Chapter Text
He wasn’t sure that he would ever get over how scary and painful what was supposed to be his safe place was. The cold, broken tile floors revealing even colder stone, the bugs that would crawl, their tiny legs mimicking the same barely-there touch that was left by the scrape of his captor’s ragged fingernails, and the ever-present hum of the flickering fluorescent lights. They were hanging on by a thread, much like he was. It was all too much on him, he who was stripped completely, leaving him all the more exposed to his sensory overload. The worst part of it all, by far, was the soft footfalls that would scrape along the floors, too far to truly lock in on and identify, too close to allow any sense of comfort. Not that there would have been any to be found in that place regardless. The sound of people was not heard often, yet even the softest sounds carried by the drafts were enough to send him into a panic. Frequently he heard the harsh click-clack of the clown’s dress shoes, always sharper and more dramatic than the footsteps of any of the other people, as if his cruel flare was truly just his nature and not some sick act he found entertaining.. Sometimes the steps were far away, sometimes just outside his door, pacing, as if indecisive. More often than not, he was convinced that it was all an auditory hallucination, but he never let himself find comfort in that, for he knew that the very moment he believed that it was all in his head, that evil man would waltz in, ready to send him to the brink of death and hold him there. And how generous of him it was, to not kill him, so that he could have more time. Time with his captor, and time where he was alone, but not really, for even in his absence, the Joker remained a permanent resident of Jason’s thoughts.
The Joker had many ways that he showed his love for his new partner. They spent lots of quality time together, where the clown passed on many a lesson. He would share dramatic stories, and advice, and would teach Jason the way everything really was, and how it would be once Jason had fully adapted to being his sidekick. It was almost as torturous as the beatings. Sitting there, tied down, his ears abused by that sing-songy, nasally voice. Joker’s ramblings would go on for hours!
He used words of affirmation as a way to get into Jason’s head. The poor boy had never really been shown any affection, which provided a fantastic opportunity for the clown. For all that he hurt his precious birdy souvenir, he openly complimented and reassured him. He told Jason that he cared about him, that everything done to him was out of the kindness of his heart, was done out of love.
Physical touch was huge for the Joker. It was the best way to break the little guy in, after all. Hours turned to days turned to months of beatings and pain, of spankings and the stretching of his holes, of training him to be the perfect little boy toy. It was such a shame how ungrateful the kid was. Always screaming and crying and begging for him to stop. He may be cruel, but he wasn’t heartless! It wasn’t all pain with ol’ Uncle Joker. He would also touch Jason softly, tracing his fingernails over his skin, and gently massaging his shoulders after a particularly rough beating, before starting up again.
Of course, the clown excelled in acts of service! Young boys need lots of care, especially those with such maladies and troubles as a bird with clipped wings, and such poor hygiene. Months of old food, stress, and no brushing of the teeth can lead to all sorts of problems, like the blackening of a tooth with rot. Those won’t do anyone any good by staying in the mouth, the clown knew that much, and since he was such a kind man, he was more than happy to give the poor boy some help. He pulled several teeth from Jason, and never asked for a thing in return aside from the bird’s gratitude, which he had to be taught how to give.
The Joker rarely gave Jason gifts, though on the rare occasion he did, they were always truly something special. And, oh boy, did he have something special planned.
Jason heard footsteps, several sets of them, coming towards his cell, and trained his eyes on the door. He knew better than to look the clown directly in the eyes. He had no right to position himself as an equal to Joker in that way, he knew his place. The highest up he would look would be at the Joker’s chest, eyes trained on that obnoxious bowtie. The footsteps came to a stop just outside the door, and Jason flinched away from the light that was let in by the door swinging open. He knew that multiple people were there, yet the only one who entered was the Joker, with his arms behind his back. Jason hated when he hid things behind his back. It kept him even more in the dark. At least when he knew what the clown had, he could brace himself for the pain of it, but the fear of the surprise was a whole other kind of torture. The Joker, with hands still behind his back, took a few steps into the room, the door still open behind him. Jason considered making a run for it, but he knew better. He had no chance, especially not with a broken ankle, and the unidentified company in the hallway. His best bet was to try and stay alive while he waited for Batman.
“You know, Jason, you’ve come so far. I remember when I first got my hands on you, you were all fists and teeth. But just look at you now! You’ve really learned your place. And for all your progress, I thought you deserved a reward!” That sent a shiver down Jason’s spine. He’d hate to find out what the clown considered to be “a reward.” The Joker walked over to him, each sharp step causing a spike in Jason’s heartrate. Kneeling down to Jason’s level, the clown held a small rectangular box out to Jason. It was thin, and black, and a red bow was tied on it. He fought through his hesitance and took it from the Joker’s gloved hand. Carefully tugging on one end of the bow, he unraveled it, placing it on the ground beside him. Lifting the cover off the box, his stomach dropped. A collar, deep red in color, with a golden J charm hanging from the center ring, a daintier version of the one around his neck, laid neatly inside the box. The collar itself looked somewhere between a dog collar and a cheap, tacky kink collar, which made good sense considering the fact that the Joker had put him in a collar when he had decided that being his punching bag and soon-to-be sidekick wasn’t enough, but that Jason should also be the demented clown’s sex slave. Jason didn’t need to know why he was being given a new collar to be afraid. The Joker seemed to sense his confusion, and was quick to shed some light. “My Boy, you’ve improved so much, I thought that you deserved a pet of your very own!” Standing to his full height he theatrically clapped his hands twice, and on cue, one of his henchmen entered the cell, dragging a young girl in with him. Jason lifted his head and looked at the girl, horrified. She couldn’t have been much older than him, nor much stronger of body or of will. She was wearing a plain white, shapeless, linen dress that fell to her knees, and her hair was pulled back. She kept her head down, looking at her bare feet. The goon had a tight hold on her elbow, not that it seemed necessary. Just by one look at her, he could tell that she didn’t have much fight in her. The Joker made a gesture, lost to Jason’s awareness as he stared at the poor girl, and the goon took a step forward and pushed her to Jason, where she fell to her knees before him. It took her a minute to look up and meet his eyes, but when she did, his heart broke for her. Deep in the pools of her irises, fear was swimming. It was well-hidden, but he saw it. Some may have been fooled into believing that it wasn’t fear, that it was just the air of an obedient, well-trained bitch, but he knew better than that. It was the same look that he so often had in his own eyes. This poor girl was just as broken down and beaten as he was. They just stayed there staring at one another for a moment, before the clown’s voice broke though the silence, scraping their ears. “Well, kiddo? Aren’t you gonna put her collar on? We don’t want her getting lost, do we?” Jason’s eyes flickered from the girl to the collar in his hands, feeling heavier with each passing second. He didn’t want to collar her. He didn’t want to condemn her to that hellhole. He didn’t want her to be doomed to spend her life getting beaten and rotting away like him. But the cocking of a gun snapped his attention from the collar to the clown. “Of course, if you don’t like her, I can just get rid of her.” The girl tensed, and even without touching her, he could feel her trembling.
“No. No, I want her.” He said, his voice as shaky as her. And he inched forward, unclasping the collar in his hands, and placing it on her neck. Shuffling even closer, his face right next to hers so that he could fasten the collar, he whispered in her ear far too soft for anyone but her to hear, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Shortly after he put the collar on her, the Joker and his goon left, letting the heavy metal door slam shut behind them, almost all light being blocked out once more. They sat in silence until the footsteps had disappeared, and then a bit longer after that. Jason was the first one to break the silence. “Are you okay?” He whispered. They were sitting next to each other, backs against the wall, close enough to feel one another’s warmth, but not touching.
“Yes, thank you,” was her reply. Her voice was soft, with a slight nasal tone to it, though not enough for it to be considered grating or annoying.
“What’s your name?” He asked, looking over at her. He hadn’t paid much attention to her appearance until then, but he took the opportunity to get a good look at his new cellmate. Her hair was long, and pulled back into a braided ponytail, which rested over her shoulder. She had clear eyes, trained on a spot on the far wall. Her face was almost emotionless. It seemed blank, doll-like.
“Whatever you’d like it to be, Sir.” Her answer took him aback. She didn’t really believe that she was his pet, did she?
“You don’t have to call me that. Just Jason is fine.” Her gaze left the opposing wall, and fell to her hands, clasped in her lap.
“My apologies. My name is whatever you would like it to be, Jason.” He looked at her, sad and confused. Softly, he spoke.
“You know you’re not actually my pet, right? No matter what Joker says, you’re a person. You deserve to be treated like one.” Finally, some emotion creeped its way onto her face, though he wasn’t sure what it was.
“May I ask you a question, Jason?” She asked, her voice just barely above a whisper. So quiet that a slight breeze would have made her inaudible. He made a small noise of affirmation, and she spoke again. “If you find me unsatisfactory, why did you stop him from killing me?”
“There’s nothing ‘unsatisfactory about you. You’re a person, and you deserve to be treated like one, not like an animal, not like an object, not like a pet.” The emotion erased itself from her face, and Jason softly added “Not like me, anyways.” His own J adorned collar feeling heavier n heavier the more he thought about it.
“I’m sorry for upsetting you.”
“Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry for getting worked up.”
“You should never apologize to me, Jason. I’m here to be whatever you want me to be. I’m here to do whatever you want me to do. I’m here for you to use however you’d like. There is no way for you to wrong me.” Her voice resounded off the concrete walls, it was the first time she spoke above a whisper, and yet, it seemed, that the louder she spoke, the more robotic she sounded. It was as if she had been given a script, one that would be sure to please her master. But it didn’t, it angered him. His anger was not directed at her, but instead focused entirely on whatever sick individual could take such a sweet looking person, and erase whoever they had been, so that the highest bidder could program in a new personality. The longer he looked at her blank, doll-like expression, the sicker he felt. So, in silence, he looked away, giving up on any conversation for the next few hours.
His curiosity festered in the silence, and eventually, he questioned her again.
“Where are you from?”
“I came from the school.”
“The school?”
“It’s a boarding program for children where they’re raised and trained and sold.” She elaborated. “That’s where the Clown man from before got me.” He hummed, and pondered her answer, turning it over in his brain.
“What about your parents? They were just okay with that?” She didn’t respond at first, her eyelashes falling to shadow her cheeks, it was the first real emotion she had shown since he met her, and it was misery. She kept opening and closing her mouth, as if trying to find the right words to convey her thoughts, but she was cut off by the metal door screeching open. In walked the Joker, that hideous Cheshire grin on his face, and a few of his goons behind him. They grabbed Jason and the girl, and dragged them out, all while the Clown muttered about how all good pets need to be trained. Though Jason was unsure if Joker meant him or the girl. He’d find out soon enough. The hallways were contradictory. They were tall and wide, too tall and wide, making Jason’s anxiety spike. He was too open, too vulnerable. They were too tight and cramped, looming over the people walking through them reminding them that they were trapped, that there was no escape. It didn’t help that they dragged on for so long. His poor, near broken body could barely take having to keep itself upright for so long. Yet he knew that the hallways were the least of his problems, just as they would be the least of his pain.
When they had arrived in the room, most commonly called, at least by the Joker, the “playroom,” an array of tools and weapons had been laid out. Jason cringed, reliving the pain caused by the tools just by looking at them. The goons had dropped them off in the middle of the room, only feet away from the tool covered tables. Joker stood farther away, near the door, silent. The goons left the room, the door falling shut behind them. The clown made no movement, no noise. He just stood there for a minute, staring at Jason. Waiting, expectant. Jason and the girl stood there, just as silently. Jason’s eyes were locked onto the Joker’s chest, high enough to let him see the clown’s movements, without making himself seem aggressive, disobedient, or challenging to his captor. After a few minutes of silence, the Joker sighed.
“Well, kiddo? What are you waiting for?” Jason’s brows furrowed in confusion, still looking down, he racked his brain for what the Joker could possibly want him to do. Joker seemed to recognize the confusion on his unwilling partner’s face, and let out a disappointed sigh. “You’ll need to give her some training! Cats need to be litter-trained, dogs need to be trained to fetch, people need to be trained into obedience! You don’t think I got you to be so well-behaved by spoiling you, now do you?”
“No.” Jason snapped, eyes meeting the clown’s before he could catch himself. “I won’t hurt her.” The clown’s smile only grew, an angry amusement glowing in his eyes. The Joker began to approach the two of them, and Jason shifted to stand between the clown and the girl.
“Oh? Is that so?” The Joker said, sarcasm and venom dripping from his voice. Jason’s anxiety flared, but he had resolved to protect her, those vigilante instincts kicking in once there was someone other than himself to look out for. “Then maybe it’s you who need a bit more training. And you were doing so well, it’s such a shame. But I guess everyone needs to be reminded of their place every now and again.” His voice trailed off into a vicious cackle, and before Jay knew it, he was on the ground, with the clown standing above him, that dreaded crowbar in hand. He must have grabbed it from the table.
The sound of metal snapping bone was sickening, the pain was searing, and he couldn’t help but scream. No matter how he tried to flinch or crawl away, the Joker’s hits landed, and landed hard. Maybe it was because of how broken his body already was, but he didn’t care to know why it hurt so much, all he cared about was holding on long enough for it to stop. The crowbar whistled through the air as it swung down on him, any and all pain gifted to him by the clown was excruciating, but it was as if the crowbar was being wedged into his heart when he locked eyes with the girl. That’s all she was, The Girl, he didn’t even know her name. But she had the most horrified look on her face, her terror shining bright in those eyes, and she looked so small. An expression, and feeling, so clear and true and familiar to Jason that he could recognize it even through his blurry, tear-induced, vision. And maybe he didn’t know anything about her. But what he did know was that if Joker meant for her to be his pet, then he would have to do what any good master would, and keep her safe, no matter the cost to himself.
His, now their, cell was cold, the frigid concrete and tile sending shivers through his body. He was laying down in the corner, in the fetal position, facing the wall. She was sitting feet away from him, and though his back was turned to her, he could feel her gaze on the back of his head.
“What is it?” He asked. There was no malice or accusation in his tone, in fact, there wasn’t much of anything in his tone. It was flat and lifeless, like all the energy had been beaten out of him, which, to be fair, it mostly had.
“May I ask a question, Jason?” He made a soft affirmative noise. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Refuse to hurt me. Take a beating for me.” An unidentifiable emotion had creeped into her voice, and for the second time since he met her, she seemed human. Jason was silent for a few beats, then spoke.
“Why should you have to go through that? He’s gonna keep hurting me regardless, but there’s no reason he, or anyone else, should hurt you. You didn’t do anything to deserve that.”
“I know that I shouldn’t speak out of turn, so please respond however you please, but that seems to insinuate that you deserve to be hurt, and from what I’ve seen of you, that’s far from the truth.” He turned his head and looked over his shoulder, meeting her eyes. Neither of them spoke for some time, and Jason turned back around. “Jason?” She called softly. He hummed in response. “Thank you. Nobody’s ever done something like that for me before. I owe you.”
“You owe me?” He asked. He wouldn’t make her do anything, but if she was offering to, then he could feel guilty about it later.
“Yes.”
He turned to face her, shifting his leg so he wasn’t so exposed. “Then tell me your name?”
She took a deep breath before speaking. “I don’t have a name anymore. The school was perfectly clear that we were nobody until our master made us somebody, and nobodies don’t have names.”
“That’s why you said your name is whatever I wanted it to be.” He said. It was more a statement to himself than a question for her. “What do you want your name to be?”
She looked over at him and gave him a sad smile. “It would be wrong to give myself a name.” She lamented. “I know you don’t want me to be your pet, but if word gets back to the school that I’ve been disobedient, then they’ll take me back there for ‘lessons,’ and I’m not sure I can go through that again. Besides, a name is supposed to be a gift given from my master once I’ve proven that I deserve one.”
“How about this? I’ll give you a nickname for now, and if you ever come up with a name you like, I’ll name you that. Then we won’t be breaking any rules.” She nodded in agreement, and Jason looked at the ceiling, thoughtful. The girl had a put-together look to her, she was neat, elegant. If it wasn’t for the way she made herself smaller with fear, she would seem almost regal. And it hit him. “Sounds good, Princess.”
“Princess. Princess?” She sounded it out, then repeated it back to him questioningly. He gave her a smile and explained.
“It’ll be a reminder to us that you’re not just a pet, even if you have to act like one. And to anyone else who hears it, it’ll sound like something someone would name one of those little crusty white dogs.”
“Princess.” She said again, a small smile tugging its way onto her face. “I like it. Thank you” She said with a slight giggle. The laughter sent a bolt of anxiety running through Jason, but there was something about the way that she laughed that eased the anxiety, that was almost comforting. They sat in near silence for a short time before she spoke again. “Uhm, there isn’t a bathroom anywhere, is there?” The look Jason gave her was just downright apologetic. He nodded towards the corner to the left of the door, diagonally across from where he was sitting. Her eyes followed his gesture, and she found the most depressing, filthy tin bucket. She looked back at him in disbelief, but his grimace said it all.
“Number two goes in the bucket; number one goes anywhere else. If you piss in the bucket the Joker will punish me.” A shiver ran down Jason’s spine as he thought of his hard-learned lesson.
It was when he was still very new to Arkham. He hadn’t been told about the shit-bucket rule. And when Joker came to retrieve him and saw that the bucket was filled with watery feces, he was far from happy. Calling his goons in to wrangle Jason to the playroom, they tied him up and held him down, and with gloved hands, had reached into the bucket and taken a fistful, shoving it into Jason’s mouth. He had tried to spit it out and bite at their hands, but they held his jaw shut, they didn’t let up until he had swallowed. They repeated the process, ignoring Jason’s writhing, hacking, and gagging, until there was only liquid remaining in the bucket. At the Joker’s cue, they dropped him to the ground, and he laid there, groaning. With slow, methodical steps, the Clown approached him, and just stood above him for a moment. He was rambling about something or other, most likely how much Jason had inconvenienced him, and how he would have to be punished for it, though Jason couldn’t follow the actual words, much too preoccupied with the swirling and churning of his stomach. Oh, how he wished he could’ve focused more on his captor. Maybe then he would have predicted and been able to brace for the sharp kick to his gut. The clown kept kicking and kicking. One of his more basic and boring methods of beating, but mixed with his uneasy stomach, Jason was quick to hurl. The clown tutted at him.
“Really, Todders? We went to all the trouble of feeding you, only for you to throw it up. That’s awfully ungrateful of you, don’t you think?” The Joker walked over to the bucket, picking it up and walking back over to Jason, and lifting it up over him. “After all, good boys finish their meals.” Jason cringed at the liquid poured onto him, the piss stinging his open wounds, and it took all that was in him not to cry and throw up again.
“What about wiping?” Her voice ripped him from his unpleasant thoughts.
“If it’s juts pee, then you can air dry, if it’s not you’ll probably have to wait ‘til wash day.”
“When’s that?”
“Whenever he feels like it. It’s pretty inconsistent.” She let out a defeated whine and stood up. Hesitantly, she made her way to the corner, and looked back towards Jason.
“Could you please, uhm, look away and try not to listen?” He didn’t give a verbal response, but he did shut his eyes and place his hands over his ears. Seeing that she had about as much privacy as she was going to get, she squatted, hiked up her dress, and pulled her panties to the side. In the silence of the room, it seemed embarrassingly loud, and she cringed. Things always seem longer when you’re waiting for them to end. When finished, she grabbed the side hem of her dress and tried to pat herself dry before pulling her panties back up and walking back to where she was seated before. “You can stop now.” She said, her voice slightly raised, and shaky with humiliation. She may be Jason’s “pet,” but she never expected to have the hygiene of one. When he opened his eyes, and looked over at her, he could see just how red her face was, and his heart ached for her. She deserved better than to be using buckets as a restroom.
“I know it’s gross, but you’ll get used to it eventually.” He said with as much of a shrug as he could give with a dislocated shoulder.
“Thank you.” She said, but hardly meant it. He just nodded, and they fell back into silence. A very awkward one at that.
Sleep was hard to come by in Arkham’s basement, but neither of them could fight it off forever. Jason fell first, and she followed shortly after. She, however, woke up first, to the sharp click-clack of shoes. The same, annoyingly overdramatic footsteps of the man who bought her. Shuffling over to Jason, she placed a hand on his chest and began to gently shake him awake. He shot up, startled, and whipped his head in her direction. “I’m sorry for waking you, but he’s coming. I thought you might not want to be asleep when he gets here.”
“Who? The Joker?” Jason asked.
“Is that the man who looks like the It Clown’s more psycho brother?” Jason straightened up, full attention on the door, and nodded.
“Thanks for waking me.” She just nodded in response, not wanting to speak with how close the footsteps were getting. The creaky door swung open, and two goons walked in, The Joker standing by the door. The henchmen grabbed Jason, ripping him out of Princess’ soft grasp and carried him out of the door. Jason’s eyes met hers just before the door swung shut, and she wished that she would wake up a second time, only to realize that it was a dream. Alas, the world was not so kind, and after mere minutes, Jason’s screams filled her ears, even from rooms away.
And that’s how it went for quite some time. He would be taken, and she would be left behind in the cell, waiting for Jason to be dropped off, like a pup curled up at the front door, waiting for its master’s return.
Time went by both torturously slow and sickeningly quick for Jason. It seemed like every waking second, he was at the Joker’s mercy, and every second of sleep, which was not nearly as many as he needed, was light and uneasy. He was left with no reprieve.
The Joker had him dragged to the playroom, where he had been tied down to wooden, splintering cross. His hands were tied to the boards touching the ground, and his feet were tied in the air, leaving his injured ankle in a horrible position. Blood was rushing to his head, making him dizzy, and the sound of the Clown’s footsteps, out of his sight, made his stomach churn. The suspense was almost as unbearable as he was sure the actual torture would be. Finally, the clown entered his line of vision, wielding what looked like a potato peeler. The Joker walked over to Jason and kneeled down in front of him. He traced Jason’s jaw with the peeler in an almost intimate way before lifting it to his pec and speaking.
“Ready for the fun to begin, ol’ spuddy, ol’ pal?” And with a nails-on-chalkboard kind of laugh, he pressed the peeler into Jason’s skin and ran it downward, toward his neck. He only peeled about an inch long, but it had Jason clenching his teeth and groaning. It felt like he was getting peeled down to the bone. A stroke of the blade on his stomach, his thigh, his arm, the Joker’s attacks were sporadic and random, like stars of blood littering his skin. The flaying on his upper chest dripped down, until he could feel the warmth of his bleeding on his neck, seeping underneath the leather of the collar, burning his skin.
The Joker kept at it for what must have been hours, before he stood and took a step back, admiring his handiwork. By then, Jason’s sight had gone all blurry with pain, and he was hanging onto consciousness by a thread. That thread was quickly cut when the Clown picked up a metal pipe and swung hard at Jason’s head.
For a moment, he was back in his room at Wayne Manor, sitting with his back against the headboard of his bed, with a novel resting in his lap. It was dawn, he and Bruce had gotten back from patrol late, and Jason had decided to forfeit sleep in exchange for some time to read. He’d get through school fine, track too, his years on the street had helped him adjust to discomfort and a lack of sleep. The rose-red rays of the sun lit his room just enough for him to make out the words on the page. The sun was motherly to him, knowing what was best for him, that he’d be better off with a couple hours of rest than none at all, and with her warm touch, she gently pulled his eyelids shut.
His peace didn’t last long. Soon, his eyes fluttered open, the one surrounded by bruising having a much harder time than the other, and he was met with an absolute nightmare. He was tied to the wheelchair with barbed wire, and the girl was pinned to the ground under Harley, who was sat on the younger girl’s stomach. The buttons on the front of her dress had ripped open, and the fabric had been yanked down to expose the top half of her body, completely bare aside from her collar. Her arms were tied underneath her, but that did little to prevent her writhing as Harley pressed a scalpel to the girl’s chest, slowly dragging in from one tit to another, creating sick, bloody doodles until her whole chest was painted red. She sobbed and wailed, but the more she tried to wriggle away, the closer she had pushed herself to Harley’s blade. Temporarily forgetting about his bindings, he lurched forward desperate to help his girl, no, that wasn’t right, the girl. She wasn’t his. He didn’t own her. He was quickly reminded of the barbed wire, however, as the sharp pricks dug into his bare skin and pulled, forcing a groan from his lips. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then the wire got pulled tighter into him, yanking him back against the chair.
“Got enough shut eye, Sleeping Beauty?” That horrendous voice chuckled from behind him. Jason’s head snapped away from the girls only a few yards away, to look towards the Joker. He didn’t like that, and grabbed Jason’s unevenly chopped hair by the roots, and forced his head back to the girls. “It’s rude to not pay attention when people are trying to give you a show, Boyo.” Harley had taken the word “show,” as a cue to up her game, and lifting the knife, she held it to the girl’s throat as she leaned down to lick up some of the blood from her canvas’ breasts. Jason tried to protest, only to have Joker clamp his hand down over his mouth. When all the red had disappeared from the girl’s chest, Harley tossed the knife to the side, and got off the girl, twisting the two of them around so that she was kneeling, facing her master, and Harley held her from behind, keeping her upright with her arms wrapped around the smaller girl’s stomach.
“You watchin’, Bat Baby?” Harley asked in a sing-song voice, her hands sliding up to the girl’s boobs, and squeezing hard enough for new blood to ooze out of the cuts, faintly, then all at once. Jason looked on, horrified as his princess whimpered, tears staining her cheeks as they rolled down her face. And when they dropped down to her blood covered chest, the saltiness burned, making her whimper more. Jason’s focus was ripped from the girl, when suddenly, Joker took his hand away from his mouth and reached around the back of the wheelchair, a gloved hand grasping at the vigilante’s flaccid cock. Jason’s hips flinched away, trying to escape the clown’s grip, without success. He was pumped, once, twice, thrice, before the clown squeezed hard, much too hard, and forced a pained whine from Jason.
“Dumb Boy Toy, you’re completely unprepared!” The Joker teased Jason for his softness. “Harley, bring her over here, I think our Boyo needs a bit of help.” Without hesitation, she released the girl and stood, switching her grip to the girl’s hair and dragged her to Jason’s feet. “It would seem that our little Robin needs some lube, let’s help him out, shall we?” The Joker’s twisted, cruel smile was visible in his voice. And never one to disobey her own master, she forced the girl forward, her chest to his crotch. And as Joker lined up the boy’s cock, Harley reached around the girl and pushed her bloody tits together, trapping the penis between them. Joker removed his hand and put it back into the bird’s hair. His princess was no longer writhing or screaming and had instead resigned herself to small sniffles and whimpers. Harley puppeteered her well, lifting her until just the tip of his dick was above her breasts, then lowering her down until she was practically resting on his thighs. And to his horror, as he watched the girl be guided through giving him a boobjob, and as he watched the blood run transfer from her chest to his cock, staining his skin a brownish red, he couldn’t help but grow hard. It was some sick, twisted, dark part of him that he didn’t want to acknowledge. And whether it was from the blatant humiliation of it all, or his guilty sorrows for the girl in front of him, he started to cry. Quietly, the tears streaked down his burned cheek, and he hiccupped his way through sobs, begging for her forgiveness. He apologized over and over again, unable to bear the horror and humiliation that there was nothing he could do to save or protect her, that they were both just dolls for the Clown Prince and his Jester to play with however they pleased. Harley stopped, letting the girl go limp in his lap, her head falling on one of his thighs, eyes lidded and silently crying. The Joker let go of his hair and reached down once again to roughly flick the head of Jason’s penis, relishing in the wince he couldn’t hide. “I think he’s ready, don’t you?” The grating voice chuckled, and pushed down on his cock until it was pointing at the girl. Harley grabbed her by the hair and lifted her head, pressing her lips to the salty tip. His princess kept her lips shut tight, but Harley had reached a hand underneath the girl’s skirt, sliding her panties to the side and probed a single finger onto the tight ring of her asshole, not yet pushing in, but a silent threat is a threat nonetheless, and the girl yelped out,
“Please, no!” Only for Harley tp push her head down onto Jason’s cock when her mouth had opened into a perfect “O” shape on “no.” The girl gagged, maybe at having him forced to the back of her throat, maybe at the taste of her own blood, probably both. Harley continued to push her down until she had reached the base of his cock, uncaring of how she never stopped gagging. She was held there for a moment, before Harley pulled her up, but not off, of Jason’s cock. Her tears had started to flow more rapidly as she was guided along her master’s cock, The school had trained her for this, they knew that there was a high chance that whoever she was sold to would probably use her for some kind of sexual slavery, so they had made sure to break her in. She knew to breathe through her nose, she knew how to dissociate enough to not be fully present, to just go limp until it was over, so she did. And it hurt Jason to see her immediately go from a state of such high emotions to looking almost lifeless. He hated it. But not as much as he hated the fact that some primal, animalistic part of him was enjoying it. Her throat was tight, and even if he didn’t want to be in it, he couldn’t deny how good it felt, especially when it tightened around him as she gagged. He let out a choked moan, and cringed, disgusted at himself for enjoying what was being done to them even in the slightest. The Joker noticed his pleasure, and tugged on the barbed wire, forcing Jason’s hips up as his torso was yanked backwards. The Joker would loosen his grip on the wire, then pull, forcing Jason into a repeated thrusting motion, in perfect tandem with Harley and her toy. It didn’t take long after that for Jason to come, long, thick ropes shooting down her throat. Harley pulled her head off, and the Joker forced Jason to look at the girls as Harley dropped the girl, letting her head fall onto Jason’s thigh. Her mouth was agape as she panted, and gasped for air, and the remnants of cum, stained pink with blood, drooled out of her mouth and onto his thigh as she coughed and sputtered. The Joker released his bonds, and he and Harley left, the door slamming shut and locking behind them, as their maniacal laughter trailed away, leaving the bird and his princess in the playroom. Jason had collapsed into the chair when he was released, and the girl had removed herself from his thigh, scooting a couple feet away and trying to fix her dress, unable to get the buttons right due to her shaking hands. Jason saw and his guilt grew immensely.
“Princess,” He spoke softly, pulling her attention away from the buttons. “I am so sorry. I should have figured out some way to protect you, and I shouldn’t have gotten, well, you know. You deserve better than this. And you’ll get it, I promise. We just have to hold out long enough for Batman to find us. I’m so sorry.” He was rambling, every thought he had of guilt and of perseverance spilling from his mouth as he sagged against the chair. She merely nodded, and went back to fiddling with her buttons. Her chest had since stopped bleeding, but it was still slippery, and the remaining blood was quickly staining her dress. Jason looked on, despair and guilt eating him alive, and looking around, he saw an old, dirty washcloth in the corner of the room. Sliding out of the wheelchair, he attempted to walk, but was quickly resigned to crawling due to the severe pain in his broken ankle, over to it. He took it, gave it a few sharp cracks to get as much grime off of it as possible, then made his way, painfully and slowly, over to his princess. He gently grabbed her wrist, stopping her hands, and motioning with his head, he silently asked for access. She nodded, and he undid the few buttons she had managed to do, and spit a glob of saliva onto the washcloth, then began gently dabbing it over the expanse of her breasts. He slowed down anytime she shivered or flinched, afraid that it was him she feared. When he had finished cleaning the wounds as much as he could, he aligned the buttons, and slid them through the slits of the opposing side. She began wincing more often the tighter the blouse of her dress got, so he left the top two buttons undone, hoping to provide some sense of comfort to her. His hands lingered on her dress’ collar for a moment before pulling away. He just stared at her for a few moments, before quietly asking, “Are you okay?” Her eyes met his, and she stared, the question causing a deep pain to stir within her. She looked at him suspiciously, brows slightly furrowed, and said,
“Why are you asking me that?” He just stared back for a moment, thinking how to answer, before responding.
“Because something terrible was just done to you, and I care about you.” She stared, her eyes starting to grow shiny with tears, and she laughed. Not a loud, funny laugh, but a soft huff, a self-deprecating, defeated chuckle. Tears had begun to fall down her cheek, but her eyes didn’t hold pure sadness, only a bittersweet glow. Slowly, tentatively, she shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder as she leaned into his chest.
“Jason.” She spoke, voice soft. His hands had moved to her back, rubbing small, slow, comforting circles. He hummed in acknowledgement. “May I speak freely?” He was quick to answer.
“Yeah, of course. Always. I’d prefer if you did.” So, she turned her head so that she was still resting comfortably, but could speak more clearly.
“The teachers at the school knew that there was a high chance that we’d be turned into some kind of sex slave by whoever bought us, so they had made sure to teach us to get used to being used like that. How to bite our tongue and take as deep as breaths as possible. They r-“ She paused, trying to find a word that hurt her less. And Jason knew what she was trying to say. He did his best to subtly shift his crotch away from her. It had caused her enough pain. “They hurt us so that we wouldn’t freak out when getting hurt. But you know what, Jason? Never, not once, did anyone ask if I was okay afterwards, not even any of the other girls or students.” Jason could feel his shoulder dampen with her tears.
“They should have. You deserve better than that. And better than this. I’m sorry.” He reached a slow hand to gently wipe some of his cum from the corner of her mouth, something he should have done earlier. She turned her head slightly, keeping his finger against her lips for a split second, for what was almost a kiss, before letting her head fall back against his shoulder.
“You are the last person in existence who should ever apologize to me, Jason. You have been nothing but kind, and I can’t thank you enough.” She wrapped her arms around him, and they leaned down slowly, until they laid on the ground, held tight in one another’s arms, drifting off to sleep.