Birthday Presents

The Joker surveyed the catastrophe that was once his hide-out from the comfort of a taped-together recliner, and in all honesty, he was impressed. All that remained were a few stray folding chairs and some partly singed rope. Burned rafters hung flaccidly from the ceiling, smoke still curled from piles of wood and brick, and a dozen of his former henchmen lay strewn in pieces across the floor, their blood covering most of their surroundings. Either the Batman had finally gone bat-shit or something else was afoot. From the corner of his thickly lined eye, he caught a shadow crouching in a corner of the room. He stood up from his recliner.
“I was going to kill them all next week anyway,” he called out to the shadow. “But I don't recall asking for help. I'm a very busy man, so now that you have my attention, why don't we get down to business?” He pulled out his knife and walked toward the shadow.
A slender figure stepped out of the shadow, jingling as it walked toward him. As it came closer, The Joker noticed two things: one, the figure was a she, and two, she was carrying a bazooka.
He smiled. “Well then, a woman after my own heart.”
She wore a black and red diamond-pattern full body suit, a jester's hat with little bells, and white face-paint.
“You must be hiding some awfully large balls under that suit to come traipsing around here in a Jokerette getup and blowing up my shit. And just so you know, I got no problem killing girls.”
“The way I see it, sweet cheeks,” she said, “you're the one with the knife and I'm the one with the giant gun.”
He stopped and squinted his lined eyes, licking his painted red lips. “Have we met?”
“Have we met?!” She pointed the bazooka at him.
He put his hands up in the air, dropping the knife instantly. “Now now, we all have shaky memories. Let's not let our monthly roller coaster ride get the best of us.”
“Oh yeah, and you're welcome. Everyone was lining up to break you out of Arkham, so I guess it's okay to forget about the one who actually did.”
“Harleen?” He stared at her in disbelief.
“Yeah, no shit, Shirlock. Except it's Harley Quinn now, thank you very much.” She started waiving her arms in the air. “I'll have you know I spent five months in that crap-hole myself for helping you, and did anyone try to break me out? No! And furthermore--”
The Joker squeezed her tightly in his arms and kissed her all over her face, leaving red prints against her white paint. “My little Harley!”
She dropped the bazooka and nimbly jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Oh Mr. J! I knew you didn't abandon me in that awful place! I knew you loved me! Ow – you don't have to pinch!”
His smile twisted as he looked her in her blue eyes. “No, that's called a knife, sweetie. And if you're not careful, it might slip.”
Her face fell. “But you dropped--”
“Always keep a spare.” He smirked at her.
She glanced at the floor, and stuck out her lower lip when she noticed her bazooka lying there. “Oh, rats.”
He grabbed her hips and pushed her off of him. “Now, little miss Harley Quinn, you are going to march your sunny self out the way you came in so that I can round up a new group of henchmen.”
“But Mr. J--”
“No, the name is Joker.” He gritted his yellow teeth.
“Mr. Joker, I'm tons better than those guys, I think I already proved that.”
“Oh you think?” He put the knife under her chin. “She thinks?”
She nodded excitedly.
He put the blade between her eyes and shouted, “You are going to get the fuck out of here right now!” His voice lowered, but his knife didn't. “Or I am going to teach you a lesson you'll wish you could forget. Now, shoo.” He waved the knife as if shooing away a pest.
Harley began to stomp toward her bazooka, but found herself suddenly halted by a knife-wielding arm.
“Ah-ah-ah.” The Joker nodded toward the door.
She huffed past him, shooting him dirty looks and muttering as she went in the direction he indicated. “No way to treat a girl that loves you and would do anything for you just so you'll love her back. Especially on her birthday.”
The Joker cracked his neck and snarled before turning on his heel and following Harley Quinn. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the back of the room.
“On her birthday?” He gave her a wide-eyed look and asked again in a mock-concerned voice, “On her birthday?”
She nodded yes, but realized that maybe she shouldn't have said anything.
“Well sweet cheeks.” He smacked her ass. “Everybody deserves three things on their birthday. Do you want to know what they are?”
“Um, no,” she whispered.
“No?” He grabbed her chin and shook it. “Of course you do. And I'd be a real party pooper not to give you all three, especially after the magical little surprise you left for me today. So here we go.”
He pulled up a folding chair and dropped her onto it. She tried to get up when he went to get the rope, but he pushed her back down and said, “Oh no no no, you're not going anywhere, birthday girl. The party is just starting and you haven't blown out your candles yet.”
He tied her hands and feet to the chair, tightening the knots securely. “And in case you were wondering,” he said, pulling a string of firecrackers out of his purple jacket, “that's the first thing.”
He lit the string and held it in front of her wide eyes. “Now you've got to make a wish, but don't say it out loud – bad luck. And until I think you've made a sincere wish in that pretty little head of yours, you don't get to blow out these candles.”
She looked up at him, trembling.
“No no, don't look at me. Look at your pretty birthday candles. You don't have much time left, so you better hurry up and make that wish.”
She looked frantically back and forth between the Joker and the firecrackers, the fuse of which was rapidly running out.
“Come on, star light, star bright, wish I may, wish I might – you can do it, Harley Quinn!” And he started dancing around her chair and laughing gleefully.
“I can't, I can't, I can't!” she finally burst out.
He pushed the crackers in front of her face one last time and then flung them across the room just as they exploded. Then he knelt down in front of her and made a pouty face. “Aw, tsk tsk tsk, too bad. Since you couldn't seem to make one little old wish, we'll just have to make up for it in your birthday spankings.”
He cut the ropes off her with his knife, taking no great care to avoid nicking her. Then he sat down on the chair and bent her over his knees and held the knife to her throat to prevent any squirming. “I know it's incredibly rude to ask a woman her age, but these are extenuating circumstances, so how old are you today, little girl?”
“Twenty... twenty-four,” she murmured.
“Twenty-four? Why, she's practically a lady! And I'm sorry, I really am, but since you couldn't make once eensy wish, we're going to have to double your spankings.”
He smacked her ass hard, making sure to count each and every swat aloud. At twenty, she was whimpering and at forty-four she was almost in tears.
“Forty-five! Forty-six! Almost there!”
She began kicking her feet.
“Ah-ah!” He pushed the knife closer to her throat, and she stopped. “Forty-seven!”
He paused for a moment to listen to her whimper, then gave her a gentle tap and whispered, “Forty-eight.”
She didn't try to get up from his lap. A mistake.
“And one to grow on!” He swatted her hard and she squealed. “And one to be good on!” The hardest yet.
When he moved the knife away from her throat, she burst into tears on his lap.
“Oh, sh-sh-sh-sh!” he chided. “I know it's your party and you'll cry if you want to, but I haven't given you the very best birthday present yet.”
He hoisted her over his shoulder and carried her up a partly broken flight of stairs to a broken-down old bed with faded, patchy purple blankets.
“It's traditional to enjoy a piece of cake on your birthday, but I think what everyone really deserves is a good old fashioned piece of ass. Well, that's what I'd rather have anyway.” He tossed her onto the bed and pinned her arms and legs with his. “Now dear, you're going to want to stay very still or this clumsy old knife of mine might slip.”
He grazed the tip from her throat to her navel, over her thighs and calves and then back up again. Then he turned her over and ran it from the top of her spine to her tail bone.
“Let's just see how that bottom is doing.” He cut out the ass of her suit, revealing plump little cheeks that were still an angry red. He ran the cool blade of his knife over her inflamed bottom and leaned up to her ear. “Aw, is that better?”
She nodded yes and sighed.
“I can't hear you, dumpling.”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“If you don't speak up, I won't know to keep going.”
“Yes! Yes! It feels good!” she shouted.
“Woo! Ha-cha-cha! We've got a live wire here!” He giggled. “I haven't even touched your sweet spot yet.”
He turned her over. “Oh but I will.”
He touched the tip of the knife to her covered pussy, and she looked at him nervously. He moved the knife upward. “All in good time, though.”
He cut two uneven openings to expose her pert little breasts. “Now honey, I know I've asked you before, but I'm gonna have to get an honest answer from you. Are you really twenty-four? Because I've been lied to before, and I don't want to add another cradle to my list of mistakes. So you can tell me, sweetie, and I promise I won't be mad.” He touched the blade to a nipple. “Are you twelve or are you a twenty-four-year-old woman who still wears a training bra?”
Her lip trembled and she looked away.
“You're gonna have to be straight with me or bad things might happen.”
She still wouldn't answer, and she was glaring in the other direction.
He grabbed a breast and gently sucked and nibbled the nipple. She sighed and began to relax as he moved to her other breast and pressed his clothed bulge against her thigh. Still caressing her breasts with one hand, he leaned up to her ear and whispered, “You are telling the truth, aren't you? You certainly have the desire of a twenty-four-year-old woman, so you must be twenty-four, right?”
“Yes, Mr. Joker,” she breathed back. “I'm twenty-four years old today.”
He placed gentle kisses on her jawline, from her chin to her earlobe, then whispered, “So you're twenty-four and you still wear a training bra?”
She whined and pushed at his chest, but he grabbed her wrists and held them over her head.
“That's okay – with you I can have my cake and eat it too!” He giggled.
“Stop it,” she protested.
“Oh, so the birthday girl doesn't want me to eat her cake?”
She stopped protesting immediately.
“Uh-huh. That's what I thought.” He raised up and slid his jacket off, then nodded toward his shoes. “Uh, would you mind?”
She had his shoes and pants off in a flash. He pushed her back down on the bed and turned around so that his warm cock slid between her moist, full lips while he cut a hole in the crotch of her suit. He enjoyed the feel of her mouth engulfing his cock while he breathed in her sweet pussy. He grazed his tongue around her lips and clit, growing harder each time she moistened and sighed. He groaned against her cunt and pushed his tongue deep inside her, causing her to grind against him. He felt her little body tighten up and she pulled his cock deeper inside her mouth while she moaned softly and came against his lips.
He pulled his cock out of her mouth and crawled up to her face, sticking his tongue in her mouth so she could taste herself. She licked all of her juice from his lips and, giggling delightedly, put her arms around his neck. He snarled and peeled her hands away from his neck.
He glanced down at his throbbing erection and licked his lips. “Do I look finished?”
She looked at him, doe-eyed.
He ripped off her jester hat and grabbed a lock of blonde hair. “Do I look finished?”
“No, Mr. Joker, sir!”
He turned her onto her belly and pulled her ass up into the air, giving her a couple of light swats just to make her nervous. Then he dipped a gloved finger into her wet pussy and offered it to her to taste. When she had cleaned his glove, he grabbed her hips and plunged deeply into her, her pussy lips folding over him, eliciting uncontrollable moans from her with every thrust. He reached down and stroked her clit, and she began to shake. She buried her face in a pillow and moaned as the wave of her second orgasm washed over her. He pulled out of her and ordered, “Come here.” She faced him, and he shoved his cock into her mouth, groaning as he spilled himself against her tongue and teeth, and watched as she licked every last drop of him away from her lips.
He flopped over onto his back, nothing left on him but a button-down green shirt and smeared make-up. Harley lay there panting in her tattered costume, and, as she didn't expect cuddling to follow, hugged a ragged pillow to her. He turned on his side so that they were facing, and they looked at each other for a while, Harley peeking up at him from the pillow she was hugging. The Joker hummed the Happy Birthday theme.
“You never did that before,” she said against her pillow.
“Sang Happy Birthday?”
“No goof ball, ate my cake.”
“It wasn't your birthday then.”
“But I've done it for you every time.”
“Well, I don't know when my birthday is, so I try to make sure every day is covered.”
“Oh sure.”
“What are you bitching about? You came twice, didn't you?”
“Yeah, well, you still owe me a new body suit.”
“And you owe me twelve henchmen and a new apartment.”
“No I don't.” She pulled the pillow down and smiled at him. “I already told you, you don't need them. You have me.”
He turned over on his back and groaned. “Ugh, hang me upside-down, but do not start this again. It is a rare occasion, but I really do not have the energy to do all this again.”
She scooted next to him. “Aw, really Mr. J?”
He looked over his shoulder and glared. “I'm going to sleep now, and when I wake up I hope for your sake you're not still in this bed.”
“Or else we'll do the same thing all over again?” She grinned hopefully.
“Or else I'll cut your pretty little throat.”
“Nah.” She leaned over and kissed his scarred cheek. “You like me too much.”
She waited for a response, but he had drifted off to sleep. She put her jester hat back on and kissed his cheek again. Then she put his purple jacket on over her tattered costume and slipped down the stairs and out the door.
“And many happy returns,” he muttered.