Chapter 20: Chapter 20
The penthouse bedroom swallowed sound in its plush silence, thick velvet drapes drawn against Gotham’s perpetual twilight glow. Only the low hum of climate control and the frantic thud of Zatanna’s heart broke the quiet. She lay sprawled on the immaculate silk sheets, the cool fabric a stark contrast to the fevered heat radiating from her skin. Bruce knelt between her splayed legs, his gaze analytical, intense, cataloging every tremor, every glistening fold, every rapid rise and fall of her chest. The metallic glint of the labia clamps, still fastened wide, caught the low light, framing the swollen, flushed bud of her clit like dark jewels in a pomegranate. A sheen of her own slickness coated her inner thighs.
“Subject exhibits pronounced tumescence of the clitoral glans,” Bruce began, his voice low, a gravelly rumble that vibrated straight to Zatanna’s core. His fingers, cool and precise, lightly traced the outline of the clamp ring. “Approximately 40% enlargement over baseline arousal state recorded during initial assessment.” He ghosted a fingertip over the engorged nub. Zatanna gasped, her hips jerking off the bed. “Hyper-sensitivity confirmed. Positive response to minimal tactile stimulus.”
“Fuck, Bruce…” she breathed, her voice thick, catching on the words. “That… that thing you did… with the tawse…”
“The application of the soft deerhide tawse to the clitoral region,” Bruce clarified, his tone detached yet charged with an undercurrent of ownership. He reached beside him, picking up the supple leather strap. Not threatening, not yet. Just present. “Administered in rhythmic, measured strokes at an intensity calibrated precisely below the pain threshold. Designed to induce sustained, escalating vasocongestion without triggering nociception. Objective: sustained plateau phase.”
He leaned forward slightly, the movement causing the head of his thick, rigid cock to bump against her wet, open entrance. Zatanna whimpered, a desperate sound that echoed in the luxurious space. She instinctively ground her hips down, seeking friction, seeking him. “Yes… god, yes… just like that…” Her dark hair fanned out around her, sweat-damp strands clinging to her temples.
Bruce allowed the movement, letting her rub her slick cunt against him for a moment, coating his length in her arousal. The sight, the feel, the scent – musky, primal, uniquely her – was heady. But he remained focused. Control was paramount. Pleasure, precise and overwhelming, was the weapon. He pulled back slightly, just enough to deny her full entry. His other hand found the small, intricate device resting nearby – the ‘spider’. Eight slender, articulated chrome limbs tipped with soft, vibrating silicone pads surrounded a central core housing precision motors.
“Initiate secondary stimulation protocol,” Bruce murmured, more to himself than her, though the words sent another shiver through Zatanna. He positioned the device carefully, its cool chrome base settling just above her pubic bone. With a soft whir, the limbs came alive. Two pads descended, settling on either side of her clamped-open outer labia, vibrating gently. Two more found the inner folds, just below her clit. Two settled against her perineum, and the final pair rested lightly on her inner thighs. The central core hovered, poised millimeters above her exposed, throbbing clit.
“Ah!” Zatanna arched, her back leaving the bed. The sensation wasn’t sharp; it was a pervasive, humming thrum, a thousand tiny points of electric pleasure radiating out from her core, converging on her clit. “Oh, fuck… Bruce… that’s…”
“Subject demonstrates immediate autonomic response to multi-point vibratory stimulation,” Bruce noted, his eyes fixed on the display of her body. Her nipples, already peaked and stiff, seemed to tighten further against the silk sheets, dark areolas puckered. “Increased respiratory rate. Pupillary dilation observable. Vaginal lubrication production escalating exponentially.” He slowly pressed the head of his cock against her entrance again, a slow, deliberate pressure. “Concurrent stimulation initiated.”
He pushed in, just the thick crown stretching her, filling her with that familiar, delicious burn. At the same moment, he activated the central core of the spider. A focused, intense pulse of vibration hammered directly onto her exposed clit.
Zatanna screamed. Not pain. Pure, unadulterated, electrified pleasure. Her body went rigid, then convulsed. Her cunt clenched violently around the invading tip of Bruce’s cock. “YES! FUCK! RIGHT THERE! DON’T STOP! NEVER STOP!”
Bruce held position, buried just inside her, feeling her inner walls ripple and spasm around him. His own control was a steel cable pulled taut. The spider continued its relentless work, the pads massaging, the core pulsing its focused energy onto her hypersensitive nub. He watched her face: eyes wide, unseeing, mouth open in a silent scream that suddenly erupted again, her head thrashing side to side on the pillow. Saliva glistened at the corner of her lips. Ahegao. Utterly lost in sensation.
“Sustained clitoral stimulation combined with partial vaginal penetration induces intense myotonic reaction,” Bruce narrated, his voice rough now, the detached clinical tone fracturing under the weight of his own arousal. He saw her belly, the subtle curve where their child grew, tense and quiver. He slowly withdrew his cock almost entirely, then thrust back in, just a shallow, rhythmic pumping of that first inch, maximizing the stretch and friction at her entrance, directly in concert with the spider’s pulse on her clit. “Muscle fasciculations evident in abdominal region, pelvic floor, quadriceps. Auditory vocalizations indicate peak excitation approaching.”
“Bruce! God! Ohgodohgod!” Zatanna was babbling, her hips pistoning uncontrollably, trying to force him deeper, trying to grind harder onto the vibrating machine. Her cunt was a hot, wet vise, gushing around him with each tiny thrust. Sweat slicked her body, making the silk sheets cling. The air hung thick with the smell of sex – her arousal, the faint leather scent of the tawse, the clean ozone hint of the chrome device. “I’m… I’m gonna… it’s too much… I can’t…!”
He picked up the tawse. Not to strike yet. He ran the cool, soft leather lightly over her trembling belly, down to where the spider pulsed. He let it brush the swollen, glistening head of her clit. She shrieked, her whole body seizing.
“Subject approaches climax threshold,” Bruce growled, the clinical facade crumbling completely. His own breathing was ragged. He was painfully hard, the feel of her tight, wet heat, the sight of her unraveling, the power of it, was intoxicating. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear, his voice a dark, commanding whisper that cut through her haze. “Debriefing not complete. Report, Zatanna. What does your big, greedy little clit still want?” He emphasized the question with another shallow, grinding thrust and a firmer press of the tawse against her clit, not striking, just constant pressure over the vibration. “What haven’t I done? Tell me.”
Zatanna’s eyes snapped open, wild, desperate, locked onto his. Her mind was a furnace, thoughts incinerated by the relentless sensations. Words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. “The clamps!” she gasped, her voice hoarse. “Bruce… the metal… earlier… the cold… when you fastened them… the bite… I need… I need you to clamp it again! Right now! Clamp my fucking clit! Make it hurt just a little, just for a second! Pinch it hard while this… this fucking machine makes me cum! I want… I want your hands… your tools… I want to feel you own it while it makes me scream! Please! Master… please… clamp it! Make your slut’s big clit yours again!”
Her plea, the raw need in her voice, the utter surrender wrapped in demand, shattered the last of Bruce’s restraint. A primal sound tore from his throat. He dropped the tawse. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the small, gleaming metal clamp designed specifically for the hyper-sensitive glans, the one with the fine, precise adjustment screw. He didn’t hesitate. With expert precision, even as the spider continued its relentless pulse and vibration, even as her hips bucked and her cunt spasmed around his cock, he positioned the cold metal jaws around her swollen, glistening clit.
He met her wild, pleading eyes. Held her gaze.
And squeezed the clamp shut.
The cold metal bite was instant, sharp, a bright flare of sensation that cut through the humming vibration already consuming her clit. Zatanna’s scream ripped through the penthouse, raw and ragged, her body arching violently off the bed, tendons standing out in her neck. Her cunt clenched like a vise around Bruce’s cock, slick heat pulsing around him in frantic waves. He held the clamp firm, his own breath catching at the sheer intensity of her reaction, the way her swollen flesh yielded perfectly to the pressure.
“FUCK! BRUCE! YES! GOD, YES!” she shrieked, tears springing to her eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming confluence of sensations – the deep, penetrating thrum of the spider’s pads massaging her labia and perineum, the insistent pulse hammering her clit beneath the clamp, the exquisite pinch holding her nerve endings captive, and the thick, stretching presence of him buried shallowly inside her. Her hips bucked wildly, trying to fuse all the points of contact into one unbearable peak. “Don’t stop! Don’t you fucking stop!”
Bruce’s control was fraying. Seeing her like this, bound only by sensation, utterly surrendered yet demanding more, ignited something primal. His cock throbbed within her tight heat. He released the clamp’s grip slightly, just enough to ease the sharpest edge while maintaining the delicious pressure, then swiftly adjusted the spider’s controls. The central pulse on her clit ceased abruptly. In its place, one chrome limb tipped with a soft silicone pad retracted, replaced by a miniature, supple deerhide tawse, no wider than his thumb. Simultaneously, another limb extended a tiny, soft silicone suction cup, positioning itself beside the tawse.
“Engaging alternating stimulation protocol,” Bruce announced, his voice thick, gravelly, stripped of its usual detached precision. He watched, mesmerized, as the machine whirred. The suction cup latched onto the hood of her clit, pulling it taut, exposing the hypersensitive glans beneath the clamp. The tiny tawse lifted, then snapped down with a soft, precise thwip directly onto the stretched, gleaming flesh.
“AHHHH! OH FUCK!” Zatanna’s cry was pure, shattered ecstasy. Her back bowed impossibly high. The suction released momentarily, allowing the tawse to land another light, rapid flick. Thwip. Then the suction reactivated, pulling, stretching her clit taut again for the next strike. Thwip. Over and over, a relentless, alternating rhythm: pull, strike, release, strike. “IT’S… IT’S TOO GOOD! BRUCE! I CAN’T…!”
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his breath hot. His hips began a slow, grinding counterpoint to the machine’s rapid pace, his cock dragging against her swollen inner walls with each shallow thrust. “Tell me what you see,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a dark, intimate rasp. “When you close your eyes… when I have you like this… bound by pleasure… what’s the deepest, filthiest fantasy?” He punctuated the question with a harder grind, feeling her slickness gush around him. “The one without pain… pure, fucking surrender.”
The words, the command, the relentless sensations – they shattered coherent thought. Images flooded Zatanna’s mind, vivid and obscene. “You…” she gasped, her voice trembling, eyes squeezed shut. “On stage… my finale… the vanishing cabinet… but instead… you’re there… waiting… naked… hard…” Her hips jerked violently as the tawse landed another precise flick on her stretched clit. “The curtain falls… crowd gone… just spotlights… hot… and I… I kneel… right there… on the fucking stage… sawdust smell… and I… I suck you… deep… gagging… while you… you just watch… cold… perfect…” Thwip. A guttural moan tore from her throat. “Your cock… down my throat… my big fucking clit… throbbing… begging… untouched… just… aching… for you… Master…”
Bruce groaned, a deep, visceral sound ripped from his chest. Her fantasy, raw and submissive, painted in the grime of a stage rather than silk sheets, ignited him. He stretched her clit further himself now, fingers replacing the suction cup momentarily, pulling the sensitized flesh taut, presenting it fully to the machine’s tiny flogger. “Like this?” he growled, his own hips pistoning faster, driving deeper now, spurred by her filthy confession. “Begging for my cock while your magic clit throbs untouched? Begging to be used?”
“YES! FUCK YES! USE ME!” Zatanna screamed, her body a taut bowstring vibrating under the dual assault – the machine’s rapid thwip-thwip-thwip flogging her exposed clit, and Bruce’s powerful thrusts hammering deep into her cunt, each stroke dragging against her G-spot. The sensations fused, a white-hot brand searing through her core. Her vision blurred, stars exploding behind her eyelids. Her mouth fell open in a silent, breathless scream, jaw slack, eyes rolling back. Pure, unadulterated ahegao, lost in the maelstrom he orchestrated.
Incoherent sounds bubbled from her throat – guttural moans, choked whimpers, fragmented syllables that might have been his name or just primal noise. Her thighs trembled violently. Her cunt convulsed in rhythmic, milking spasms around Bruce’s plunging cock, drenching him, drenching the sheets beneath them. The spider continued its relentless work, the tawse flicking, the suction pulling, the pads vibrating, a symphony of engineered ecstasy focused entirely on her clit while Bruce claimed the depths of her body, driving her relentlessly towards the shattering peak only he could deliver.
The relentless thwip-thwip-thwip of the spider's miniature tawse against her stretched, clamped clit became Zatanna’s whole universe. Each precise, stinging kiss of leather sent electric jolts through her overstimulated nerves, merging with the deep thrum of the vibrating pads massaging her labia and the insistent pull of the silicone suction cup exposing her raw nerve bundle again and again. Bruce’s cock pistoned deep inside her slick channel, each powerful thrust grinding against her G-spot, the stretch and friction a brutal counterpoint to the machine’s focused assault on her clit. Her world dissolved into pure, screaming sensation, her body arching like a drawn bowstring, muscles locked in a rictus of ecstasy.
"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" Her voice was shredded, a raw scrape of sound, lost beneath the slick slap of flesh on flesh and the mechanical whir. Her eyes rolled back completely, whites showing, mouth agape in a silent scream, spit pooling at the corner – pure, mindless ahegao. Her thoughts were fractured glass, impossible to piece together. All she knew was the relentless drive towards obliteration orchestrated by the man buried inside her, commanding the machine torturing her most sensitive flesh. She was utterly fucked silly, reduced to a trembling, gasping vessel for pleasure.
The heat pouring off her skin was palpable. Sweat slicked her body, plastering strands of her black hair to her temples and throat. Her breasts, swollen and heavy with pregnancy, shuddered with each frantic breath. Taut, dark nipples, still peaked from the cool air and constant arousal, began to bead with thin, white droplets. Warm milk seeped from the tips, tracing glistening paths down the curves of her breasts onto the silk sheets beneath her. The scent deepened – sweat, sex, the sharp, clean tang of her milk mingling with the musk of her gushing arousal coating Bruce’s cock and balls.
"Look at you," Bruce growled, his own control fraying at the edges. He bent his head, his lips finding the heated skin of her neck, tasting salt and her unique, intoxicating scent. He sucked a bruising kiss just below her ear, his teeth scraping lightly, then soothed it with his tongue. "Perfect. Dripping everywhere for me. Your tits leaking, your cunt gushing." His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt, drawing a choked sob from her throat. "That greedy clit of yours… look how it pulses." His gaze dropped, mesmerized, to where the tiny tawse landed another flick. Thwip.
Beneath the clamp and the machine’s relentless attention, her clit was a throbbing, engorged beacon. It strained outward, visibly elongated by the suction and the stimulation, a dark, glistening nub swollen to its absolute limit. Bruce adjusted the spider’s controls. The suction intensified, pulling the hood taut, stretching the hypersensitive glans obscenely. "Beg," he commanded, his voice low and rough against her skin, punctuating the word with a sharp thrust that made her shriek. "Beg for it, Zee. Show me how much that swollen little dicklet wants it."
Thwip. Her clit visibly jumped under the flogger’s kiss, pulsing hard against the clamp. A desperate, guttural whine tore from her throat. It was begging, a physical plea written in the frantic throbbing of exposed nerves. "Yesss..." Bruce hissed. "Again." Thwip. Another hard, undeniable throb, a clenching spasm deep inside her cunt around his cock. "Louder," Bruce demanded, biting her shoulder. Thwip. It pulsed again, wildly, almost violently, a third time, slick and desperate beneath the relentless tawse. "Good girl."
He kept his lips on her neck, kissing, sucking, marking her as his, while his hand flew to the spider’s controls. He activated a new function. The central core, hovering above the tawse, began to pump – a rapid, rhythmic nuzzling against the stretched, throbbing head of her clit. Simultaneously, a deep, resonant vibration emanated from the core itself, thrumming directly into the hypersensitive bundle. The tawse never stopped. Thwip-thwip-thwip landed on the wildly vibrating, pumping flesh.
Zatanna’s scream was primal, shattering the air. Her body went rigid, every muscle seizing. Her hips snapped upwards off the bed in an uncontrollable, convulsive grind, fucking the air, fucking the relentless machine attacking her clit, driven by pure, subconscious need. Her cunt clamped down on Bruce’s cock with crushing, milking spasms. And then it happened: a hot, silken gush of fluid, not just the usual slick, but a pressurized spray, erupted from deep within her.
It splashed directly onto Bruce’s lower abdomen, his thrusting cock, his balls – a cascade of clear, slippery girl cum. The sheer force and volume were shocking, drenching him, the metallic scent sharp and primal. She kept coming, wave after wave of liquid ecstasy spraying out, coating his skin, mingling with her sweat and milk, her body convulsing violently as the spider’s pumping, vibrating tawse continued its brutal, exquisite assault on her exposed, begging clit. "BRUUUCE!" she howled, the sound raw and broken, lost completely in the shattering, soaking climax he’d orchestrated, her body a trembling, gushing testament to his control.