by Loki Renard
“Stay still,” I admonish her sharply. She does as she’s told, her eyes locked on mine. There she is. She’s always present when we make love. Arousal brings her back from oblivion.
The thin clothing doesn’t offer her pussy much protection. I begin stroking my finger up and down the length of her slit, just the pad of it. Maybe I’ve been wrong to avoid sexual contact in her training. I thought it would be unprofessional and a distraction, but now I’m seeing that it focuses her like nothing else.
I can feel her lips parting beneath the fabric of her leggings, and I draw the pad of my finger up to where the greedy bud of her clit is waiting, erect. She lets out a soft little moan as my fingertip works in a circle around it.
“Keep looking at me, Mary,” I murmur softly.
Her eyes had drifted down to my hand between her thighs. At my command, she looks back up at me, meets my gaze.
“Good girl.”
MARY
My clit aches and throbs as he plays with it. This is not pleasure. This is a punishment which feels good.
Ken’s other hand spreads my thighs wide. He makes me open myself for him as he kneels there between my legs and strokes the very same part of me he just disciplined.
I know what he wants from me. He wants me to be his. He wants me to be normal, insofar as anyone in this line of work can be normal. But I can’t meet even that dubious standard. I am missing so much of what it means to be human. He might be a warrior, but he was one who grew up in a loving family, with a big brother who looked out for him. He was a boy before he was a man.
I was never a girl. I was a thing. A tool. I was trained.
And now he has brought me here and he wants to train me too. I only function when I am being handled, that is the truth of the matter. And now he has taken over where the others left off.
Except they never did this to me. They never made me feel. They always tried to dull the feeling out of me. Self control, that was key. I have cried more in the last few months between Ken and Tom than I ever did in the first eighteen years of my life.
He pinches the fabric and skin over my clit just firmly enough to get my attention.
“Come back to me, Mary,” he growls softly. “What were you thinking about?”
“I was thinking how I’ve always had a handler,” I say. “Other people have mothers, fathers, teachers, and then when they grow up, they have lovers, husbands. I have none of those things.”
“I have been your lover,” he reminds me, giving my pussy another squeeze.
“You’re the closest,” I agree. “But now you’re just another handler.”
“I am not just another damn thing,” he growls, rising up. He comes up, I go down, laying back against the bed as he looms over me. The hard lines of his face, the impassioned look in his eyes, I drink them all in. His hand has not left my pussy for a second. He is cupping it now, holding it possessively.
“You do need a handler,” he says. “Without one, you’re a vicious little animal.”
I smirk, because he’s right. And he’s only seen a fraction of the things I’ve done, and the things I’m capable of.
“I’m going to be more, Mary. When we’re done here, I’m going to be a lot more.”
Promises promises. What do they mean? Nothing. This is what handlers do. They put a carrot on a stick and they dangle the promise of normality in front of you. There’s never any going back though.
“You don’t believe me,” he says, his eyes searching my face as his fingers start to work my clit. I’m wet. My juices have been seeping since he started touching me and now his fingers have found the sore little bud that hides between my lower lips and they’re working it roughly. “You know what?” He breathes against my neck as he strums my cunt. “You don’t need to believe me. You just need to do as you’re damn well told.”
I let out a cry as he rubs me to orgasm. This isn’t elegant. It’s not romantic. But it is urgent and fierce and it is all about showing me what he can do to me. He can cane my pussy and then make me cum, because I am his. His material.
Impending climax forces thoughts from my mind. Makes me a wet, wanton little animal, writhing beneath her male. He watches me the whole time, his eyes never leaving my face. He wants to see me give in to orgasm. He wants to know the moment he forces my nervous system to overload.
I have no choice in giving him what he wants. He pinches my clit and I cum, bucking against his hand, clutching at the thin sheet of the bed, lifting my hips to him and grinding my wet hole with desperate motions as he gives me those few last precious touches which take me all the way and then leave me panting on the bed beneath him.
I’ve lost control. Again.
Ken taps my cunt and stands up, a smile on his face. “You’re going to be just fine, Mary,” he informs me. “Get some sleep.”
13
KEN
“How is she?”
Tom still asks me that question every day. Every day I give the same answer.
“She’s doing okay.”
“When can she come home?”
That’s the harder question to answer. When can she come home? When I’m sure there’s nothing left inside her I don’t know about. When I can be a hundred percent certain that I know every crevice of the girl. She hid a lot from me in plain sight, and though that was somewhat on me for not seeing, I still need to make sure that I have the kind of bond with her where she can’t tolerate dishonesty.
I need to be able to tell her to walk to the back of a plane and jump out without a parachute, if I tell her to. Total obedience. Total submission. Total openness. It’s a very big ask, especially for a woman who has the kind of history she does.
I’m breaking her. I’m making her show me everything. I’m stripping away everything that’s superfluous, and I’m leaving her only with what she needs. I see the desire in her eyes. Against all odds, it’s still strong even though I’ve given her so many reasons to hate me.
It also makes this so much harder. If she knew how much I wanted to hold her, kiss her, make love to her, none of this would work. I have to be the ultimate authority. I have to be the one boundary she can never shift, no matter how much she tries. I have to be the circumference of her world.
Every night I have to put her into a little cell and go and lie in a different room and wish she was in my arms. This is hard on both of us, but I can’t afford to show her that. She has to think that this is what I want from her. She has to give in, completely. She has to surrender.
MARY
“You’re having a hard time, aren’t you.”
It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. And it’s coming from a woman who is in a position to know.
I now have regular meetings with the Head. She seems to think I need some kind of personal care, or maybe it’s just that I got her attention when I broke out of her facility and stole her car. I kind of get the impression she likes me, though I don’t know why.
“A harder time than most people?”
“You’re yet to pass your first assessment,” she says. “Usually that happens in the first couple of days.”
“Well, I guess I suck.”
I am sitting on the window sill of her office. It looks out over the forest which surrounds the facility. These meetings are one of the few times in the week I get to see natural sunlight.
She is wearing a gray pantsuit. Her hair is tied back and rolled into a tight bun. In contrast to her formal attire and appearance, I am wearing a dark tracksuit and sneakers. My hair is getting longer now, so I tie it back in a ponytail.
“You don’t ‘suck’,” she says. “You don’t understand the lesson being taught.”
“Well why don’t you tell me what it is?”
“Ares is your handler,” she says, telling me what I already know. “And he has been more than that to you in the past.”
“Uh huh.”
“There is a bond between handler and agent,” the Head says. “A bond of trust and obe
dience.”
“Okay, well I’ll do what he says.”
“And the first part?” She raises a brow and sips at her coffee.
“Trust him? I mean I have to.”
“That’s not trust.”
I look over at her and sigh. “Well, what is trust then?”
“It’s a skill you need to learn.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is an answer. It’s just not one you wanted to hear,” she replies.
“So how much longer are you going to put up with me being the slowest kid on campus?” I change the subject.
“This takes as long as it needs to take,” she replies calmly.
I know most people in her position aren’t this patient. It costs money to keep me here. It costs money to pay Ken too. And getting him reassigned would have had a cost too, even if it wasn’t monetary. This woman wants me here.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m just wondering why you’re being patient with me.”
“You saw the reason,” she says. “You’re not the first person to find herself unexpectedly hospitalized. You’re one of the very few to have survived it.”
So that’s what we have in common. Survival.
“It changes you, Mary. I know it does. And the circumstances around being raised as a spy, they change you too. Ares understands that.”
“I don’t think he understands anything about me,” I mumble.
“No?”
“He’s so distant now. And angry. I broke his trust. I don’t think he can trust me again. Forget about me trusting him.”
“Let me tell you how much he trusts you, Brown,” she says, putting her cup to the side. “He trusts you enough that instead of handing you directly over to the authorities, he brought you to my attention. He put his professional and personal life on the line to bring you here. That’s trust.”
“And I repaid him by breaking out and failing every assessment since I got here…” I shake my head and put my face in my hands. “You’re all wasting your time. You should put a bullet in me.”
“If I thought that was necessary, it would already have been done.”
I look over at her and see that she’s serious. This woman truly has the power of life and death over me. I should be way more afraid of her than I am.
I wonder why I’m not.
And then it occurs to me. It’s because I know Ken’s here. Even if he’s not in the room with me, I know he won’t let me be hurt again.
Maybe I do trust him. Even if I do, I don’t know how to act that trust out in a way these people can understand. I know they’re waiting for me to do something, I just don’t know what.
There is something else on my mind too. A question which has been with me since she showed me her scar. It’s not polite to ask people too many questions about their life changing injuries, but I just have to know.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“The scar you showed me the other day…”
“Yes…”
“Did you ever get revenge on the people who did that to you?”
She takes another sip of coffee and I sit there, hoping I haven’t offended her too badly.
“You’ve heard the saying the best revenge is living well?”
“Yeah.”
Her silver eyes sparkle. “In our case, my dear, the best revenge is living at all.”
KEN
“Ow goddamn!”
Mary curses under her breath as she struggles to maintain position. I can see she’s on the verge of losing her temper. I’ve had her in a stress position sitting back against the wall with her arms outstretched for the last half an hour. Her legs are shaking, and her arms are, too. The lactic acid build up must be painful by now. She’ll have trouble walking easily after this.
The truth of the matter is, I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. No matter what I do, she’s just not breaking. She does what she’s asked to do. She does it as best as she can. And ordinarily, that would be enough, but it’s not where she’s concerned.
I’ve lectured her. I’ve punished her. I’ve put her through physical training and mental exercises designed to exhaust her. She’s come through every one of them the same.
The worst part of it is, she doesn’t understand why this is happening. She thinks if she’s just a good enough girl, this will all be over. But that’s not the game we’re playing.
Oversight has assessed her every week since she came in. They say she’s still not ready. They’re right. Years of being raised in a home by a Russian sleeper agent has fractured her mind. It’s not that she’s crazy. It’s that she’s compartmentalized. She keeps the demons all neatly locked away. She keeps her loyalties to herself. Her thoughts are hidden. She’s an enigma, but like the code, she will be cracked.
Soon her arms waver, then fall to her sides.
“Back up.”
She sits there, looking at her knees, and then she shakes her head. She follows the physical refusal with a soft word.
“No.”
There it is. The rebellion I’ve been waiting for. A proper rebellion. Not a test. Not a game. She’s losing her temper. The facade she always has at the ready is finally slipping.
She’s been a good girl in training lately, and that has been a problem, because I know all too damn well that Mary is not a good girl at all. She is a very, very bad little girl, but she’s been trying to hide that side from me behind a veneer of control. She doesn’t get to have control anymore. I do.
“What was that?”
She pushes up from the wall and faces me. She’s damn beautiful when she’s angry.
“I said no.”
“You don’t have the option to say no.”
“No! No! No! No!”
She yells the refusal at me. That spirit of hers is damn near indomitable, but I’m getting close now because finally she’s actually losing control. She doesn’t want to be shouting and screaming like a little girl. She wants to show me she can take this. But she can’t. Of course she can’t. Nobody can. That’s the point.
“Get back into position,” I demand.
“No!” She yells at me, her fists clenched. “I won’t goddamn well do it!”
She comes for me, swinging her right arm. It’s a feint and I see it immediately because the other fist is following up properly. I catch both hands and send her tumbling onto her butt, then stand over her, looking down at her furious little form.
“You want to fight me, Mary?”
MARY
Yes, I want to fight him.
I want to kick his viciously handsome, totally sadistic ass. For weeks I’ve been trying to please him, but nothing does. It’s obvious he’s never going to forgive me. He’s just going to keep on hurting me, putting me through stupid pointless training that doesn’t teach me a damn thing.
I know I don’t have a chance in hell of actually beating him. He outweighs me, outranks me, and can definitely outfight me. But I want to hit him so fucking bad I’m willing to risk what inevitably comes next. Maybe jail for the rest of my life. Maybe a beating. Maybe solitary. I don’t know, and I don’t fucking care.
“Fuck you, Ken,” I swear. “You can go to fucking hell. I’m going to fail no matter fucking what. The Head is wrong. You don’t want me. This is just your fucked up way of getting revenge on me because you didn’t know I was a spy. Well, maybe that’s your fucking fault!”
He says nothing. Just stares at me and crooks a finger at me in a plain invitation to come at him. He’s not concerned in the slightest. He knows I’m in the middle of making a mistake, and he’s not going to stop me.
I wish I could stop me, but the rage I’ve been burying for years is bursting free. All the anger I’ve had at being held captive, experimented on, hurt, lied to. All the fury at being forced to lie to everyone I know, never, ever being able to relax and enjoy my life, bursts out of me in a feral scream.
I throw myself at him using eve
rything at my disposal. Fists. Knees. Elbows. Teeth. I let my rage out on him in a vicious display unlike any I have allowed myself before. The asshole in Afghanistan got off light compared to Ken.
Unlike that man, Ken is able to withstand my assault. I don’t even make direct contact with his body before he deflects my blows and hems me up in a grip that makes it impossible to move. I am held on the floor, seething with naked rage.
“If you don’t want me anymore, just fucking kill me!”
“Absolutely not, little girl,” he growls in my ear. He hasn’t called me little girl in a very long time. Hearing it now jolts me back into a time when he was my lover, my rescuer, my friend. I would give anything to get back to that, if only I knew what I needed to do.
KEN
Now. Something inside my head says. Do it now.
Keeping her firmly under control, I crouch on the floor, one leg up in basically a proposal position. Instead of asking this squirming little wench to marry me, I sweep her over my knee. Her perfect ass is presented to me and I start spanking it hard with the flat of my palm.
When she came here she took her rebellion and her rage and she locked it all away to try and keep it secret from me. The more I took away from her, the more she retreated into a shell of what she thought I wanted. There have been moments of truth, but they weren’t like this. They were calculated misbehaviors of the kind that needed to be put down with sterile discipline, cold and detached. It served a purpose, but now it’s time for something more. Something we’ve both been craving for a long time.
“I was trying to be good!” Her wail is plaintive and confused.
She’s wearing lycra training clothes that don’t give fuck all protection, but having her train naked was starting to raise a few brows. I explained that I wanted complete access to every part of her, and this was the compromise we came up with. A bodysuit which hugs her sexy curves - and which tears at a rough grasp. After a few dozen hard slaps, I yank the fabric off her butt, tearing a hole in the seat of the suit, and I spank her bare cheeks hard and fast, making her wail like the little girl she hasn’t been allowed to be.