Zatanna and Bruce Wayne are lovers, partners in justice, and married. They have few secrets. Fewer still when she admits she wants him to tie her up and play out one of her greatest fantasies. She wants him to pump her clit til it's huge, swollen and incredibly sensitive. They agree: he'll strap her down and make her climax repeatedly. Every time she climaxes, her clit gets pumped further. It's going to be thick and begging. She'll learn to beg him to tease and torment her clit until she squirts and starts the whole process over again. Each time they'll measure how big she's becoming. Each time he'll remind her, she cums and he's stretching out that fat pearl. Her clit -- the centre of their fantasies for a whole weekend. He can't wait. Neither can she.

Chapter 6: Cherry Picking 2

The sharp hiss of the pump’s vacuum sealed over her swollen clit for the second time. The renewed suction was a brutal slam back into that deep, radiating ache. Zatanna’s head snapped back against the leather headrest, a choked scream tearing from her throat as the tissues, already hypersensitive and engorged from the first session and the lingering aphrodisiac, screamed under the relentless pull. Her bound hands strained against the restraints, knuckles white. On the monitor, the trapped flesh swelled rapidly, veins surfacing like dark rivers beneath the stretched, purpling skin under the glass.

"Fuck! Fuck, Bruce! It’s... deeper this time... like it’s pulling my guts out through my clit!" she gasped, tears streaming freely. The vacuum intensified, drawing more blood, creating a dense, heavy throb that seemed to vibrate her entire pelvis. Her neglected cunt clenched violently, still slick and gaping from the tape and the brutal bead play. The emptiness there was a secondary agony now, overshadowed by the monstrous sensation centered under the glass.

Bruce watched the monitor, his face a mask of focused intensity. He rotated the dial minutely. Another hiss. The pressure increased. Her clit visibly strained against the transparent confines, the glans engorged to a slick, angry point. "It needs to be bigger," he stated, his voice devoid of inflection except for a low thrum of arousal. "Deeper veins. More surface area for sensation. Patience." His large hand, warm and heavy, pressed flat against her lower belly, just below the swell of their child. The contrast – the clinical torture above, the grounding warmth and life below – shattered her. She sobbed.

His touch shifted. He picked up the strand of cold steel beads, still slick with her arousal and lubricant. He held them poised at her gaping entrance. "Remember how greedy your cunt was for these?" he asked, his thumb brushing her taped-open outer lips. Her body jolted at the contact. "How it stretched wide? How it clenched?" He pressed the tip of the smallest sphere against her slick furl. She gasped, hips lifting. "Please..."

He pushed. Smooth, cold steel breached her, sliding into her wet heat. The stretch was immediate, profound, deeper now after the previous invasion. She moaned, low and ragged, as the second bead followed. Her inner walls fluttered, trying to accommodate the cool intrusion. Bruce worked the strand slowly, deliberately, pushing beads in one by one, deeper than before. Her focus fractured. The deep, insistent ache in her pumped clit warred with the filling stretch of her cunt. Sensations tangled, amplified each other. By the fourth bead, substantial and cold, she was panting, sweat soaking her hairline. "Fuck... so full... inside... and the ache... the fucking ache..."

Bruce paused, the largest bead still outside, the strand stretching her entrance obscenely wide. He leaned over her, his body blocking the chandelier light, his shadow enveloping her. His gaze locked onto hers. "You're taking it," he murmured. "Both." His hand moved from her belly, fingers tracing the edge of the pump's glass cylinder sealed to her mound. He didn't touch the trapped flesh directly, but the proximity sent fresh jolts through her swollen nerves. "Beautiful."

Then his other hand gripped her chin. Not roughly, but with absolute command. He tilted her face up. His eyes, dark pools of heat and control, held hers. Without a word, he lowered his mouth to hers.

It wasn't gentle. It was a claiming. His lips crashed onto hers, demanding entry. His tongue swept into her mouth, hot and possessive, tangling with hers. She moaned into him, the sound vibrating against his lips. It was a jarring contrast – the brutal, clinical equipment holding her sex captive, the cold beads stretching her internally, and this sudden, fierce intimacy. She kissed him back desperately, her tongue meeting his thrust for thrust, tasting the familiar salt of his skin, the faint hint of coffee. It was raw, filthy, a tangle of dominance and surrender. Her bound hands strained uselessly. He deepened the kiss, one hand cupping the back of her head, fingers tangling in her sweat-damp hair, holding her in place. The other hand, still at the pump, rotated the dial again. The suction hissed, stronger still.

The combined sensations overloaded her. The deep, relentless ache in her clit surged. The beads inside her shifted with her involuntary pelvic movements, grinding against sensitive inner walls. Bruce’s tongue dominated her mouth, stealing her breath. Her moans became frantic whimpers against his lips. She was pinned, penetrated, kissed, and pumped – utterly owned. Her world narrowed to the suction, the stretch, the heat of his mouth, and the overwhelming scent of leather, sex, and him.

He finally broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down at her. Her lips were swollen, glistening. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown black with need. "Bruce..." she breathed, the word ragged. "I'm gonna cum... the beads... the pump... fuck... I can't hold it..."

"Let it happen," he commanded, his voice a low rasp. His hand gripping the beads pushed. Hard. The largest sphere popped brutally past her stretched entrance and plunged deep into her cunt. The sudden, profound filling, the pressure against her deepest spots, collided violently with the deep, rhythmic throb of the pumped clit.

Zatanna shattered.

Her entire body convulsed against the restraints, a raw, guttural scream tearing from her throat. The orgasm wasn't a wave; it was a detonation centered on her tortured clit, amplified a thousand times by the vacuum and the violent pressure of the beads deep inside. Her cunt clamped down with crushing force around the cold steel strand, milking it violently, juices gushing around it to soak the tape holding her open. The ache under the glass became a blinding white light of sensation, radiating outward, consuming her. She saw stars behind her clenched eyelids, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps. Her hips bucked uncontrollably, slamming against the chair, her body a taut arch of pure, agonizing release. The vacuum pump held the swollen flesh captive, forcing the orgasmic contractions to ripple through hypersensitive, stretched tissue. It felt endless, brutal, and utterly shattering.

Bruce held the beads deep inside her, his hand a vice on the end of the strand, preventing her from thrusting it out with her convulsions. He watched her climax with fierce intensity, his eyes fixed on her face, then dropping to her taped-open sex, watching her cunt spasm rhythmically around the metal intrusion, seeing the slick flood spill onto the leather beneath. "That's it," he murmured, his voice thick with lust and satisfaction. "Cum on the beads. Cum from the pump. Take it all."

The violent spasms gradually subsided into deep, shuddering tremors. She collapsed back against the chair, utterly spent, gasping for air, tears streaming down her temples. The deep ache in her clit remained, a heavy, persistent throb beneath the glass, now mingled with the overstimulated echoes of the orgasm. The beads inside her felt enormous, a solid, unyielding weight.

Bruce slowly, carefully, released his grip on the strand. He didn't pull them out yet. His hand returned to the pump. With infinite care, he rotated the dial counter-clockwise. The vacuum lessened. The agonizing pressure eased slightly, though the engorgement remained vast. He didn't break the seal. He simply held it there, maintaining a less intense suction. He leaned close again, his lips brushing her sweat-dampened ear. "Good girl," he breathed, the praise sending a fresh, weak pulse through her exhausted core. "So good."

Zatanna turned her head towards him, her eyes pleading through the tears. The orgasm had been shattering, but the deep, persistent ache under the glass was still present, a constant, demanding thrum. The promise – or threat – of fifteen more sessions loomed. She licked her swollen lips, her voice a raw whisper. "More... Bruce... please..." Her gaze flicked to the pump, then back to his eyes. "Twenty... twenty sessions... with the pump... make it bigger... achier... please... I need it... need you to make it huge..." The begging was shameless, born of utter surrender and the altered state the prolonged torture had induced. "Twenty... please... stretch it... fill it... fuck..."

Bruce watched her, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, a ghost of something – approval, dark amusement – touched his eyes. He didn't speak. Instead, his hand holding the pump shifted slightly. His index finger touched the very tip of the glass cylinder, right above where her trapped, swollen glans pressed against it inside the vacuum.

He tapped. Once. Sharp and clear.

A pause.

Tap-tap-tap-tap. Four rapid beats.

Another pause.

Tap-tap-tap. Three.

His finger lifted. He held her gaze, the dim light catching the intensity in his eyes.

Morse code. Dot... Dash-Dash-Dash-Dash... Dot-Dot-Dot.

S.A fresh wave of helpless tears spilled down Zatanna's cheeks. Relief, submission, and a terrifying, thrilling anticipation flooded her. He would give her twenty. He would stretch her clit further, deepen the ache, make it bigger. The promise hung in the thick dungeon air, as palpable as the scent of sex and leather. The pump hummed softly on its lower setting. The beads remained deep inside her. The red camera light blinked, capturing her tear-streaked face, her gaping, taped-open sex stuffed with steel, and the glass cylinder sealed over her swollen, aching heart of flesh. Session three would come tomorrow.

Bruce’s Morse code ‘yes’ echoed in Zatanna’s bones, a silent promise binding her to twenty more sessions. The pump’s persistent hum vibrated through her swollen clit, a deep, resonant ache that was less pain and more profound, insistent pressure – a constant reminder of his control and her submission. She whimpered, not from hurt, but from the sheer intensity of sensation radiating from that single point, amplified by the cool steel beads still buried deep inside her slick, gaping cunt. "Love it," she gasped, her voice thick and ragged, tears of overwhelmed pleasure tracking down her cheeks. "Love the ache... love how you make it feel... so fucking full..."

"Good girl," Bruce murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her sweat-slicked skin as he leaned close. His thumb brushed away a tear with surprising tenderness, contrasting sharply with the clinical detachment in his eyes as they flicked to the monitor displaying her pumped flesh straining against the glass. "You’re taking it perfectly. Making it grow beautifully." His free hand, slick with her arousal, closed around the protruding end of the bead strand still embedded in her. He didn’t pull them out. Instead, he began a slow, deliberate rotation.

The cold, smooth spheres turned deep within her, grinding against hypersensitive inner walls still fluttering from her recent orgasm. The largest bead pressed firmly against her G-spot. Zatanna gasped, her hips jerking against the restraints. "Oh fuck... Bruce... that spot... right there..." The pressure wasn't sharp; it was a deep, building fullness, an internal crowding that intensified the radiating throb from her pumped clit. He maintained the slow, relentless rotation, the beads creating a slick, internal friction that made her cunt clench rhythmically around the intrusion. "Feels... feels too much... gonna... gonna..." Her words dissolved into a high-pitched whine.

"Let it happen," Bruce commanded, his voice tight with anticipation. He watched the monitor intently, his grip tightening on the beads, forcing them to grind harder against her engorged G-spot. "Show me." The pressure crested, a dam bursting not with agony, but with an overwhelming flood of pure, liquid sensation. Zatanna’s body arched violently, a silent scream contorting her face as her cunt convulsed not around the beads, but around them.

A powerful jet of clear fluid erupted from her urethra, spraying out in a startling, forceful arc. It hit the leather between her thighs with a sharp, wet slap, then splattered onto Bruce’s wrist and forearm. The camera captured it clinically: the sudden gush, the shimmering droplets hanging in the air for a split second, the slick pool spreading beneath her taped-open sex. More pulses followed, weaker but distinct, each accompanied by a shuddering gasp from Zatanna as her body emptied itself in a way she’d never experienced. "Fuck! Oh god! Cumming!" she finally cried out, the sensation utterly alien and devastatingly pleasurable.

Bruce watched the spray subside into trickles, his gaze fixed on the source. "Beautiful," he breathed, genuine awe mixing with dark satisfaction. He carefully withdrew the beads, the slick, wet sound loud in the sudden quiet punctuated only by Zatanna’s ragged breathing. With precise movements, he peeled off the surgical tape holding her labia wide. Her folds, slick and flushed, slowly relaxed back together. Then, with infinite care, he released the pump’s seal. The soft pop echoed. The vacuum broke.

He lifted the glass cylinder away. Zatanna’s clit, released from its confinement, throbbed visibly, a dark pink, glistening nub. Bruce gently pulled back her hood with a slick fingertip. "Look," he instructed, his voice reverent. He traced the swollen shaft down to the glans. "See?" Her clit, engorged from the prolonged pumping, now protruded distinctly, its tip peeking out visibly between her folds even without the hood being manually held back. "Just starting to peek out," he murmured, a possessive pride warming his tone. "After only three sessions. Imagine twenty." He touched the hypersensitive tip lightly. Zatanna jolted, a fresh wave of slickness seeping from her quivering cunt. "Fuck... yes... bigger..." she whimpered, her eyes glazed, fixed on her own transformed flesh.

Bruce stroked her trembling thigh, his touch grounding. "You did incredibly well." He reached for a clean, damp cloth, wiping the cooling spray from her inner thighs and his own arm with efficient gentleness. "Rest now." He placed a soft kiss on her damp forehead, then moved towards the low table laden with toys. His hand hovered over a sleek, silver vibrator shaped like a tongue. He glanced back at her, sprawled and spent in the leather chair, her breathing slowly steadying, her gaze fixed on her newly prominent clit. "Session four," he stated, picking up the vibrator, its chrome surface gleaming under the dim light. "We focus solely on this." He nodded towards her swollen nub. "Amplify the ache." Zatanna’s exhausted body gave a faint, anticipatory tremble. The red camera light blinked, capturing the glint of chrome in Bruce’s hand and the dark, glistening promise between her legs to

The chrome tongue vibrator hummed faintly in Bruce’s grasp, catching the dim light like a predator’s fang. Zatanna watched it through heavy-lidded eyes, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of the pump’s deep ache and the shocking gush of her release. Sweat cooled on her skin, making her shiver against the leather restraints. The pool of her own arousal glistened on the seat beneath her, a stark, wet map of her surrender.

Bruce knelt. He didn’t look at her face; his gaze locked onto the glistening mess between her splayed thighs. Not at her swollen, hypersensitive clit, still throbbing visibly from its ordeal, but lower. At the slick trail leading down her inner thigh, the fresher wetness where her unexpected flood had sprayed. He leaned in, the warmth of his breath ghosting over her damp skin.

Then his mouth was there. Not gentle. Hungry. His lips pressed flat against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, right where her release had pooled and run. He sucked, hard. The sudden, wet pressure pulled a gasp from Zatanna’s swollen lips. "Fuck, Bruce..." His tongue swiped broad and hot, lapping at the slickness, gathering the tangy-salt fluid he’d wrung from her. He avoided her clit entirely, focusing only on cleaning the aftermath from her trembling skin. The scrape of his stubble, the heat of his mouth, the obscene, sucking sounds – it was intimate degradation, a claiming more profound than any pump. "Tastes like victory," he muttered against her skin, his voice a low vibration that travelled straight to her core. He sucked again, harder, pulling the delicate skin slightly into his mouth before releasing it with a soft pop, leaving a faint red mark.

Zatanna whimpered, a confusing mix of shame and searing arousal tightening her belly. Her cunt clenched helplessly, spilling a fresh trickle of slickness. He was drinking her humiliation, savoring it. Before the sensation could crest, before her profoundly altered clit could register anything more than the echoes of ache, he moved.

Something small and impossibly cold pressed against the swollen, dark-pink nub. Zatanna shrieked, her body arching violently off the chair. "Agh! Cold! Fuck! Cold!" It was a fragment of ice, tiny but potent. The shock was absolute. Her hypersensitive flesh recoiled, seeming to shrivel instantly under the freezing assault. The deep, engorged throb vanished, replaced by a sharp, stinging numbness that radiated outward. "Get it off! Please, Bruce, it’s too much!" she begged, tears springing fresh. The ice bit, stealing sensation, shrinking the swollen flesh back towards its hood in a protective retreat.

Bruce held it there for only three agonizing seconds – long enough to see the angry flush recede, the prominent tip withdraw slightly. He plucked the melting sliver away, letting the frigid water drip onto her mound. He watched, fascinated, as her body’s heat fought back, the flush slowly creeping back. "The aphrodisiac needs time," he stated, his voice clinical again, though his eyes burned. He traced a dry fingertip down her inner thigh, over the spot he’d just sucked raw. "This little shock... it forces a reset. Lets the drug build deeper." He tapped the chrome vibrator against his palm. Its faint hum sharpened slightly. "While we wait... we play elsewhere."

He pressed the cool, ridged silicone tip of the vibrator against her outer labia, just beside her entrance. Not in. Beside. The low buzz vibrated through her slick folds. Zatanna moaned, her hips shifting restlessly. "Tease," she breathed, the numbness in her clit giving way to a slow, insistent throb as the aphrodisiac reasserted itself. "Fucking... tease me."

Bruce smiled, a dark curve of his lips. He dragged the buzzing tip slowly, agonizingly slowly, down the length of her slick slit. It traced her outer lips, then dipped shallowly, barely parting her inner folds, skimming the hypersensitive rim of her entrance without penetrating. The vibration buzzed against nerve endings he hadn’t tortured yet today. "Your greedy hole remembers the beads," he murmured, watching her face contort. "Remember how it stretched? How it swallowed steel?" The vibrator tip circled her entrance, the buzzing intensifying slightly, making her muscles flutter. "Wants to swallow this too?" He pressed the tip firmly against her tight furl, the silicone ridges vibrating maddeningly against the ring of muscle. "Fuck yes! Please!" Zatanna cried, her voice ragged. "Give it... give it to me! Stuff my fucking cunt!"

He didn’t. He pulled it back, skimming upwards, tracing her perineum, then dragging the buzzing tip back over her outer lips. She groaned in frustration, bucking her hips. "Bastard..."

"Patience," he chided, his voice like gravel. The vibrator moved down again, tracing the same path. Down her slit, vibrating madly against her slick skin. Pause at her entrance, buzzing hard enough to make her gasp. Circle. Press. "Oh god, please..." She was dripping, the vibration coaxing fresh slickness that eased the toy's path.

Then, without warning, he buried it. Not slowly. He shoved the entire ridged silicone tongue deep into her grasping cunt in one smooth, brutal thrust. Zatanna screamed as the thick intrusion filled her, the vibrations instantly magnified a hundredfold inside her tight channel, buzzing against every hypersensitive spot the beads had abused. "FUCK! YES! DEEP!" The vibrator bottomed out, its base pressing firmly against her swollen, still-aching clit. The dual sensations – the deep, internal buzzing filling her and the pressure against the hypersensitive nub – collided. He held it there, buried to the hilt, letting the vibrations thrum through her core. Her cunt clamped down, milking the artificial tongue, her body instinctively trying to draw it deeper. Bruce watched the monitor, the image of her flushed, gaping entrance stretched wide around the chrome shaft. "Look at you," he commanded. "See how your hungry hole takes it?" Zatanna’s gaze flickered to the screen, seeing her own body impaled on the buzzing chrome, seeing the subtle tremors wracking her frame. "Yours," she gasped, her voice breaking. "All yours... fuck me with it... use it..."

He began to move. Slow, deliberate pulls, dragging the ridged surface against her inner walls, then shoving it back in to the root. The buzzing never stopped. Each withdrawal was a tease, an emptiness instantly filled with rough, penetrating vibration. Each thrust pressed the base firmly against her throbbing clit. The deep, radiating ache from the earlier pumping, suppressed by the ice but never gone, flared back to life under the pressure, mingling with the buzzing invasion. "Harder!" she begged, her back arching off the leather. "Fuck my pussy harder with it! Make me cum on your fucking toy!"

Bruce’s pace increased. The vibrator pistoned into her, the wet slap of silicone against slick flesh joining the relentless buzz. He angled it, grinding the base deliberately against her swollen clit with every deep thrust. The sensations fused – the deep, internal buzzing scrape, the direct pressure on her tortured nerve bundle, the spreading heat of the aphrodisiac, the raw vulnerability of the camera’s gaze. Zatanna’s cries became wordless, guttural sounds, her body a taut bowstring. The orgasm built not as a wave, but as a terrifying pressure cooker, fueled by vibration, pressure, and utter submission. She was hurtling towards an edge sharper than glass, her world reduced to the buzzing chrome violating her cunt and the relentless pressure igniting the deep, familiar ache in her swollen flesh. The red light blinked, capturing the chrome shaft gleaming wet, her gaping entrance, and the desperate plea in her tear-filled eyes. Bruce’s rhythm never faltered.