Caging Caitlyn

by Reese Gabriel

  At last he moved his crotch to her face and she began to suck desperately, gratefully. Despite the anguish of his hairy ass on her wounded tits, she felt safer this way. His hands were out of range to do anymore damage, and his mind was largely occupied. What she wouldn't give to have these chains off. One good kick and she'd be free of him. Then she'd get that gun on the dresser, put it in his mouth and blow his head off.

  No, first she'd blow his cock off, then his head.

  "Roberto,” called a gruff voice from the other side of the door. “Finish the fuck up already!"

  Roberto ignored him.

  "I'm not fucking around!” The man insisted.

  "Fuck your mother!” Shouted Roberto and this time the man burst through the door and threw a Bowie knife through the air, landing it dead center in Roberto's back.

  Which went to prove he really wasn't fucking around, thought Caitlyn dryly.

  Roberto gasped, reaching for the handle. He was already squirming like a fish out of water and Cait thought this an excellent chance to exact some of the revenge she'd been holding back on a long time.

  The fat pig of a gangster looked down at his penis. Bad as it was, the pain in his back had become secondary to what she was doing between his legs.

  That'll teach you to stick your prick where it's not wanted, she thought.

  The knife thrower was howling with laughter. “The puta is castrating him,” he pointed.

  He let her bite a little longer before pulling the big man off. One shot to the head with his own gun and Roberto's pathetic fucked up life was over.

  "Now I get my fucking turn!” The man with the knife had crazy eyes and a bare, thoroughly tattooed chest. He must have been turned on by the blood because he was clawing at his camouflage trousers, scrambling to fuck her. Like an animal he jumped on her, thrusting himself into her sex.

  "What the fuck is all this?” demanded one of Draco's guards, rushing into the room.

  "The knife,” the man screamed over his shoulder. “Give it to me, amigo."

  The guard pulled it from the dead man's spine and handed it over. “Sure. Just be careful with it,” he grinned. “You know what they say about playing with knives."

  Cait felt resignation wash over her, an eerie peace. She was going to die. This man would cut her to pieces even while he was raping her.

  But it wasn't her mortality he wanted. Just the chance to mark her; the lightest scratches as the sharp edged blade played over her feminine curves. The tiniest of cuts, teeny drops of blood, just enough to make her tingle and ... want.

  A moan escaped her throat as the knife slid over her belly. She was so utterly helpless, so totally aroused. Orgasming was the most natural thing in the world.

  Her climax was enough to finish off the crazy eyed man. Crying out at the top of his lungs he rode her till he exploded. At the same time he was ejaculating he was also cutting, gouging slashes on his own upper arm.

  Blood splashed on Cait's chest.

  It can't get any worse than this, she thought, though in her heart she knew it would.

  * * * *

  Luke put the agent to her knees in the stall of the men's room. It was a shitty thing to do to her, but still a step up from the alley as far as he was concerned. The little blonde head bobbed up and down. She was slurping, trying to adjust like a trooper to the large size of his manhood. It was good for her to handle things like this. You never knew what could come up in an undercover situation. The only agent he'd ever known who was strong enough to handle everything was Cait, but ironically it was her who had the reputation for spreading her legs for every Tom, Dick and Harry in the agency.

  He'd been the one to set her straight, to give her limits. She was focused now, a singular force of law, a beam of light in the dark. If she were still alive, that is.

  Luke put his hand to the back of Sarah Renfrew's head, controlling her more tightly. “Deeper, honey, or I'll have to take a belt to you."

  This made her go rigid; they all reacted that way. Sheer terror at first mixed with lust and then, after a few stripes, a total compliance and openness. His wife had been like this. Mary taught him everything he knew about submissive women. She was his perfect slave, totally devoted and loving, her very heart beating just for him. Each day she would await him nude, kneeling in her collar, the house smelling of whatever delicious meal she'd made. Sometimes he couldn't even wait to dinner before fucking her.

  In eight years, the feeling of newness never wore off. The sexual tension between them as master and slave only got hotter with each passing year and with each new level of intimacy they reached.

  Nothing had been able to weaken that bond. Except for the cancer. This alone was too big for them both. No amount of ranting and raving on his part did the trick. She only got weaker despite the treatments. Never once did she complain. He only remembered her smiling, even when the pain got really bad. They upped the morphine at the end and she slipped quietly away, her hand in his.

  Mary's eyes said it all. She'd see him again one day.

  Luke had stopped believing in that a long time ago. What he knew now was work, and sex and revenge. The mix of the three he'd chosen in his life might not be the best one, but he was alive, a survivor, and that would have to do.

  A survivor like his father, coming home from a twelve-month tour of duty in Vietnam, facing the empty ache of being a ghost among the living. Being a man in this world was like being in the rich, green jungle, his old man told him, a jungle teeming with life and you knowing that you alone among all its species are facing imminent death at the hands of your own kind. It never seemed fair.

  It was only years later the real truth sank in with him: everything in the jungle is hunted. Everything on earth hangs at the brink of extinction. It always has. For whatever reason-dumb fucking luck, he suspected-this tiny globe continued circling, but at any moment it could be swallowed, sucked into space or blasted into a million pieces by some passing asteroid.

  Maybe one day Luke would fall in love again. With sweet Agent Sarah who was about to swallow his come. Or Agent Ross, if she ever came home. Leaning against the tile he grunted. The climax was weak, distracted. Too much on his mind.

  "Go home,” he told her when he'd finished giving her his load.

  She looked a little surprised, and no wonder because she would probably like a little sexual satisfaction for herself. Well that was too bad because he'd had enough and needed time to think.

  "Beat it,” he said. “Before I get mad."

  She blinked back tears. Confusion. Resentment.

  Fuck. He pounded the wall of the stall. Things just weren't making sense without Cait around.

  Contenting himself with an image of what he would do to Draco with his bare hands if he ever caught the man again, he zipped up and walked to the sink.

  Cold water on his face brought back sensation. And pain.

  "I'll find you,” he vowed, looking at his own reflection in the mirror. “If it's the last thing I do."

  * * * *

  Draco himself wiped Cait's body clean in the bath. Not a word was spoken but the set of his iron jaw indicated the remnants of displeasure at the scene in his guest room. Needless to say the other two, the knife thrower and the careless guard had been dispatched to the same underworld as the hapless Roberto.

  Was she reading too much into the scene to think Draco was feeling tenderness for her? Probably, yes. She was a possession, that was all, one that had been played with in a way he hadn't given permission for. Trauma didn't matter-why should he care how she felt having a man gurgle up his own blood on her while he face fucked her, or mutilating himself as he rode her pussy? Draco had given her to be raped without mercy, making no effort to inquire exactly how she was used and this had been the result.

  "Do you know, Caitlyn, the one thing I wondered about you the whole seven months we did business together?"

  "What was a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?” she quipped wearily.

/>   He nearly smiled. Something she wouldn't have thought possible in a man like this. So he had emotions after all, other than sheer cruelty and greed.

  "No. I wondered what had hurt you so badly to make you hard inside."

  "And now you know it was part of my act."

  "On the contrary. Now I know it was truly in your character."

  She resisted the soft touch of his hand. It was confusing matters too much. “I have no character anymore, remember? You took it away from me, along with my freedom."

  "Yes, but an empty souled slave is of no interest to own. Much better to let her feel and think."

  Cait leaned back, her hands on the edge of the old-fashioned porcelain tub. “I feel like crap” she closed her eyes. “And I think ... master ... that you would do well to shoot me sooner rather than later."

  "What makes you think I want to shoot you ... slave?"

  He was caressing her belly. It was interesting how she hadn't been addressing him by his title all along and he hadn't seemed to care. He was talking strangely, too. There was liquor on his breath, but it was more than that.

  "Because it's the only way to really keep anything in life, Draco. You must kill it or eventually it goes its own way."

  "Not if you win its love."

  "A man like you wouldn't know how."

  "I have an idea.” He tweaked her nipples. “For starters, I can offer you the life of your Special Agent Dumont."

  She tried to sound disinterested. “He's not my anything, other than another useless bureaucrat. A suit, as we call them in the agency."

  "And yet you love him."

  "Never,” she vowed.

  "Liar.” He pinched harder, making her squirm.

  "All right ... I do feel something,” she confessed. “But I don't know what it is. Mostly he drives me mad."

  "That is the very definition of love, my girl."

  "What do you know of love,” she snapped boldly. “Killer."

  Draco wrapped his fingers neatly around her throat. “Love and murder are irrevocably tied. As a police woman you should know that better than anyone."

  "I-I can't breathe."

  "No, and you won't, ever again, unless I choose to allow it."

  She grabbed at his wrists, frantic to pull them away.

  "Let go,” he counseled with terrifying quietness. “Or I will finish you off."

  He had his thumbs over her windpipe. Open mouthed, she coughed in desperation.

  "Put your hand in your cunt,” he challenged. “Let us see which overtakes you first. Orgasm or death."

  Cait whimpered. He was going to make her come before he'd let her breathe. Plunging her hand into the water she found her pussy more than ready for the challenge. What stronger form of domination, what bigger submissive turn-on could there be than this, having her very breath dependent on her ability to perform as a slut?

  Frantically, she began to stroke her clit. He eased up not at all and now she was feeling light headed. She would literally perish this way if she did not come for him, like an animal, exposed and treated without any measure of affection.

  "Women should not be in law enforcement,” he told her for the hundredth time. “They are only fit to give pleasure, to make babies and keep a man's home clean."

  If she could talk she'd be saying “yes, master,” though her instincts and her free will screamed out to defy him. She was an agent of the United States government-a good enough one to catch his ass, thank you very much.

  Caitlyn hated him for making her have to come in the water to keep her life. She also hated that in order to make herself sufficiently hot and bothered, she had to think of how strong he was and how she was nothing to him but an incidental object to be abused.

  Images flickered before her eyes. A blue spot in the middle, and all around it the people and places of her life. Most especially the men who had ever had her, using this body of hers however they wished, her own self so very desperate to please. Desperate and lost, like her father who'd left her to save his ass from prison and her mother who sought her own refuge in the bottom of a bottle.

  There, she had it. A spiral off the edge of a moonbeam. A slice of harsh inside light, burning the back of her retina. An orgasm, not of her own design. But Draco still wasn't letting go. Wasn't he ever going to be satisfied?

  She looked up at him. The man's face was fading. The edges of her world were black. This was it, she thought. I am going to die. After everything I've survived, I'm going to buy it in a bathtub at the hands of my mortal enemy in some sewer of a country.

  Down to her last bit of fresh oxygen, she said goodbye to all that she had been and seen and done, to everything that was difficult and had made her grow as a result and also to all that which had given her joy on account of its being easy and light.

  "Not yet,” he whispered in her ear. “You may not die on me yet."

  Somewhere in the back of her sleep logged brain she registered Draco picking her out of the lukewarm bath water, light as a feather, and taking her to a fresh clean bed.

  She had the strong impression it was a dream, but then his lips were upon her and suddenly it was all very, very real.

  Chapter Six

  Sarah knocked timidly on the door. Mark answered wearing nothing but work out shorts and sneakers, a fine sheen of sweat on his muscled chest. He was slightly out of breath, no doubt from running on his treadmill. It was what he always did when he was upset about something.

  "Hi, Mark,” she offered softly.

  "Sarah.” His tone was neutral, slightly brittle. “I didn't expect to see you."

  He hadn't said ‘ever’ but the word was clearly implied. There was also the implication that if she had an ounce of respect for either of them she wouldn't have shown up here, not after her little performance on the phone.

  Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the speech she'd practiced a hundred times over here in the car. “Mark, I know how badly I hurt you, and I know I don't deserve a second chance, but if I could just explain something ... and apologize, oh god I want to apologize ... you don't even know how bad I feel and I really care about you and—"

  "Come in,” he cut her off. “The hallway is no place to have this kind of conversation.

  Sarah waited for him to say it was okay to sit down, though she had been here a hundred times before. He did, indicating the black leather couch. It was a gift from his parents, who were wealthy from real estate. Mark had eschewed the family business to pursue his own love of fire fighting.

  "Something to drink?"

  "No ... thank you.” She remained on the edge of the couch, her heels bug into the plush carpeting. She felt dirtier, and more soiled than him despite her fine dress and she felt like she no long belonged here or deserved even to have this conversation.

  "Suit yourself.” He grabbed a towel off the treadmill handle to wipe the sweat from his rugged face. With his short, black hair, blue eyes and cleft chin, he was a perfect male specimen. At one point he'd even turned down offers to be a model.

  "I know I could do anything I wanted, Sarah,” he'd told her on one of their first dates, his eyes all lit up in that way that made her wet and horny. “But I want to make a difference, you know? I want to save lives."

  As an entry level firefighter he'd already won commendations and was well on his way to becoming an engine driver, the next level up. His ultimate goal was to be chief of a major department.

  "Mark, I don't know if I can ever make this right,” she tried to keep her voice from cracking, “but I have to try."

  His hands were on his hips. She wished he had left more of the sweat for her to lick from his abs, his washboard stomach and rock hard pectorals.

  "Just tell me what the hell is going on. For real."

  She told him about Luke Dumont, about his demands, his promises and about how she had gone to meet him at the bar where she had made the fateful phone call.

  His features grew darker and darker as he listened. Mark Breewell was not
a man afraid of anyone and she had no doubt he would demolish Dumont any way it took. Legally or illegally. “That's harassment,” he said at last. “The man is going down for that."

  Sarah bit her lip. This was going to be the really hard part. “It's not that simple, Mark."

  "No? And why is that?"

  She looked down at her hands, the fingers tightly interlaced. She had avoided moments like this her whole life. Times when she felt guilty, helpless, and so much like a female.

  "We did things. And I ... I didn't hate it all."

  "You didn't?"

  Sarah shook her head.

  "What didn't you hate, Sarah. Be specific."

  "I kind of liked him ... being in charge."

  "Look at me, Sarah, not at the floor."

  Her breathing quickened at the sight of him, so strong and masculine, his cock hardening beneath his shorts. “I liked when he was in charge, Mark."

  She was nearly breathless saying it this second time; it was a confession now, an erotic one.

  "Is that what you need in a relationship?"

  Sarah swallowed. How had her mouth managed to get so very dry?

  "I'm not sure, Mark."

  His blue eyes were indecipherable. There was a hardness to him, an edge she had never seen before. “There's only one way to find out, Sarah."

  "W-what do you mean?"

  "You know exactly what I mean."

  It was true, she did. Mark intended to dominate her, the way the chief had. The realization brought an immediate flooding to her pussy, but also a mild sense of panic because unlike with Luke, she had real feelings for this man. Would that make a difference?"

  "Stand up and take off your shoes."

  She did and now she was barefoot in her boyfriend's apartment. The carpet tickled her feet and sent odd little sensations up and down her spine.