Hello my lovely readers! So I'm back again with this. To be completely honest I have absolutely no idea where this came from. Friday night I was just browsing through stuff when I rediscovered my love of SuperJail! (one of the funniest and most insane tv shows to ever be thought of; I think Adventure Time might have gotten its basis off this show) and then this came out. What can I say? The muse works in mysterious ways.

Disclaimer: I do not own SuperJail! nor anything else I write about, it's just fun. However, I do own this plot line and would be eternally grateful if no one else stole it from me.

The very instant she came into view he'd known just how capable of cruelty she was. There were many signs; her rigid and regimented posture, her stern and authoritative walk, her name –you really couldn't be any less subtle with a name like Mistress could you? But the dead giveaway, the sign that spoke to him most was the way she casually held her weapon of choice -a riding crop of all things- in her hands. Stern enough so as not to drop it, but loose enough to allow flexibility; in essence causing the most pain possible should an inmate do something to provoke her ire. She treated her convicts like animals it seemed. When she spoke, he felt as though he were swimming in a lake, during wintertime. Her tone held a deft and succinct coldness to it. And he was almost absolutely positive that that same frigidness ran through her whole body. It was not blood that flowed through her veins, it was ice.

Her ladies all stood behind her in a line, offering glares and glowers in response to his own prisoners' mindless gawking of them, but not a one daring to interrupt her while she spoke or add to anything she said at the end. It may have been because they did not like her and did not wish to be seen as weak by the others for agreeing of her. But while he did see the contempt within their eyes there was something slightly overshadowing it. Fear. It appeared that they were deliberately going out of their way to ensure the frosty stare of their leader stayed off of them. Maybe it seemed to them as though one look from their warden was just as well as signing their death certificate. He knew then that it was the pain and suffering of others, watching them pitifully wriggle like worms on a hook, that caused her joy.

Strange though it may have been; opposites attract. There was something about her which drew him in; he wanted to see her do something other than act like the snob she was currently portraying. She, on the other hand, kept a distance from everyone; not even allowing her subordinates within touching distance. Normally he had a very clingy personality and would hang onto someone new, coming far too close within their personal space for comfort and randomly touching their arms or shoulders. This time, however, whatever conscience he had within him had woken from its long dormant slumber and told him that that was a truly bad idea. For once in his life, he decided to listen. Satisfied it had saved its owners life the conscience returned to a dream world where its owner listened to it all the time and life altogether was a peaceful existence.

He tried to be hospitable, he really did. He offered his own robot to help with repairs to the ladies' ship and gave the Mistress a tour of his own lovely prison. She continued to belittle it so the only thing he could fire back at was the way her lovely ladies were acting. She rebutted with how his own inmates were acting. Unable to keep back his childish need for dominance and victory he challenged her. A ball, where whoever's inmates acted the most civilized would win. Should he win he would receive her ladies as new inmates. Should she, she would receive his SuperJail. He left everything in preparation of his men to his trusty accountant. He had no doubt his side would win.

Hours later at the ball, his men were acting perfectly civil, a lovely start to the evening. As the overseers of the party he and the Mistress sat atop what could pass as a dual throne with a heart-shaped back edged in white lace. She remained cold and aloof, he remained light-hearted and jovial. The pounding music emanating from Mistress' robot Nova rang through the gymnasium-styled room. No one bothered to dance. Honestly? Warden didn't care as long as his side remained the victor in this little excursion. Mistress looked on in aggravated silence until something happened. Somehow her ladies started acting like rabid animals. Dancing and moving with no evidence of the earlier restraint they'd had merely seconds before. Dresses tore, passions rose, and all inhibitions were thrown to the wind as the girls lost all control. When they saw the absolutely flabbergasted men on the other side of the floor the women raced to catch one. Even Nova's circuits seemed to have gone haywire as she started chasing down Jailbot. He couldn't resist.

"Ah it seems that love is in the air." Warden'd remarked as he watched her ladies throw the party into chaos.

"I don't understand." She had replied, confused and no doubt annoyed that this was where the bet was heading. Out the corner of his eye he saw her smack at her neck as though bitten by something and then proceeding to scratch at it.

He shrugged and continued to observe, not paying any mind. She rose and strode out onto the dance floor. He, not wanting to seem like a clingy child trailing after its mother, waited a few moments before following after.

Blood spattered the hardwood floor as the women were tearing his men apart, literally. He had no idea what had gotten into them, nor did he think he wanted to. It was getting so bad that now even their corrections officers were tangling around on the floor, reveling in what would normally be considered sin.

He turned, more than ready to blame her for whatever was occurring. She simply stared back at him with a mischievous and hungry smirk on her lips. She was panting for some reason and it didn't stop for even one moment. She couldn't have been drunk; aside from rising to the dance floor she'd not left that pedestaled chair since sitting down in it. Besides that, he'd refrained from serving anything that would cost him his prison, meaning anything that would inhibit good decision making; meaning alcohol was top priority on the list seeing as it was something his prisoners never got their hands on on a day to day basis. Getting back to the subject at hand, she was panting extremely hard, the warm breaths wafting slightly by. She didn't smell of alcohol, so she couldn't have had any beforehand.

She had called him a prude in response to his accusations and pinned him to the dessert table. He felt like a fly that had been caught in a spider's web. The heat in the room had escalated, and now every occupant was heavily perspiring, there was probably not a dry inch of flesh within the four walls. He was trembling in large shock and sleight fear at her actions, but noticed her hair; which had previously been in some sort of lacey arrangement, now freely flowing down her back. The ebony river was now slicked with her sweat.

Just before pinning him she had breathily said his name. It sent tremors through him, not unlike the ones he got that one time when he was bored and simply rested on his arm until it had fallen asleep; the resulting sensation of having blood flow back through the area like a series of pleasant little shocks. What were they called again? Oh yes, pins and needles, he believed the terminology was.

Hearing his name be called like that though, he wondered what else would happen if she called it in another tone. It was here his completely jaded sadistic side woke up and provided all sorts of scenarios. The most prominent of which being of him hurting her while she screamed his name to the heavens. It was all too alien, too foreign and adult to him. Surely his caretaker had educated him in manners of the adult world as he came of age, but in his reality the closest he'd ever come to having a woman in his life was Alice, and he doubted that on the cosmic scale of things she really counted. He wanted to back away from these feelings and sensations and go back to his happy little world of make-believe reality. It was too late; she was under his skin, and there wasn't a thing that he could do about it.

Eventually, what little logic he had dwindled down as she started to assault his senses. His more primal emotions and instincts started to kick in and they knew what they wanted him to do. They wanted him to kiss her. Once again his conscience had woken up to warn him that this was a bad idea but he could barely hear it over the many voices of his instincts. The Warden warred with them inside his head, the Mistress, taking note of his momentary weakness, took the initiative and kissed him first. His conscience was beaten, bound, gagged, and shoved into a solitary confinement cell within his brain. He reciprocated, the vague thought of whether or not she would taste as confectionary as she looked urging him on.

That was about the last time he used his brain for the remainder of the evening. Come morning he couldn't remember the exact details of what the previous night had entailed, just that it had been unparalleled to anything he felt in his day to day existence before. Still, any fleeting feelings of maturity flew out the door at her horrified shriek upon waking. He mocked her horror by reminding her of her defeat, but he had not lied one bit despite what she might later think. It had, when they'd finally gotten around to it, been a great night's sleep. One of the best he'd ever had in his life, but he couldn't let her know that. It had been a mutual mistake, though it was not one that he personally regretted. In any case, he had won the bet meaning he won the ladies of UltraPrison, but he didn't need them anymore. For him it was enough that he'd taken this snob down a few pegs. Maybe now she'd stop being so uptight and bossy, though he really didn't count on it.

He rubbed his victory in her face and then denied his prize, frustrating her to no end. She'd stomped out and he'd gone to his bathroom to get rid of the mud he had slathered across his body thanks to last night. Since it had dried it came off easily enough and it rinsed down the drain without a problem. He'd just set in to brush his teeth when he noticed something strange. There was a little red welt on the left side of his neck, just under his pulse point and just above the juncture where shoulder met throat. He wondered how it got there as he scratched it absent-mindedly. It felt like a bite, he looked down at his re-gloved hands. A bite. She had marked him; he supposed he could call it fair since he more than likely had left more than a few fair marks upon her skin as well. Ah well, it would be a memento, since he was absolutely sure this would not happen again.

He watched her leave, acting as aloof to their night as she did. His accountant was devastated as the woman he loved was literally dragged out of his life, possibly forever. Warden felt a modicum of sympathy, but tried to assure the man that he'd be better off without Cherice, just as he tried to assure himself that he'd be far better off without the Mistress in his life; even if it was only as rivals.

Returning to his office he requested being alone for the remainder of the day. It wasn't as if anything was going to be accomplished by him so it didn't really matter. He sat at his desk; chin in hand, alone with his thoughts. Unconsciously he found himself fingering the mark Mistress had left him with a sort of careful tenderness he'd not thought himself capable of before. It was insane, ridiculous, and completely crazy, but then again this was SuperJail; anything was possible.

In the beginning he never would have foreseen that sort of thing playing out like that. He'd treated her the same way a child treats a coveted new toy, tempting but not to be touched. He'd disobeyed. He'd wanted to treat her like a doll, hold her in the palm of his hands and manipulate her to his will. At first, whatever senses he possessed had told him to stop before the insanity even began and he'd listened, at first. But it became too much to endure and he crumbled. Looking back on it now he supposed some part of him had always wanted to kiss her from the moment she'd stepped foot in his prison. But he'd wanted it just a little too much, even for his own insanity. He'd tasted her, she'd bitten him and that was it.

The spot which bore proof of her attentions now throbbed, it felt as though something was radiating through his whole body stemming from that bite. Vaguely he drew a comparison. It was like the bite of a black widow spider; all it took was one little mark upon the skin to be punctured by the fangs and the venom would surge through the veins. You were as good as dead the moment you were bitten; there was really nothing anyone could do. He felt that way. He felt like his prisoners, if you could draw a comparison between the two.

They were all bound. His men were completely chained, both by shackles and by the possible existent or nonexistent guilt they felt at their actions. The Warden was one of the few free men among all who dwelled here. And up until yesterday he'd been completely and totally free; master of his world with nothing to perturb him. Now though, he was bound, just like all the rest of them. The shackles responsible forming an invisible cage around his very being, and proceeding to shrink down until he perished from it all.

He dealt with this the same way he dealt with all his problems; he ignored it. He went back into his world of childhood fancy, went back to being a child in a man's body; all cares of the adult world far away. Striding to his great window he surveyed his creation, all the men were gathered in the yard doing whatever it was they did when he wasn't getting them involved in some hair-brained scheme thought up for his own amusement. Yes, this was what he loved about his jail. It was his toy box, and the people inside; his dolls to do with as he pleased. In here, he was the final authority on life and death, in here; he was God.

And yet, at the end of the day he returned to his mortality with the final though of being chained like all the men surrounding him. Some sort of tether keeping him from being truly happy once more. Yes, he was chained. And the worst part; he wasn't sure he wanted to break free.

Again, I have absolutely NO idea where this came from, especially since to me, it's definitely one of my slightly darker fics. I guess you could call this 3rd person limited since it mostly focuses on the Warden's feelings without being the Warden himself, but it does also focus on the beginning of the dynamic of his the Mistress' relationship.

I would also like to pose a challenge to you my lovely readers; this fic was also inspired by a song, one which will remain nameless for the time being. In your review, if you can provide some constructive criticism along with telling me the name AND artist of the (original, because I know it's been covered and who it was covered by) song, I will then write you a oneshot for any show and fandom of your choosing. One rule though, I do not write any kind of M rated fiction whatsoever, end of story and if it isn't in my stories list I probably haven't heard if it so a description would be helpful. Also, if you don't have an account and leave an anonymous review please leave me a way to contact you so I can let you know you won. Other than that, have fun with this and please be nice since it's my first SuperJail fic. AKA; Review!