I stared at Batman hanging there, his still-wet costume clinging even more closely to his flesh. Even though he was no longer in fighting shape, his muscles were prominently displayed and quiet impressive. I could only imagine what he might look like at the top of his form. He was silent, his eyes following me as I approached him. I stood so close that I could hear his quiet breathing, watch his chest rise and fall as air filled and left his lungs. I could smell the moisture on his clothes, even the faintest trace of soap.
I knew this man--knew his secrets, his weaknesses, knew them better than anyone else on earth. Better far than he knew himself. And yet I saw him now as a stranger: a strong, beautiful stranger, one who had placed his life in my hands.
I was near enough to touch him, and then ... I did. I reached out and felt the tautness of his costume over his outstretched arm. I knew then, and I know now, that that was my biggest mistake. That I had turned a corner which would forever change the nature of our relationship. I had touched him before, but only sparingly, and only in the service of treatment. Never, ever for my own selfish purposes. But this brief encounter--I withdrew my hand almost as quickly as I had advanced it--was different, and I knew it. I was doing this for my sake, for the pleasure it would bring me, not for any conceivable benefit it might bring him. What was happening now had nothing to do with therapy and everything to do with ...
Almost without thinking, I reached down, unzipped my pants, and pulled out my cock. Now that I'd turned a corner, there was no going back, no undoing what had begun. I started to stroke myself, scanning his body as I did. I imagined the two of us making love--or perhaps I should say I acknowledged for the first time that what we were doing was making love, the purest kind either of us knew. That thought--the sheer fact that this was as exciting to him as it was to me--made me even harder. We were twin spirits, united by countless unbreakable threads, this one the strongest of all. I wanted him, and I had him.
I grunted as I masturbated, and he began to respond to my gutteral sounds by writhing a bit, ever so sensuously, within his bonds. "Take me," he whispered, pleading so quietly that I wondered whether he'd said a word or not.
In a matter of moments I shot a deeply satisfying, gut-emptying load, aiming so it would land on one of his boots. I reached down, wiped my right hand in my warm spunk, and then wiped it off on his briefs,using them as if they were a towel. His shaft was so hard and so immobile it felt like it could not possibly be a living piece of flesh.
It was only then that I remembered what I had put him through earlier, forbidding him to cum for the last several days. Suddenly my action felt cruel in a way I had not intended--cruel because I had forgotten his situation, had been lost in my own desires.
"P-please..." he said gently. "Please..."