tone shedding all heaviness with the ease of a snake.

“It was.” Teasing his side with your elbow, you tilt your head at him with a smile. “Do you want something for the extra ask?” Touched by his willingness to answer said questions and the honesty which he has shown across them, your offer is just as honest and earnest.

“Would you be willing to allow me to spend more time here? Not without notice but-” For once, Jonathan trails off and his face takes on the same uncertainty which sits within his tone as he makes the unexpected ask.

Surprised by the show of nervousness, you think keeping him on tenterhooks is cruel so you slip your hand within his own and give it a soft squeeze.

“Of course. I don’t mind if you want to stay over here a bit more. I hate leaving my car parked in that damn warehouse.” You harden your voice slightly. “No chemicals and no crimes are my only rules. If you can follow that then I can clear out a drawer if you want somewhere to keep your clothes?”

“Thank you.” Jonathan exhales, his chest visibly releasing its tension and you wonder if he was expecting a rejection as his hand remains strong within your own. “With that said, I truly do have to leave soon. As much as I would prefer to stay.”

Accepting that, you make no effort to move as you graze your thumb across the back of his hand and mentally plot out which of your filled drawers would actually be the easiest to donate to his needs.

x-x-x-x-x

It’s only an hour after Jonathan has packed up and removed all his work from your kitchen that you find it.

Returning to your bedroom to make sure that the sheets are clean enough to not require another fresh wash, your eyes scan the room twice before they land on the two items which most definitely had not been there when you had been in bed with Jonathan. There on the nightstand sits a thick stack of what is quite obviously fifty-dollar bills and a small, handwritten note – the latter of which you pick up with a slightly trembling hand. Jonathan’s now-familiar script stares back at you and your mouth forms the words as you read it slowly.

“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”

The money is a long overdue gift. From an old crow to his little mouse. Spend it as you see fit.

J.

Not immediately recognising the first quote, you study the words with curious eyes as you try to work out exactly what Jonathan is trying to say. With so much information having been divulged over such a short period of time, a small part of you is thankful that he had to leave early as it gives you the chance to sort through the revelations with the added puzzle of this little note.

Slipping it within your pocket as you plan to retire to the couch and search up the quote origins, your attention quickly falls to the banded stack of bills which stare up at you with equal intensity. You thumb through them quietly, roughly estimating the total and your breath catches as you realise there’s at least a thousand dollars neatly stacked into fifties.

You exhale with a smile, not at the money, but at the way which Jonathan has attempted to leave it as a romantic surprise and has, inadvertently, served it up to you like he was a John visiting his favourite hooker. Making a mental note to let him know that you are thankful for the gift but also that leaving money on a nightstand like that vaguely gives the impression that he views you as a prostitute being paid for her services, you drop the money into the top drawer and close it gently.