by Jesse Jordan
Larissa hums happily, laying her head on my chest. “I look forward to it… sir.”
It’s hard, resisting the physical urge to just tear our clothes off and fuck like rabbits as the computer creeps by at whatever quad cores can do while it looks at and discards what comes out to nearly five terabytes of data once the video and audio are taken away.
Still, like I told Larissa, anticipation builds the flavor between us, and I feel it in every glance she gives me as we eat our simple dinner, going for a walk through the countryside afterwards. The next time we are sexual with each other, it’s going to be epic.
We don’t trust ourselves enough to actually sleep together again, so I crash on the sofa, a towel pulled over my eyes to shield me from the glare of the laptop screen as documents are pulled up, scanned, and discarded in the blink of an eye. Still, it’s hard to sleep with the simmering sexual tension that’s coursing through my veins, and I twice get up in the middle of the night to take a piss, only to stop by Larissa’s door and have to stop myself from opening the door to join her.
When the sun creeps over the horizon, I’m already awake, giving up on sleep an hour ago to do calisthenics in the pre-dawn chill until I’m running with sweat and at least flushing enough blood to my muscles that my cock is able to relax for a while. All that stops however when Larissa comes out in her silk pyjamas, her hair sleep gnarled but looking like a dream still. “Good morning, early bird. You do know my real life has me working nights, correct?”
“I know that I spent all of last night wanting to go into your bed and keep you working all night, but I resisted,” I reply, Larissa smiling in reply. “You have no idea the images that went through my mind while I was doing pushups outside.”
“Probably the same that were going through my mind as I spent two hours doing my own exercises before finally being able to get some sleep,” Larissa admits. “I’ll make the tea this morning, sir.”
The way she says it is natural and we both smile at it, my eyes fixed on her as she makes the tea, bringing over a steaming mug. “Lemon, sugar and milk. Everything a proper British breakfast tea needs.”
I take a sip and have to agree, it’s better than what I made yesterday as she sits down next to me, her eyes gleaming while she waits for my evaluation. “Delicious.”
“Good. Now, let’s see if we’ve got results,” she says, going professional as she turns her eyes to her computer. “Well, from nine terabytes of data, we’ve got a hundred items that contain either of the names. A good start.”
“Then lets read,” I say, bending in close to her. An hour later, our teas sit forgotten as we get both look at each other, fresh horror overwhelming Larissa as we review the latest document, an e-mail from Reginald Finch.
“Lord Harlow,” Larissa says, blinking. “No fucking way.”
Larissa gets up, pacing back and forth as she tries to do the same. “Lord Harlow! The goddamn Lord High Steward!”
“Give me a head’s up,” I say. “I barely understand the system on the surface.”
Larissa turns to me, her eyes anguished. “There’s Eight Great Officers of State, a carryover from the medieval system. Most of the positions are ceremonial, because the official position has so much fucking power they can literally run roughshod over Parliament if the King or Queen doesn’t stop them via personal intervention. The Lord High Steward for five hundred years or so was one of those positions, all the bugger was supposed to do was hold one of the fucking crowns when a new King or Queen is coronated. Until two years ago, when they suddenly named Lord Harlow as the Lord High Steward. Of course to the public it’s just a blank honor for a man who’s being rewarded for being friends with the crown, and a way to make sure things go smoothly when the old girl finally decides to hand over the keys to Charles or William. But on paper, the only thing stopping him from running the whole damned country is the crown itself.”
“And this says that he’s one of the heads of The Circle,” I finish for her. “Larissa...”
“I know!” she says, running her hands through her hair. “Him and...”
“And Robert Kershaw,” I complete again. “The Kingmaker.”
“Now it’s your turn,” Larissa says. “Who is this fucker?”
“They call him the Kingmaker because he’s literally made Presidents, and I mean plural,” I reply, leaning back. “He’s a billionaire, but that’s not the big thing for him, his money’s old money going back all the way to the founding of the country. His big thing is his connections. He’ll give a million or so of his own money come each election cycle, but that’s barely the interest the fucker gets on his bank accounts. No, what he does is he picks out the people he thinks are best for running the country, and he puts them in the right places to meet the right people. Sometimes it’s through scholarships, sometimes internships, sometimes just by making introductions. The conspiritards can talk all they want about Skull & Bones or the Bohemian Grove, but the fact is that three of the past four presidents were put on their path by him. I don’t even know how many governors, Senators, all that also got put in position by him. You think The Network has their tendrils in the government? You’ve probably got Network girls rubbing elbows with people Kershaw’s picked out right now.”
“You say three of the last four. Which one wasn’t?” Larissa asks, and I look up at her.
“The current one. You thinking the same thing I am?” I ask, and Larissa nods. “They were sending a message.”
Larissa nods. “And another thing,” she says, coming over and pulling up another document. “Read. I clicked through fast because it pissed me off too much.”
I take a minute and read the one page e-mail, this one from Pinchot to Finch and Harlow both. “Harlow… he’s the one who funded your kidnapping as a child.”
Larissa nods, tenting her fingers under her chin as her dark eyes take in the glowing words. “This motherfucker… it’s because of him. All of it.”
Suddenly Larissa stands up, going over to the counter and grabbing her keys. “I need your help, Stephen. I know what I’m asking is insane, but I still need to ask.”
I stand up, coming over and taking her hands. “You don’t need to ask. We put a bullet in this fucker. Preferably a high caliber one.”
Larissa swallows, looking into my eyes. “I’m willing to die over this, even if I don’t want to. But Stephen, even if this works… you do this, and you are a rogue agent. There’s no way the CIA will condone this hit.”
I nod, reaching out and cupping her cheek. “I know. Now, where are you going?”
“To get a hard drive. If we are to live past this, we need to have something to hold over them… that data is it. If you could please… start working the setup on the hit?”
I nod, not smiling at all. “Yes, my Lady.”
She doesn’t smile, she doesn’t chuckle, but in her eyes I can see she understands. “Thank you, sir. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Would you like an ice cream while I’m out?”
“Sure. Plain vanilla, if you don’t mind. You know how boring my tastes are.”
That gets a small smirk from Larissa, who pats my cheek before getting in the car and driving off. I watch the tail lights go before I turn around and start my own work, figuring out how to conduct an assassination on one of the most powerful men in the entire UK.
Larissa
It takes us another week to work out the hit using the information available on Lord Harlow, and each day I feel myself getting more and more nervous. Finally, we have the last of the details worked out“That’s it,” he says, closing the boot of our car, where we've packed all the equipment. “Nothing we can do except get some sleep.”
“Yes there is,” I say, reaching out and taking his hand. “Stephen, if we’re going to do this, I need something.”
“What?” he asks, and I place his hand on my breast, covering it with my own. “I thought....”
“And that’s what I said. But Stephen, this isn’t about feeling better about re
ading bad things, I’m past that. What I need… I need to place my life in your hands more than ever before. I need to dare myself to trust you with everything I am, more than just my body. Stephen… I need this. I need no limits.”
Stephen nods gravely, his hand tightening on my breast until it’s nearly painful, but it’s a delicious feeling. “Do you have the right accessories here for this?”
I nod, taking his hand and leading him to my bedroom, where I open one of my cabinets. “It’s not everything, but this… this will do.”
Stephen lifts each item out, studying it before setting it on top of my dresser table, each one as familiar to him now after the months of study with me as riding a bicycle. Finally, when he’s taken out everything, he turns and looks at me, the professional agent gone and the alpha male who has stirred my very soul for months now in front of me. “Strip. Now. And stand in front of the bed, you know the proper position.”
His powerful words and tone send a jolt down my spine and I hurry to obey, folding all my clothes properly before standing in front of the bed, my feet together, my arms crossed behind my back and my eyes looking down, my hair carefully pulled over my shoulder to hang as a single unit.
Stephen picks something up from the dresser, and I see the tip of a riding crop come up, lifting my chin until I’m looking him in the eye. “No limits, you say?”
“No sir.”
He nods, tracing the flat edge of the crop over my neck and down between my breasts to my belly button before bringing it back up, caressing the scar on my cheek. “Tell me Larissa. Are you shamed by this scar?”
I swallow, seeing the look in his eyes and thanking him inside. Physical discomfort I can handle, I’ve dished out and taken enough… but psychological challenges, only he’s been able to touch me there. “At first I was, sir. Not any more.”
“Why?” he asks, lifting the crop away and putting it over his shoulder. “What meaning does it have for you?”
“You… you are the one who gave it to me, sir. You took an injury and made something beautiful out of it,” I reply, and I see my answer shakes him. “You made me stronger and more beautiful.”
“And you are beautiful,” he says, the crop flashing from his shoulder to smack against my right breast, stinging hard. “I am proud of it too.”
The pain is wonderful, the sting sending a jolt straight to my pussy as he takes me in, studying my body but not looking down on me at all. “Thank you, sir.”
He swings the crop again, this time the tip smacking into my thigh, close enough to the cleft between my legs that a shiver of fear shoots through me, but then it’s gone, and I trust in him. “You were crafted by the hands of a wonderful creator, but I’ve enhanced that beauty,” he says, coming around and cropping my ass. “And marked you as mine, you know.”
His? Could it be that, after the weeks of dancing around the one thing that we won’t talk about, the elephant in the room that has weighed in every conversation, every time we’ve had sex since we arrived here in the UK, is he really…?
“Focus, Larissa, your focus is drifting,” he warns, smacking my buttcheek again. “I think I have just the thing to bring you into focus.”
He steps away, going to the dresser and putting the crop down before picking up my nipple clamps with silver chain between them, the weight adding to the pull on my body. He comes over, kissing me tenderly while his right thumb teases my nipple and makes me moan, warmth filling my body as he strokes me to painful tightness before he steps back, attaching the clamp before lifting my left breast to his lips and sucking. My thighs tremble it feels so amazing as he nibbles and sucks while my right breast burns under the clamps tug before he removes his mouth and attaches the other clamp, both of my nipples on fire from the sensation. “Now you can focus. Can’t you?”
“Yes sir,” I gasp, and I feel the first droplets of wetness trickle down the inside of my thighs.
“Good. Are you mine, Larissa?” he asks, tugging on the chain lightly so that my eyes roll back in my head it’s so powerful. Am I his? Am I his?
“Yes sir. I’m yours.”
He stops tugging, letting my eyes focus again as he looks deep into my eyes, powerful and vulnerable at the same time in a way that nobody before him has ever looked at me. “How many others have you said that to?”
I swallow, unlocking the last of the gates inside me and showing him everything. “Nobody, sir. In all my training, in all my time since I became aware of this side of me… nobody. I’ve called two men sir, and one woman Mistress. All were teachers of mine at MI6. And those were sexual titles only. Giving myself… you’re my first.”
He nods, kissing my lips again before pulling me in, his hands holding my wrists behind my back as his tongue winds around mine, my breasts with their tortured nipples crushed against his chest, and for the first time, I understand the type of submission that he requires of me. It’s not of the body, it’s of the spirit and soul, of the heart, but if I do… he’ll raise me up as his equal. It’s contradictory, it’s illogical… and it makes perfect sense.
He releases me, taking my hands out from behind my back to turn me around and place them on the corners of my footboard, wrapping my fingers around the curved balls at the end of the maple posts. “Spread your legs, too. Not too wide, I want your ass at just the right height for me.”
I obey, gripping the board and spreading my legs what I think is the right amount, his hum of appreciation telling me when to stop. “You obey so well, Larissa,” he murmurs in my ear, running a hand down my backbone and sending fresh tremors through my body. “I must be special, for such a powerful woman to submit to me so well.”
“You are special, sir,” I whisper, turning to look at him. “So special.”
He smiles and turns, wrapping the cord around my right wrist before tying it off to the bed post, then doing the same with my left. With the chain on my nipple clamps now tugging downward, every breath and every heartbeat makes it tremble, waves of pleasure and pain coursing through my body as I lower my head for a moment before raising it, looking ahead as he steps back to study me. “You’re special too, you know.”
He comes around the bed to where I can see him as he slowly, sensually strips, his powerful muscles flexing as he unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off before removing his pants and then his underwear, his perfect cock springing out as soon as it’s free. He looks down, wrapping his fingers around his shaft and teasing me with a few pumps as if he’s not going to use it on me but just make me watch him pleasure himself. It’s torture and arousal wrapped in one, and he smiles when I moan uncontrollably as a drop of his precum comes to the mushroom tip and he wipes it away, holding it out to me. “Say please.”
“Please, sir,” I beg, not ashamed at all as he slips his finger between my lips and I taste his sweetness. Oh god, to honor this man on my knees like last time… focus, Larissa. He wants focus. “Thank you, sir.”
“I can read your eyes, Larissa. But not this time. This time, I want to see how much this splendid body of yours can take. Now, you are not allowed to come until I give you permission,” he says, letting go of his cock and disappearing from sight. I hear him pick up some more toys from the dresser and then there’s the touch of a smooth, hard tip against my asshole, and I look back to see him slip a vibrator plug inside, opening my body before turning it on. The smooth hum seems to not be sound as much as feeling, my ass warming and clenching around the rim of the plug, and I’m gushing down my leg it feels good. “My my Larissa, don’t tell me you’re going to be pushed over by just this?”
Teasing me? Oh, you are so good for me…. “No sir. Give me your best, please, sir.”
He chuckles, and suddenly there’s a whisper through the air before the tails of the cat land on my back, delicious heat and pain mixing with the sensations from my ass and my nipples. “Count!”
“One sir!” I gasp, loving it.
“Good. Now, how old are you, Larissa?” he asks, swinging the cat again, this time
a little lower.
“Twenty nine, sir!” I reply, then add, “Two, sir!”
“Very good. Let’s see if you can hold out to thirty, that’s one to grow on,” he says. He swings again and I’m nearly overwhelmed, he’s so powerful. He’s pushing my body to its very limits, and with each whispery smack I count, eight, nine, ten….
“Who do you belong to?” he asks, and it’s fifteen before I can work up the brain power to answer, I’m so overloaded.
“You, sir… I belong to Stephen Knightsbridge,” I groan, pure joy filling me as the words escape my lips. I’ve never said that before, even when I was an actual slave, but to say I belong to Stephen is just right and amazing.
He swings the cat hard, back and forth over my back and even my ass, lighting me up until my entire body burns with the sting of the cat’s tails and the incredible pleasure of the vibrator in my ass, the sway of my nipples, the feeling of his eyes on me as I take everything and bear it, my cries not of pain but of pleasure and ecstasy.
“Thirty sir!” I cry, and he throws the cat across the room in one smooth motion, stepping up and slamming his cock into my dripping wet pussy, both of us crying out it feels so good. He takes my body, his thick, heavy cock pounding in and out of me like a runaway freight train, destroying any resistance I have to him. He’s panting, the sting of his sweat on my raw skin as it falls from his forehead a blessing.
My pussy is overloaded from the tightness of his cock even as my ass is filled by the vibrator, and I’m trembling, my head feeling like it’s about to explode as I hold onto not coming only by sheer force of will and the desire to please this man, this wonderful man who deserves the title that no man has ever earned from me before.
“Permission… granted...” he grunts, and like an avalanche my orgasm starts, ripping from my bent over pussy and ass and exploding out through my body. My lungs clench for a breathless moment, and I’m caught as my heart stops, a tremendous pressure building in my chest until he cries out, his cock erupting deep within me like an injection of life giving energy, rocketing up my spine and kick starting everything again to explode with my own orgasm in my brain, my scream primal and raw and a sound I’ve never made before, the sound of total and complete fulfillment.
