Sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




Diabolical

WARNING: will contain MENTIONS of psychological/physical torture, but nothing intense or gory at all.

Summary: An espionage universe where the bad spy gets caught by the good spy; Clyde endures punishment during his imprisonment, slowly losing his mind to his interrogator, Vanta.

*****

There's a thick darkness that coils his mind, obscuring his senses and making it difficult to distinguish his surroundings. Clyde initially remarks on the thrumming pain coursing in simmering waves throughout his body; he aches everywhere, from the splintering headache (or is it an injury?) to the sensation similar of searing his bones down to the marrow. A low moan of pain builds in his parched throat, making way across his tongue, which he can taste blood upon, and trickles past his equally dry, cracked, bloody lips.

After realizing he has been beaten mercilessly some time ago, Clyde attempts movement. However, a simple tug of his arms proves unsuccessful— he's bound securely, and to his absolute dread he knows the chance of escape is little to none. His body feels bare of his hidden gadgets, but oddly enough, his bones are so heavy he sags against the binds holding his arms high above his head, causing them to bite into his wrists. His arms have lost their nerves long ago, serving as nothing but useless, numb limbs.

Clyde's inky brown hair is tousled, greasy, and hangs as an unruly curtain over his stormy gray eyes. He realizes that he's surrounded by an eerie darkness, a cold, dry darkness that allows not a single source of light. Assuming he's located underground he tries remembering how he has ended up in this situation. It hurts terribly to think, but the faster he figures out his position the faster he may be able to find a way out, if that is possible.

The beaten man isn't given a chance, for a door in the pitch darkness suddenly opens, startling him. There are silhouettes of a woman and two muscular men flanking her through the blinding light. 'Ah,' Clyde nearly chuckles in self-pity, bitterly so, but manages to keep his lips sealed, 'now I remember.'

Bits and pieces of the last few days probe his mind and he remembers clearly why he's bound and injured horribly. He's been exposed of, taken, and beaten; he's been caught red-handed, and no excuse will get him out. He's drawn back to his surroundings as the silhouettes move forward, mockingly so. Memories of the beatings— no, it isn't beatings, it's torture, memories of the torture inflicted on him makes Clyde smirk at their fail at breaking him.

Somehow he knows the bitch is scowling at his reaction. He watches her shadowed arm extend out, snap her fingers sharply, and the cell he's imprisoned in is illuminated brightly, too brightly. His thoughts are proven correct at the charming frown pulling her slightly tinted salmon pink lips that are luscious. Clyde realizes it's chains that are binding him, holding him up in the middle of the room, and he's kneeling, unable to move more than a foot forward.

"Having fun?" he is still smirking, and that deepens her scowl. Her voice is mellow, saccharine, yet lilts deadly; it reminds him of the soprano singers his grandfather listened to on an ancient radio. Despite its sweet coating there's always a bite to the words spilling from those tempting lips. Clyde will admit that she's an exquisite goddess, even if she is his opponent. She takes a taunting step forward, and he finally takes in the garments she's donning, which doesn't help his situation.

Sheer black leather is tautly drawn over her body in a provocative jumpsuit; it clings to her like a second skin with sleeves that stop at the elbows, the bottom as spandex shorts, and a golden zipper running down the length of her body (which is pulled down just above her naval). He can see a black mesh underneath that reveals the absence of a bra, black thigh-high tights held up with a garter-belt, and a pair of black leather boots stopping above her knees along with matching leather gloves. She is a stark contrast against the too white room; she's a mark against the stinging white walls and floors.

Everything of this uniform accentuates her mouth-watering physique— perfectly rounded, generous breasts that seem about to spill from its hold, deep curves, flaring hips, toned legs, rich, waist-length brown locks pulled in a single, curled tail, and vibrant green eyes that seem to glow within darkness. Of course someone with such beauty has to be the enemy; it's nearly comical on how much this resembles a cliché spy film— the attractive hero-spy falling for the attractive enemy-spy, in this case, it's reversed. However this is no laughing matter, as much as he wants to laugh it off like a dream. When the woman crosses her arms, it brings his attention back to her figure, to which he is openly ogling at without shame. The click of her heeled boots has him tensing in anticipation for pain.

"We're going to do something different today," she outstretches a gloved hand to one of the men and is handed a leather crop. Clyde's eyes widen. Previous days he has been merely beaten by the two men as the bitch interrogates him. He can't help the streak of fear rooting within him as the woman sharply slaps the end of the crop within her gloved palm. She is displeased, very. Unable to get answers out of him is proving difficult, and now it has come down to some...extremities. "You can keep this up, Mr. Stavings, or simply give in," she is cold, colder than Oymyakon, as she stares down at him with a face devoid of emotion, save the deadly glint within her jade eyes.

The man doesn't need words to show his rebellion, his silence is enough to prove that he won't leak a single word. Her eyes narrow dangerously. "Have it your way, but I will break you," she takes a step forward, but is stopped when a voice echoes in the room seemingly from everywhere.

"Agent Vanta," a warning, yet having a teasing lilt much like the woman's, and an English accent, but male, comes through a public announcer built in the ceiling, "need I remind you that we need him—"

"Alive," the woman, or Vanta as she is now named and known to Clyde, finishes, "I know that perfectly well, but who says I can't have...fun?"

'And you're supposed to be the fucking good guys, yet here you are torturing an enemy spy, like you're the evil bastards,' Clyde nearly rolls his eyes.

"Let's try this again," and the questioning begins. The crop is placed underneath his chin and Vanta lifts his chin up, a delicate hand on her hip, "Where is the location of Savage?"

He spits at her beautiful, cold face, and the spittle lands just below her cheek bone. She doesn't even flinch, but the two men inch forward, yet she waves them away without looking and the men return to their spots by the door dutifully. The woman raises a leather gloved hand to slowly wipe her cheek clean, all the while staring into his gray eyes. Her face is empty, impassive, a blank canvas, but eerily so. Suddenly her hand flies out at his face and his head snaps sharply to the side. Clyde hisses at the stinging needles of pain sprouting on his entire side of his face. The leather glove does no justice to suppress the hit, it heightens it, unfortunately.

Vanta harshly grips his chin, pressing the length of the crop to his throat until it is sure to leave an imprint. He swallows against the overwhelming pressure, staring into her icy eyes. "Where," her gloves creak as she digs her fingers into his face deeply to engrave trenches, "is Savage?"

"Eat shit."

She moves so quickly— the crop strikes out against his bare torso, and instantly, an angry red mark swells between his pectorals down to his sternum. He gives a startled yelp at the painful explosion against his skin. It's hard enough to hurt, but not enough to draw blood...yet. "I can keep going," that she does. For the next two hours, the same question is repeated until it goes into one ear and out the other. Each time Clyde 'incorrectly answers' he's rewarded a painful strike. Sometime during the interrogation, Vanta orders the other men to strip him to nothing but his skin and haul him up; the chains pulling into the ceiling and bringing him to his feet, his toes brushing the floor.

He's covered from neck down to his ankles with marks, each one throbbing hotly in torturous pain. Inky brown hair plasters to his pain-screwed face, sweat beading across nearly every inch of his body as he tries hard to keep conscious. This is usually how the interrogation ends, with Clyde blacking out from the pain, but each time he seems closer to succumbing to the comforting darkness of unconsciousness, he's sprayed with freezing, jetting water from a hose connecting to one of the corners of the room; somehow he's missed that fact. Now he's rigid, shuddering uncontrollably, and his subconscious is telling him to just give in. He can feel his mind slowly breaking, beginning from small fissures that will eventually implode the walls he's built. His head hangs as he catches his breath, while Vanta circles him predatorily so.

She grabs a fistful of his hair (he's taller than her as he hangs, already being half a head taller than her when standing), yanks it back painfully, and presses the end of the crop to his throat. "Where's Savage?" her growl gives away that she's losing patience with his uncooperative manner, and he never feels more satisfied than now.

"I thought you said you were going to break me, sweetheart," he chuckles breathily, knowing that's the final pluck to her strings before she explodes out on him. When she releases him, Clyde expects a blow to his face that will knock him out cold...but she retreats a few steps. He curiously peers at her through his dripping curtain of hair, watching as she cocks her hip to one side, a hand placed on that side, and her face pulled into pursed lips of irritation.

"We have as much time as we need to break you," with that, Vanta spins on her heeled boot, hair lashing out, and walks away with her hips swinging. The two men follow after her, leaving him in total darkness. It's not until he can't hear their muffled footsteps when the words truly sink in; she isn't out to make him talk, she actually wants to break him. Suddenly all the pent up emotions surge through him and he lashes out uselessly, screaming out until his throat burns.

. . .

It's two weeks that he's left completely alone in this coiling darkness. He can't see anything (his eyes can't even adjust to this unnatural darkness), he can't hear a single sound besides the slight movements of his chains and himself, and this sensory deprivation is slowly driving him to insanity. He can't even have simple social contact, for they've injected an IV that gives him his daily nourishments to keep him alive, and he's naked for the whole time he's in that prison.

Somehow he's managed to keep his toned body, even from the lack of real food. Finally, after two torturous weeks of solitary confinement, Vanta returns with the same two men dressed in equally white clothes. Clyde is first cleaned thoroughly from the wastes he's had to release, and then he's facing the stunning woman, who is in the same black outfit.

This session is no different; this time the man manages to endure three and a half hours of the beatings. Sometimes she just circles him in utter silence, the heels of her boots echoing in the room. It slowly drives him to a certain degree of madness until he is torn between telling her to stop walking or nearly begging the woman to say something. Having the men watch on as he's brought down by a woman is humiliating enough, but now he doesn't care, he just needs someone to say something to him, before he might be the one to say something. And then they leave just like that. Clyde is furious with himself once more.

Over the time span of three months, he continuously endures the torture of solitary confinement, sensory deprivation, and being restrained, which is slowly breaking him, just as Vanta wants it. He's so desperate for any kind of social contact that he looks forward to his interrogation sessions. He is able to survive six hours of Chinese water torture until he breaks into a panic attack of hyperventilation and hysterical weeping; having spectators just staring at him and questioning him on himself instead of Savage drives him into an indescribable terror and panic.

The room has been both hot and cold enough to keep him up at night, but not kill him, they somehow discover his phobia of hospitals and purposely transform his prison to that of a hospital room, ultimately sending him into another panic attack, Vanta abuses him emotionally and when she is gone he had breaks to pathetic tears. At times he is forced into stressful positions for hours on end until he can't feel his body. Overall, the torture is undoing him, until he is just a shell of the once, prideful right-hand man of Savage.

Today is different. As soon as the door opens and the light snaps on, Clyde is alerted. He doesn't flinch at the sudden brightness, nor when he sees familiar boots come to view. He is kneeling, arms and ankles chained. At any given moment he's about to give in and spill all information he's holding in his breaking mind that's a crumbling wall, and he won't be surprised. The riding crop also comes to view, and he unconsciously trembles at the sight of the leather. Just when he expects it to strike him on his naked body, he watches as it slowly nears him. He shudders when it presses lightly into his throat, almost teasingly so.

Vanta slides the crop end down past his collar to his sternum, and swivels its path to his right pectoral. In a torturously slow manner, she circles the end around his nipple. Startled at the sudden sensation of pleasure contrasting all the pain he's endured, Clyde gasps, snapping his head to eye the woman. Her face is in its signature blank canvas, but her actions speak otherwise. She presses lightly into his nipple, earning a grunt, and gives his left nipple the same treatment. She knows how to play the game; he's so desperate for freedom from his imprisonment, from his loneliness, from everything, and now that she's conveniently before him, he has no choice but to depend on her. Soon, he'll be nothing without her.

The crop continues its path down to his slightly rippled abs, caressing them, and she sees his hard erection standing on end. She has him where she wants him. A myriad of emotions crosses his face, ranging from confusion to anger to denial of pleasure. Vanta will make him beg, and so she teases the twitching head of his prick, rubbing back and forth on its weeping tip, up and down the throbbing shaft, weighing his sac teasingly. Within minutes Clyde is having extreme difficulty keeping his moans in. She suddenly pulls away and leaves, and the broken man nearly shouts for her to come back. He doesn't even have his usual anger tantrums at himself, he can no longer deny himself.

Vanta doesn't return for three days. "Sit him down and secure him," her voice radiates raw power and commands the two men who bring in a white chair. Her voice makes him shudder in thrilling pleasure and he's instantly aroused, thick cock rising in proof. He sees a spark of approval sprint in her eyes in affecting him and a vine of self-satisfaction grows within him in pleasing her with his reaction, but he quickly chastises himself. The two men haul him, sit him down, and clasp his ankles to each leg, which is spread fairly wide. Clyde doesn't even fight, because it's useless. "Are you ready for today, Mr. Stavings?"

He doesn't answer, but instead of being hit as he usually is, Vanta raises a boot-clad foot and places it before his standing erection, supporting the weight of her leg on the edge of the chair. "I said," her sweet voice pierces him, "are you ready," her boot grazes the underside flesh of his erection and he jolts in surprise, "Mr. Stavings?"

Not knowing how to answer he merely nods, not trusting his voice. "Very good, Mr. Stavings," she places more pressure on his shaft and begins to stroke him. She questions, all answered with a false 'I don't know', or just silence as she continues to stroke him. The brunette woman keeps this up for half an hour, torturing him when he's severely close to exploding, but stopping completely, pulling away, and then returning to her ministrations when he calms down. He's close to begging her to let him come, but then one of the men hands her a whip, an actual whip made to lash at animals and slaves.

"W-Wait—" however, no pain erupts, instead she expertly snaps the whip out and it wraps around his throbbing, hard cock, bringing a slight sting but no more. His words choke and clog in his throat as she pulls it up and it strokes him like a hand would. The tighter she pulls, the more closer he is to the edge, but she never lets him be complete. The pleasure is unbearable, blinding him and clouding his mind. The room is filled with his shameless moans and grunts, but Vanta isn't going to let him come.

"Answer me and I'll let you," she's so persuasive he almost gives in, but keeps his lips sealed. Frowning, the woman releases him completely.

"Wait, no, please don't go!" Clyde desperately begs, tears pouring, and face pulled in pleasurable pain. "Please, please, please."

"You want to cum?" she takes a step forward and he has hope. When he nods eagerly, his chin thumps against his chest. He's so hopeful, like a child and Vanta nearly smiles. "Too bad," she leaves him again and he cries in anguish. This routinely sexual torture continues for three weeks; she comes in to tease him, bringing him to the teetering edge of an unimaginable ecstasy, but never finishing him off. Each time he begs pathetically until he has lost sense in whom he is. All he wants, all he needs is to have a release.

They don't even need to tie him up anymore, he won't escape, and he willingly stays. The only time he's chained is during his interrogation, but even then he doesn't have the will to force himself on Vanta, because he enjoys being restrained; that thought hasn't crossed his mind. "From now on, you will call me Mistress Vanta," he doesn't need an explanation why, he blindly follows her order. "Do you understand, Clyde?"

He eagerly nods, looking up at her from his kneeling position. "Yes, Mistress Vanta." She is still the cold beauty he has come to know over the past four and a half months.

"Now, let's begin."

It's a blur of teasing and denial of his pleasure as he begs, begs, begs her to let him come. She will run her hands through his hair roughly, coming up from behind him, and forcing him to make eye contact with the two nameless men as she pleasures him, push his face into the wall or floor, wrap her fingers around his throat, lash him with her crop repeatedly, and completely abuse him until he's a mess. The idea of a woman, of Vanta bringing him weak to the knees is thrilling; he's absolutely fascinated how effortlessly she can make him painfully hard and aroused as hell. Being bound and unable to resist her makes his blood rush to his head all the more. She's an addicting sin.

"Will you answer today, Clyde?" he loves the way she sweetly says his name. He's instantly hard, moaning as she stands before him.

"No, Mistress Vanta," he answers quietly, almost shyly.

"Any why not, Clyde? Don't you want to cum? I'm sure you do; we've been at this for so long you must be willing to do anything to cum, right?" Vanta tilts her head and speaks with him like he's a child. Clyde shakes his head fearfully.

"I can't, Mistress Vanta, I'll be killed."

She growls "Not if I kill you first," and slaps him hard. He grunts, licking his lips at the sweet pain blooming in his cheek.
"Please, Mistress Vanta, be angry with me. Hit me more," his eyebrows are pulled up as if saddened, eyes glazed in unbridled lust.

Vanta scowls at him. "You pathetic masochist; look at you; once the great Clyde Stavings, the right-hand man for Savage, now pushed down to a worthless beggar," this was no role play, her words ring true, just as true as her disgust and fury as the man moans at the abuse of words. He pleads for more and she is even angrier. "You want pain?"

"Yes," he answers in a heartbeat, "Please, more."

"I'll give you pain." The screams can be heard outside of the prison. Yet he still begs for more, more pain, more pleasure, more, more, more. Vanta is growing frustrated with him; she has been sick of him the third week he wasn't able to break, now he's enjoying this rather than dreading. She badly wants to give up her position on interrogation but isn't allowed, so now she's stuck until she can get answers. For once, her emotions get the best of her and she lashes out at him in full vent. He's beaten until he's bleeding, bruising, and crying in more pain than pleasure.

"Agent Vanta," the familiar voice above warns, but she continues her beating. "Agent Vanta, you will stop now!" the voice growls dangerously. When she still doesn't comply, the two muscular men have to restrain her. Moments later when she's pulled away and gone, a medic comes in to tend to Clyde's wounds. Vanta is lectured, but not punished, because she's needed to still interrogate. "Should we have a repeat of today, you will be suspended of your position and punished severely, understood?" the towering man stares down at the sitting woman glaring into her hands.

"Yes, Sir."

"Remember, once you get the answers, you're free from this...predicament," he slowly says, "but you should also realize you were the one to catch him and are responsible. You are dismissed."

Vanta returns a day later, much more in control of her emotions this time around. She takes position— her foot balanced on his chair, just brushing his standing cock that's wrapped with the whip, bent close so they're breathing each other's breath, and not looking once away from Clyde's stormy gray eyes.

He's silently begging her, but sinks his teeth into his tongue. After his beating he's come to rational terms; this can't go on forever, and he needs to make a decision. The more he's denied the farther he is from his release. He wants more, more than this imprisonment, he wants Vanta. As he looks into her eyes there's an unsaid threat that terrifies him. It's proven when she speaks.

"If you don't answer, I'm never coming back."

He whimpers, tears blinding his vision as he swallows a sob. The only sound is their breathing the slicking of her stroking him vigorously, her boot massaging his sac, and free hand clutching his scalp painfully. He wants to spill everything, but is still holding himself back. He's choking, desperately reaching forward to touch her, but no matter how hard he pulls against his restraints he can't. Suddenly she is slowing her movements and begins to pull away. Clyde's mind his set, concreted; he opens his mouth to scream for her, a fear of never seeing her again throttling him, blinding him, and everything pours out. He can't stop the dam as all thoughts he's been hiding away comes out.

When he's done revealing everything he knows, every single detail, there is a suffocating silence. Everyone is deadly still, save for Clyde who is panting and staring wide-eyed at the back of Vanta, mentally calling her back. He needs her so badly, it hurts, it's so painful and his whole being aches. Suddenly, the two men leave, nodding at an unseen gesture made by Vanta. "Have you been a good boy?" her words are soft, sincere, and a shudder zips up his spine.

He nods vigorously. "Yes, Mistress Vanta!"

She turns, stalking her way back tauntingly. "Truly?"

Clyde's neck nearly snaps from how eagerly he's nodding. "Yes, I've been a good boy, Mistress Vanta, I've been so good!" he's straining against his chains, desperate to reach her, touch her, taste her. With hot tears spilling from an onslaught of emotions, his body rakes from his weeping as he watches her stretch her hand and gently touches his cheek. His words are a slur of entangled thoughts and incoherent sentences, but he knows he's repeating, "Good, I'll be good, I'll be such a good boy for you, Mistress Vanta, so good."

The brunette presses her gloved thumb over his trembling lips lightly, swiping them across. "Take my glove off." Clyde enthusiastically complies, nuzzling into the warm leather, kissing with an open mouth, dragging his tongue everywhere, and suckling her fingers. Gently, he sinks his canine into the edge of her middle finger and pulls the glove. It easily peels off and he sees her bare hands for the first time. The man worships what he's rewarded, giving her naked hand the same fervent treatment, moaning loudly into her skin, feeling the baby softness, and the addicting sweet-saltiness.

Vanta pulls her hand away, Clyde whimpering at the lost of touch. He needs to touch her, have her touch him. "Will you promise to be a good boy from now on?" she tenderly holds his face in her other gloved hand.

"Yes, Mistress Vanta."

"Good," she whispers nearly against his lips, staring deeply into his eyes, her own jade ones finally filled with passion. Her bare, glistening hand slides to capture his erected cock, inducing a cry from the bound man. She furiously strokes him, not breaking eye contact. "Who's a good boy?"

He gasps, desperately gulping in air, "I am, I'm a good boy!" his body is jerking, undulating into her sweet hand, seeking a release he knows she will finally grant him.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You, Mistress Vanta, I belong to Mistress Vanta!"

"Does the good boy want to cum?"

"Yes, oh, yes please, Mistress Vanta, please!"

"Then cum."

And he's cumming hard, streams of his whiteness erupting and painting her propped thigh. However, there's a glint in her eyes, and he realizes she isn't going to stop. She keeps stroking him in the same vigorous manner until he releases twice more, until he's sobbing, begging with eyes rolling into his skull and on the edge of blacking out from the overwhelming pleasure. Finally, Vanta is merciful and slows her stroking. Her hand, thigh, and torso are coated with his seed. "You've made a mess," she doesn't need to instruct him further.

Clyde willingly takes her dirty hand into his mouth and cleans it off, sucking each finger slowly, all the while staring up into her jade eyes. Once her hand is clean he turns his attention to the enticing thigh. Vanta makes a signal and all chains are off him. He looks up at her for permission to touch and she merely nods. His tentatively grabs her thigh, afraid that if he touches her, she will disappear, and bends to lick himself off of her in a ginger manner. Once clean, he trails hot, open-mouth kisses up, hesitating when her clothed sex comes into his line of vision. He swallows hard and loud, but continues up her hips to lap up his whiteness splattered across her stomach.

Clyde feels the brush of her breasts against his head, driving him insane, but he knows better and just wraps his arms around her, yanking her closer until he nearly presses into her. He moans and whimpers into her stomach, pulling her into his opened legs, nuzzling his head into her warmth. He knows she can feel his hardened cock pressing into her thighs. The man wants more, but is fearful, so merely lifts his head up to peer up at her between the valley of her breasts. "Thank you, Mistress Vanta," he automatically says, tightening his arms around her, because he's afraid she will leave.

Vanta tenderly runs her hands into his inky brown locks, slightly slicked with sweat, and then grasps his face. She leans down, but he knows what she's doing and meets her half way. Their lips meld and he immediately moans, forcing his tears back. He's tempted to deepen it, tangle their tongues, and just fuck her to oblivion, but he holds himself for her, for his Mistress. The kiss is gentle and tingles warmly, but the woman pulls away too soon, Clyde rising up to capture her lips again. He's held back, disappointment filling his being.

"Did you get all that?" she tilts her head up to a hidden camera, speaking to it.

"Every word; well done Agent Vanta," a smile can be heard in the man's voice. "You know the procedure." The good guys won, but he didn't give a shit. Suddenly she pulls away and holds up a hand when he desperately reaches out to her, like a child wanting the comforting touch of his mother.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Stavings. To prevent any form of threat or harm coming to you due to your assistance, you will be appropriately imprisoned in our facility. Good day, Mr. Stavings." Vanta turns on her heel without a second glance and leaves the confused man alone in the brightly lit, white room.

"W-Wait, Mistress Vanta, wait!" his screams are heard as he desperately calls out to his Mistress. He pounds and pounds on the door, weeping for his Mistress to come back, but she doesn't, and he breaks down.

. . .

"There is no way in hell I am going to take him under my vigilance," Vanta growls to her employer. "You said once I got the answers out of him I would be free of this predicament. Well, I did the job now I want out."

He reprimands her in a sweet, calming voice. "Mind your temper, Agent Vanta. I'm sure you recall informing our captive that he's to be imprisoned, yes? The only possible way to prevent any harm to be done is to keep him under your eyes. Savage has his ways and I'm positive he will know of his unwilling betrayer sooner than later. By decree of the Law and our Code of Conduct, we must keep him imprisoned, as he is, or was, part of the espionage society. We are on the light of the side after all, the good guys, however those teenagers entitle it, and we won't euthanize him. Besides, you seem to have him wrapped quite securely around your fingers; perhaps you might be able to convince Mr. Stavings to switch his mind of thinking and join our forces, hmm?"

Vanta is burning holes at him, knowing she has no say in this matter. Since when has she? Besides she knows perfectly well she has no one else to blame but herself for the attachment Clyde has created. "Yes, Sir."

"Very good. You are dismissed."

She returns to Clyde a day later. He's a naked, curled ball against the wall of the room. His whimpers echo from his arms he encases around his head. At hearing the door open, he doesn't move. However, when she walks forth and her familiar heeled-boots click, the man snaps his head up so harshly he nearly receives whiplash. He can barely believe his eyes, seeing his Mistress, his Goddess before him. On the verge of sobbing, he bites into his tongue as he crawls towards her.

Vanta allows him the satisfaction of burying his face between her thighs as he cries, arms wound tightly around her. She's afraid he might not ever let her go. "Mr. Stavings," professionalism coats her words as she ignores his desperate nuzzling, "you are being given the option to reconsider your position. You may join our espionage for the greater good of our world, fighting the enemy along side with us, or you may choose to remain as who are and become imprisoned. I suggest you choose wisely."

Clyde stares at her in awe. They are giving him a chance, and with this chance he will have an opportunity with Vanta. He nods vigorously. "I want to join your espionage."

"I must warn you of the consequences. In any situation you may have to come face-to-face with past comrades. Your life and death position has become more vulnerable."

At the moment, he is her equal, so he stands, finally standing over her in nearly five months. As he looks into her eyes he knows of his situation. There is no hesitation, and he nods. "I agree to your terms to become part of your espionage."

She's grim when he expects her to be delighted. "Very well, from today forth you will be under my careful vigilance. Should you make one mistake, I will not hesitate to throw you back in here, is this understood, Agent Clyde?"

A thrill streaks in him at having the chance to work beside her. "I understand, Mis—Agent Vanta." He quickly corrects himself. Soon, he is led out of his imprisonment and taken to thoroughly bathe, eat an actual meal, and personally meet with the mysterious man who is in charge of Agent Vanta and this organization. He's given the overall conditions and agreements of switching sides, essentially knowing his case and that he isn't the first to become a turncoat, or as his employer likes to call it. The man holding their positions is Maxwell. That's all Clyde knows about him, nothing more or less.

They don't need to test him for any proof that he may be lying just to get on their good side, the broken man is absolutely smitten with Vanta. He is basically a lost puppy, enamored with the black-dressed woman and her jade eyes, much to her disdain. Clyde is instructed to remain with her at all times, thus the pairs' living conditions are changed. Now he resides with her in a private home to which he has no idea of the location, although he's suspicious that it's somewhere in the north of the United States. His thoughts are proven correct when he begins to spot Michigan license plates. It's just the end of summer, so the air is slightly crisp.

The house is in a fairly wealthy subdivision just created for their espionage organization. Vanta's cover-up job is a head pharmacist, while he was previously a personal trainer. He has to keep his profile low to avoid attention, so resumes a different cover-up job, working along his Mistress. Clyde remains as how he used to be before breaking, taking his role as a spy agent to his life, but when it comes to Vanta, he can't help but shrink back to the submissive man he has come to be, just for her.

"Listen, my actions were for the sake of gaining information on Savage, nothing more, nothing less. None of it was real, not the moments of pleasuring you, not the moment when I turned back to you. Let this go and act like a man." The woman knows better than to threaten to castrate him (or anything violent along those lines), because any abusive words only turns him on. She is severely cold towards him, refusing to speak and look at him, unless need be. Having the pathetic man live under the same roof as her doesn't ease her mind in the least. Vanta knows he will never do anything against her will, or so she wants to believe.

. . .

"Exactly how long must he stay with me?" her leather gloves creak as her nails drive into her palms. Her visibly shaking fists are physical boundaries holding the dangerous mixture of irritancy and rage simmering within her. She's a favorite of Maxwell's; he's known her when she was but a girl of grade school, so Vanta is an exception to the employer-subordinate relationship. She knows he sees her as his own daughter, but that doesn't mean she can be disrespectful, he's just more lenient with her.

Said man of forty-eight years merely sips at his tea, not an ounce of worry etching his face. Although considered much older, he's aged quite well. His crown of dark hair is salted here and there, mostly on the side, his physique doesn't say he's nearly half-aged, and once a time ago he was handsome, although many would say he still is, in that handsome-middle-aged-man way. Maxwell has the bluest of blue eyes, which gives him a youthful, yet wizened aura. Vanta admits to herself she once had a crush on him growing up, since he was in his thirties and dashing and charming in every way and took her under his wing. He was his own James Bond. She's drawn from her thoughts when he sets his china cup down.

"For as long as need be," his English accent still hasn't gone away, even after stationing in the United States many years ago. "We nearly have Savage's pack within our grasps, and nearly his throat within my fingers," he mumbles the second half of the sentence more to himself, but Vanta hears. "Mr. Stavings is now your comrade, whether you enjoy the idea or not, but by order of our Conduct you must keep his life within your hands as we will you. Besides, it's best to keep him close by should he decide to play charades and turn at the last moment, however, that I highly doubt. I know a smitten man when I see one, and that boy is terribly obsessed with you," he chuckles mirthfully, coming around his desk to lean on the ledge of its front.

Vanta's scowl only deepens. "No need to rub salt into the wound. I know perfectly well it's my own fault he's come down to such a pathetic man, but I can't stand his behavior; it's sick."

"You're a gorgeous woman, Vanta. Don't think I can't act like your father when need be; I, too, notice that you're quite the lovely eye-catcher, so I don't blame Mr. Stavings," he winks teasingly at her, and she realizes her crush hasn't completely disappeared; there's a tiny part within her heart that soars when he compliments or boasts about her. "As I was saying, be sure to have an eye on him; protect him as he would protect you. If it means to endure his passionate throes, then so be it."

The brunette woman bites her bottom lip, but nods. "Yes, Sir."

A moment of silence settles between the pair before he reaches slowly to caress her cheek with a roughened thumb in a tender, affectionate manner, just as he had done many times in the past when she was upset. He knows it still works, because her face softens and she leans into his hand. He barely has any excuse and time to drown her in his fatherly gestures, but Maxwell's love for her is the same unconditional sentiment as for a dear family member. "Be on your way, Jade," he hasn't said her real name in so long, but it's a familiar ring on his tongue. "However, should anything happen, immediately call me."

"Yes, Sir—" she stops at the disapproving look and corrects herself. "I mean, Max."

"Good," just as Jade is nearly out the door, Maxwell also adds, "oh, and should he do anything dishonorable to you," a cruel spark gleams in his eye, "I'll personally, as teenagers uncouthly put it, rip his balls off and feed it to him."

The woman stares shell-shocked at the coarse words coming from his lips. "He might just enjoy that more than dread it," she says breathily before biting her tongue to keep from laughing.

. . .

Clyde fidgets in his seat at their dining table, the silence throttling him. Vanta is a...delicate case when it comes to their standard of living conditions. He knows not to get in her way, but sometimes he can barely hold himself back. The woman is literally right within his grasps, and he wants to please her, have her please him, so terribly much. It's unbearable having his Mistress so close, yet far out of reach. Her behavior towards him hurts horribly; she doesn't even acknowledge his presence. He's so desperate, so ravenous for any kind of attention it's slowly killing him inside.

What does he have to do to get her attention? He wants it, needs it so bad. She's becoming his air, and he doesn't quite mind, if only she let him breathe her in. He loves that she can make him vulnerable, make him beg pathetically, make him delirious. He can sob and bemoan all he wants, but she's cruel, and he loves that. Vanta's his ultimate Achilles' heel and he's left to her bidding. It's the idea of being imprisoned to her sexually and emotionally that has him addicted, because he doesn't just love her body (if only it was that simple), he's terribly obsessed with her. He knows she aware that he enjoys the torture of pleasure she had put him through, which only drew him in further.

Clyde bites his lip helplessly, eyeing the beauty before him silently eating her dinner; even the manner of way she eats is beautiful. His gray eyes flicker towards the salt shaker in the middle of the table and an idea occurs to him. It may be incredibly stupid, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. He clears his throat quietly, because even that gesture is loud. "Um, can you please pass the salt?"
She pauses, fork part way into her mouth. For the first time in many days Vanta meets his eyes, her jade irises clashing with his platinum ones. His heart is in his throat as her gaze pierces him deeply. "You do realize it's within reachable range," it's not a question and she looks at him skeptically.

He doesn't care, she's spoken to him, that's all that matters and he's beaming proudly at himself for his achievement. "Yes, Mistress Vanta," and then he reaches for it.

Vanta realizes he's cunning, very much so when he wants to be, and she scowls at him. She momentarily remembers how many unpleasant memories that entitlement brings, flashes of his withering body and pleases twisting her stomach in disgust. Her appetite spoils within seconds and she pushes her plate away. "Don't," this she grounds out through her clenching teeth, "call me that," the woman doesn't know whether to be embarrassed or furious and figures anger is safer of the two.

Clyde is absolutely grinning on the inside as he bites the inside of his lips to keep from smiling. "Yes, Mistress Vanta."

Vanta can't help the threat that automatically slips out. "I will cut your tongue out if you keep calling me that."

"Yes, Mistress—"

She moves in a blur, reaching across the table to grab him by the collar and yank him until their noses kiss. Her glare is so cruel it drips shudders down his spine. "If I had a choice, you would have been dead a long time ago," of course, this isn't true, but the thought sounds rather pleasant at the moment as she wraps her free hand around his throat.

The man swallows against her fingers, excited yet hurt at the same time. He knows she hates him, abhors him, but her hatred fuels her anger, which in turn arouses him to no end. He's a sad masochist, only hoping for the impossible to hurt himself. He smiles sadly, whispering into her breath, "Use me, beat me, abuse me, kill me as many times as you want until you're satisfied. Everything I do, everything I am is for you, I exist just for you."

They both know the hard truth of those words and it scares Vanta more than it should. She releases her hold on him, but he goes against his beliefs and snatches her fingers in his tight, iron grasp. When he looks deeply into her eyes he's still smiling sadly, and for the first time she fears him, not of what he will do, but what he's willing to do for her. Trying hard not to strike out at him, Vanta remains scowling. "It's unfortunate that I can't or I'd be punished severely for homicide of a comrade," her hiss is more from the tightness of his hold rather than her crumbling anger, so she yanks her hand free.

When she walks to the kitchen, plate in hand, Clyde stops her. "Jade," she stiffens, breath frozen in her lungs as her name, her identity, rolls off his tongue with ease, as if he's been saying it for years, "no matter how much you hate me or torture me I'll always return, because you broke me. You have me on a leash, and I'm yours until the end."

There's the sound of her plate clattering on the floor with her silverware, then suddenly she's in front of him, hand slicing the air, like a blade, as she strikes him across the face as hard as she can. The impact nearly sends him tumbling if he wasn't anticipating the reaction, his body tense and rooted to stand. The sharp slap echoes in their ears, both of their faces burning, one from pain and the other from an unexplainable anger. She's close, too close, to murdering him where he stands. All she has to do is just reach forward to wrap her hands around his bobbing throat and he wouldn't fight back.

"Don't you dare call me by my name," her name is her dignity, it's the one thing that labels her as herself, as an individual. Her name has power, not meant to be given to others carelessly. Only certain others are privileged with saying her name and Clyde certainly is not one of them. "You don't deserve to say my name; call me Mistress Vanta for all I fucking care. You are lower than the dirt on my boots," ire is blinding her, and she doesn't even care that he's slowly lowering to his knees, hot, bothered, trembling, and panting like the dog he is. "I will torture you in the most unimaginable ways until you're begging to be killed out of your misery," they both know she can do so, but she won't; the threat is empty, it's just her anger speaking, because she can't form a coherent word to explain how mortified she is.

Clyde knows her, and once more he is aching terribly inside from her hurtful words, but he also aches in arousal, euphoria coursing through his nerves and striking his body faster than fire. He moans loudly when her hand drives to harshly yank his head back, neck revealed and vulnerable. He's completely flushed, his cock is hot, burning steel, and it's difficult to restrict himself from touching her.

He loses his resolve, his power no longer held by a fiber, when she shifts her feet and unintentionally brushes his engorged cock. He moans so loud it wrenches her from her haze, aware of his hands greedily roaming and gripping her thighs, which brings her closer until he can deeply bury his face into her crotch. She feels his every moan and hot breath as he eagerly inhales her scent, seeking more.

Jade rips herself away, more exasperated with herself that she allowed herself to get carried away than with Clyde. She can't even come up with a quick threat, she's used them all, and now all she can do is glare deadly at his sickening face of pleasure before storming out. "Clean that mess up," she growls quickly as she's half way out the doorway. The man does so dutifully without a complaint, not minding an ounce. He takes his time finishing his meal and with cleaning up their dishes and spoiled food, and then stealthily walks up the stairs until her door is before him. Clyde's inky brown hair mingles with the rustic wood of the door as he listens for her movements.

He's not insane enough to try his luck, but it's been so long since she's willingly touched him, and his craving is growing by the days. If he doesn't try something he won't get anything, even if it is a threat or scolding. Knocking gently on the door, he patiently waits. There are only two of them, so she doesn't need to ask, but she stays silent on the other end. The man doesn't try again, although he calls for her in a tender manner, as if he is consoling someone.

"Mistress Vanta," although it's quiet, he knows she can hear it as if he has whispered in into her ear. "Mistress Vanta, may I come in?" there is no answer, but he hears the shuffle of her bed sheets. He might get himself dismembered, but he knows the only way to get her to answer is to say her name, to which he doesn't hesitate to do. "Jade."

The door yanks open, nearly wrenched off its hinges. Her hair is slightly damp, indicating she's taken a shower, and she's in a robe. She glares up at him, because he's still half a head taller than her. Although right now is a horrible time to take in his features, for the first time, Jade notices that Clyde is rather handsome. He's a mix between roguish and classic with a crown of inky brown locks and the most gorgeous gray eyes. With a lean body, light on his feet, yet alarmingly strong, he's deadly, in both contexts. Shoving those thoughts aside in a forgotten recess of her mind, Jade crosses her arms when he just stares at her. "Well?"

He needs her, this very moment, and they're both aware of it. The man still has his raging hard-on that is painfully straining in his jeans. He's hurting, aching, needing her so much he can barely stand in her presence. "Mistress Vanta," his whisper is hoarse, "please."

Pink tinted lips thin. "Please what?"

He falls to his knees, out of breath. "Please," he swallows once, twice, and desperately crawls the short distance between them, "please let me touch you, taste you, pleasure you. I beg that you touch this pathetic cock of mine, please, please, please," it's becoming a mantra, a spell that's keeping him sane. A whimper escapes his lips when Jade retreats a few steps out of his range of reach.

When his hand extends out to grab her, intending to pull her back, she raises a bare foot, perfectly balanced on her standing, lone one, and places that bare foot on his shoulder. Pressure is placed gently and she's pushing him back on his knees with a straight back. A shudder rips through him as her foot slides down his chest, purposely grazing a nipple, down his rippled abs, and just above the hidden dark hair leading to his throbbing cock. He curses the shirt standing as a barrier between the sensation of her skin.

"Why should I? How do I know if you deserve such pleasure?" Jade can't keep this up anymore, this resistance and constant myriad of negative emotions. In a way she's giving up, but she's going down with a fight, a fight she always seems to win at. She admits she relishes the rush, the thrill, of being able to overpower him with mere words, but his erotic pull to masochism and sadism makes her uneasy, so she wants to get this over with, satisfy him until he isn't begging.

She never intended to turn him into such a man; it was all in a means to get the needed information, because nothing else was working. Besides, she received permission from Maxwell that she could do as she pleased with him, even if it meant torturing him sexually. It worked, but she's always regretted the days after. To hell with it, she mine as well play along. "You've been a bad boy," and she knows perfectly well that she has him right where she wants him.

If it's possible, he hardens even more at those triggering words. His body caves slightly, trying his hardest to not instinctively grab her foot and indulge in the reward. Clyde's holding himself back for her, he needs to wait for her permission first. It's the sensation of impatience, or waiting that makes the end all the more worth it, so he locks himself in his iron restrains. He doesn't understand her sudden change, but he doesn't question it. "I'm sorry, Mistress Vanta. I promise I'll be a good boy from now on," his gray eyes gleam as he looks up at her, like a child pleading in that comical, cartoon way with 'puppy eyes.'

"How sorry are you?" finally, her sweet voice returns, and he nearly rolls his eyes into his skull from the sweetness of it. It's honey in the air and he can taste it, drowning in it.

"Truly sorry, truly, Mistress Vanta, truly," he keeps jerking forward as if going to snatch her foot, but her stare literally pins him down.

"Show me, show me you can be a good boy, then I might just reward you," she simply glances at her foot and it's all the encouragement he needs. Clyde pounces on the appendage, worshipping it like gold. He laps at every inch of skin, suckling her toes, lightly nipping at her instep, slowly circling the ball of her heel until her foot is glistening with moisture. He glances at the bed in the background, slowly beginning to push her towards it. She instantly recognizes his indication and backs to the wide mattress. When he starts towards her, she holds a hand up, and he obediently listens. If he was a dog, she could easily imagine his erect ears and wagging tail.

She regally sits at the edge of the bed and crooks a finger for him. He crawls seductively, licking his lips as he eyes her bare thighs that are revealed from the split in her robe. The very sides of his tongue tingles, mouth watering, as he takes the other foot into his warn cavern and treats it the same. With a fiery path of wet kisses up her calf, he slowly lifts her left leg and places it on his broad shoulder. He tenderly kisses the inside of her knee and he hears the sharp intake of breath. Gradually her legs open to him, both legs propped on his shoulders, and he's kissing, licking, and nipping his way towards his long awaited treasure. Her thighs are painted with smattering love-bites, which he prides in.

He hesitates, awaiting the words to grant him passage. A look of uncertainty crosses his face, licking his lips nervously, as he looks up at her. His hands are clenching and unclenching around her toned, yet soft thighs. Suddenly he feels like a child. However, for one, he's incredibly experienced, and his past one-nighters were extremely pleased with his services, often seeking him out for more. He's a womanizer, was a womanizer, and gifted in the art of pleasure since he was fifteen. It's essential, especially when it comes to his missions and his target it a woman; it comes in handy.

It's been so long since he's actually fucked a woman, plundering a pussy with his cock. A five month dry-spell is a long time, a very long time, and Jade's tease-and-denial hand jobs won't satisfy him much longer. All those denials of climaxing are building the tension higher and thicker. He highly doubts she will allow him even the entrance of his head, he knows it for sure, but that doesn't stop him from hoping. Swallowing audibly, Clyde shifts forward until they're both comfortable with the position, and then he looks her in the eyes, seeking an answer. He feels like he's having sex for the first time.

"Mistress, um, may I?" he's so scared of her answer, but they've come this far already, unless Jade decides to just kick him out and leave him to his bothersome erection for another unfulfilled night.

She merely raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "May you what? You have to be clear," the brunette highly considers using the endearment 'pet' since it fits him perfectly.

Clyde shifts out of nervousness this time. "May I...may I have a lick of your pussy, Mistress Vanta?" he's gentle and careful about his words, sounding like a child.

"You forgot to say a word."

He looks up at her in confusion, then it dawns on him. "Oh, may I please have a lick of your pussy, Mistress Vanta?" his eyes sparkle when she nods her consent.

"You may have one lick, pet," she instantly knows he loves the use of 'pet' as he perks up excitedly when it rolls off her tongue.

With barely contained joy, Clyde dives in, but pauses to a jerk immediately before his nose can touch her panties. He wants to thoroughly enjoy this, but most importantly, he wants to make this enjoyable for Jade. Gingerly, he takes hold of her robe and parts it fully, and then with torturous slowness, he nears his face to her clothed pussy. Instantly, a wall of heat and musk hits him, filling his senses and he groans at the arousing scent. It drives him insane, and he's seeking for more. He gently presses his nose to the protruding bud between her lips, breathing hotly into it. That's all he does for the next minute or so, breathing her in with his eyes fluttering as they roll up.

Clyde looks up at her, pleading her to touch him as she pleases, so her hands comb through his hair and grips them from the roots. It drives him further, and he kisses her core deeply. His watering tongue finally stretches out and he gives an agonizingly deliberate lick, from the bottom to her clit. Jade sighs at the tingling pleasure, her grip tightens in his hair. The man pulls away slightly, looking up at her in askance. "May I please have another lick?"

She hesitates for a quick passing moment, but then nods her approval. "You may."

He licks in the same manner once more, savoring her. "Another?" his whisper is quiet.

"Yes."

He has another, this time placing more pressure. After the third lick, Clyde feels famished; he needs more, and this damn panty isn't helping his situation. Although it's lace and thin, it's still a barrier. He craves to feel the softness of her flesh, to taste it directly on his tongue. Looping his arm around her left thigh, he reaches underneath the robe, and grazes the band of her panty subtly. That gesture speaks more words than he can ask, and Jade's leans until her back hits the mattress gently as she spreads her legs further.

She places a pillow beneath her nape so she can watch, and then caresses his face for admission. Clyde slowly hooks his fingers into her panty and pulls them down until they hang at her ankle. He loses his breath at the sight before him; perfectly trimmed strands just sitting above her pink bundle of sensitive nerves, with not a single strand anywhere else, her pussy lips are smooth, not stretched, and looks as if she's never had a man. Her honey is glistening and wafting, the scent even stronger now without the lingerie. Clyde doesn't want simple licks, he wants to plunge into her warmth, drink her sweet honey, intake her intoxicating scent, he wants to feast on her. He does just that.

The tip of his tongue glides up one side of her lips, circles her throbbing clit, then glides down the other lip. She's warm, delectable, and he's immediately addicted. His tongue travels and tastes everywhere, swirling, lapping, suckling, and nipping. He relishes her more than any meal he's had, and he knows she's in pure bliss from her quiet moans, sighs, and the way she sinks her nails into his scalp. Jade is quieter than him, but she's responsive. Clyde is frantic and passionate, eager to bring her to a mind-numbing, blinding white climax, and then he doesn't just want to stop there, he wants to keep going, riding her orgasm until she hits the edge over and over again, until she can't scream, until she has to force him away.

His fantasy shoots magma straight to his member. He's reminded that he's still clothed, so breaks away for a moment to indicate his problem. Jade gives her consent and the man hurriedly stripping, ripping his shirt off, throwing that to the side, and pulling his jeans off along with his boxer-briefs, also tossing those in the same direction. His cock stands to attentions, dripping at the tip, throbbing, and hard. She's forgotten how surprisingly endowed he is, but her thoughts are quick to dissolve when Clyde returns to his ministrations, furiously eating her.

His actions are overwhelming, brining her closer to her peak, but she wants to drag this session out. Jade slightly pushes his head away, a string of her honey connecting from her pussy to his lips stretching the distance. He looks confused, panting, and licking his lips clean. He's fascinated with the rise and fall of her bosom and the way her robe's sleeve and slipping down her white shoulder. A whimper of being forced away spills from his lips, making to move forward, but she keeps her grip in his hair tight. "If you want to be a good boy then take your sweet time," she almost laughs at his pout.

"Nothing is sweeter than you, Mistress Vanta," he says into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, but he listens to her demand, and kisses his way back to his treat. "Does your pussy belong to me?" their eyes clash as he asks innocently, deliberately. Suddenly she sits up and his scalp is pleasantly burning from her clutch, his mouth separating from her pussy with a soft squelch. His excitement spills over the meter at the hard look in her eyes, the cruelty in them as he looks up into them..

"No, it doesn't, and it never will," with her free hand she runs a thumb across his bottom lip, which he immediately takes into his mouth and suckles it with a slight moan. "You have to earn that privilege, understand, pet?" she pulls his mouth open until she can see inside. Clyde nods, swirling his tongue out to catch more skin of her hand. He answers her, but his words are incoherent. "If you're a really good boy, then I might not share my pussy with anyone else but you," the mention of other men feasting her, pleasuring her, grows a disgusting jealousy within him, and he knows it's showing on his face in a grimace.

"No," his growl is feral and rumbling deeply, "I want to be the only one, I want your pussy to be mine," his grip on her thighs tightens from the unsuppressed displeasure.

"You're so selfish."
"Greedy," he instantly agrees.

"What if I want someone else to eat me, hmm?" those words are horrible and hurt him more than her threats. "What if I grow bored with you, what if I don't want you anymore?" his heart literally stops beating for a second and his breath freezes in his throat. Icy horror erupts in him, and his grip becomes painfully tight. Pain etches in his face as he shakes his head slowly, and then furiously as she begins to pull away.

"No!" his voice cracks horribly, burning tears hazing his vision. He dives forward, flinging his arms around her in an iron-restraint, nearly wrapping twice around her smaller frame. His hold is dangerously possessive and is crushing her painfully; they are impossibly close, he's pulling her into him, within him. Clyde is imprinting himself into her, for proof that he will be her only one. Jade feels his tears through her loosening robe as his body rakes in heart-wrenching sobs. She only meant to tease, not trigger a panic attack; ever since she's broken him, he's developed his own fear, the fear of being permanently separated from her.

His mind is split in two; one side is his stable-self, the rational side that can think, fight, kill. It's his normal-self, the Clyde Stavings that previously worked for Savage, the man that is a spy. However, the counter side is a whole different story; he can never stand being apart from her (all those solitary confinement periods and only having her as his company influenced by Vanta), he understands they have their different lives and separate missions, but he's attached, terribly so. He can't fathom the idea of letting her go, he will forever be leashed to her in all senses. One side, he's a man, the other, he's a desperate child. His child-mind wants to please Jade, wants to persuade her to keep him, and if she rejects him, he breaks.

Clyde bemoans into her naval, desperately nuzzling his head into her warmth. He's begging, holding her tighter and tighter. "No, no, no, no, no," a choke or hitch of breath interrupts his string of 'no's, a hiccup escapes his lips every now and then, and he's a violently shaking, weeping mess. Pity trickles in, her gaze softens, and she brings her hands to tenderly, affectionately glide them through his hair, which soothes his scalp. When she caresses his nape, he pushes her forward until her back presses into the mattress once more. The sobbing man pushes her up until they are centered on the bed, and he lays his full weight on her while she continues to calm him. Slowly his sobbing stops, but he still whimpers.

She tilts his head up, looks at him gently, and dabs his profuse tears away with her robe sleeve. He sniffles, his incredibly pained face taking comfort into her hands. "No, please don't leave me," he hiccups, "please, Mistress Vanta, I beg you. You don't have to touch me, you don't have to do anything, just keep me. I promise I'll be a good boy, I promise, Mistress Vanta, I promise." Her heart oddly clenches at his words. "I know I'm pathetic, I know I'm unworthy, I don't deserve you, but please don't abandon me, please don't throw me away. I promise to be good from now on—"

Jade gently places her thumb to his lips to silence him. She cups his face and pulls him up, to which he complies. And then she's kissing him, tenderly, affectionately, reassuringly. Clyde's gray eyes are wide in immense shock at her sudden sentimental action, but he doesn't complain. Now they are kissing softly, lips melding nearly permanently. The brunette woman pulls away with a soft parting, looking deeply into his eyes. "I won't do that to you, I'll never hurt you like that, because you're my sweet Clyde and you'll always be mine," relief floods his face, along with joyful tears. He bites his tongue hard to not allow a sob to escape, but he can't help it when she kisses him again.

Within seconds, Clyde turns the slow, gentle kiss into a passionate, fierce one. Their heads turn angles, their mouths open wide, their tongues tangle, they suck, bite, nip, moan, and kiss deeper. It's overwhelming and getting harder to breathe, even if they are panting. Suddenly, he breaks away, kissing her face everywhere, and to her ear. He traces his tongue along the cartilage, nibbling at it, sucking and tugging her earlobe, and then he wetly kisses her down to the column of her throat. He gives the vulnerable flesh the same treatment, marking her everywhere.

Clyde tastes her enticing collarbone, frantically pulling her robe apart, ripping it off from beneath her, and throwing it off to the side. He stares at her breasts for a long time, just as he had done with her pussy. They aren't small or huge, they're perfect, generous, and can fill his hands; her nipples are peaked roses against the whiteness of her globes. He bend to suckle them, like an infant would, pulling as much flesh into his mouth, sinking his teeth in until teeth marks appear, tugging her nipples, one mouth at work with a hand at the other. His mouth travels down her belly, over her ribs, to her naval, and to where he left off.

He returns to his frantic pace of pleasuring her, sucking her clit, nipping her lips, plunging his tongue in and out of her. The man relishes in every sound and movement she makes, whether it's a moan, twitch, sigh, arching of her back, squeal, pulling him closer or (his favorite) calling his name. Occasionally he will moan long and loud to create pleasant vibrations tingling into her pussy. Clyde angles his head and reaches an area that makes her yelp, jerking slightly. His eyes spark at the discovery and he loops his strong arms around her thighs, his hands securely clasping atop her abdomen to keep her pinned down, and then he repeatedly strokes that area.

Overwhelming pleasure shakes her and she's gasping, silently screaming, and frantically clutching at anything she can grab to hold herself sane. Suddenly, his hand snakes down to her clit and his thumb circles it vigorously, while still stroking that area. Jade arches high, ecstasy slamming into her as wave after wave of body racking shudders. She digs her fingers into his scalp, eyes shut tightly, and keens. However, he doesn't stop, he rides her climax out until she's thrashing underneath him. His hold doesn't give, pinning her effortlessly down to the bed. His pace doesn't slow, it's still passionate and frenzied, and then she cums again.

It's too much, she feels hypersensitive, feels she might faint, feels her eyes rolling into her skull. It's not until he forces another climax that she's had enough. Now she's pushing his head away, but he won't budge, still plunging his tongue into her, still rubbing her clit to numbness. "Clyde!" her voice is breaking. "Clyde, stop, I can't— I can't— it's too much, stop!" the man complies, slowing his pleasuring, and then stopping completely. He drinks her all in, gently lapping her clean as her body continuously twitches. Slowly he pulls away, licking his lips, and staring straight in her eyes. She's panting, boneless, and floating in the afterglow. Pride surges in him and he knows she keeping him permanently.

. . .

After Jade decided she could stand without falling due to the hypersensitivity, she punished him severely. She whipped him until he begged to cum, bound him securely to the bed, both wrists and ankles, sucked him, denied his peak, teased him with her dancing fingers, abused his prostate, to which he came closer to fainting than she did, then stroked him until he begged her to stop. She didn't until he came one more time than she had, which resulted in Clyde actually blacking out for six seconds.

He is holding her tightly into him, arms wrapped around her torso to ensure she can't escape, their legs entwined, and the blanket twisted around their naked melded bodies. His face is buried in her nape, breathing her scent in deeply as he sleeps harmlessly. Jade is wide awake, her mind buzzing and attempting to take in what just happened. They didn't fuck, but they were close to, if Clyde hadn't fallen asleep. But she's grateful, she isn't ready yet. He's more on top of her than beside her, so the brunette woman is crushed underneath him, feels the heaviness of him on her, but it's a pleasant weight. They breathe rhythmically, and she wonders if what she's doing is right for her.

She's no virgin, she doesn't want a relationship, hell she didn't even want him in the beginning. Yet his pained face is haunting her every time she closes her eyes. She's keeping him more out of pity from breaking him than out of desire, but she knows more than anyone that eventually she'll keep him by her side because she wants to. The thought scares her as much as it's pleasing; she doesn't mind, but she's afraid of their outcome. There is too much on her mind and fatigue is beginning to seep in, so she snuggles into her pillow, closes her eyes, and sleeps. Her dreams are filled with stormy gray eyes.

diabolical  

Feb 7, 2018 in femdom

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