Tuesday, June 21, 2005

169. The omniscient narrator

In the dream, everything is back to normal.

He's in his suit again. It's like he's never taken it off. Like it's a second skin, a first home, a hiding place, the secret he shares with the world. The mask fits so snugly over his face that he can't imagine life without it.

He's in the cage again, too. The one Strange made for him. Only he's not so sure it's Strange outside anymore. Could be any of his endlessly multiplying enemies: Joker, Riddler, Tempest, anyone at all.

He's a prisoner, shackled and shuttered and unable to move. And he loves it. His dick is rock hard. He wants to jerk himself off but he can't move either of his hands. That realization only makes him harder. Everything he's done thus far has brought him to this point, and he wants to savor every moment.

"Say your name," his unseen captor demands.

He hesitates. He feels something sharp cut into his shoulder--a whip? a blade? impossible to know. But it feels so... good.

"I am Object X," he replies at last. "I am Batman. I am Bruce Wayne. I am ... nothing."

He wakes up to find himself swimming in a sea of cum.