“You have the sweetest lips,” he murmured, sucking her lower lip into his mouth.
Only a faint whimper escaped her as his mouth gently tugged on her lower lip. He wasn’t lying when he said that. He really did like sucking and kissing her lips. And of course, they felt even better wrapped around his cock.
After thoroughly kissing and sucking her lips, he issued another order, “Give me your tongue.” He studied her face carefully, assessing her stress levels. She seemed nervous, as always, but not overly taxed. Hesitantly, she parted her lips for him. Pink and daintily pointed, her tongue just barely emerged. He planted his mouth over hers and greedily sucked. He felt her shudder heavily beneath him.
Although he’d already fucked her once, his cock was aching. It would be so easy to plunge his painful erection back into her pussy but that’s not what the darkness in him wanted. He needed to fuck her mouth. He needed to claim another one of her carefully guarded passages.
Finally, when he thought he might go mad with lust, he backed away, breaking their intense kiss.
“Come here,” he whispered, untying the ropes that still held her wrists against the headboard. “I need that sweet tongue of yours on my cock.”
Gingerly, he forced her on her knees on the floor. When it came to oral sex, he liked it better when his woman knelt before him. She was limp and exhausted but not so unaware that she didn’t know what he wanted.
When the blunt end of his cock pressed against her lips, she dutifully opened for him. He groaned when she sucked him and sucked him hard. He tangled his fingers in her hair as she worked. There was no resistance from her, no whispers of “no,” and he completely understood why this was easier for her. She wasn’t being forced to come. She wasn’t being forced to find pleasure. Instead, she was on her knees on a hard-wood floor sucking his cock. It was a scenario he knew she’d been trained for, something she’d been conditioned to expect if ever captured.
There was nothing lazy or half-hearted about how she sucked and stroked his cock, either. He wasn’t surprised. She was falling back on training now, doing exactly what her seduction teacher had told her to do. With effort, she would even deep-throat him from time to time, just to show him that she could take his entire organ, which was no small feat. Even high-dollar whores usually failed that trick, claiming he was simply too big.
Kudos, American, he thought. He didn’t mind that she was falling back on training right now. If someone taught her how to give head like a porn star, who was he to complain?
The feel of her eager tongue against the head of his cock eradicated his train of thought. He groaned in genuine satisfaction. He clutched her hair even tighter, not wanting her to stop, not wanting her to ever stop. For just one moment, he felt the way he used to feel, maybe once, a long time ago, when he was a teenager. For a single moment, he felt like just a man and all that needed placating was the flesh. Just the flesh. More than anything, he wanted to simply explode in her mouth or come all over her face. Isn’t that what any other man would do? Damn straight! That’s exactly what the mere man in him wanted. But, of course, there was something else inside him. Maybe once, it was despair. Maybe in a way, it still was. Maybe it was rage. Maybe it was sadism. He wasn’t sure. It was just an all-consuming darkness that usually demanded suffering and blood.
Instead of allowing himself to come, he pulled his rock-hard cock from her mouth. She didn’t appear too surprised by the action. She even closed her eyes and tilted her head back as if she expected him to come on her face.
“Look at me,” he quietly ordered.
She obediently looked up at him. Her expression was so sweetly submissive. There was only a desire to please him, to make her captor happy. It was so little, really. Just a look. But it satisfied him immensely. And perhaps even more impressively, it placated the darkness in him.
“Resume what you were doing,” he whispered. “Only this time, look up at me.”
She only nodded before once again sliding his organ between her sweet lips. He stared down at her, watching her intensely, searching for any signs of deceit or manipulation. There was none. Her techniques were taught to her, yes, but underneath the zealous efforts, there was only that innocent please-don’t-hurt-me look. Before he knew it, he was spilling himself in her mouth.
“Good,” he murmured, pulling his softening cock from her. Before he could stop himself, he barely muttered, “Thank you.”
He frowned at his own words. Why was he thanking her?
She was so tired and so drained from their intense morning that she didn’t even appear to notice his quiet words.
And fuck, he knew why he was thanking her. Because it was so much easier with her. So much easier to come, specifically. He knew his women thought they had the short end of the deal when locked in his bedroom. After all, who the fuck wants hot needles driven through their genitals? Not even hard-core masochists liked some of the stuff he was into. But what the whores never understood and what his wife never understood was just how fucking hard it was for him to finally come. Fuck, after hours of flogging and caning, drawing blood, heating needles, inserting electro-sex dildos, yes, he could maybe, and the operative word is maybe, he could maybe find one meager fucking orgasm. And afterwards, the whores got a nice thick envelope of cash and his wife got to enjoy life at the very top of the empire’s social ladder. Fuck, at the end of the day, any of them could have found a little pleasure with their own hands. But not him. Fuck no!
At some point in his life, he’d lost the ability to easily come, even with his own hands. He’d mentioned it to a high-dollar physician, looking for a fix to his dilemma. But the doctor had only told him what he suspected, “Sadism is practically a requirement for SS men. Your profession has changed you, altered your sensitivity levels, eradicated your ability to empathize, enhanced your natural sadistic desires. You most likely need your lovers to feel a great deal of pain before you can find a release. I suggest seeking girls, or men, trained to handle SS officers.” And with that, he’d handed him a business card for a brothel he’d never heard of. He had to admit the girls from that service were better but even they had struggled with some of the things he’d wanted, the things he’d needed.
But when he first arrested Isabel and restrained her in his house, he had masturbated that night, alone in his bedroom, and had actually found a release, just with his own fucking hands. Hell, he hadn’t found relief with just his own hands in years. And he’d gotten off just from the memory of seeing her tied to the guest bed in his second bedroom. That’s what had gotten him off. Just the fucking memory of seeing her tied up. No hot needles, no electrified dildos, no choking, no piss play. None of that! And he had found a release!
Ever since that first night, everything was so different. Damn, it was nothing but light bondage and mostly missionary-position sex. Even when he’d finally flogged his war prize for the first time, he’d struck her so gently, so lightly…and with such a basic, leather flogger. Back in the days before his war prize, he’d had this one custom made flogger where the leather strips were edged with sharpened metal. It always produced a lot of screams and a lot of blood. Hell, back before truth serums, he’d used that little beauty for both work and play. But with his war prize, the thought of using something so extreme didn’t appeal to him. It just wasn’t necessary. He didn’t need any of his weapons anymore to come.
And he could come so easily, so quickly, and even several times a night. It was like he was a fucking teenage boy again, and it was everything he could do not to explode in his pants. He had no idea why this woman affected him the way she did. No idea at all. He liked it, yes. Hell, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy coming so easily and so quickly as well as several times a night. But at the same time, something nibbled at the back of his brain. He quickly brushed the concerns off, though, at least, for now.
“Come on,” he whispered, scooping her up in his arms and placing her back in bed. She was shivering. She’d gotten so sweaty earlier th
at now, her moist skin and damp hair served only to chill her. He quickly draped the blankets over her.
“Go to sleep, American,” he whispered. He held her in his arms as she quickly drifted back to sleep. The feel of her hot breath against his chest calmed him, the way it so often did. He realized how spent and exhausted he was as well. He could close his eyes for a few minutes, just for a few minutes.
When awareness returned to him, it was much brighter in the room. He rolled over and looked at the clock, horrified to see it was noon. He wasn’t exactly the type to waste a morning lounging in bed. His war prize was fun, yes, but he still had work to do. He vaguely remembered the text message, about being excused from his usual duties, but hell, he’d already come twice this morning. It usually took all night and lots of meticulous torture for him to achieve one orgasm, maybe, if he was lucky. He could do a little work.
He silently disentangled himself from her and got up. Studying her still form, he slipped on his workout clothes. He tore his gaze away and walked out into the hallway. He glanced at his woman one last time as he grabbed his phone. She was asleep. He went downstairs for coffee and a quick breakfast. As he ate, he scrolled through his text messages and emails. There were some mundane requests for reports that he could quickly take care of—things like crime statistics throughout the empire and which countries needed more direction from the Reich. There was a request to review an audio file that might take a little time. The Bureau of Language was annoyed that Russian words were slipping in as slang throughout the empire. And there was an interesting email from his superior that had been forwarded from another address.
Apparently, his claiming of an American spy had appeased certain members of the Emperor’s council, and it was mostly an email congratulating him on taking a war prize. The email stated, “Though America is yet unclaimed by the empire, this symbolic conquest surely sends the proper message,” as if he’d done it for Germany and not himself. Well, no one had to know the details of his relationship. If his claiming of a war prize was good for the empire’s image, where was the harm?
After finishing breakfast, he sent the requested reports, answered emails, offered opinions, advice and answers to what he could. All very mundane and routine. After answering his emails, he went downstairs to his cellar to work out.
His job required that he keep his body in peak performance. The Reich demanded both mental and physical perfection. And although wrestling his tiny war prize was fun, she didn’t exactly tax him. Besides, his workouts helped him burn off some of the bottomless rage that lived in him. He ran on his treadmill until he almost threw up his breakfast, he did sit ups until he could hardly breathe, and he lifted weights until his muscles felt like mush. But still, the rage was there. It was always there.
Dripping with sweat, he went back upstairs to shower. He found his war prize awake. She studied him as he entered the room.
He didn’t bother with any hellos or good mornings as he peeled off his sweaty workout clothes. How could he be eager for more? He’d already fucked her thoroughly both last night and this morning. Yet, every time he got near her, his cock turned to steel.
He walked over to the bed and pulled the blankets and sheets off her body. She offered no resistance as he pulled her limbs this way and that, positioning her on her hands and knees on the bed. He wordlessly retrieved the bottle of lube he’d so recently used last night. He thought about using a plug or a dildo to prepare her ass for penetration, but he knew his fingers would be more significant for her.
He wasted no time in smearing the slick stuff between her fleshy cheeks, and it wasn’t long before he was forcing his fingers past her ring of muscles. He carefully splayed his digits, wanting her to feel some discomfort but not wanting to really hurt her, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he didn’t want to bring her any real harm. She mewed and squirmed as he worked, nearly making him lose any semblance of control he had. He groaned. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, he knelt behind her on the bed and effortlessly positioned her petite body for penetration. Pressing his lips together, he gingerly pushed his aching erection into her tight anus. Again, he marveled at his treatment of her. So often, when it came to anal sex, he wouldn’t even provide the courtesy of lube. She whimpered in genuine distress, and he stopped. He was going too fast. He was too fucking excited. He gave her several minutes to recover, leaving himself only partially inserted and motionless inside her.
“Better,” he whispered, easing out a bit.
With her head slightly turned, she only nodded at him, seemingly unable to speak.
He carefully studied her body language. His extensive training told him what real distress looked like. She was currently taxed, yes, but not in severe agony. Holding her hips, he forced their bodies together. She gasped as his hard flesh filled and stretched her fist-like passage.
“God, you are so fucking tight,” he muttered.
His skilled fingers cupped her sex and expertly massaged her center. He didn’t drive his organ in and out, knowing it would hurt if he moved now. Instead, he focused on heightening her arousal.
“You don’t have to,” she barely whispered. “Please.”
Yes, now she was offering resistance, now that he was teasing her clit, that is.
He wasn’t the least bit confused by her words. She didn’t want him toying with her pussy. She didn’t want him to arouse her.
“Shh,” he whispered. “I like playing with your pussy.”
Her hot wetness coated his fingers as he patiently worked. Eventually, as her arousal worsened, she started slowly rocking. He let her set the pace as she slid back and forth on his cock. More than anything, he wanted this to last forever. He didn’t want to come. It was too good.
His clever fingers eventually coaxed an intense orgasm from her. As she came, Darvlicht closed his eyes, willing himself to not follow, to not find his release just yet.
She tried to keep rocking against him, clearly trying to please her captor, which made him smile. But he could tell she was completely drained. He tightened his hold on her hips and gingerly drove his organ in and out of her passage. All too soon, he spilled his hot seed inside her. When he pulled his softening cock from her anus, her entire body sagged in relief.
Sleep claimed her almost instantly.
He stood and walked to the shower. As enjoyable as his woman was, he still had a job to do. The Reich had expectations of him. Yes, he’d been excused from his duties for today and tomorrow, but that didn’t mean he had to stay home and, what was the term, “mentally prepare” for The Recital. He took his time showering away the sweat and slick wetness from his body. Wrapping himself in a towel, he lathered his face. As he shaved, he occasionally looked at his sleeping war prize through the open bathroom door.
At one point during his shower, she’d gotten up and retrieved something. It was one of his t-shirts. She’d draped it over a pillow which was now locked in her arms and pressed against her face and chest. She sometimes did that—slept with one of his t-shirts, that is. There’d been more than one occasion where he’d come home from work and found her asleep, curled up with one of his t-shirts or a piece of his uniform. He let out a satisfied exhale.
As he shaved, he heard his woman making noises in her sleep, as if she were trying to scream but couldn’t. Another nightmare. He wiped away the lather from his clean-shaven face and approached the bed. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he whispered something sweet and calming, words he would never say to another human being. Ever. Words like, “Shh, it’s okay,” or “You’re safe, American.” When she again stilled, he straightened and walked to his closet.
As he slipped on a fresh uniform, he watched her sleeping, wondering if this woman was really who she seemed to be. She was almost too perfect. How could anyone be so sweetly submissive? So innocent? Not to mention the fact that she was fucking gorgeous, far more beautiful than his wife or any high-dollar whore. Hell, she looked like she b
elonged on the cover of a magazine. He frowned. This wasn’t the first time he’d thought this. Was it possible that she was something…new? Some new weapon the Americans had concocted in one of their labs? Maybe she was like the others, just a soulless agent, but maybe someone had upgraded the software.
He paused for a moment, thinking of all the lovely women he’d had in his bedroom. But none of them had ever really satisfied him, not really. No matter what they did, how depraved the act was, how perverted and twisted he could make some scene, it just never satisfied the darkness in him. And yet, his prisoner could. And she could do it so easily, so effortlessly, with such minimal effort from him.
He smiled darkly to himself as he remember that look on her sweet face this morning, that look he saw when his fingers first invaded her slick passage, a look that expressed so many thoughts—a look that said she liked it but didn’t want to like it, a look that meant stop but also meant don’t stop.
Suddenly angry, he banished the memories from his mind. He finished getting ready instead. He also left a set of fresh sheets on the nightstand by the bed as well as a tray of food on the table by the window.
When he was ready to leave, he approached the bed and sat on the edge. He ran his gloved hand down her arm, rousing her. She sighed softly as her eyes fluttered open.
“I have to go to work, now.”
She only nodded. She glanced briefly at the t-shirt she’d draped over the pillow she still clung to, as if baffled by her own behavior. She understood that she was owned, and the concept of being owned, especially being owned so completely by someone she considered to be the enemy, still confused her. God, her reaction nearly made him hard again. But he needed to focus on something else. In the very back of his brain, a plan was forming.
Agent of Darkness Page 3
