Smoke

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by C. P. Mandara


  “Bend her over, gentlemen. It’s time to have some fun.”

  Next thing I knew, my left cheek was flattened into the table edge, and I was rather more up-close-and-personal with the table than I wanted to be.

  “Get out the spreader and a pair of cuffs.” Another barked command had feet rushing everywhere, and it wasn’t long before each ankle featured a thick stainless steel shackle, with a stiff metal pole in between them that prevented me from closing my legs. My hands were then firmly restrained behind my back. Inhaling a deep breath, I tried to relax, but it wasn’t easy as I had a good idea of what might be coming next.

  In no time at all the lot of them had crammed around me from all sides and although I had never previously been claustrophobic, I had a good dose of it now. Closing my eyes, I tried my best to block them all out, although the fact I could hear them all squabbling over who would be the first to ‘plug' me didn't help matters. The boys argued amongst themselves, and finally, after much debate, a winner was chosen. Lucky me. Just when I thought my day couldn't get any worse, the door slammed loudly, and everyone's heads swung around to see who the intruder was.

  “Oh my God,” someone whispered beside me.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” whispered someone else. I got the general feeling that either they were in awe of him or downright scared of him. I couldn’t quite decide which.

  "Mr. Dumortier, Sir. We weren't expecting you. If we had been, we would have waited, of course," a voice stammered nervously.

  Fucking hell. I was finally about to meet my nemesis like this? Someone, somewhere, had a really unpleasant sense of humour. Opening my eyes and moving my head slowly towards the side, I braced myself for my first glimpse of Alain Dumortier.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There were three things I noticed about Dumortier almost instantly. The first was that he had grey hair, which made him much older than I'd initially thought. The next was that he was very fit for his age because judging by his overall physique, the man worked out several times a week. The last thing that caught my attention was he was bloody good-looking for an older guy. It wasn't as intense as the connection between myself and Adie, thank God, but the hum was still there, and it was disconcerting. Perhaps it was a power thing. I knew an alpha male when I saw one, and Dumortier certainly ticked that box. Now all I had to do was get out of these restraints and find a way to drastically shorten the bastard's lifespan. Jesus.

  "Gentlemen, you know I like to do the honours when we're breaking in a new trainee, so how about you grab me a chair and get me all the necessary bits and pieces?" His voice was rough, foreign, and beautifully melodious – hypnotic even. It caressed me in all the right places, and suddenly my libido was roaring into full-steam-ahead mode. Again.

  “Absolutely. Right away, Sir. We thought you were still in Aruba for another week. Our apologies, else we would have waited for you.”

  There was the squawk of chair legs being scraped across the floor before I felt something pressing up against my legs. Was that his hand or something else? Oh God. My body tingled painfully all over, and no one had even touched me yet. Was this the Carte Blanche effect? I suspected it was.

  "Warm her up gently, gentlemen. We'll start her on a little bit of pleasure, like usual." I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but a thousand and one fingers chose that moment to descend upon me, so it didn't take me long to get the idea. After the initial shock of snaking hands everywhere upon my person, I soon settled down into their titillating caresses. They were surprisingly gentle, mostly skimming the thin latex of my suit, but I felt each soft stroke very keenly. The ones that were lucky enough to find a patch of naked skin were bolder, however. Those little beasts pinched, nipped, tweaked and pulled. They even reached under my suit, so anxious were they to snare a bare piece of flesh. My back was protected by the bandage they'd applied, but the lightest touch there had me gasping. The ones at my crotch were the worst, though. They were evil. They began by gently circling the area of my sex, and they did this over and over as if it were a very practiced move. Light little flourishes of fingertips that did little more than torment. Some teased gently over the valley of my ass cheeks, and others gave a little nip upon some of my more prominent bruises, making me jump up in surprise. Suffice to say, in less than five minutes flat, they had me panting like I'd just run twenty-five miles.

  “That’s it, gentlemen. Work her up nice and good.”

  Dumortier, meanwhile, had snapped on a pair of latex gloves and was covering them in lubricant, judging by the noises I was hearing. This was confirmed when two wet fingers positioned themselves at my ass. They teased me for a bit, circling my tight little hole around and around, watching my body buck and squirm under their artful fingers. I was being aroused to the point of madness yet again, and it felt incredibly good. The last thing on my mind at the moment was the thought of killing anyone, and that was worrying.

  “She’s incredibly responsive, this one. Moves at the slightest little touch, doesn’t she?” Slowly inserting a finger, I proved him right by arching my hips high off the table. When he gently began to move his gloved finger back and forth, I nearly came on the spot. Closing my eyes and pressing my cheek into the hard oak table that smelled richly of polish, I tried to control myself, but it was an impossible task. The tactile sensations flowing all over my body had me aching with need, but the light little flutters upon my clit weren’t enough to satisfy the craving that was growing within me. These men knew exactly what they were doing.

  One finger quickly became two, and then two, impossibly, became three. I was nearly delirious with pleasure after just a couple of minutes under these animals, and God help me, I needed to focus. While there would be no hope of killing Dumortier here with so many people about, it was important that I remained focused and tried to learn as much as I could about his habits and whereabouts. Trying to remain in control while your body was on the cusp of orgasm wasn’t something I was expertly trained in, but I never said no to a challenge.

  When I began rocking and rolling all over the place, Dumortier decided he’d warmed me up enough.

  “Watch carefully, gentlemen. Here’s where we find out whether Thirty-Eight is the genuine article or not. If she’s been trained up properly as a slave, she’ll be used to anal, and even though this plug is fairly impressive in size, it won’t be too much of a problem for her. If she hasn’t been, then there’ll be all sorts of squawking and shrieking next, trust me.” There were sniggers of laughter all around the group, and desire immediately turned into panic. Did Dumortier have the time to look over all the girl’s files when they came in? James and I hadn’t considered that. We’d figured there be too many of them for him to pay too much attention to one individual, but by the sounds of it, we were wrong.

  "What do you do to slaves who aren't who they say they are?" One of the men squeezed my ass in warning, and the force of it nearly had my eyeballs popping out of my head.

  “We play with them, Johnson. We play with them." The intonation Dumortier placed on 'play' was not pleasant, and I found myself grinding my teeth together. Did the bastard already know I was an imposter or did he do this with all the girls? I didn't see how he could have unravelled my backstory quite this quickly, but if there was the slightest chance he had I needed to do one of two things: kill him or get out of here. Both options were going to be kind of tricky at the moment, so I was just going to sit tight for the time being.

  When the tapered plug pressed for entry, I held my breath. Thanks to James's training, I didn't go ballistic when the plug began to move, and for that I was thankful. Although I wasn't particularly practiced, we'd managed a session at Elite encounters, and a few more in the week's training I'd been given. I'd just have to hope it was enough to see me through this. What had James told me? The most important thing is to relax. Gulping in a few extra lungfuls of air, I slowly tried to untangle my tight, rigid body. I wanted it soft and pliable for what was about to happen, so I focused my at
tention on that, although it wasn’t easy with the fingers all over me.

  When it first began to move inside me, I consciously relaxed my lower body, accepting the invader as it slowly fought for entry. I could do this. There was no reason to be afraid. At first, the soft slide of the plug was heavenly. Rubber and slick lubricant pumped gently inside me, doing a sensual, seductive dance with my backside. With each push of his hand, Dumortier added a little more pressure and it wasn’t long before I was squirming all over the place.

  “Ah, look, gentlemen. This one looks promising. It’s clear that she’s been trained to enjoy anal. The question is, is she a wannabe slave or the real deal? We’re about to find out.”

  There was silence all around me as Dumortier continued to feed the entire length of the thing inside me. I stayed still, and even when the pressure brought tears to my eyes, I fought my reflexes to let the plug continue its journey.

  “Good job, sweetheart, we’ve just got another inch or so to go.” He patted my ass as if to say ‘well done.’ That’s when I really began to panic. Another inch? My ass felt impossibly full already. How the hell would he fit another inch in there? Things were starting to sting a little now, and anything more was going split me in half. Oh God, oh God, oh God. I hadn’t realised I’d said the words out loud until Dumortier chuckled behind me.

  “The last inch is always the worst, but you can do it.” This was whispered by one of the men in front of me, whose fingers were doing a delicate dance over my shoulder blades. He was watching my face intently, and I wondered if he enjoyed the distraught lines of pain he saw there. Employing whatever mind-over-matter techniques I could think of to get me through this test of endurance, Dumortier managed another quarter of an inch before my hips bucked out in earnest and a ragged cry left my lips. Trying to clamp down on it before it amounted to anything, I settled back into the table, but a feeling of dread began to creep over me. Having no idea how I’d manage to sit still until the entire thing was buried inside me, I ground my teeth together to stop any further cries escaping.

  Someone around me must have seen the agony reflected in my eyes because the fingers around my clit became bolder and firmer. Just when I thought I could take no more, desire shot through me, hot and heavy, and suddenly the pain of taking the plug became a lot easier to bear. Cries of agony morphed into whimpers of desire, and my body went liquid under the myriad of hands that roamed across my skin. The feeling was torture and pleasure combined, but they were so cleverly twisted together that I wouldn't have dared stop one for fear of losing the other.

  Eventually, pain overtook pleasure, but just before I was about to voice this vocally, the plug was pushed home with a giant shove. Laying there, with my eyes at least two yards away from my head, my teeth snapped shut on my groan of misery because I had more important things to worry about. All of the fingers had suddenly stopped.

  "So what's the verdict, Sir? Is she here to stay?" Everyone seemed to wait with bated breath for his answer, myself included. Considering I'd put in quite a bit of effort to get here, it would be pretty rough to be sent home almost as soon as I'd arrived.

  Dumortier traced a line over my protruding buttocks as he considered the question and slapped one hard, making me jump. He then proceeded to rub the area better, which did all kinds of funny things to me. “That depends. Is she wet, Dean?”

  A pair of fingers wriggled underneath me once more to check, but at least this time I didn’t need to worry. I knew damn well I was wet. My thighs had been sliding around on the slick table for some time now.

  “She’s soaked, Sir.”

  "It seems she might have been a good choice, after all, although I'm not convinced just yet. I still think it was a very hasty decision, but you know how I enjoy putting the new slaves through their paces, gentlemen." There was lots of unpleasant laughter after this remark, and it was enough to make my blood go cold. Then his hand left my ass, and there was the scrape of chair legs as he got to his feet.

  “Well, now that I’ve done all the hard work, gentlemen – I’ll leave her to your devices. I don’t want to get started on her too early, else there won’t be anything left of her – if you know what I mean.” There was more laughter, and by now, any arousal I might have felt had swiftly fled the room. “I suspect she won’t be good for much when I get back, but there’s always tomorrow, and I will be seeing you tomorrow, Thirty-Eight. I have a feeling I’m going to have lots of fun with you.”

  There was only the soft thud of footsteps and a quiet click of the door to indicate he'd left the room, but it took longer for the presence of evil to leave me. His hands had left a dark stain on my body a mile wide, and my chest felt the crushing weight of defeat implode inside it. Somehow, I already knew I would not defeat the man in this place, on his terms. This was my sixth sense speaking, and it was rarely wrong. The realisation seemed to suck all the air out of my body for a moment, but the voices behind me soon brought me firmly back into the present.

  "Shall we form a polite queue or play for it, Dean? We don't mind which, but we're busy people back here. Decide what the hell you're going to do and get on with it, buddy." I had no idea who was talking to Dean, but I got the gist of the conversation all right, and my stomach plummeted to a previously unreached depth. Shit. I was about to be passed around from guy to guy until they'd all taken their fill. This was something James had warned me about, and at the time, I'd assured him I'd known what I was getting myself into. In reality, the only thought rolling through my head had been the need to annihilate Alain Dumortier. Now there were so many thoughts tangled up inside my mind, I didn't know which one to concentrate on first.

  The plug in my ass was rocked back and forth a couple of times as the guys got ready to have their fun, while my mind wandered elsewhere. If I wanted to get through this ordeal, I’d need to compartmentalise, as there was no way I could be in the here and now.

  I smiled wryly as all the men moved behind me. This was what happened when you signed up to work in a brothel. This was exactly what James had warned me about, and told me I wouldn’t be able to handle. He was wrong. Focus on the prize, Lois. You can do this. As the first man moved behind me and began to slowly twist the plug from me, I shuttered down my eyelids and disappeared.

  When I’d been training with James, I hadn’t been entirely honest with him. He’d thought I was here on this assignment following Sharkey’s orders. He was right, but only to a degree. After my enforced leave of absence when my partner died, I would have done nearly anything to have been signed off as ‘fit and healthy’ for duty. The inactivity of moping around and grieving had me suicidal (well, even more so than I was already) within days. I wasn’t someone who liked to talk to people about my feelings, and the psychiatrist who had the delightful task of counselling me soon found that out, to her utter frustration. I don’t like talking to anyone about my many secrets, but revealing all to someone I didn’t trust was never going to happen. I’d have sooner slit my wrists.

  When I'd been taken hostage on the yacht Eclipse, several years ago, with a couple of other operatives, I'd been the only female to survive the experience. When I'd confessed to James later that it had been the one and only time I'd been fucked up by some guys, that was a bit fat lie. The trouble was, Sharkey didn't know about my other ‘entanglement,' and I wasn't about to tell her because it would have got me yanked off this assignment, and that would have defeated the whole purpose of my existence after Kiel had died. You see, I've been captured before, and by none other than Dumortier's goons. It was a few years ago, but I still remember the episode quite clearly. I was supposed to be dropping something unpleasant in a French Diplomat's glass of champagne while on assignment at a state function, which I did quite easily after half an hour of flirting, and flashing my cleavage at every available opportunity. My next task was to get the buffoon back to his room, where he could pass out unnoticed while I searched his room from top to bottom. It was all going swimmingly well until we reached his bedroom, w
hich was completely empty, as expected. I started the charade of getting my clothes off, while the diplomat, Clement I believe his name was, did the same. Unfortunately, Clement took longer than expected to pass out, which meant I was mostly naked when Dumortier's henchmen burst into our room.

  Clement and I snatched the bed sheets up to our necks as any outraged couple would, and with six guns trained on us, tried to remain as still as possible. While my friend tried his best to reign in his erection, I was on the hunt for bigger things, namely the knife and pistol I had tucked under my pillow for emergencies. Sleight of hand is a useful weapon in any assassin's wardrobe and has come in handy once or twice. Anyway, we lay there, Clement looking shocked while I pretended the same, and we waited to see if the men would find whatever they were looking for. At this point, things were getting somewhat stressful because if Clement now passed out on me, the men were going to know I wasn't just some piece of ass that the diplomat had landed up in bed with after a few glasses of wine, and things would probably go downhill from there. So, in the spirit of the game, one hand was slowly reaching for my pistol, and the other was clasped firmly around Clement's cock. Four of the six men began searching the hotel room in earnest, leaving me with two immediate threats to deal with if things went south.

  After five minutes, Clement's eyes were dropping, and the goons were getting frustrated. They hadn't found what they were looking for, and the way their eyes kept flitting over to us meant they were considering that we might have it on our person. My sixth sense had already told me the situation was going to go bad, so my fingers stopped playing with Clement’s cock and reached for my knife. It was clasped tightly in my left hand, and the pistol was in my right, still hidden under the covers.

  “Get them out of that bloody bed and search ‘em.” The head goon had just come from the bathroom, and by the sound of his voice, he was pissed.

 

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