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The Seduction of Harley Quinn	By : SexyLittleMinx Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Batman (All Movies) > Batman (All Movies) Views: 4945 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Batman series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Seduction of Harley Quinn
- 1
Note: This is the very first porn/fanfic I've ever written! It's just this one section, I'd like to try a lot of different genres and types and see how it goes. Any reviews would be fantastic, especially since I'm getting my feet here :)

***

   Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel was exhausted. It had been a long day at Arkham, and from what she had seen, they were only going to get longer. She had entertained long hours in school, but now, just finishing up her internship, her schedule was brutal. Today was no exception. They had received perhaps the most interesting patient she had ever seen: the Joker.

   The Joker. She thought about him as she threw her keys onto the hall table and kicked her white tennis shoes off. He had arrived courtesy of the Batman: he was unconscious, strapped to a gurney. His hair was long, and green, and matted. She hadn't even been able to see his face under all the blood and bruises before he had been whisked off to his own cell in the wing for the criminally insane. If only she had been able to meet him when working on her dissertation! But because of his high status and dangerous behavior, he had caused the whole asylum to be thrown off. Her shift, normally ten hours, had extended to fourteen. Now, so sleep deprived that she felt the stirrings of nausea, all she wanted to do was collapse.

   As she peeled off her scrubs, though, she caught a whiff of herself and grimaced. There were patients who sweated, who vomitted, and in some cases, bled on her. Instead of her usual perfunctory shower, despite her exhaustion, she started running a hot bath. While the water ran, she went to the kitchen in her panties and undershirt to pour a glass of wine. Finally sinking into the water was heaven. She pulled at a scrunchie and her long blonde hair tumbled into the water. Sinking deeper, she scrubbed at her scalp, sighing at the feeling. She grabbed a loofah and started sloughing off the stresses of her day. She was only 26, and as she washed her long legs, one at a time, she wondered why she still had not made very many friends in Gotham City. She had transferred to Arkham at least six months ago already, and yet none of the other nurses or doctors had been particularly kind to her. She had been seriously considering moving back to Brooklyn, but now she was glad she had stayed. The Joker had come to Arkham. She languidly washed her small perky breasts, her slim frame, she couldn't stop thinking about the glimpse of him.

   Tomorrow, she decided, as she slid naked into her cool sheets. Tomorrow she would request to be in charge of his treatment. She was determined to help him.

   It had been easy to get the Joker's file: No one else wanted to come near him. Dr. Arkham had practically thrown the information at her. “If you can handle him, Dr. Quinn, I believe you'll be able to work at any practice you want...though we'd hope you'd stay here,” he added meekly. Harleen had always doubted his ability to cope with the lunacies of his own patients.

   In the break room, she sat alone, prepping for her first encounter. Her friend, Dr. Joan Leeland, sat down across the table from her. “Hey, Quinn,” she said when Harleen didn't look up.

   “Oh, hey Joan. How are you?” Harleen turned another page in the file.

   “Oh fine...gave birth to a cat last night.”

   “That's nice.” Harleen tried to turn another page, but Joan grabbed the file from her.

   “You're not even listening! Harleen, I'm worried about you. This guy is bona fide dangerous, and you just volunteered to be his only human contact!”

   Joan was a strinkingly tall redhead, and stronger than Harleen, so she held the files above her head as Harleen desperately reached for them. “Joan, please, I need those! We have an appointment in half an hour!”

   “And you think he'll care if you're a few minutes late?”

   “No, but Dr. Arkham might!” The name had the proper effect: Joan tossed the papers onto the table.

   “Harleen, just promise me that's why you're doing this: to impress Dr. Arkham. I don't want you to start taking a personal interest in curing this guy, OK? You think you're too deep, you let someone know and you get the hell out. Can you promise me that?”

   Harleen was already greedily shuffling through the papers, reordering them and straightening out bent pages. “Yeah, fine. Sure.” Joan turned to leave, and Harleen muttered to herself, “nosy bitch.” But even then, she couldn't shake the feeling that Joan had a point. She already felt frantic, on edge. The night before, she had had long and confused dreams, running down hallways of green and purple, and when she woke up, there was a sticky wetness between her legs.

   She checked her watch. There was time to go over everything once more before the appointment. She pulled out her yellow legal pad, and got back to work.

   When she got to the door of the Joker's cell, there was already a group of white coats in front of it. Dr. Arkham worked his way to the front. “Dr. Quinn, we cannot express how excited we all are to see what you can do here. Whenever you are ready.” He stepped to the side of the door, and all eyes turned to her. She smoothed her hair into a bun, and buttoned the top button of her collared shirt. Someone handed her a coat, and she put it on, neatly pulling the lapels even. She felt like she might throw up, but she could also feel her toes tingling, the way they did right before a strong orgasm. “OK,” she muttered. “Unlock the door.”

   The room was dirty white and heavily padded. There were two flimsy plastic chairs, and a light bulb in a protective metal cage. He was in a chair facing the door, leaning back with his legs splayed. She barely noticed that his feet were bare and his arms were wrapped in a straitjacket. Though the orderlies had tried to clean the makeup off his face, some still remained: the dark eyes, the pale skin, the red stretching lips. His head was cocked, and his unblinking eyes were trained right at Harleen the minute the door closed behind her. Harleen shivered, goosebumps running all down her arms and over her chest, her nipples hardening in response.

   “Hello there,” he said, once she had pulled her chair to face him. He didn't move at all, his head and eyes fixed. “Hello, beautiful,” he said, slower.

   “Hello,” she replied, giving a small clinical smile. “I am doctor Quinn. What shall I call you?”

   She waited. Establishing a name would be the first step of the patient-doctor relationship. He licked his lips and leaned forward, grunting and gesturing for her to move closer. His eyes darted back and forth between her and the door, the wall, the light. “Closer,” he whispered, and she moved until his rough lips lightly brushed her earlobe. “You can call me 'Master,'” he rasped, and then she felt his teeth clamp down on the lobe, biting and pulling. Her eyes widened in pain, and she gasped once, but did not move. Finally she felt the sharp click of his teeth meeting, and the warm trickle of blood down her neck. “Good girl,” he smiled. “You can go now.”

   She stood up, dazed and trembling, and backed slowly towards the door. As she reached for the handle, he stopped her. “You might...want to cover that up,” he said, tilting his head at her neck.

   “Yes. Yes.” She pulled her white collar up, hunching her neck behind the cloth.

   Outside, the doctors were still waiting, silently waiting for her to speak, to tell them about the encounter, but she shook her head and slipped away to the ladies room. There, she folded the collar down and looked at herself in the mirror. She still had a sheen of sweat across her forehead and upper lip, though the blood had already dried to a dark crust. Almost all of her earlobe was missing. She ran some water over a paper towel, and scrubbed at the dried blood smeared over her neck. The dark crescent of her ear still stood out garishly against her pale skin, so she pulled her hair out of its tight bun, and arranged it to cover the wound. The woman in the mirror who stared back at her was almost as pale as the Joker himself. “Master,” she whispered to herself.

   The next day, Dr. Arkham called Harleen into his office. He stood, awkwardly clasping his hands behind his back while she sat in front of his desk in one of the fine leather chairs. “I'll be honest, Dr. Quinn, I'm impressed. You may be the first person to come face to face with this character and not only live to tell the tale but also come back for more.” He chuckled to himself, his ruggedly handsome face creasing. She had nursed a crush on him her first days as an intern, but now she found herself fidgeting, anxious to be away from his barrel-chested heavy presence. She imagined him during sex, overbearing and regular. “Tell me, what did you two talk about during her session?”

   She hesitated, her mouth open as she squirmed, no lie ready on her lips.

   “Oh, of course you're right, doctor patient priviledge.” He winked and made an exaggerated grimace at her. “Lawyers.”

   He fell silent, pacing. She could feel his eyes examine her, as if it were the first time he had seen her, or the way you would examine a piece of fruit, a delicate appraisal that ran from her rumpled loose hair, over her breasts and down to her ankles. “Dr. Quinn, as I said, I am impressed with your fortitude.” He was silent again, and she took the opportunity to cut short his train of thought.

   “Sir, I'm afraid that I have so much research and paperwork to still complete from yesterday.”

   “Of course, of course.” He furrowed his brow, and she felt a shudder at the transparency of his face. Every emotion ran across it. “Like dirty mice,” she thought to herself.

   “I'll see you later,” he called jovially, and she ran out the door, fists clenched so hard that her fingernails bit into her palms, leaving moon-shaped marks on the skin.

   This time there was no crowd at the door. “Maybe Dr. Arkham told them to get back to work,” Harleen thought to herself, but when she glimpsed the window, safety glass with metal mesh, she knew why: He was sitting in the exact same position, the exact same expression of vacant malice as when she had left. There was nothing to watch, unless you wanted the abyss to stare back into you. She walked in, her ankles shaking just slightly in her high heels. There were security cameras, but somehow the wires had been cut and were dangling, limp and red. No one would dare come in to fix them.

   “Hello, Harleen.” He giggled, opening his red lips wide to laugh.

   “Hello.” She sat down, feeling a strange itch deep between her thighs. She settled into her chair, crossed and recrossed her legs. She stood up, sat down again, trying to scratch it surrepticiously. She heard a low snickering. He laughed, quietly and low and drawn out, like he knew the secret of her discomfort and knew how to stop it. “Something funny?”

   “You are, beautiful. Trying to stop it.”

   “Stop what?” She tried to hide the blush that burned her cheeks and chest.

   He slouched lower in his chair, the corners of his lips reaching on and on. “That itch.” He drew out the word, so that the 'sh' sound hissed in the room long after his lips closed. “That feeling up inside that you can't scratch. That you'd do anything to get rid of, but then once it's gone you'd do anything to get it back. The tickle in your thighs, the burning in your bush, that chafing in your cunt...You know,” and he stopped to smack his lips and she felt as if his gloved hands were holding her neck, “I can make that go away. I can make it come back. I can tell you how to smile.”

   Her heart was beating so fast that her hand rose up to check her pulse, but she stopped it, and it hovered, as if it wasn't hers, waiting in midair. She wanted to run, but to leave would admit defeat as a doctor, and the quiver had crawled up deeper in her and her head was noisy with images of the man bending her over the chair, pulling down her trousers, her panties. Her earlobe was stinging. Her legs were already spasming, the muscles in her cunt fluttering in anticipation. Before she meant to speak, her next breath came out, forming one word: “How?”

   “You're going to have to suck my cock,” he said, his tongue slowly moving around the scars.

   She was so wild with the rushing, the ways her toes were curling, that she made a quick movement to kneel between his widened legs, scrabbling at the institutional pajama pants before he stopped her. “No, not yet. You can't suck my cock until you've earned it, bitch,” and he struck her ear with a canvased elbow so that the scab loosed and she heard ringing.

   Sprawled on the floor, she was panting from pain and desire. “What do I have to do?”

   “Get rid of this jacket. I want my hands free.”

   “Yes...of course.” She bit her tongue to stop from calling him 'master.' Still she waited, crouched.

   “Now!” he yelled, baring his teeth and jerking forward at her. “Nownownow!”

   She winced, and ran out the door, struggling to hide that her every movement inflamed her desire.

   There was one man who was in charge of the administration: Arkham. He personally approved every treatment, every medication, every minute detail of the hospital. She spent an hour in the bathroom trying to reduce the flush before she went to his office. When she knocked, he immediately answered.

   “Harleen! What a nice surprise!” He stood up and circled around his desk to pull out a chair for her, placing a hand on the small of her back. She swallowed bile. “I'm so glad to see you again. I've been on pins and needles with how our friend in doing.” He winked again.

   “Well, sir--”

   “Call me Jeremiah. Jeremy.”

   “Jeremy.” She tried to smile, showing her teeth. “I think he's recovering fantastically. In fact, I wanted to talk to you about removing his restraints.”

   “Oh.” The brow furrowing again. “I don't think I can approve that. He's harmed so many innocent bystanders, there would be major opposition to the idea. No, I'm afraid it's out of the question, for now.”

   Her heart plummeted, and the sensation grew stronger, more insistent. Before her mind had the time to create a plan, her hands had unbuttoned the top button on her shirt. She stood up, feeling her hips sway in a sensual figure eight that she had never known before. “Jeremy, don't you trust me? As a doctor?” She took a step closer to him. “As a woman?”

   He was backed up against his desk, and she pushed her hips against him, feeling his erection stiffen and twitch against her. “Jeremy, listen to me.” She unbuttoned the rest of her shirt, sliding it down her arms and revealing the lurid black and red bra, her breasts straining against the fabric. “I can take care of him. And I'm going to take care of you.”

   “Harleen, this is hardly--” he stuttered, and left off in a moan when her hands slid down his chest to his crotch. She gently fondled the bulge there, lightly trailing her fingers over his pants zipper.

   “You want me, don't you,” she cooed, running her teeth along his neck, grinding her hips into his trying to soften the itch that was growing more and more intense.

   “Y-yes,” he exhaled, closing his eyes when she removed his belt, unzipped his pants.

   She slid off her own pants, a thin thong hiding what was left. “Take me,” she whispered, slowly gyrating there in the middle of his office.

   Without warning, then, he moved, grabbing her arm and throwing her, facedown, over his desk. “I will,” he grunted, pushing her down so that her face slammed into all the paperwork, her ear seeping blood onto the mail. He roughly grasped her hips, pulling her thong aside and shoving his member deep into her. She cried out immediately, and he slapped her, bringing his now-red face close to hers. “Don't let anybody hear, you dumb slut,” he whispered, and in the roughness of his voice, she heard the Joker. She came almost immediately, biting her lip to keep silent, while he slammed into her, again and again, until then he got faster and faster and she felt her body responding once more and they both shuddered together in orgasm.

   When he was finished, he dressed himself without looking at her. She waited, dazed and naked, feeling his semen seep out of her and run down her legs. What had she just done? What was wrong with her? She had never been so promiscuous before, but now she was unsated. The itch had not gone, and in her mind the Joker was fucking her, letting her finally kneel before him to suck his cock.

   “Well.” He was standing at the door, hesitating. “I will take your suggestion under advisement.”

   She didn't remember gathering her clothes, or finding her way home. All she remembered was the rest of the night, in her bathtub, in bed, even suddenly, standing in front of the refridgerator, being gripped with the need to masturbate, to try to relieve herself of the compulsion, the obsession with the Joker.

   The next day, with shaking legs, she got out of bed. Her hands trembled when she tried to put on makeup, and she came to work with dark rings of eyeliner, smudged red lips, the pale face of an insomniac. “Good lord,” Joan said, seeing her at the break room. “You look awful. Are you sure you're OK with this Joker thing?”

   “Fine,” Harleen croaked, gulping black coffee.

   He was dressed in his own suit now, impecabbly pressed and fresh. Now he could sit straight, twiddling his fingers as if he were folding and unfolding a butterfly knife. When Harleen got into the room, the feeling became so powerful that she immediately fell to her knees and had to crawl to get to him. “Master, please...it burns! Please let me suck your cock!” As she stared at him, panting, she realized how she sounded, her mouth hanging open and drool falling down her chin.

   He stood up. “You must be a pretty good fuck to get results like this,” he said, looking down at her.

   “Oh yes, I am!” she writhed on the floor with pleasure at the thought of him fucking her. “Does that mean you'll try me? I can please you!”

   He kicked her, hard, in the stomach. “No! Slut! Whore! You do what you're told and you don't dare ask for more!”

   She curled up in pain, gasping and feeling tears squeeze into her makeup.

   He knelt beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder and lowering his voice. “I need you to do something more for me. Something very important. And then I'll let you suck my cock.”

   And like that, she was in the basement of Arkham, digging through the padlocked files, looking for one knife that he needed, above all others, he had said. “Do whatever it takes to get it,” he had told her, reaching forward and gripping her breast so hard that it had left five perfect bruises in a ring. “Don't fail me,” he had whispered, pushing her hard to the floor. And then he had stood, facing the wall, immobile to her clutching at his pant legs, to her pleas, until she quieted down and left, red with shame.

   “Don't move,” a voice said behind her.

   She turned. It was Joey Bowles, one of the security guards. She had never liked him before, and often worried that he was corrupt, even abusing some of the patients. But now he had her, heavy flashlight trained on her, with one hand in the air and one hand curled around the knife. He was a ruthless man, and she knew that she was in his power now.

   “Doctor Quinn,” he murmured, moving towards her like a hunter moves towards a wounded animal. “Fancy seeing you breaking into the confidential files. Looks like you're going to be in trouble...” He kept the flashlight tightly in his hand, raised slightly in case she tried to run. “Of course, maybe we can work something out, since it's just me.” He grinned, his yellowed teeth dully shining in the dark.

   Harleen slid the knife into her sleeve, raising her hands above her head. “You're right, you've got me.”

   “Damn straight, you little whore!” He slapped her so that she fell against the file cabinet, and he leaned in close so that she could smell his sour coffee breath. “I know what you did with Doctor Arkham. I know what you are.”

   You have no idea, she thought to herself, as he pushed her to the floor, ripping her blouse open. “Fantastic,” he grunted, pawing at her breasts and roughly yanking her bra down to expose her pale nipples. He flicked on roughly with his thumb, and licked his lips. He kept a heavy hand around both of her wrists, above her head. She closed her eyes and waited.

   He fumbled a little with his belt, until she heard a zipper. “Hey, slut,” he said, slapping her again. “Look at me.” She opened her eyes to his fully hard penis thrust into her face. “Suck it. And if I feel teeth, you'll feel this flashlight.”

   She closed her eyes and thought of the Joker. Imagined his cock, and opened her mouth to reluctantly take this subpar substitute. “Look at me, bitch!” He yanked her hair back, widening her eyes and pulling her face up to look at him. He thrust forward, and she almost gagged at the size and the pressure at the back of her throat. “That's right, slut, take it,” he moaned, holding her head still and thrusting again and again into her mouth. His breathing got heavier and his movements faster until she thought he was about to come. But suddenly he stopped.

   “No,” he muttered. “I'm going to come in that nice tight pussy of yours,” he announced, sliding her scubs down and ripping violently at her panties. He leered at her womanhood, neatly trimmed but still natural. “Too bad you're so dirty and hairy down there or I'd give you some attention,” he winked at her and she shuddered at the thought of his grotesque face pressed between her legs.

   He pushed her legs apart and rammed himself into her, making her cry out in something between pain and pleasure. “Knew you were a dirty slut,” he smiled. “You like this, don't you?”

   His hand was still pinning her wrists, and she squirmed with discomfort. He rammed into her again, this time harder, his thick frame crushing her against the concrete floor. “Answer me, bitch! Tell me you like it.”

   She swallowed. “I like it.”

   “Tell me to fuck your brains out!” He twisted into her, the pain and unwanted pleasure making her gasp.

   “Yes! Fuck my brains out!”

   He smiled. “I'm going to. I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll need medical attention down there,” he growled.

   He moved faster now, putting his weight into her pelvis and on his hand that held her wrists tight, crushing them together so that she could feel the bones bruising each other. He was pushing so hard into her that she could head the slap of his balls into her thighs, and his cock grew huge inside her as he came, roaring and moving both his hands to violently twist her breasts. The moment he moved, however, she took action, pulling the knife out of her sleeve and pushing it into his gut as her own body shook with an orgasm.

   His eyes widened in pain, and she pulled the knife out and stabbed him, again and again, wherever she could reach, as quickly as he had thrust into her, until she was covered in cum and blood and his limp heavy body rolled off her. And then she laughed.

   It was night when she crept back upstairs after using Bowles' own clothing to clean herself off. The staff was mostly gone by this hour, just one doctor on duty and a couple nurses and orderlies playing cards in between rounds. It was easy to get back into the Joker's room.

   He was awake, still sitting up and waiting for her, his dead black eyes trained on the door. “What's happened to you, my beautiful?” he purred, leaning towards her. “You smell like my favorite things,” he grinned at her. “Someone's been naughty.”

   She moved towards him, overcome with desire, but he swatted her away lightly. “Not yet, beautiful. Did you get my knife?”

   “Yes, master,” she said, handing it to him, still sticky with blood.

   “Tut tut, this is dirty.” He gave her a mock frown, shaking his head. “I can't use it in this state. You'd better clean it off.”

   She untucked her shirt, started rubbing it, until he stopped her. “Not like that, beautiful, like this,” and he slid it into her mouth. She froze, thinking that now he was going to scar her, make her like him, but he held the knife still until she started sucking the blood off the blade. He chuckled. “Much better. Always need to keep things sanitary, you know.”

   “Please master,” she knelt in front of his chair. “I feel so confused, and horny, and this itch is driving me crazy! Please let me suck your cock!”

   He stood up. “No. Get up.”

    She faced him, panting and flushed. He circled her, looking her up and down. “I'll tell you what you can do. Take off your shirt.”

   “Master?”

   “Do it.”

   She peeled off the shirt that she had tried to salvage from her experience in the basement.

   “And your bra. That goes off too.”

   She unhooked it and dropped it on the floor, feeling a little self-conscious, wanting him more and more and unable to touch him.

   “Rub your breasts.” He sat down again, as if he were in any seedy strip club.

   She did, making little light circles over her nipples and lightly massaging her breasts with her palms.

   “Tell me how much that turns you on,” he ordered. Then he cocked his head. “And dance a little.”

   She gyrated, feeling her nipples get hard and sensitive with the attention. “Ooh, I love it so much,” she cooed. “I want you so much, and I'm so turned on.”

   “Now take off your pants.”

   She slid them down, again conscious of the little window in the door, hoping that no one would pass the one lit room in Arkham tonight.

   “Are you checking the door?” He snapped, seeing her glance over her shoulder. “Are you feeling self-conscious?”

   “N-no! I just--”

   “Take off your panties,” he growled. “And if you don't, I'll leave and lock you in here to be discovered in the morning.”

   Whimpering with shame and arousal, she slipped off her panties too.

   “Good girl. Now I want you to lie down and play with yourself. You know what to do.” He stood over her, his legs straddling her chest.

   She reached down and started gently rubbing herself, her fingers tapping her clit and knowingly circling it, massaging herself until she felt the building feeling of desire. “Master, will you fuck me now?” she asked hopefully, her fingers still moving, afraid that if she stopped he would punish her.

   Just as she thought he would take her, the door slammed open. Joan was standing in the frame, terrified and brandishing a syringe. “Get away from her, you freak!” she shouted, rushing into the room.

   The Joker only smiled, and in one move had disarmed her and had his knife to her throat. He laid her down on the floor next to Harleen, who was frozen with fear. “Don't you dare stop pleasuring yourself,” he said to her, too calmly. “Two pretty girls,” he said, kneeling with his knees holding them both together. “But something doesn't match.” He took his knife and slashed, quickly and brutally, at Joan, and then gently pulled until all of her clothes were off and a pile of rags. “Much better.”

   He stood up, and Harleen, still circling her clit and feeling the itch grow more and more, could feel Joan's skin, clammy with fear, pressed all down her side, from shoulder to belly to hip to thigh. The Joker unzipped his pants, revealing a massive erect penis, as pale as his face. “Harleen,” he said. “Harleeen,” he whined, lightly running the knife down her sweating belly. “If you stop masturbaing for just one second, until I tell you to stop, I will gut you like you gutted Joey. Do you understand?”

   “Yes master,” she panted, as a small wave of orgasm hit her.

   “Good.”

   “Now, as for you,” he moved over so that he was kneeling above Joan. “Let's play a game.” He tapped the knife against her breasts. “For every sound that you make, I'll cut something off.”

   Joan whimpered, and his arm flashed: one of her toes, with polish on the toe, was severed. He settled over her again, the tip of his penis grazing her naked mound. “Do you understand now?” he whispered. She nodded, trying to look at Harleen. “Oh, she was easy. And she's mine. She won't help you, will you Harleen?”

   “No,” Harleen whispered, her eyes squeezing out tears. “I won't.”

   “You lose,” he said to Joan, as he put a hand over her mouth and penetrated her roughly.

   Harleen lay on the padded floor, rubbing herself as Joan's body next to her shook with each thrust of the Joker. She felt him get faster, and her fingers moved more quickly. Finally, and he groaned in orgasm, she felt her own body shake with the most violent orgasm that she had ever had, her toes curling and her back arching.

   When he was finished, he stood up and spat on Joan. “You're good at that game,” he said, “But I still won.” Buttoning his pants, he turned to Harleen, still shuddering from orgasm on the floor. “Get up, pudding,” he sneered. He pulled her to her feet and pulled her clothing on her. “We've got work to do, don't we? If you're a good girl, I'll let you finally suck my cock.”

   She buttoned her shirt, still weak from the force of her pleasure, and smiled at him, staring hungrily at his crotch. She knew that now she would do anything for him, he had shown her that. “Anything you say, master. Anything you say.”

   He took her arm, and they stepped over Joan's trembling body and into the Gotham City night.
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The Seduction of Harley Quinn