That's Coochie, Babe!

As punctual as ever, Jonathan arrives at your pre-arranged meeting spot outside of the grocery store with ample time to spare. Dressed simply in a well-fitting brown shirt and dark pants, there is something so casual about his appearance that you have to bite back a giggle as you capture your lower lip between your teeth.

“You know, most people don’t have to arrange shopping like this. They just text each other and ask, nicely, if the other person can pick a couple of things up.”

More than amused at how formal Jonathan insists on making any mutual appearance outside of the basement, you swear you have attended work meetings which have been less stressful. However, since this is for your benefit more than his, you know to keep your mouth shut.

“We are not most people.” Crane counters easily, holding the door of the grocery store open to allow you to pass through. “Besides, I thought you would appreciate the opportunity to have a say in the food which is available to you when you spend time in my workspace. I am a creature of habit and you have proven incapable of bringing your own supplies.”

“Hey, I buy the food that lives in my own damn apartment.” The criticism doesn’t go uncontested, “And I don’t see you offering to split any bills or pay for the gas it takes me to come and visit you.”

Jonathan inclines his head at that as he watches you pick up a basket from the stack by the door, “Point taken.”

The agreement was simple. You would meet at the grocery store, one of his choosing and one which was oddly specific given that it was definitely not the closest to his basement, and pick up some decent supplies. While energy bars and the occasional microwavable meal – the only method of cooking in his workspace without involving the frankly dangerous looking hotplate which looked older than yourself – were passable enough, they certainly weren’t anything to look forward to.

Passing by the refrigerated section, you glance at the various yoghurts on show with vague longing.

“Have you thought about getting a decent fridge?” The question holds a tease, your mind flittering to the small worktop fridge which lay near the back of the basement and did little else but hold various chemicals and toxin strains which required the chill.

Jonathan hums high in his throat, “I have never objected to eating foods which share space with my work. That is a personal issue which you must overcome at some point.”

“Absolutely not. That’s gross as hell.”

You continue on, picking up various non-perishables which can easily be microwaved or more robust snacks which can be eaten straight from your assigned drawer. Eventually, a sudden weight in the basket makes you glance down at it and you take in the sudden appearance of a cheap whisky bottle with a cocked brow.

“Did you bring ID?”

He huffs at that, the closest thing to a laugh that he’s typically willing to give and you use the moment of good humour to ask the question which has been knocking at your thoughts.

“Why do you shop here?” You ask quietly. “There are loads of other shops much closer to-”

“Look around, witty girl. What do you see? Or, rather, what do you not see?”

Following his gaze, your eyes sweep across the corners of the store and it takes a moment for you to understand what he is trying to point out.

No security cameras.

“No cameras.”

“The less awareness society has about my whereabouts the better for all involved.” Jonathan continues, “And you would be surprised at how much thought myself and my fellow rogues have to put into such menial considerations.”

“Fair.” You concede, returning focus to the task at hand as you follow him through the grocery store and try to push away just how odd the simple domestic scene feels. The silence is nice, comfortable in a way which makes you relax as you fill the basket with various snacks and easy to prepare meals for your own benefit. Not only that but a few changes will encourage Jonathan to eat something a little more diverse than his typical diet.

Eventually though, you naturally gravitate towards the self-service checkouts and you dutifully help Jonathan to pack the shopping with a practised hand as you quietly chat about meaningless nonsense.

However, as Jonathan holds his card up to the reader, you can’t help but notice that the name embossed on it is not his own.

“Mr. J. Gruidae.” You read it out quietly, a silent question in your tone.

“It would be unfortunate to spend months in Arkham because certain parties were able to simply check my named debit card and discover where I purchase groceries. That’s an embarrassment I’m not sure I would recover from.”

“Ah.” Chastising yourself for the obviousness of the answer, you remain quiet as you pack up the groceries and take the lighter of the two bags as Jonathan picks up the other. After a moment of clear internal debate, he takes the bag from your own hand as well – carrying both to leave you emptyhanded.

It’s a surprisingly chivalrous move but you know better than to comment on it and you both head to the exit in companionable silence.

Stepping outside, the approaching evening has robbed much of the sky of its colour – the horizon a stunning orange colour which promises a chilly evening.

Having taken your car and knowing Jonathan will have travelled on foot, you turn to heard towards your own parking space and flinch as a low whistle catches your attention. Twisting in place, you take in the appearance of an man leaning against the side of the store doors, his look making you place him about ten years older than yourself but looking older by the unkemptness of his appearance and the lecherous grin which splits his lips as he rakes his eyes across your shirt and skirt combo.

He locks eyes with you after a moment, your clear disgust doing nothing but making his grin widen as he winks at you and palms his cock through his leather pants.

“You’re the nicest thing to walk out here all day. Ditch the bitch, baby.”

The idiot calls out, following up his whistle with a shameless catcall as he pointed ignores the fact that you aren’t alone. “Come over here and see what a real man can offer you.”

You don’t hesitate in your response, Jonathan’s presence making you feel bold as the words snap from you, “Fuck off.”

Sensing that you are no longer beside him, Jonathan stops and quickly turns to discover why you have paused in your walk.

“The fuck you say?” The idiot follows up, arrogance on full display as he shifts in his leather jacket – some motorcycle club emblem blazing across the fabric.

“You heard me, fuck off.”

“That hurts me, babe. I only wanted to say hello and give you the chance to upgrade to something special.”

Oddly incensed by the obvious disrespect towards Jonathan, the man himself currently placing the shopping bags on the ground as he realises the confrontation and slowly prepares himself for intervention, you allow the anger to fuel your words as you take a dangerous step towards the fucking idiot.

“He’s twice the man you’ll ever be. Keep your thoughts to yourself, asshole.” Jonathan’s presence by your shoulder emboldens you further, sparking your hand as it flies up to point at the rude man in open warning.

Unhappy with the unexpectedly aggressive reaction, the man thrusts his arm out and wraps his fingers around your wrists as you gasp in surprise and thrust your free hand into your other pocket.

“Hey, bitch-”

Fingers gripping around the object you want, you pull free the canister of pepper spray and depress a healthy spritz of it into his furious, agitated expression. The result is immediate as his hand pulls back from your wrist and his body drops to the floor as he screams and clutches at his bearded face.

“Don’t touch me.” You spit down at him, his howling screeches finally drawing the attention of another shopper, a woman who has only just left the store. Her eyes flick between your pepper spray and the man on the ground before shrugging and continuing on her way – her cart filled with diapers and various groceries.

“My tainted pepper spray?” Surprisingly calm, Jonathan looks between the flailing body and the canister in your hand with obvious interest as he presses into your back. “Do you think he deserves the hell of my toxin for such pettiness?”

“Well,” now feeling a little foolish at the overreaction, you stick your chin out in defiance after a moment’s thought, “I haven’t had the chance to use it yet. It seemed fair since that guy was being a dick to you. It won’t kill him.” You pause. “Will it?”

Pursuing his lips as he shakes his head in response, Jonathan picks up the bags of shopping once more and leads the way to your parked car.

You both remain quiet as you quickly flee the scene of the crime, leaving the idiotic man hollering on the ground with no one willing to help such an obvious letch, and get to your car. It takes only a moment for your fumbling fingers to pull your keys free, open the trunk and start to place the bags within.

“You are quick to leap to my defence, witty girl.”

Jonathan’s hands find your body as he deposits the last bag of shopping and he places his palms on your hips, grounding you in place and forcing your ass against the opened trunk as he speaks. However, the way he says the words are strange and you hesitate for long enough to meet his gaze, his eyes filled with some unknown calculation.

“Well…yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

The responsive question visibly throws him for a moment, ceasing his roving hands as they curl around your waist and hips. He recovers quickly though, hand shifting slightly to tap the pepper spray where it now sits easily accessible and back in the front pocket of your coat.

“You are very eager to use my beloved toxin.” Jonathan growls and the words hold a heated accusation, “I think it’s time you explain yourself and beg forgiveness from the Scarecrow. Tonight.”

You gasp as he presses his body flush against your own, his cock already hard against your stomach as he shifts closer to fully cage you against the rear of your car with his body. The thrill of excitement which curls up your spine at the demand is undeniable as you meet Jonathan’s eyes and nod.

“Tonight, then.”

x-x-x-x-x

Lounging in bed after firing off a few work emails, your phone buzzes against the sideboard and the surprise of the sudden noise startles you from your casual daydream. You unlock it quickly and are confronted by a text from Jonathan – only an hour having passed since your late day shopping trip.

Wear items you don’t mind losing and prepare to spend the night. Ensure that you have eaten something robust or I won’t be held responsible for the impact of the toxin.

Now, that was unexpected.

Since the events with Roman, Jonathan had been hesitant to mention any serious use of his toxin – correctly assuming that it would not be received particularly well given his decisions surrounding it.

Toxin? xx

His reply comes quickly.

An upgraded version of the first strain which you experienced; the Ivy compound. Nothing too strenuous.

You stare at that text for a full minute, finger hovering over the phone keyboard as a million thoughts fly through your mind until a second, follow-up text, arrives.

You may opt out by refusing the invitation. It’s a game, witty girl. The Scarecrow wants to play and your only job is to attempt to evade him.

The game wasn’t unfamiliar, Jonathan’s secret enjoyment of a little wicked roleplay something he would never admit to, but having him chase you down always sends excitement through your entire frame.

The toxin was an interesting addition though, the memories of your first encounter with the tainted aphrodisiac still something which you thought about when pleasuring yourself in the shower.

Your mind already made up, you keep to a simple response.

Okay xx

x-x-x-x-x

Knowing exactly what Jonathan is hoping for, your choice of a simple white dress with a sweetheart neckline is one which is designed to play into his hands. Paired with some pristine white tennis shoes, the hem of the dress skims the tops of your knees and you make sure that the pink set of underwear which sits underneath the dress is deliciously lacy and tempting in its detailing.

A total picture of innocence with a hidden surprise below.

Dr. Jonathan Crane wasn’t the only one who liked to play games.

Pushing the door to the basement open as you finish traversing the familiar pathways of the warehouse, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears as your body thrums with anticipation. Peering down, darkness meets your gaze and you are careful in how you descend, not wanting to trip on the stairs and prematurely put an end to any fun with a snapped neck.

“Dr. Crane?” You call his name out with a sweet lilt as your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, “Jonathan? Are you in here?” Silence meets you but you continue on quietly, reaching the bottom of the stairs as you strain your sight for even the slightest hint of movement. “Jonathan?”

Stepping into the basement fully, anxiety nips at your heels with every soft step.

Your next ask is barely a whisper.

“Scarecrow?”

“Right here, little mouse.”

The words barely register before a pair of thin hands emerge from the darkness behind you to wrap around your upper arms, attempting to pin you into place. You scream and pull free without thought, fear gripping your chest as you slip out of Jonathan’s grasp and stumble away from his hidden position.

Throwing caution to the wind, you sprint towards the wall where you know the light switch is. Flicking it on, dim light floods the basement and with it comes a sharp inhale.

In full costume, a sight you have not seen for some time, the full glory of the Scarecrow is as terrifying as ever. His fear gauntlet flashes in the light and the attention brought to it makes a fresh shudder run up your spine. Toxin. He had already told you that you would taste his toxin tonight but you hadn’t expected him to finally use the gauntlet for its delivery.

You can remember how that infamous gauntlet feels; the comforting weight of the metal and its components as they expertly wrap around the wrist and fingers to offer maximum flexibility where it counts.

The power which flooded your veins in controlling it had been incredible.

And you know Jonathan must feel the same as he allows you to drink in his appearance with blatant pride.

“Scarecrow.” You repeat, his name breathy between your lips as you speak it with reverence.

Jonathan tilts his head at you, expression hidden by his mask and his voice is modulated and cold as he replies.

“You know what I want, witty girl.”

Fear warring with arousal as the anticipation of the night ahead makes your breath come in short, sharp pants, you shift to the side as Jonathan slowly approaches you – his arousal shameless as it tents the dark fabric of his costume at the groin.

“You want me scared.” You confirm quietly. “I think you want me to beg for mercy and to panic and cry out with fear while you torment me.”

“You belong to the Scarecrow and he will take what he wants, when he wants. That sweet, bleeding heart which sits within that delicious chest beats as I want it to…and I want it to scream.”

Circling each other with a mirroring predatory gait, your anxiety is apparent in how shaky your steps are and how they contrast with Jonathan’s steady movements.

“The Scarecrow will never own me. He knows that and I think he likes it.”

“Your arrogance might be your undoing but let’s find out, sweetheart.”

Jonathan lunges at you, crossing the space between you with surprising speed and you squeal as you dodge him by ducking under his ungloved arm. But he’s fast – too fast – and your attempt to bolt is instantly killed in the crib by his body snapping around as his thin hand strikes out to wrap itself in your hair and spin you roughly in place.

Scalp burning, you can’t help but cry out at the pain as you find your back slammed into the nearest wall with so much force that it winds you as it causes all the breath to woosh from your lungs in a sharp exhale. With stars dancing in your vision, it takes a moment for your sight to register Jonathan as his thin body shifts to cage your own with a victorious snarl.

Heart thrumming with the excitement of the chase, you go pliant in his hands and gaze into his mask with lidded, submissive eyes.

Pinned against the basement wall by your hair, the strands screaming their abuse by burning against your scalp, Jonathan ensures further compliance by bringing the sharpened needles of his fear gauntlet to your side – threatening the thin fabric of your dress in such a way that even the slightest movement will cause him to pierce and damage the skin.

“You are mine now.”

“I’m always yours.”

He growls at that and his cock grinds into your hip as he accepts the compliance before continuing.

“This dress,” Jonathan groans and the noise sounds odd coming through the modulated mask as his face dips close to your ears, “I am tempted to leave it on. It’s sweet and reeking with innocence. Virginal. Almost enough to hide the whore that lurks beneath.”

Breath catching at the shameful term, you press your thighs together and gaze up into the terrifying blank slate which is his mask.

“I want to see you.” The demand is gasping as your hands press into the fabric of his costume and rub at his chest. “Let me see your face. Please?”

His head tilts down at you and you can feel his gaze boring into your own as he debates the ask. He settles on a choice quickly though and you can feel the care in his movement as he uses the tip of one of his gauntlet needles to pierce through the burlap near the top of the mask and pull it from his face before gently settling it down on the floor.

Wild eyes meet your own, the clinical gaze replaced with something so filled with heat and predatory delight that your teeth once again clamp down on your lower lip.

“Nothing for free, witty girl.” Jonathan whispers, “You ask to see me and I demand the same. I want every inch of you. Exposed. Free to explore. Inside and out.”

His hand loosens on your hair and you take the hint, quickly pulling your dress overhead as you strip in record time – arousal causing your hands to feel shaky as the cold stone of the basement wall touching your back makes you gasp.

Jonathan growls as his greedy eyes take in the underwear which clings to your frame but he says nothing as he instead grinds the bulge of his cock against your hip. His gauntlet teases the swell of your chest, the cold metal leaving a trail of goosebumps across the exposed skin it touches.

Without warning or mercy, Jonathan pulls the gauntlet free long enough to offer you a sadistic wink before dropping his head to your chest and biting at your left tit with blunted teeth; his gauntleted hand simultaneously driving the needles of the glove deep into the flesh of your outer thigh to deposit their contents.

The dual sensation is enough to force a low, guttural scream from your lungs as the deep sting of the needles is off-set by the warmth of Jonathan’s mouth on your tit – his lips suckling a livid mark into the flesh as he draws it past his gnawing teeth.

“Jonathan!” His name a curse as much as a blessing as you hear the metallic clank of the gauntlet being lowered even more gently to the floor than his mask had been.

At the desperate cry of his name, Jonathan snatches his mouth free long enough to press it higher, delivering a row of kisses up your collarbone and neck as he speaks with a gasping delight, “You only have a minute or two before the toxin truly takes hold,” he explains through tormenting the sensitive skin at your throat, “so we need to move quickly.”

His body pulls from your own with such speed that it’s almost enough to leave you dizzy and you allow yourself to be tugged by his hand as he leads you deeper into the basement. He guides you over to the gurney, the sight of it as familiar as anything else, and you take in the weird clothing which sits atop it with a gasp.

Jonathan picks the fabric up with gleeful fingers and the mess of his hair seems sharper than usual as he holds out what looks like a straitjacket towards you. However, much of the material which sits high on a typical straitjacket seems to have been cut away as you realise that the restraint has been designed in such a way that it will keep your arms tucked away while leaving your chest fully exposed.

“Jonathan, what th-” The words come out with a slight stutter, a growing fuzziness in your brain making the sentence difficult as you feel the toxin beginning to affect your senses.

“Underwear removed and arms out, witty girl.” Jonathan commands, ignoring your question.

Unable to argue, you do as told; unclasping your bra to let it fall to the floor before holding your arms out for him to pull the straitjacket on and secure it tightly around your body.

Immediately, the adjusted straitjacket feels incredibly strange against your skin. Arms pulled so tight across your stomach that they ache ever so slightly, you don’t miss the fact that the position also forces your arms to push your tits out to an obscene level – the removed fabric of the straight jacket exposing every inch to Jonathan’s starving gaze.

Heat burns across your restrained skin, the aphrodisiac laced toxin making the constant touch of the fabric feel delicious against the nerves. Your eyes drop to the gurney by your side and you shiver at the sight of it. It has been a while since it has featured in your games and a part of you missed the simplicity of it.

Following your gaze, Jonathan grins as one of his hands shifts to palm across his trapped cock as he gently pushes you backwards against the gurney – his fingers splayed wide across your chest. You take his wordless instruction for what it is as you bump your ass against it and wait for him to lay you down since your restrained arms make it almost impossible to do so safely.

Jonathan spreads you out carefully, his hands clinical as he tightens the thick band of the gurney across your restrained arms – ensuring that you are unable to roll off or stand up while leaving some room for you to buck and writhe.

“Been a while, hasn’t it, witty girl?” He asks, his voice low as his hands settle on your thighs to rub up and down the skin there with a solid pressure. “Did you think you would end up back here? Drugged, tied down, and left to the mercy of a very ravenous Scarecrow?”

“I’d-fuck- I’d hoped so.” You didn’t mean to swear but as you stare at

Jonathan’s grinning face, the toxin in your system causes his mouth to twist and his teeth to elongate into something bestial. It’s a frightening sight and you pull your gaze from him to flick it towards the ceiling instead. “Your teeth.” The words come out like a confession, knowing that Jonathan likes to know what you’re experiencing.

“Do you see something you don’t like? After all this time, to hold such fear is delicious.” Jonathan hums and you gasp as you feel his breath on your inner thighs as he leans up the bottom of the gurney and pushes himself between your legs. “Can you imagine how those teeth will feel against such delicate flesh?”

And with that, you mewl out a pathetic noise as those same teeth graze across your cunt, quickly being followed up by a slow stroke of Jonathan’s tongue as he tastes the arousal which already dampens your sex. With familiar enthusiasm, he seems unable to hold himself back from more as he presses his face into your cunt as sets about eating you out like the beast he appears to be.

Head feeling fuzzy as the tiles of the ceiling seem to wave and shift under your squinting gaze, you do nothing to hold back the gasping grunts which Jonathan’s talented mouth inspire. Time and study had long since given him the exact information which he needed to bring you to a quick release and he did so with a terrible precision.

Rapidly dragged to the edge of a delicious orgasm, the noise which breaks free of you as Jonathan pulls away and leaves your cunt untouched is pathetic.

“Jonathan, please-”

“Remember,” he tuts revelling in the power he holds over you, “you’re here to beg forgiveness from the Scarecrow, little mouse. Did you think pleasure would come so easily?”

However, as he speaks, two of his fingers return to your cunt, spreading your folds delicately as you grind yourself into his digits, trying to encourage him to continue as your pleasure slowly ebbs away.

Something hard and plastic touches your soft, slickened skin and you only have a moment to gasp in surprise before your ass lifts off the gurney as Jonathan sucks your clit within the pump which is pushed flush to your skin. Already aroused and hardened by his attention, the sensitive nub immediately folds to the pressure as you feel the throb within the trapped nerves.

“And while we wait for that-”

You hear Jonathan shift and you bring your gaze down as your pulse thrums rapidly within your veins. He is standing to your side, his cock still hidden away and his chin visibly stained with the evidence of his meal. One spindly hand drops to cup along your cheek and the gentle touch makes you shudder in place as your mind conjures visions of little creatures creeping along your skin where his fingers touch.

“Please, get them off me.” You keen out.

“Them?”

“The bugs.”

Jonathan makes a noise in his throat, his hand slipping lower to tap along your neck and collarbone as it makes it way towards your heaving chest. With every tap, you swear you can feel legs skittering across your sweat-licked skin and you thrash against the gurney in an attempt to knock them off.

“No bugs here, little mouse. Only a Scarecrow and his responsive witty girl.”

Growling the words, Jonathan doesn’t hesitate to bend and drop his head to your chest – the chest which fascinates him so much – and your cunt clenches around nothing as you feel him laying a soft trail of kisses across your breasts. Gripping one within his palm, he squeezes it with a wicked pressure and you barely have time to groan before his tongue swirls around your other nipple.

The wet heat of his mouth is delicious and your eyes snap shut as you dissolve into the sensation, allowing it to melt away the anxiety which makes your hands shake as they remain pinned behind your back. He spends minutes like this; alternating his attention between your tits as he licks, squeezes, and bites you into an oblivion which has you pressing your thighs together since the pressure is enough to just stimulate the clit pump without pulling it off.

“Is the pump bothering you?” Jonathan huffs, his free hand only now dropping to his cock as he quickly releases himself from his costume and strokes his palm across the hard length. “Let’s see.”

Something wicked curls in his words and your chest heaves as you feel anticipation thrumming through your veins as you await his next move.

“Such a sensitive and controlling little thing you have there.” His hand leaving his cock, you gasp as he flicks at the pump which still pulls relentlessly at your clit. “Maybe I should think about subjecting it to ongoing testing? With the use of the correct hormones and the pump, we could ensure it’s never left neglected for too long. Or perhaps the opposite?” He twists the cylinder and delights in the way it makes your body jerk. “We could lock it away forever, condition your body to experience pleasure in ways more beneficial to your master?”

“Oh, no. Please- don’t. No-”

“No to which option, witty girl? I hope the toxin isn’t making your thoughts too scattered.”

With his mouth once more snaking down to attach itself to your nipple, his teeth grazing the peaked bud, Jonathan wrenches the pump off with a sharp jerk and the sudden rush of sensation which flows into the aching bud is enough to push you over edge as you come with a strangled groan.

“Coming already?” You hear Jonathan’s voice over the roar of blood in your ears as you writhe in place, “What a pity. The sensitivity for what comes next will be unbearable, I fear.”

Without giving you a moment to recover, Jonathan uses his wiry strength to unlock the restraint around your stomach and pull you into an easier position; snatching you down the gurney until your legs hang free enough that he can easily spread your legs and pin you in place to fuck you.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” Jonathan groans as he lines his cock up with your hole and pushes himself in without restraint, “the hold you have on me is inconvenient, little mouse. A toxin with no perceivable antidote which would suit both parties.”

Your cunt already oversensitive from your recent orgasm, the stretch of him bullying his way into your hole is almost enough to push you over the edge again and your fingers scramble against your lower back as you try to hold off for a little bit longer.

Every slight brush of his cock against your clit is unbearable, your lower body jerking as it sends bolts of pure sensation up your spine. The toxin only adding to the unbearableness of it all, you can rapidly feel yourself approaching that lovely brink where your body feels almost weightless as you fall into a truly submissive space.

Jonathan, delighting in your delicious suffering, is surprisingly vocal as he sets a brutal, punishing pace which speaks of his own lack of control.

“You cannot know, cannot comprehend,” he huffs and growls as one hand slips up to grip at your tit roughly, “the restraint it takes for the Scarecrow to not keep you chained down here. To experience nothing but his needs and selfish wants as he claims you over and over. Here, for no one else to touch or kiss or harm.”

His movements growing sloppy as his cock brushes that delightful spot on your walls which makes your knees tremble and your clit throb untouched, you can tell that Jonathan is close as he locks eyes with you and you can feel the sincerity of his unchecked words.

“You would never need worry about another monster again. Only me. And I would rejoice in tearing you apart only to have the honour of stitching you together time and time again.”

Your body jerks in place as his hand drops to deliver a soft, almost playful, slap against your engorged clit and the sensation is so shocking in both its sting and the pleasure which accompanies it that you howl as your limbs shake and you are thrust over the edge once more.

Coming around his cock with a miserable and clenching desperation, every nerve in your body feels as though it’s been set alight as your pleasure mixes with the drugs to create nothing but sensation which tenses your limbs and makes your breath come in choking gasps.

The sight of you coming undone is apparently enough to push Jonathan to his own completion as he slams his cock so deeply within your pulsing cunt that you can feel his groin sitting flush against your own; a familiar warmth spreading across your walls as he pumps his release deep and clutches roughly at your left tit with one hand to steady himself.

Fucked out and ears still ringing from your own orgasm, you stay locked together with Jonathan as his wild eyes stare down at yours with an expression which is impossible to place but one which makes something dangerous flutter in your chest. He only pulls free after a minute, tucking his soiled cock away in his costume as he braces himself on the gurney for a moment before holding up one hand as you wriggle in place.

“Stay.”

The word is shaky but determined as Jonathan stumbles away from the gurney, leaving you breathing hard and unable to focus on much but the sensation of your mixed arousals dripping free of your aching cunt. He returns quickly enough and you take in the syringe which is clasped between his fingers with a resigned acceptance.

“Antidote.” He explains simply as he thrusts the needle within the fleshiest part of your thigh, the sting drawing a small whimper from your lips as he injects the full amount without hesitation. You maintain steady breaths as you wait for the antidote to kick in, the heat and slight hallucinations which still warp the very edges of your vision rapidly dissolving as you stay still for a few minutes and allow Jonathan to watch as his toxin melts free of your veins.

Satisfied with how it seems to be working, Jonathan shifts forward and wraps his arms around your stomach as he loosens the straps of the straitjacket and it’s only when he draws attention back to it that you realise just how much your arms are aching within the tight confines.

Once freed, you sit there as move your wrists and arms with soft arcing movements to encourage the bloodflow. Your tits feel almost as sore as your cunt, every slight motion sparking a fresh twinge of pleasurable discomfort in your pumped clit.

“What do you need?”

Blinking at the surprisingly thoughtful question, your voice sounds hoarse to your own ears as you take stock of your body and realise that you want to wash off the mess between your legs as you answer with a simple.

“Bathroom.”

With your legs already swung over the side, you gently attempt to push yourself off the gurney and immediately regret the bold choice as nausea rises in your chest so quickly that you have to swallow it down before you vomit across the floor. Sensing the difficulty, Jonathan subtly steps out the way and catches your arms with his hands – quickly shifting your body so that he can offer you support as he leads you over to the bathroom on the other side of the basement.

The door to the bathroom swings open with ease and you pull free on Jonathan enough to step inside, determined to take care of your own needs. Picking up the roll of toilet paper, you dutifully wipe away the mess which has accumulated between your thighs and gasp as the sensation of the paper scoring across your aching clit makes your knees buckle slightly.

“You will be sensitive for some time.” Jonathan offers, his tone a touch too smug for your liking as he watches you with analytical, sated eyes. “I may have been,” he pauses, “overzealous in my application.”

“Gee, you think?” The sarcasm comes easily but Jonathan takes it in stride as he offers you his hand once more and leads you over to the familiar sofa which you have both spent many a night wrapped up across.

Jonathan drops to the sofa first, his back pressing into the arm as he props himself up and snatches the lab coat which is folded across the back of the sofa from its near position. He spreads his legs slightly in wordless, open invitation and you follow his movement as you fall into the available space and immediately find yourself wrapped up in the lab coat as Jonathan uses it as a makeshift blanket.

“Sleep here, with me. Your body will require the rest to keep from any untoward side-effects.” Jonathan commands, looking down at you as you make yourself comfortable against his chest, your legs tangling with his own as you try not to accidentally jab him in the ribs.

“What will you do if I sleep?” You ask and you take a moment to feel irritated by just how right he is as fatigue hits you like a train; a combination of the post-drugged state mixing with the drop in adrenaline you always feel after a more intense session.

Jonathan’s hand disappears beneath the couch for a moment before reappearing with a dry-looking psychology book clenched between his fingers, “I will take some time to read as you rest. I must maintain a close eye on your respiratory system to ensure that the enhanced toxin doesn’t spark any late-stage heart failure.”

“For real?”

He fixes you with a heated look, one which tells you in an instant that he is being very serious and you find that you are too tired to even fight the point at the moment.

“You’re a goddamn maniac.”

“You inspire me to madness.” Jonathan retorts without heat, his post-coital state giving him that familiar looseness to his usual control. “Much like drunkenness, things said in the throes of passion always contain an element of truth. The concept of you trapped down here, a constant and delicious distraction to my work which can be used at will, is a thought which must often be put to bed.”

Shuddering at the admission, you cannot help but push him in that playful way you know he secretly adores.

“Hey, Jonathan.”

Immediately put on alert by the falsely saccharine tone which colours your tired words, Jonathan looks down at you with a wary gaze, “Yes, witty girl?”

“Do you love me?”

He’s silent for a moment and you think you have him when he finally answers with a slight roll of his eyes.

“Fuck off.”

The foul-mouthed reply is so unexpected that a wild bubble of laughter slips free of your mouth, lips stretching into a wide grin as you gaze up into his unperturbed face.