by Jesse Jordan
“No Mistress,” Lihua says. “What are your orders?”
“Tell Ophelos to contact Club Tartarus. I'm bringing in the man who ordered the attack, and I want privacy. Then take care of the others.”
“Yes Mistress,” Lihua says. After we hang up, I glance over at Stephen, who's relaxed enough to lower his rifle some.
“Master Stephen?”
“I promised her that I'd protect you. She says that earns me Master status for her,” Stephen says simply. “Don't worry, I reminded her who her primary Mistress is.”
I nod, and turn my attention back to the road. It's getting late, and I've got a lot more to get done tonight before it's over.
Besides, Lihua's right.
Stephen
Club Tartarus is very similar to Larissa's primary club, but the decorations are darker, maybe more forbidding. “Your sub club?”
“A lot of the subs who can afford Tartarus are mentally hardcore, although most of them can't take even half of what my professional subs can, so we enhance the experience with the décor,” Larissa explains as we truss Pinchot to the St. Andrew's cross. I remember the X shape from my first night in the other club, and beautiful but now injured Claudia who's in the hospital who had been on it. So trusting in Larissa, and trusting in me too by the end... she didn't deserve to be shot. “What's wrong?”
“After we question him I'll tell you,” I reply, getting pissed off as Pinchot wakes up. I'd knocked him out pretty hard, but he's finally coming around, struggling at the end when he realizes what's happening to him. I get his arm bound though and step back as Pinchot stares at us, hate in his eyes.
“You're making a grave mistake,” Pinchot says, and I shake my head, holding up a hand to silence him. Turning, I whisper in Larissa's ear.
“I assume this room has the same tools as the other club?”
She nods, her violet eyes brimming with anger and malice. “And more.”
“Get them. And does the cross recline?” She nods, and I think. “Bring a bucket and a towel too. Just in case.”
Larissa leaves, and Pinchot looks at me knowingly. “American after all. So let's see, CIA?”
“Does it matter?” I return, not wanting to give him any momentum. “Tell me about Chastity Hendricks.”
“Nothing to say,” Pinchot says. Larissa returns, and he grins. “A challenge.”
“Most dominants can't take even half of what my subs can,” Larissa says, foregoing the crop and picking up the cat o' nine tails. “It's why I keep my clubs separated. The customers can't challenge my staff, I'd be too busy keeping them from fucking each other if I didn't. I do hope you can take it.”
Larissa flicks her whip, the tip tearing across Pinchot's chest and he hisses. I know I shouldn't let this happen, but I don't care right now. “Like I said, tell me about Chastity Hendricks.”
“I wasn't involved with her!” Pinchot says, grunting. “I was out recruiting when she was taken!”
“You told me that back when you were going to rape me and kill me,” Larissa says, whipping him again. “You're going to have to do better. Who is Finch?”
“I don't know what you're talking about,” Pinchot says, and Larissa hits him again. She's trembling on the edge of exhaustion herself after the beating she's already taken, and I stop her hand, taking the whip from her gently.
“Sit,” I whisper in her ear. “You need treatment yourself, and I can handle this. Ask the questions. Okay?”
“Yes,” Larissa says, her eyes still angry but obeying me without a second of protest. She grabs a club chair and sits down while I turn back to Pinchot.
“You're lying,” I tell Pinchot, setting the whip aside to get in his face. “Who's your boss?”
“You think you scare me, Yankee?” Pinchot asks, laughing. “I can see it in your eyes, you play by the rules. I'm not scared of you. I want my lawyer.”
“You might have been right... a few weeks ago,” I respond, punching Pinchot in the stomach. “But that was before I saw what happened to Chastity Hendricks. You think I'm worried about a little roughness when she was treated like that?”
“I'll treat her rougher,” Pinchot taunts, jerking his head towards Larissa. “She's already a legendary fuck by her reputation. I bet she's even better bleeding.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I scream, losing my temper as I backhand Pinchot. “You won't ever touch her!”
Pinchot's head rocks back and blood flies from his lips, but he laughs, bubbles forming on his lips as he looks at me. “So... that's your weakness, huh? Not good, Lancelot. The lady you think you're protecting, she's just a whore with a fancy title. You think the Network is going to let her actually have any power? Scoglitti is going to keep control of the shipping, Rachmaninoff is going to control the money, and she's going to have a couple of whore houses and the crumbs from their tables...”
“Enough!” I yell, jamming my thumb into his neck. It's painful, and as he writhes, I twist deeper, digging my thumb under his jaw. “You will not talk about Larissa! Who's your boss?!”
“Fuck... you...” Pinchot grunts, and I twist harder. It's an excruciating, but I dig in until Larissa speaks up.
“Who is Finch?” she asks, her voice shaky with exhaustion but still calm. Better than I feel, but right now I don't care.
Pinchot laughs again, and I've hit my end point. I find the controls for the cross and invert him, pointing his head down and grabbing the towel. “Can you pour for me?”
Larissa nods, and I clamp the towel over Pinchot's head. I've been waterboarded twice when I was in training at Langley, but I've never done it myself. It short circuits all your survival instincts to simulate drowning, and Pincot's helpless, unable to even move his hands as we pour the water over the towel and down his throat and up his nose. After two cups, he's sputtering, choking on his own panic, and I pull the towel away. “Who's Finch?!”
“Boss...” Pinchot chokes out, coughing. “Head.... of group.”
“Where is he?” I demand, but Pinchot shakes his head, he's obviously more afraid of Finch than me or waterboarding. Time to take it up a notch. I bring him back up, and reach for his belt, undoing his pants and pulling him down. His cock flops out, and I look, surprised. “You've got a baby dick!”
“Fuck you, Yankee,” Pinchot coughs. “I use what I have.”
“Not like this,” I taunt, cupping my cock. “Good God, no wonder you are such a sadistic shit! You can't make her feel your cock, so you make her feel something at least. Larissa, do we have something to make this jelly bean jump?”
“I have just the device,” Larissa says, going over to the cabinet and coming back a minute later with a large wand looking thing. I've never seen anything like it, but Pinchot's eyes widen and he shakes his head back and forth, panicked. “I see you're familiar with the electro-stim wand. This one's a bit bigger, we call it the Tower of Power around here.”
Larissa pushes a button on the handle, and the wand, I realize now it's shaped like a gigantic cock sparks, a wicked arc of electricity snapping between two prongs on the end. From the sound of it, it's nearly the power of a stun gun. Larissa hands it to me, and I find that I'm smiling, turning to Pinchot. “Last chance. His full name and location, or else I barbecue your nuts.”
Pinchot grunts, and I jab him in the thigh, triggering the wand, making him scream in panic and pain. When I pull back, his eyes are clear but totally frightened. “Okay, okay! Reginald Finch, he's in the UK right now!”
“Where in the UK?” I ask, and Pinchot shakes his head.
“I don't know, he moves around a lot. He's former Army, like me!”
I lower my wand, and turn to Larissa. “Think we've got what we need?”
Larissa nods, and I hand the wand back to her. “We'll leave him here for a couple of Network people to take out the garbage later.”
That sounds fine with me, and I put my arm around her shoulder, supporting her as we start to leave. At the door, I stop, interrupted by Finch's laughter. “It... it doesn't m
atter,” he wheezes. “They'll stop you, they'll stop you both. Finch is untouchable, and there's not a fucking thing you can do about it! They're going to stop you, and you're going to get fucked just like that Hendricks cunt!”
“Maybe,” I reply, crossing the room and getting in Finch's face. “But there's one person I can make damn sure doesn't hurt anyone ever again.”
Pinchot starts to smile, his smile turning to a mask of pain as I grab his balls and squeeze, pulling and twisting as I do. Pinchot's face turns brick red as he screams, the big vein on his forehead throbbing as I feel the inner flesh start to stretch and tear, his testicles turning to jelly under my crushing grip. I pull harder, adding my body weight to the pull, and Pinchot passes out, overwhelmed by the pain. I don't stop until I feel the blood coating my hand and I look down, yanking one last time to literally tear Pinchot's balls out and drop the ruined organs on the floor, wiping my hand on his shirt before turning back around and walking away, leaving him bleeding. “Tell your people they've got a bigger mess than we thought. And I need a sink to wash up.”
Larissa nods, her eyes huge with what looks like admiration for me. “Why?”
I look into her beautiful violet eyes and start to stroke her cheek, then stop. She doesn't need the pollution of this man's blood on her. “Because I will never let another little girl go through what you went through. Come on, we've got a flight plan to make to the UK.”
Larissa
My flat in the suburbs of London is just that, a mostly open space in a large building that I purchased when I wanted a space that was totally mine. Not MI6, not Network, just Larissa Moraitis. After landing at the nearby Stansted airport and driving to the closest thing I have in England to 'home,' and I realize as I lead Stephen inside that this is the first time I've ever 'had a man over.'
Stephen looks around, he's been so quiet since we got on the plane in Kalamata. “It's nice. I would have taken you for a Kensington girl though.”
“I have that side to me for sure,” I tell him with a small smile, “but this place I can just be me. Uh... I don't want to sound cruel, but I only have one bed and a sofa.”
“That's fine, I can do the sofa without a problem,” Stephen says, yawning. “It's been a really tough forty eight hours, I think I might not even notice.”
We get ready for bed, and I lay down in between my sheets, closing my eyes. I think I sleep, but it's never too deeply, I can hear Stephen tossing and turning. Finally, right at the time that my bedside clock says one in the morning, he sits up, yelling in a panic. I'm out of bed in an instant, and I go to the living area, where I find Stephen sitting, his back heaving and his skin dotted with sweat that glimmers like diamonds in the moonlight. “Hey... what's going on?”
Stephen wipes at his face, turning to see me outlined against my big picture window. “Sorry. Go to bed, I don't want to keep you up.”
“Well, you've already done that, so that's a moot point,” I say in a friendly tone, coming around and sitting down next to him on the couch. I turn on the lamp next me and turn, shocked by the haunted eyes that look back at me from shadowed sockets. “Jesus Stephen.... come on now, talk with me.”
He wipes at his lips with the back of his hand before running trembling fingers. I reach out, taking his hand, wondering where this came from. Maybe I was just paying too much attention to the flying and driving.
“I... fuck Larissa, I ripped his balls off,” Stephen says, swallowing. “My whole career, I've been Mr. By The Book. I was the guy that could practically quote you the rules in the middle of the operation, and went by them no matter what. But since starting this mission....”
“You're waking up, becoming the man that you've always had the potential to be,” I finish for him, leaning against the back of the sofa and taking his hand. “Stephen, I had my innocence ripped away when I was just seven. You know that. But I don't think I'm overly pessimistic. I think I'm a realist. And watching you... become the man you've become since we first met just a few weeks ago, I think you are too. The blinders are off, and what you did to Pinchot... he had it coming.”
I expect Stephen to protest, to get angry that I even said it, but instead he hums in agreement. “You're right, he did. But Larissa, from the point we started with the waterboarding until the minute we walked out of that room, I was so far over the line it wasn't even in the rearview mirror. I've spent the past day and a half thinking about it, and it's not the going over the line that worries me most though.”
“What is it?” I ask, letting go of his hand to stroke his arm. It feels nice, and it helps me focus on him, to listen to what he's trying to tell me. “You said you've done... what is it the CIA calls it, wetwork before?”
“Wetwork,” Stephen agrees. “But Larissa, every other life I've taken, I was in control of myself. I made every decision totally on my own, by the book. I took them down clean, by the book. I've never had OPR investigate one of my takedowns. Pinchot though, I wasn't thinking, I wasn't in control, I was just.... doing. It was like I was acting off instinct. And that, more than anything else, has me worried. Because if I just go by instinct, I am turning rogue. I'm crossing a line that can't be uncrossed.”
I smile, he's so close but still not understanding. I can understand, he hasn't had enough time to fully process the world that he's in. He's also got a family back in the United States, a sister if I remember right, he's got a refuge from all this when it's over and done with. So part of him is still fighting his evolution.
“That line, who do you think put it there, Stephen? The CIA, correct? MI6 has a line too, probably close to the same one you have. I crossed that line years ago, Deep Cover sort of erases that line for us. But the more time I've spent without that line, the more I realize that it's just an artificial form of control, a way to keep people like you and me from seeing the world as it really is. The fact is, you're seeing the world fully now, and it takes time for you to come to grips with it. More importantly, you're so close to becoming who you really are and who you're meant to be. It's natural though, right at the cusp of breaking out of your cage, to feel this way. You're a powerful man, and I think you've got plenty of control of yourself still.”
“I don't know-” Stephen says, but I stop him, leaning in and kissing him for some reason, going by my own instincts. Stephen resists at first, but then kisses me back, gentler than most of our normal first kisses. When we part, he's looking at me with the look that sends shivers of anticipation down my spine. “What was that for?”
“Because I want to show you just how much control you still have,” I whisper, taking his hand again. “Come with me... please. Sir.”
Stephen's eyebrow lifts at my last word, but he gets up, holding onto my hand as I lead him to the lift, taking him down one floor. “While this might look rather pedestrian, I do own this building,” I tell him. “And so the top two floors are mine. My living area is on the top floor. This floor however... is for the rest of me.”
I open the lift gate and Stephen steps out with me, looking around in admiration. “This makes your training rooms in your clubs look... what was it, pedestrian?”
I smile, feeling slightly out of place in my flannel pyjamas in this room, but Stephen's right. “I outfit my clubs with good equipment, but yes, everything in here has been purchased with one person in mind. Me.”
“So why bring me down here?” Stephen asks, going over to the bed and looking. “And you said you had only one bed.”
“I've never slept in that bed before,” I muse, looking at it. “Actually, I've never used this room before with another person. I've had this flat for four years, and this room has never been used beyond self exploration. Stephen... Sir, would you help me try out my room?”
I cross the room to my chest of drawers, where I take out the silk bondage cords that I've never used, they're still in fresh out of the package condition. I take them over to Stephen, placing them in his hand. “I have full trust in your self control, sir.”
My lip
trembles as Stephen closes his hand over the rope, looking me in the eyes, the side of him that I want to see growing. “And this is what you want?”
I nod, going over to the bed and taking off my pyjamas, kneeling nude on the surface. “Anything you want, sir.”
Stephen comes over, stroking my hair gently before pulling me up for a searing kiss, his fingers entwining themselves in my hair and tugging, just a little bit of spark to our kiss that leaves me breathless. He steps back, grabbing my wrist and twisting it behind my back, pinning me helpless to the bed. “Anything I want....” he muses, and I feel the cord wrap around my wrists. “Little Lihua looked very cute when I did this to her.”
“Yet you didn't fuck her,” I reply, feeling the thrill seep through me. It's tight, but not too tight, and he's done something different than with Lihua, there's a long tail lying off of the end. He's got something in mind. “Am I to expect the same?”
“You will expect what I give you,” Stephen commands huskily, and I can't help it, I'm thrilled by it, by him. He wraps the cord, another knot on the end but there's a long tail again, and I'm shocked when he turns me over, my hands jammed into my lower back painfully. Stephen looks me in the eye, studying me. “Your word is olive.”
“My word is olive, sir,” I agree, another thrill rippling through me as he takes full control, pushing my left knee up and wrapping the tail of the cord around it, then doing the same to my right leg, binding me totally splayed for him. It's a good job, and looking at him, my heart pounds in my chest. “Sir.... my panties?”
“I'm sure you've got scissors or something to cut these cords in an emergency around here,” he says, running a finger up my right hamstring to my ass, cupping it before squeezing. “Where?”
“Same cabinet as the cord, sir...” I mewl, the last word coming so easily now. I'm not calling him sir as a game or a show of my confidence in him... I'm calling him sir because I want to call him sir. Stephen gets off the bed and opens the drawer, taking out the knife and turning to me with raised eyebrow. “It's okay, sir.”
