Pamela strutted into his room with the same clothes on that she had been wearing when she'd first asked him to be her critic. Curious as to why she hadn't yet changed, Bruce leaned back. "Not comfortable, Ms. Winters?"

 

 

She smirked, though her words sounded hesitant. "Timmy doesn't seem like he would appreciate this."

 

 

Bruce raised an eyebrow, trying not to think of what else he could interpret that as given the choice. "You showing off for someone other than him?"

 

 

Pamela shrugged. "Just wanted to make sure that you wouldn't tell him anything after this."

 

 

Now that was a tad bit harder to ignore as anything other than some sort of invitation. He shouldn't have been having these thoughts, really, since he could used to have been withstand dirty talk from playboy models, but, damn... redheads always got his attention. No wonder Tim liked this one.

 

 

"I swear on my parents' graves," he said solemnly.

 

 

Her expression muddled. "You... can joke about that?"

 

 

"About what?"

 

 

Pamela opened her mouth to say something, but promptly shut it upon some sort of realization that she had. "Never mind." She sat down on the floor in front of him, beckoning for him to do the same. He was thankful for that, as sitting would help disguise his light erection better. He did have a stool to sit on, but he chose to sit on the floor instead.

 

 

"Again, Bruce, I really appreciate this," Pamela said.

 

 

"It's no problem," he said. "This sort of thing is actually my job. Sometimes."

 

 

"You didn't get paid for those twelve women, did you?"

 

 

"No, but I got paid for giving them the fashion tips that they wanted. It really helped them in the models' careers and the magazine itself in how to choose." It was true, though the professional advice had been based on information given to him by Alfred.

 

 

"How much?" she asked.

 

 

"A pretty small amount," Bruce admitted, "but it got Wayne Enterprises a contract from the magazine. Since the Daily Planet's sales dropped last year, we broke off media-relations services."

 

 

"Right," Pamela said. "I heard that the Daily Planet was going to get a major boost from some story from Lois Lane."

 

 

"If I had known that last year, we never would have severed ties. Anyway, you wanted to show me the outfits?" Bruce said, eager to begin. He craved more mental images of the red-head he could use tonight.

 

 

"What should I start with?"

 

 

"What do you have?"

 

 

"Lots. What do you think?"

 

 

Bruce folded his arms across his lap. "This isn't going to work unless I see something first. It's kind of the critic's job to see the product before making judgments."

 

 

"Alright. What do you like?" Pamela inquired.

 

 

He started, struggling to banish the image of her in no clothes and resisting the urge to ask her to take everything off and they could dress her up from there. "I'm not sure Tim likes the same things as me," Bruce said uncomfortably.

 

 

"I can find out when he gets back."

 

 

He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes. Think of another woman, he said. He couldn't think of

Pamela in his mind wearing what he thought of the perfect outfit. Well, not the perfect outfit, which would be nothing at all.

 

 

What had Barbara been wearing at her dad's promotion ceremony? Nothing scandalous, obviously, but she had been a teenager then. Teenagers never thought ahead, something that Jim had complained about when he'd forced her to wear his obese colleague's overly large jacket the whole event and remain in her seat the entire time with her legs crossed. She had been wearing a blue slip dress that showed off everything below the knees. As well as a one-sleeved top that only reached the elbow of one arm, the dress also revealed a fair amount of skin above the opposite side's hip that led from the inner navel around to the first curvature of the spine.

 

Now, that dress hadn't been complete, as it reserved a lot of skin behind a high neckline for absolutely nobody to see, but the design could be combined with other dresses that he liked. Selina's suit was a leather jacket with a zipper out front that could control how much cleavage could be seen. Now, obviously, a slip dress couldn't have a zipper on the front without getting in the way, but there were other ways to limit the amount of cleavage seen while showing at least some. A button could be used to that extent, like the prison blouse that Poison Ivy had been given during her time in Arkham. To hide her large breasts, she'd kept a single button closed, concealing the mounds out front but still showing the cleavage to tease and tempt men. The button covered only a fraction above, but did nothing for the skin beneath it.

 

 

The same concept could be applied there. If Pamela could use a button that kept the top open and lowered the neckline while at the same time exposing skin beneath it down to the hole above the hip that led around to the spine-

 

 

Bruce placed both hands on top of the growing bulge in his pajama pants. He couldn't do it. He had pictured the very outfit in his head on Winters and had failed to keep himself focused objectively. Opening his eyes with a tinge of regret, he explained his opinion to her. She listened intently, even asking him to elaborate a few times on his definitions. He had to give her credit; she actually wanted his advice. She must have really wanted to surprise Tim in a nice way.

 

He finished explaining to her how the blue dress would supplement her red hair and green eyes.

 

She nodded, then stood up to make her way over to the bathroom. "You know, those aren't outfits meant for intimacy."

 

 

"I know," Bruce replied. "I'm just giving my opinion on how to direct a man's focus."

 

 

"Well, I didn't buy anything so specific, but I did get a blue dress that we can change. I'll be right back."

 

 

She disappeared into the bathroom, where she had put the shopping bags before coming back into his room to greet him. He sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling. Bruce silently begged for assistance from the hidden camera disguised as part of the wall, mouthing the words "Start. A. Fire" to the lens. Stephanie was in the Batcave as far as he knew, but she most likely not watching the monitor or even focusing on him. Maybe someone had gotten into the Batcave to train or just hide from life outside. God knows he needed to hide right now.

 

 

He wanted Pamela Winters. He acknowledged that now. He hadn't before out of a sense of protection for Tim's feelings and what was left of his feelings for Selina, but he instinctively knew that deluding himself would only hurt him in his efforts to resist. Some people thought otherwise, but refusing to accept the truth would mean having to fight darker parts of himself that could hide beneath his ignorance. Best to be honest, at the very least, with one's self.

 

 

What was he going to do about her, though? This was the sort of woman who had just dropped out of the sky and demanded attention no matter what. Bruce didn't know if he could stand seeing her with Tim or anyone else. He might be able to live without her in his life, but actively knowing that he had missed his chance when seeing her with someone else... in the shower or showing off whatever outfits she had bought just for them...

 

 

He didn't remove his hands from his lap.

 

 

"Bruce!" Pamela called from the bathroom. Her voice was muffled by the door that separated the two rooms.

 

 

He stood up, awkwardly jerking his pants to the side so his cock would be hidden as best as possible on short notice. Bruce walked over to the door, the movements of his legs causing his thighs to tickle the surface of the rigid member sticking out of his body.

 

 

Bruce angled his head to the side and placed his mouth near the crack of the doorway. "What's wrong?" he asked back. He pressed his ear to the door.

 

 

"Can you come in?" Pamela loudly requested.

 

 

Come in? Bruce tested the doorknob. She had left it unlocked.

 

 

He pushed the door open with his shoulder. He saw her with her arms bent awkwardly behind her back and bending forward in front of him. She was wearing a blue slip dress, though without all of the modifications he had suggestions. Well, it did have a much lower neckline than Barbara's dress had entailed, which allowed him to see the top ends of her breasts. They were so large that they nearly poked out of the dress, as she wore no bra beneath the dress.

 

 

He twitched and adjusted his pants again.

 

 

She noticed him and adjusted her hands to hold the blue fabric from the front. It appeared to be made of a linen similar to the type that was given to straitjackets, such fabric that clung to her skin with barely a seam. 

 

 

Pamela stood up straight and looked at him nervously. "Thanks. Do you think you can zip this up for me? I think the zipper's stuck."

 

 

Bruce's eyes widened as she turned around and showed him her backside. She was wearing black underwear instead of panties that covered her shapely ass, but it was easy to see through. The skin around the underwear was tanned perfectly and looked to be slick with some sort of perfume. He guessed that that would hold the same beneath the thin fabric.

 

 

He was grateful that she had turned around, because he not only now had a new image to jerk off to tonight, but she couldn't be facing him for when his cock lifted his robes up a noticeable amount. He tucked his cock back up into the pajamas he wore beneath the robe and stepped up behind Pamela after closing the door.

 

 

As he got closer, he could smell her fragrance much better. The smell aroused him even more, making him crave more of her. Sweetness of roses; that was what the aroma promised him if he dared take a taste. It took all of his willpower not to grab her by the ass and pull out his cock to shove it inside of her.

 

 

The zipper was indeed caught on the blue cloth that made up the dress. Just beneath her ass. He grabbed the zipper with two fingers and lightly pulled down to free it from the cloth, then zipped it back up, his outer knuckle gently tracing up her ass and back until it reached the nape of her neck. Pamela did not react beyond a soft moan at his finger grazing the black underwear.

 

 

Had he been born blind, that single moan would have given him an erection. But he could see, and he'd already had an erection before...

 

 

"Thanks," Pamela said, turning around on bare feet. She still didn't have a bra on, so he could almost see the whole outline of her breasts. They seemed to have a different smell on their own.

 

Like nectar and dew, both invigorating each other to entice him. "What now?"

 

 

He noticed the small gap between them and quickly took a step back with the appearance of inspecting the dress.

 

 

"Well, you're good on leg and neck, but I think you can do with that bicep sleeve."

 

 

"You've got a thing for biceps?"

 

 

"Trust me," Bruce said. "You'll see the change when you put it on. You do have a blue sleeve, I presume."

 

 

"I've got an arm-length glove. Do you like that?"

 

 

Bruce felt a compelling sensation in his head to answer honestly. "No, not really. Those are normally quite soft and disagree with the texture of the dress." Why was he being so critical? Putting it nicely with an alternative solution was the best thing to do. "If you're not going to do it right, why do it at all?"

 

 

Pamela furrowed her brow. "You're right. Why bother?"

 

 

He felt a stab of guilt at her expression. "Now, I didn't mean it like that. You're beautiful without the sleeve, and Tim knows it. Whether or not you-"

 

 

She suddenly flashed him a devilish grin. The kind that Selina gave him whenever they were about to have their own fun. On other people, that smirk would look evil, but on Pamela, it just looked... right. He doubted there was a facial expression she could give that wasn't beautiful.

 

 

Oh dear.

 

 

"What else was it that you said?" Pamela asked. "A hole in the side?"

 

 

Bruce nodded, gulping. "You don't have one of those dresses though, right?"

 

 

"No, I don't. But you can make a hole in this one."

 

 

He took a step back to the door, his hand grasping behind him for the knob. He wished he hadn't closed the door.

 

 

Pamela took a step forward, closing the short distance between them. "I know you can."

 

 

"Y-you know, Pam?" Bruce stammered, his hand clanging loudly against the gold doorknob as he tried to get a grip on it. "I think what you have on right n-now is... is..."

 

Pamela was less than a foot away from him.

 

 

"... it's good enough for Rob- uh, Drake. Tim, I mean. Not Rob." His hungers- fingers, not hungers- got around the... the nob and... what was?- Wait, it's a knob, not a nob. What was he supposed to do with it? Grab it and pull, right?

 

"Stay," she commanded.

 

 

Bruce's muscles slackened and he stood up straight. He didn't really want to leave; what he wanted was to stay and take the sexiest woman in the world right there. But he couldn't do that and hurt Dick.

 

 

No... no, not Dick. It was... what was the lad's name again? All he could think about was his own dick and how much he wanted to put it in certain places.

 

 

"Where does the hole go?" Pamela asked softly.

 

 

"Above the hip." He breathed in, savoring more of her.

 

 

"Where is the hole?" she asked, this time with a further request veiled in it.

 

 

"Now, see, I- I don't want to make you feel... I mean, not very secure... I think that-"

 

 

"Make a hole."

 

 

He whimpered, like a hound in pain, licking its cuts. "I have... scissors... downstairs." Bruce reached for the doorknob again. "I'll get them... and come right back."

 

 

"No," she whispered. "You don't need scissors."

 

 

"But-"

 

 

"Put your hand on my hip," she ordered.

 

 

Whimpering yet again, he tentatively removed his hand from the door and placed it gingerly on her side, just above the hip. Pamela's skin was soft and hot beneath the dress. His fingers searched for a seam on which to pull, but they found none. He want too disappointed, however, as Pamela just let him rub against her side. Eventually, he stopped using his fingers and palmed her hip, holding her in place as he leaned forward to-

 

 

A bell rang loudly from somewhere directly outside of the bathroom, disrupting them both. The doorbell.

 

 

Bruce pulled back quickly, happy for the excuse to turn away from the red-head extraordinaire and run as fast as he could away. Who was at the door? Alfred had said he wouldn't be available until Lucius wrapped up the modifications to the new utility belt he was making for Batman.

 

 

When Wayne finally reached the front door of his house, the doorbell rang again. He quickly looked down to see a very noticeable abnormality in his pajama pants. He quickly undid his robe and put it across his front, disguising it. He opened the door before the person on the other side could ring again.

 

 

It was a cop. Balding, in his early fifties and lightly overweight, though not as much as the stereotypical lazy cop on doughnuts. He did not look pleased.

 

 

"Officer?" Bruce asked. "Can I help you?"

 

 

The officer held up a sheet of paper in his left hand. "Mr. Wayne," he greeted gruffly. "Are you aware that your estate has publicly humiliated the Gotham City Servicemen?"

 

 

What the hell did that even mean? "Um, no. Would you mind explaining?"

 

 

"Wayne, when the police force of Gotham gets ridiculed, it's almost always because of Batman doing our work for us. The press loves that. It's a different story when Gotham's playboy billionaire buys off half the force!"

 

 

"What?" Bruce asked incredulously. Had he done that? He couldn't remember anything beyond Ms. Winters's body right now. He glanced up behind him toward the banister. She wasn't there. Had he offended her with his hasty departure?

 

 

"WAYNE!" Bruce snapped his attention back to the policeman. "When a goddamn police officer addresses you, you don't get a goddamn boner goddamnit!"

 

 

He looked down sharply. He'd dropped the robe without realizing it. Bruce scrambled to pick it back up.

 

 

"This is an official statement of advisory council to a civil case signed by Commissioner Gordon. We expect to see you in court next Sunday."

 

 

"Officer, what are you talking about?"

 

 

He shoved the paper at Bruce's chest, forcing him to accept it while still holding up the robe in front of himself. "Listen, rich boy. I don't care what you think of the police force or even what you think about the city. But when you try to use your money to get the cops to all quit and bring total anarchy around here, I've got a problem." He turned and walked down the steps of the porch to his squad car parked on the driveway. "See you in court, asshole."

 

 

Bruce stood there, stunned. Buying off the cops? He would never do that. Who could possibly be framing him? And how had this story broken headline without anyone telling him beforehand?

 

He shut the door, letting the paper fall from his hand onto the carpet floor. He looked up to the banister. Pamela wasn't there, still.

 

 

"Ms. Winters?" he called. When he didn't get a response, he walked back up the stairs to his own room. To his relief, his erection had shrunken somewhat during his "conversation" with the officer.

 

 

When he got back to his room, he found a note on the bed. Frowning, Bruce moved over to the mattress- thankful for the several covers hiding the stains he'd made each time he'd slept- and picked up the folded paper.

 

 

Had to go, it read. Sorry about not finishing the show. Maybe when I come back, I'll have that special, sexy dress you wanted.

 

 

Poison Ivy felt... dissatisfied.

 

 

Once Bruce had been distracted by the sudden doorbell, she had taken the opportunity to quietly slip out, leaving a hastily worded note on the bed with vague promises of a future meeting, but she felt that she couldn't do another one.

 

 

Seducing him had seemed so bland. She had done this dozens of times; convince a well-known rich man that she was God's gift to him and that he should give everything to her before she used him up and killed him. Doing it to Bruce should have been different, but it just wasn't.

 

 

There was an obvious solution, however. One that made perfect sense. Making Bruce Wayne surrender was nothing compared to actually forcing the Batman to give in to her. She smiled to herself as she thought about this. Yes. This was good.