❤️‍🔥

You dragged your attention from the streetlights back to him as the onyx Rolls-Royce Phantom blended seamlessly into the night. The bespoke roof lining above you lit up like a starry night sky, projecting a sensual, magical ambience despite your husband’s sour disposition.

“Brucie, your birthday gala is the only event of the year where we can raise fifty million dollars for the foundation,” you mumbled, placing your right hand on top of his, tracing his fingertips. “Which goes directly to the charities and so much more. Isn’t that more important?”

“I know, baby. I know.” Sighing dramatically, he patted his knee in a frantic rhythm to signify his discomfort, left thumb swirling his wedding band. “I know how much this means to you, but I just… wanna spend more alone time with you, especially on my birthday, that’s all.”

“And we’re spending some alone time right now, aren’t we?” You released his hand and grabbed his chin, pulling him in for a kiss. “It’s just a few hours, my love. Be a dear for me tonight and don’t brood in front of them. Then I’m all yours next week for our honeymoon.”

“Okay,” Bruce sighed, enveloping your left hand into his again, thumb tracing the crevices of your fifteen-carat oval-shaped diamond engagement ring. “Happy wife, happy life.”

“You’re the best, baby. You’ll feel better once you see Lucius and Tanya there.” You chuckled and leaned over to kiss his lips again.

Even a blind mouse could tell that Bruce Thomas Wayne hated attending his own galas. Why would he shake their hands, put on a fake smile, and make surface-level small talk with the snobby elites? When he could entangle himself in the silk satin sheets with his wife to bask in her honeyed scent, and abandon his problems just for the week.

But you were devoted to a fault by always putting Gotham first, sometimes even more than him. At parties and galas, you moved effortlessly among the guests, engaging donors, and comforting beneficiaries as if you were the star instead of Bruce.

While they were boisterous and self-congratulatory about their contributions to Gotham, you turned it to your advantage. With a captivating smile and carefully selected questions, you guided the conversation just enough to inflate their egos and keep them invested. By the end of the night, their praises transformed into promises, which then turned into concrete partnerships for the Wayne Foundation.

Which he wasn’t complaining at all, it was marvellous to witness your dedication to philanthropy work, just like his parents’. But it was his birthday, and he yearned for your undivided attention and having you all to himself for the night.

After all, what was the greatest birthday present for Bruce Wayne other than his beloved wife?

On top of that, that ocean-blue silk Versace dress you were wearing with a scallop neckline and a long slit at the hip that accentuated your sinful curves perfectly. Your curls were swept into an updo, soft strands framing your face, his mother’s angel diamond brooch pinned delicately at the bun. Yellow-gold diamond studs glinted in your ears, a diamond tennis necklace resting against your collarbone. It almost thumped the oxygen out of his lungs when he saw you in it.

Your natural beauty was further highlighted by your makeup—mascara-volumnised lashes batting at him like a female bird’s mating call; the gold speckles on your lips made him itch for one more kiss.

God, he loathed how dazzling you looked tonight. He loathed how much he couldn’t ask Miguel to turn around and bring you home to make sweet, passionate love. It took everything in him not to pounce on you like a dog in heat, but he knew better than to defy your orders.

“Brucie…”

He felt your gentle hand caressing his right cheek, luring him back from his exasperation. He took it and pressed a kiss on your knuckles before meeting your eyes.

“Yes, baby?”

“You need to relax, baby. It’s your birthday, I want you to enjoy the last few hours until midnight.”

“I am. I promise.”

“My love, you knew better than to deceive me. Tell me what’s in that pretty head of yours.”

He may be elusive Mr. Wayne at the office, or the charming Bruce Wayne at the glittering parties, or even the terrifying Batman in the shadows at night. Ultimately, you were the boss he listened to back home, secluded away from the public; every word of yours influenced him more than Alfred’s.

Didn’t like the colour of his suit? He would change it immediately. Had a gut feeling he shouldn’t approve that deal? He would shut it down and toss it out of the window. Didn’t like how he conversed with Gordon when he was stressed out? He would apologise to him next time and give him cigars as a peace offering. Dunzo.

He peered at Miguel before leaning toward your ear, his voice growling in hunger. “I just can’t wait to get rid of this dress and make love to you all night.”

You sucked in a ragged breath, astonished by your husband’s newfound bravery, feeling a knot pooling in your core. You were far from innocent; you knew how much he wanted to devour you whole the moment you stepped out of the walk-in closet. You pulled away with a smirk when his hands snaked around your waist a beat too long, unwilling to give in that easily.

Although you relished in the teasing, you knew your husband was just a man. And a man like him could only last that long until you decided to have mercy on his tortured soul.

“I suppose I shall reward the birthday boy tonight.” You whispered in his ear, your voice sultry as you threw a glance at Miguel. He was much more professional than given credit, keeping his eyes strictly on the road.

“Miguel, what’s our ETA to the Wayne Theatre?”

“Fifty minutes, Mrs. Wayne. Apparently, there’s heavy traffic along the way. Should I take the shortcut?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Just keep driving, circle the block if we arrive early.”

“Yes, ma’am. Anything else I should do for you?”

“Roll up the partition, please.” You turned around and gave Bruce a flirty wink. “Mr. Wayne and I have pressing matters to discuss.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Miguel nodded at you and pressed the button on the dashboard to activate the white partition, effectively blocking him out of view. You pressed another button on the monitor to activate noise-cancelling mode.

“What’re you doing, baby?” Bruce’s eyes widened in surprise, adjusting his posture as you straddled his lap, your legs bracketing around his waist as he gripped your hips. He slid his right hand up into the slit of your dress, memorising each faint stretch mark on your thighs with the tip of his fingers.

Your pupils dilated with desire, the corner of your lips curled into a knowing smirk that made him weak in the knees. It was the same voracious glance you gave in bed, the one before you made him beg for more.

“I have to reward the birthday boy, honey.” Sneaking up to his charcoal chevron-patterned tie, you loosened it enough to make him swallow the bile rising in his throat. “You’ve been tryin’ so hard to make me happy, and I couldn’t let that effort go to waste, right?”

Bruce audibly groaned when you grinded his hardening bulge through his pants, his shoes planted firmly on the ground. He felt all of his senses were on fire. “But Miguel—”

“He won’t hear anything, babe.” You shut him by placing a finger atop his lips, then subsequently tracing down to his chin, then to his collarbone, down to the buttons of his white collared shirt. “It’s just the two of us, alone time, remember? Nothing goes out of this car.”

The atmosphere around you started to heat up when you ripped open his shirt with pure strength, sending the buttons flying around the leather cushioned seats and onto the ground.

“Oh, baby—” he breathed, his bulge jumped under your heated core, startled by your sudden movement. “My shirt—”

“Don’t worry baby, today’s all about you. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

You ran your manicured hands down his sculpted body, admiring his bat-shaped chest hair and the pinkish hickeys that were close to fading. No doubt left by you on the wedding night, and the nights after. You clawed red trail marks over his abs, avoiding the bandaged stitches in between.

“Fuck baby, you’re teasing me…” He hissed in pleasure and locked his gaze on you. Bruce gaped as he ran his lustful eyes all over your curves, now inches away from his face.

“Remember the safe word, babe?”

“Yes…”

“What’s the safe word?”

“Tomato.” He whispered.

“Tomato,” you echoed back with a British accent. “Look at you, all needy and pliant for me…”

You tilted his chin and sealed his lips with a fervent kiss, pink gloss and drool smearing an illustrious mess. Your fingers dived into his raven locks as your tongue danced with his like a passionate tango. That coaxed out a moan deep within his chest, and the bruising grip on your hips gradually trailed upwards.

“Baby, please…”

He tried to stifle his moans when you moved on to his left earlobe, tracing each sensitive crevice with your tongue before nibbling it. He bucked his hips, silently begging for more while you savoured his reactions. 

“Don’t hold back, baby. Let it out.” You let out a breathy moan before sucking on that weak spot behind his ear that made him see stars.

He threw his head back against the headrest with a desperate whimper, allowing you more access to his neck, his fingernails clenched stiffly against your ass that it might leave crescent dents.

“Ah! Baby— It feels so good, fuck—” he begged, chest rose and fell with each pant. “Please, baby…”

“Use your words, baby. Tell me, what do you want?”

Without missing a beat, your left hand wandered lower to unbuckle his belt, popping open the button of his pants as you zipped it down. Bruce lifted his hips just enough for you to yank down his pants, now pooled around his ankles.

The heat of your palm rested against his boxer-covered bulge, feeling the wetness soaking his boxers. His eyes rolled backwards, you sucked on that spot again as you stroked him through the cloth.

“What. Do. You. Want?” 

“Fuck, anything please—Please! Anything! Anything, please—” He gasped, bucking his hips against your grip. Sinful pleasure sparkled around his vision, shooting down his spine and coiling in his core.

You grinned at his reaction, the warmth of your breath tickled around his sensitive skin. But you wanted to push him beyond his usual limits, you wanted him to surrender completely.

“You wanna be a good boy for me?” you cooed against his neck. “Wanna be a good boy for mommy?”

“Yes—yes! Wanna be a good boy for mommy,” he whimpered, trapping his bottom lip between his teeth to stifle the noises leaving him. Heat flushed against his cheeks in quiet shame, and he could feel the tip leaked more precum at your words.

“That’s it, feels good doesn’t it? Whose mommy’s good boy?

“Me me me me me me me! I’m mommy’s good boy!”

“All you want is mommy’s attention, don’t ya?" You traced the rim of his ear with your tongue, melting away the remaining thoughts inside his head. "Hmm? Needy boy sulkin' and whinin' around all day 'cause mommy didn't have time to touch you?”

He nodded frantically. "Yes, yes, yes. I just want mommy to touch me, please..."

You giggled, your hands slid past the hem of his boxers, and Bruce adjusted himself so that it could slip past his ass to settle around his ankles. A happy trail of curled hair led down from his navel, joining the curled patch around his pubic area, as his cock sprang from its confines.

You salivated in awe at the sight of him, his hardened, thick shaft twitching against his pubic hair, slightly curved to the left and laced with veins, the reddish-purple tip leaking beads of precum.

“You want mommy to take care of you? To kiss the tip better?” you said it in a sing-song tone, lowering yourself to your knees on the spacious legroom, careful not to trip on your heels. You leaned closer, tapping the angry tip against your gloss and drool-smothered lips.

“Yes, yes mommy. Please—hnn!”

Bruce could barely finish his sentence when you licked along a vein that caught your eye. The first touch of your silky tongue had him jolting in ecstasy, a choked sob left his throat as the shock of pleasure rippled through his body. His hand shot to the back of your hair, thick fingers careful not to mess with the updo you’ve spent hours perfecting.

“Oh, fuck! Feels so good, mommy—”

Your tongue continued its journey up to the head of his cock, lapping at the salty beads before circling around it, coating your tongue with his precum as you moaned. You balanced yourself between his legs, your left hand palming his thigh. Your right hand fisted his shaft, engulfing the head into your mouth. Bruce whimpered in satisfaction, his cock pulsed helplessly in your callous hand. His fingers flexed against your curls as you hollowed your cheeks to bob with your head.

You took him inch by inch into your mouth, moaning at the girth, teeth softly scraping the skin of his shaft. He fought the urge to buck his hips into your mouth without your permission, eyes rolled back as you took more of him in. Your hand stroked the part of his thick length that you failed to get into your mouth.

“Fuck, mommy… it feels so good. Keep going, please—”

Every moan reverberated from his throat filled the car and went straight to your heated core, making your pussy clench with need around nothing. Satisfied with his responses, you relaxed your jaw and bobbed lower, taking even more until his tip almost touched your throat, his pubic hair tickled your nose.

“Hnn… fuck, feels so good, fuck—” Bruce wheezed for air, his chest slicked with sweat, seeping through his tie and shirt in the process. He bucked his hips, and you choked as his tip nudged the back of your throat.

You gasped, pulling back with a string of spit linking his cock to your lips. He watched you, face darkened with concupiscence as his cock was shiny with your spit against the dim lights of the stars above you.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” He wiped your lips clean with his fingers, the right callous of his palm caressing your cheek with tenderness.

You maintained eye contact through your lashes, pressing a kiss to his palms.

“Good boy, did so well for me,” you edged forward, straddling his hips yet again and pressed another sensual kiss to his lips. “You like what mommy did to you?”

“Yes, yes! Please, mommy… I wanna taste you, please.”

“Today’s all about you, baby.” You slipped your matching ocean-blue lace thong to the side, rubbing your slick folds over his length. “I have a better idea.”

Bruce whimpered pathetically at the sensation of your folds gliding over his thick shaft, an amalgamation of your slick and spit coated him as you grinded against him.

What could possibly be better than you sat on his face and let him gobble you up like a famished man?

Your hand glided between your bodies and grasped his cock. The tip brushed your slick folds for a moment, then you slowly lowered yourself on him, letting his girth stretch you wide open. You felt his cock throb inside you as you sank lower.

Bruce groaned, he closed his eyes shut as tears prickled his vision. All of his intrusive thoughts and chagrin about the gala melted away with your alluring pussy.

“Fuck—mommy, feels so good. Hnn—”

“Hmm, so big just for me. Good boy.”

As much as you wanted to bottom him out, you still needed a moment to get used to his size. He was way bigger than anyone you’ve ever taken. Maybe you should’ve just let him finger you first instead of rushing in.

You slipped off the straps of your dress and revealed your pebbled breast to him. You watched his Adam’s apple leap when his gaze clung to your nipples. Caging your arms around his neck, you brought him right to your chest and gave him silent permission to suck it. You watched his mouth latch onto your left nipple, his hand palmed the other and pinched your nipple between his fingers. 

“Good boy, doing so good for me,” you moaned, tilting your head upwards as the car passed by another red light. You just loved the feeling of having risky sex with your husband while other cars passed by, oblivious to the tension within.

He whimpered into your breast before latching onto your right nipple with his mouth, lapping and sucking your sensitive flesh, tongue and all.

The dull ache dissipated gradually, replaced by an overwhelming pleasure enough to make your head spin. You settled against his hips as he filled you to the brim, coating his pubic hair and balls with your nectared slick. You blurted out a guttural moan, feeling every veiny inch of him inside your velvety walls, the tip of his cock throbbed in pleasure.

Bruce pulled back, watching your expression for any indication of pain or discomfort. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, baby. It just feels so good.” You enveloped his lips in a searing kiss while he responded ardently, entangling your tongues in a way that made you clench harder.

Before you could get ahead of yourself and drown in the sea of pleasure, you drew back, staring at the spit connecting his lips to yours once more.

“Remember I said I have a better idea?”

He nodded at you.

“I heard from Alfred that you haven’t had a single slice of birthday cake yet.”

A white square cake container appeared out of nowhere in your hand, which he vaguely remembered you baked early in the morning so that he wouldn’t find out. The car moved smoothly in the street as you slipped off the container, revealing a pre-sliced six-inch strawberry shortcake decorated with whipped cream and topped off with strawberries.

It was clearly homemade, with the uneven shapes of the piping work, and the mellow whiff of sugar swirled in the air. You lowered the cake enough for him to see the birthday wish with Happy Birthday, Bruce.

He stared up at you, trying earnestly not to let his horniness override the moment. “Mommy—”

“I spent a lot of time making this for you, baby. I know you haven’t been eating properly,” you rolled your hips in a torturous pace as he hiccupped a breath. “I’ll let you cum if you eat one slice of cake for me like a good boy.”

Bruce’s mind was overloaded with flashbacks—you were right, he hadn’t been eating properly due to his stressful schedule, even Alfred had trouble convincing him to eat more than wondering what he wanted to have for the day. He would chug down the unappetising green concoction and multi-vitamins every morning. But he couldn’t remember the last time he sat down with you and had a proper meal. And yes, he skipped lunch and dinner altogether today, which explained his particularly sour mood.

Was this your special way to get him to eat?

Before he could even conjure up a question, you steadied yourself with your right hand on the car door and lifted your hips, a white creamy ring coating at the base of his cock. You hovered just at the tip and slammed down your hips, bouncing him out of his daydreams.

“Hnnn—mommy—!” His hands flew back to your hips, gripping you tightly and grunting at the movement.

“Focus,” you breathed, voice stern against his ears. “You listen to me when I’m talking.”

“Yes, mommy.”

“I’m not asking you to finish all of this, but it hurts me to see you not taking care of yourself.” You picked one of the strawberries by the stems with your fingers, hovering it around his lips, ignoring how your slick drenched his pelvis and your thighs.

“Just one slice, then you get to cum as many times as you want.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I promise.” You watched him with a grin. “But you don’t get to move an inch until you finish it. Do you understand?”

He bit the bottom part of his plush lips before nodding at you. Bruce adored how gentle yet dominating you were in bed. It made his heart feel all fuzzy whenever you encouraged him to let loose and surrender to the pleasure. Now you were cock warming and feeding him cake at the same time? He knew he hit the jackpot for being the luckiest man in the world.

In fact, he would even get down on his knees and bark for you, so he could prove that he was wholly yours.

“Yes, mommy.”

“Good, good boy,” you cooed, pressing the strawberry closer to his lips. “Open up for me.”

Without breaking eye contact, Bruce opened his mouth and darted his tongue out, coating it with whipped cream. He adjusted himself further to engulf the strawberry whole, before biting it off the stem, teeth lightly grazing your manicured fingers in the process. The sharp tang of the strawberry filled his taste buds as he chewed, and the syrupy sweetness followed behind.

Yet nothing was sweeter than that beaming smile on your gorgeous face.

You placed the stem back into the box and broke off a bite-sized chunk of cake. “Good boy, have a bite.”

He swallowed after chewing for a few seconds, opening his mouth again to let you place it on his tongue. Before you could pull away, he closed his eyes and sucked your fingers clean, savouring your warmth.

Not wanting him to forget about his needy length inside your folds, you palmed against his taut muscle and raised yourself, before rejoining his hips again. You slammed his cock against your sweet spot when you bottomed, softly mewling from the sensation.

“Ah, mommy! Fuck…” He almost choked from it, rolling his eyes back. “More—more, please…”

“Can’t let you forget about your cock, baby. All warm and snug inside me. Hmmm,” you breathed, breaking off another piece of cake and slipping it into his mouth. “Good boy, just a few more.”

Bruce whimpered desperately. “Mommy, please… it’s too much, can I please move?” He lifted your hips up with his hands, hankering for friction.

But you didn’t budge.

Instead, your right palm slapped against the left side of his cheek, and a pathetic whine escaped from his lips. The head of his cock pulsed as you clamped down your walls, milking him further to ecstasy. The whipped cream on your fingers smeared his cheek, but you couldn’t care less about it.

“You take what I give, boy,” you hissed under your breath, eyes tinged with aggravation. “If you can’t even follow mommy’s orders, then we can stop right now.”

You slid your hips away from his cock with a sinful pop to prove a point. Watching his sensitive length twitched against his lower belly, beads of precum leaked from the angry slit. You held yourself steady at the edge of his knees, pressing a sweaty handprint on the side window.

“No! No! No—!” he panicked, pupils blown wide in terror that it almost deluged the blue irises. His sweaty chest heaved in waves as he arched his back, hot tears threatened to spill.

“Please don’t stop! I’m sorry! I’m sorryyyyy!” He dragged out the last syllabus, his mind scrambled with nothing but the need to feel you again. 

You witnessed choked sobs slip through his lips, thighs shivered from the cool air. You also didn’t fail to notice tears started falling freely on his pretty face, lashes clumped beautifully around his blue-greyish eyes.

“Please—please—I’m begging you—please—“

“I thought you had great self-control, baby. Wasssaa matter?” you cooed, revelling at his misery. “I guess I’ll just tuck your pants back up and let you wallow around the gala like this, head filled with nothing but my pussy.”

Sobbing, he shook his head so hard that his whole world dizzied. “No—! No, please—Mommy, please. I’m sorry—sorry! I’ll listen, please!”

“You’ll listen now? Hmm? You’ll be a good boy and finish this cake?

He nodded at you frantically. “Yes, yes! I’ll finish it! I’m sorry! I’ll listen!”

“If only the whole Gotham could see their charming billionaire begging for mommy.” You adjusted yourself into position and slipped his cock back into your folds, moaning at the veiny girth around your walls again. “Or their favourite Batman sobbing for not getting what he wants. But you’re lucky I’m not that cruel, aren’t ya?”

“Ahh—Yes! Yes! Thank you! Thank you, mommy! Thank you!” He squirmed in relief, arching his back as you bottomed out, creamy white rings gathered at the base of his cock, sweat and slick drenched the seat underneath you both. The whole car smelled just like pure sex.

“Good boy. Now finish your cake.”

Bruce inhaled the remaining chunks with newfound fervour after learning from his much-deserved lecture, and the whole slice was gone within seconds. His hands diverted from your hips to your right forearm, sucking off the remaining whipped cream and swirled his tongue around your fingers.

“Awe, what a good boy you are. Making me so proud.” You chirped, closing the container and placing it on the passenger seat. Gripping his chin with your left hand, you tilted him at an angle and leaned in. Licking away the sweetened whipped cream on his cheeks in small stripes, tasting the dried, salty tears in between.

“Thank you, mommy. Hnn…”

The car approached the Wayne Theatre building smoothly, a sea of reporters and passersby crowded densely around the red carpet entrance. Professional cameras flashed around the fully-tinted windows, their incessant hubbubs hardly reached both of you, but you could imagine what they were yelling.

“Mr. Wayne! Mr. Wayne! Over here!”

“Mr. Wayne, is Mrs. Wayne with you tonight?”

“Is Harvey Dent coming tonight, Mr. Wayne?”

But the car glided past the crowd, turning to the corner to make another round. You were aware that Miguel would keep going until you ordered him to stop. Till then, you had to coax your sweet husband to the best orgasm of his life before the party started.

“You did so well, baby. Ready to put on a show for them and cum like a good boy?”

Normally, your husband would’ve freaked out at that idea, but he was so pussy drunk that he just nodded at you with a smile, yearning for his reward.

He just wanted to be the man you liked, and the man you liked was right here with him.

“Yes, mommy.” He moaned sinfully, your left hand snaked behind his head and yanked him to his right, revealing more of his sweaty skin.

“Hmm, gotta let them know who you belong to.” Sucking another fresh hickey onto his neck, he thrusted up his hips into yours, hitting that sweet spot that made you sing.

You knew you couldn’t last any longer like this, so you started grinding back and forth in a smooth motion. His moans blessed your ears, hands slid under your dress to support your hips again, spreading your ass wide while you fuck yourself on his cock.

He rested his head against the valley of your breast as you found a steady pace, grinding your swollen clit against his pubic hair, accruing more euphoric zaps to your core by the second.  

“Feels so good, ughhh. Feels so good, more, more—”

“Mhmm, good boy. Fucking me so good, you love being fucked dumb like this don’t ya? Mommy’s pussy is the best birthday gift, isn’t it?”

“Yes—yes! Yes! Best gift ever! Yes!”

You bit your lip watching him surrender himself to you, focusing on nothing but your honeyed praise and chasing his high. Bruce began to breathe harder, his tummy tightened when he tapped your hips to signify he was getting closer. However, you could tell he was still holding back.

The car approached the entrance once again, and white camera flashes filtered through the tinted windows and onto his face. Bruce stifled his whimpers, watching the reporters trying to get a glimpse of what was happening inside, so you took that opportunity to your advantage.

Fastening your movements on his cock, you hit your sweet spot with every pump, feeling your creamy pussy clenched around his veiny girth and sensitive tip, your own climax approaching. 

“Let them watch, baby. Let them hear you scream for me.” With the remaining self-control left to not cum before him, you continued your sweet talk, peering at his reflection on the window. “You’re so close, baby. I know you are. Scream for me, let mommy hear you cum like a good boy.”

“Yes! Yes! Thank you! Thank you! Fuckkkkkk—”

Bruce screamed at the top of his lungs as he reached his peak, wrapping his arms firmly around you, tears flowed freely down his cheeks from overstimulation. His pelvis contracted intensely when that spring finally snapped.

“Fuuucckkkkk! Ugggghhhh—!”

Dragging his pathetic sobs out loud, he snapped his hips upwards—shooting hot, thick ropes of cum inside you until it overflowed, making a delicious mess of your already wailing pussy and staining the taupe leather cushioned seat.

Bruce continued his raucous screaming until his throat went raw. Beads of tears and sweat dripped down his face like a work of art, he kept wheezing for the next three minutes, arching his back like a bent plastic ruler.

And you watched it all like a damn proud wife.

You held back your orgasm like a champ despite everything, body shook as it egged for a climax you hadn’t reached. Letting out a guttural groan, lust-filled desires coiled excruciatingly tight in your core, intrusive thoughts screeching at you to keep bouncing for relief.

“Good boy, very good boy.”

Bruce slouched his back, his voice gradually slowed down until his breath evened out, his salty tears parched dry on his face. His sensitive cock twitched with the last wave of his orgasm as the car wheeled for another round again.

Yet through the haze, he remembered that you still hadn’t reach your high yet.

“Thank you, mommy… But you hadn’t cum yet…” he mumbled, voice hoarse.

He peppered kisses into your breast before sniffing in your scent, mingled with your amber-vanilla perfume and sweat, the special blend of aroma soothed his senses.

You let him rest for five minutes until you popped the question.

“One more, baby. Can you do it for mommy?” you murmured into his raven locks. “Just one more, gotta make sure I take good care of my birthday boy.”

He felt his cock pumping in and out of your folds again, your combined fluids made it easier for movement. You slowed just enough for him to feel every drag inside your pussy, riling him up for more.

Bruce wanted to tell you that he was too sensitive, that he wanted to eat you out sloppily, but all that came out was a broken moan. He felt his body taut before he could even conjure up a thought. 

“C’mon, baby,” you whispered, eyes blown wide with lust, keeping him pinned to the seat with your weight. “I know, I know. I know you’re sensitive, but you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for mommy. You can do one more, can’t you?

He buried his face into your chest, but you felt him nodded at you. “Yes, mommy. Use me, use me! Take whatever you want!”

You slammed down to his hips with yours as his thighs shook from the pleasure. You speed up your rhythm, brutally thrusting to chase your high, sending shockwaves throughout his and your nervous system. 

“That’s it, baby. Let mommy feel you cum inside again.” 

“Yes! Yes—! Ride me mommy. Take all of me, please!”

The car rounded back to the entrance once more, the same disorienting flashes filled your vision again. The sound of skin slapping skin made the heat pool around your core as you bucked him like a mechanical bull. You were so, so close. He was too.

“Cum for me, baby. Let it all out.”

“I’m cuming, I’m cuming—!” Rambling incoherent sentences, his right hand drifted to your swollen nub and began to knead lazy circles. That was when you finally came undone.

Your body went taut as the coil finally snapped, ecstasy shot up your spine so hard that it bordered on pain. You wailed at the top of your lungs against the ceiling, riding out your orgasm as Bruce’s second followed closely behind.

With one last thrust against your hips, he scrunched his bosco brows together, shooting his hot seed deep inside your squelching pussy. Both of you filled the car with wails of the naughty escapade for another five minutes.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto his sweat-slicked chest, face buried into the crook of his neck to inhale his scent. Throwing his arms around you, his body slackened into the seat as tears of relief clung to your lashes.

Bruce sluggishly pulled himself out, both of you whined at the loss. You felt his cum leaking out of you, dripping onto his softening cock. Both of you just embraced each other for a few more minutes, synchronising your breathing pattern with his. Your brain was still dancing in the aftershock of your climax, and his thighs jerked lightly at the overstimulation.

He peppered kisses onto your temple, large palm rubbing soothing circles on your back, giving you some time to find your way back to him again. The warmth of his skin soothed you, purring into his neck in satisfaction.

You pulled yourself up, bedroom eyes found his and dived in for a kiss.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Wayne.”

“Happy… happy birthday… birthday…” He mumbled, head slumping against the headrest.

You fucked him so stupid that he still hadn’t come back to reality.

You chuckled, sneaking your manicured fingers at the side of his scalp and gripping his hair, yanking his head to the side for an opening. He whined as you sucked another hickey where the left part of his neck met the collarbone, biting down and licking his skin like nectar.

“You like your gift, baby?”

“Yes… I love you, mommy…”

“I love you too, baby.”

“I love… you…”

Heat rushed up to his neck and face while he slumped into you, completely boneless from the euphoria of his much-deserved orgasms.

“Now let’s get you cleaned up, wouldn’t want the paps know how much their prince of Gotham loves getting fucked stupid by his mommy in this car, don’t we?”

You popped down the armrest beside him and took out a pack of gentle wipes, dragging the cooling sheet along his neck and travelling down to his body. You used a new sheet to clean between and under his thighs. You took your sweet time with his manhood, making sure his balls were clean from dried slick.

Like a magic trick, Bruce fluttered his eyes open to witness his beloved wife taking good care of him. A comforting warmth nuzzled in his chest like a bowl of chicken soup.

“Thank you, mommy.” He whispered, peeling off a sheet of gentle wipes and cleaning you up. His touch was gentle, cleaning up your breast before wiping away the remnants between your sensitive folds and each crevice of your thighs. You mewled at the cooling sensation against your sore pussy, sighing with relief.

Bruce whipped out a bottle of water from the armrest and tilted it at the right angle for you to drink, while you cleaned up the parched mess on his face.

“You feel better?”

Nodding at his question, you circled your arms around his neck and kissed his lips. Bruce adjusted you until you were slumped on his chest, his left hand caging your shoulder against the window, the other caressing your thighs as you sat atop of him, careful not to ruin your still-intact hairstyle.

“You wanna go home, baby?”

You leaned against him, relishing the skin-to-skin contact. “No, baby. We still have to raise funds for them.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have a spare suit for that, my love.” He chuckled warmly, then you remembered how you ripped off his shirt.

“Oh, baby,” you swatted at his chest. “I had Alfred prepare a spare suit and dress in the car for this occasion.”

“Really?” He looked at you with widened eyes before realisation settled in. “You’ve been plotting this, don’t you?”

“It’s not plotting if I wanna spend some alone time with my husband. Now, let’s get ready. Poor Miguel is gonna buzz us soon if we don’t step out at any moment.”

“Fair point, Mrs. Wayne. Let’s raise some donations for Gotham.” Bruce gripped your chin for another searing kiss.

Oh, how much you loved your precious husband, knowing that he would do anything just to make you smile at him.

Celebrating A Good Cause: Inside Bruce Wayne’s Benefit Birthday Gala That Raised Sixty Million Dollars for Charities, Schools, Hospitals, Soup Kitchens & More

By the next morning, exclusive photographs of you and your husband dominated the front page of the Gotham Gazette. Bruce clung to your side like a bodyguard in nearly every frame, his left arm curved possessively around your waist, and the gold wedding band flashed against the camera as you moved through the crowd.

One photograph, in particular, spread like wildfire across social media and was promptly picked up by Vogue—you were dressed in black, the gown glittered beneath the chandelier lights; Bruce in a razor-sharp onyx suit; the two of you caught mid-kiss as while slicing into a towering five-tier birthday cake. The intricate piping and floral detailing made it look less like a gala dessert and more like something lifted straight from a wedding reception.

That picture garnered fifty million likes in just six hours. He’d expected targeted scrutiny towards you from the public due to your past, but he didn’t expect the reaction to be overwhelmingly positive.

The comment sections flooded faster than anyone could moderate them:

[guesstheriddle9999]: couple of the century!!!!! they’re so precious omggg [batmansburrgor]: y’all are so gullible, we still didn’t forget what she had done. Get away from my man! [ilovesup3rman]: love is REAL with the way he looks at her. Manifesting for myself frfr. [meowmeowlil4a]: Bruce Wayne can't fight all of us idc he dont know what to do with all that [pampomeloivy]: Her dress is to die for! Vogue get her a front page cover!

Others chimed in with gratitude rather than gossip—students thanking the Wayne Foundation for scholarships, medical professionals praising newly funded hospital wings, and volunteers at soup kitchens would now keep working year-round because of the gala’s proceeds. The funds were already earmarked to public schools in the Narrows, underfunded hospitals on Gotham’s east side, rehabilitation centres, shelters, and more.

True to form, Bruce did what he always did when something mattered to him. He emailed the photographer directly, requesting the original copy of that photograph. By evening, it was printed on museum-grade paper, framed in dark walnut, and hung on the wall beside his parents’ wedding portrait in the living room. Anyone who entered the manor after that would see it immediately.

Bruce had grown fond of sipping his afternoon coffee in the living room since then. After all, you were his beloved wife, and he would move heaven and hell just to make you happy.

check out the whole series for more context!

his brain was turning to mush under the relentless, heavy thrusts that kept him hovering on the mean edge of an orgasm he wasn't allowed to reach.

every time he tried to focus on the cursor, you'd drive into him with a sickening squelch, churning through the mess of your previous releases already coating his insides.

"there's an error in the third sentence — 'deployment' is spelt wrong. steve, are you really that distracted?"

smack!

another harsh palm landed on his backside, making him let out an undignified yelp. his fingers danced clumsily over the keys, hitting 'delete' far too many times as he struggled to regain his composure.

"i'm sorry — god, please — just one minute of peace —" he was begging desperately, voice cracking with the frustration of being kept on the edge, his ignored cock twitching and leaking uselessly past his desk. you held him there, practically buried to the hilt.

"peace is for people who get their work done right, steve." you countered, your voice dropping to a predatory growl. he whimpered at your words, eyes rolling back at your prodding tip. "you're far from deserving of that."

you pat his reddening arse —soft but it stung lightly — "chop, chop, get on with the third paragraph now."

$ tag @twentytomidnight @i-gotta-go-so-much-bigger @froggibus

You’re a kid. Staring into an old tv, the picture you left it paused on now burned into the screen. A new feeling swells in your chest, something cold and sharp that has your heart clawing its way out of your ribs. You’re going to be in so much trouble.

You’re a teenager. Staring at the car in the driveway, a new scratch on the side of it. It was an accident, you hadn’t meant to. That feeling—panic—comes back. You’re going to be in so much trouble, they’re going to kill you.

You’re an adult now , those days far behind you and yet, you’re stuck staring at the shattered remnants of Bruce’s favorite mug with wide eyes. Crouched on your knees in the kitchen, you try your best to sweep up the shattered shards into your palm only for them to slice through your skin.

With a wince, the pieces clatter back to the ground and break even more. Your hopes of being able to glue it back together again die on the spot.

It’s just a mug, the reasonable part of you screams.

You’re going to be in so much trouble, he’s going to yell at you, you’re going to die—

You don’t remember leaving the house, or abandoning the coffee you were making for when Bruce got back from patrol. You’re not sure how you ended up here—in the cold morning rain, in some alley by a convenience store standing entirely still, at the mercy of Gotham.

The 6am sun is barely rising, blotted out by the heavy clouds. Bruce must be home by now, must’ve seen the mess you made. You wonder if he’s angry, if he’s sweeping up the mess in a rage and planning what awful things he’s going to say to you.

At least for now, you’re blissfully unaware of it all. You left your phone, your keys, everything behind. 

You dig your fingers into your palms and stare at the brick wall next to you, examining the chips and weatherworn edges.

Something’s wrong.

Bruce feels it the moment he gets home. A lack of warmth, your warmth, to greet him when he gets back. It was a nightmarish evening, his body already aching from the strain he’d put on it.

You’re not waiting for him in the kitchen like you usually do, a cup of coffee in your hands despite his insistence that he’d rather you sleep in. Instead, he finds a shattered mug on the ground and globs of blood on the pieces, the front doors left open.

Your phone is on the floor next to the mess, your keys on the counter, your other things still hanging in a bag by the door.

Cold dread sinks into Bruce’s chest. Something is definitely wrong.

He doesn’t bother to change out of his suit as he storms around the house looking for you, his search coming up empty. There’s no sign of you anywhere. No bloodied bandages from cleaning yourself up, no note, nothing. 

It’s like you turned into a ghost.

He expects relief when he checks the cameras, or at the very least, something to take the edge off. His dread only grows when he watches the footage of you leaving the manor, still in your pyjamas, barefoot walking into the rain.

He cursed when the cameras catch you walking off the property, all traces of you lost to the city. Bruce clenches the edges of his desk, keeping his breathing steady as he wracks his brain for where you would’ve gone.

He doesn’t enjoy any of the options he comes up with.

Bruce finds you an hour later, still barefoot and in your pyjamas, standing in an alley in the rain. You’re soaked through and shivering, staring blankly at a wall.

Bruce calls your name, landing behind you with a loud thump. You don’t react, don’t even flinch at the loud noise like you usually would. His frown only deepens.

“Your hand,” he says, “are you hurt?”

He inches his way towards you, careful not to scare you in what is clearly a fragile state. Bruce says your name again, a little softer this time, a little more concerned.

He’s close enough now to cover you with his cape, draping it over your head and letting the material keep you dry. Well, dryer than you were.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his body. You barely react, eyes still glazed over. He rubs a hand over your forehead, half brushing away the water droplets and half checking your temperature. You’re freezing.

“Are you hurt?” He repeats.

You blink slowly, catlike. “I’m sorry.”

His grip tightens. “Why?”

“I—” It all hits you at once, tears pooling in your eyes. “I broke your mug.”

“I don’t care about that.”

It’s enough to stun you out of your tears, out of the catatonic state you’ve been in for the past hour. “What?”

“The mug,” he repeats. “I don’t care about it. I can always buy another one.”

“But…I broke it.”

He takes advantage of your sudden lucidity to grab your hand, examining the slice across your palm. It’s thick and fairly deep, though it’s stopped bleeding now. He breathes a partial sigh of relief.

“We need to clean this, let’s get you home.”

“You’re not mad?”

He looks at you seriously. “The only thing I’m even remotely upset about is that you got hurt and didn’t take care of yourself.”

You can only stare at him like he’s speaking a foreign language. 

 Bruce pulls out a pair of your sneakers out of nowhere, passing them to you. “Come on, let’s go home.”

You’re sitting on the counter in the warmth of Bruce’s bathroom, your soaked clothes replaced with a baggy old shirt he uses for training and a pair of fleece lined sweats. They’re cozy, and more importantly, warm. 

Bruce’s lips are pulled into a tight frown, your hand held in his as he examines the large gash across your palm. He’s already cleaned it out, meticulously picking out the broken off pieces of glass embedded in your skin. 

“I’m going to cover it for now,” he explains. “Just try and do your best to not put too much pressure on it, okay?”

You swallow and nod, watching his thick fingers get to work wrapping your hand in cottony gauze.

He pauses for a moment, levelling you with a serious look. “I mean it, okay? No putting extra stress on your hand. If you need something, I’ll get it for you.”

“But—”

The look he gives you could cut through steel. “But nothing. You're not hurting yourself to avoid inconveniencing me.”

That shuts you up instantly, both the devotion and the severity he says it with stunning you into silence. You let him continue wrapping up your hand, finishing up and pinning the tail to your palm.

Bruce pats it gently, letting his hand linger on your thighs. 

“I really am sorry about the mug,” you say quietly.

“That mug will never mean more than you.” He looks up at you, dark lashes framing beautiful eyes. “Don’t ever think for a second that it does.”

You hum in agreement, sliding off the counter to your feet. They ache slightly from having them bare on the gravel. Bruce snakes an arm around your waist, beckoning you into his chest.

His lips brush over your forehead. “I love you.”

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