(Note: this is darker than my usual fare.It got stuck in my head and I had to write it down to get it out. You’ll either like it or you won’t. No guarantees. Proceed at your own risk.)
My name is Justin. I’m a Free Agent – meaning that I infiltrate organizations for a fee. Drug companies, arms dealers, cartels, that kind of thing. I’m the 007-type: a face-changer, a stealer of secrets, and occasionally things might explode unexpectedly around me.
Recently, I’ve stolen two things — the way my employer put it, what I have on the phone in my pocket is the source code to a ‘protein-folder,’ something that tests drugs in a computer. This one 100 times faster or cheaper than anything else in the world. I also stole the pattern to make a drug that will halt the cancer of my accomplice’s sister.
That was our trade. I got her drug pattern from a rival company. She got my protein folder. We’re even, except that she was found out and we’ve both been running for two days, hopping through Switzerland, France, and across Calais to Dover. I’ve saved her life a couple of times over the last 48 hours. She fumbles nervously now with the key to our latest hideout, an absent cousin’s flat in London halfway between the London Bridge and Tower Bridge.
The door finally opens and we step into a posh, postmodern English style flat. Leather couches. I head for the kitchen while Oksana bolts for the shower. Electric wine cellar filled with Spanish reds. Someone has very nice taste. I pull a 2009 Bodegas Alión and 2006 Viña Real, scrabble through a couple of drawers until I find a corkscrew, and set them out to let the oxygen in.
As a spy I’ve learned the art of resting when I can. I zone out for half an hour on one of the couches and listen to the sounds of water and scrubbing come from the bathroom. I only come to when the bathroom door opens and Oksana steps out. She grabs the bottles from the kitchen, a couple of glasses, and some olives from the fridge.
Then she settles down beside me in a short red silk robe she must have grabbed from the shower, “Justin… Thank you. Thank you again.”
“Well, you’re welcome, but you can’t actually use the formula to make the drug if your company is trying to kill you,”
“But I have it, and that more than I had a week ago. I’ll get there. One step at a time.” She smiles and a look of genuine hope fills her face. We drink and relax while we can.
Oksana’s optimism is infectious. The wine has made its way into both of us mingling with adrenaline and relief to make us giddy. Her robe is starting to fall open at the top, giving hints of her generous breasts. I run my fingers through her hair. It is silver-grey although she’s probably not even thirty. “Your hair is incredible. There are women your age who would die for hair like this,”
“It’s from living too close to Russia’s missile testing grounds as a girl.” She is short and strong, athletic. Rounded features. The kind of person who looks like she just belongs in a permanent winter coat. Oksana pushes her hair back from her face, grins at me drunkenly, and wraps her arms around me. I kiss her full force and we are ignited. The silk slides between us both, and my hand is under her robe, tracing the curve of her heavy breast while she fights for the buckle to my trousers.
Minutes later I’m naked and we’re both on the bed. Before she kicks her backpack off the bed, she opens it to pull a bundle of rope out. “Do you know anything about shibari?”
“I’m amazed! Yes. I was always good with knots. I got a book about it several years ago, but my last boyfriend wasn’t much for it. Indulge me?”
“Well, I don’t really know how…”
“I’ll tie you. It’s about aesthetics, but there are some very fun things you can do that are more than just for show. I take it since you know about it you’ve seen pictures?” Images fill my mind and I can suddenly think of no better way to spend my evening.
“What do I do?”
“Take this.” She ties a knot around my wrist and then weaves and bobs, turning me occasionally, and I find myself getting into it. It’s not until I see the knots she’s tying that I begin to think that something’s amiss. These are the kinds of knots professionals use. They’re not for looking at. I try to dismiss my instincts. Just as I start to put things together I feel her teeth bite gently on the side of my neck, up to my earlobe. “God you’re hot,” she whispers into my ear, and all logic is obliterated. She begins trussing my cock up and the smoothness of the rope sliding against my skin makes me hers. When she’s done, I’m in a full harness, hands and feet immobile, my tied-up cock hard as a rock.
Oksana grins and walks away, then turns to face me, admiring her work. She slides her panties down, out from under the short tiny robe and off her thighs, giving me a generous view of her breasts. Then she steps out of her panties and flings the robe off her shoulders with a smooth motion and does a pirouette like she’s standing on ice. A white-ink tattoo graces the right side of her torso, back, and butt, subtle designs almost too light to see weaving their way through her pale skin in threads no wider than a few hairs. A russian poem written in flowing cyrillic cursive, twisting in on itself amid leaves and flower petals.
“The tattoo is a poem that I choreographed my final routine to. I was a figure skater – world class. You might have seen me if you watched that kind of thing. I showed up on Christmas specials in your country a couple of times, but I was only a teenager then. I think our kind are all athletes. It suits us. It helps to stay quick.”
Shit. The knots! “Our kind?”
“Yes, yours and mine. Spies. Assassins. Blunt instruments of intrigue and occasionally death. In this immediate case, death.”
“… Oh.” What she’s saying dawns on me slowly and I’m suddenly more conscious of the ropes binding me than I have ever been of anything. I’m fucked, but I have to admire her ability to play a role. It’s far too late now. I would kick myself for being stupid, but I don’t even have time to register regret before she is next to me on the bed. running her fingers along the lines the ropes are cutting in me.
“You know, if you’re going to tie someone up to torture them it should at least be pretty. This is quite nice,” she pats my cock and muses aloud at me as if she’s making a comment about my wardrobe.
Suddenly I’m as indignant as I am scared, “If you’re here to kill me, what good is torturing me first? We were starting to be friends. I really considered -”
“I’m not talking about using knives on you, Justin. I was contracted to make you ‘beg for death,’ but they didn’t say how I had to achieve that.” She kneels down ever so slightly and wraps my nipple in a kiss. It is agonizing and yet I try to lean into it even as I open my mouth to protest.
“But I-” She stops me with a kiss to the forehead. There are tears in her eyes but also a hunger.
“Stop. There’s no way out of this. I honestly do like you, and that’s why we’re doing it this way. I don’t want to put a gag in your mouth. No knives. No blood. No pain. But you will enjoy your last hours and in the end beg me to release you. I want you to be able to tell me how it feels. Please.” And the way she says it, somehow I just can’t think of an answer. She’s an unfettered sociopath, but then so am I when I have to be. It’s in the line of work. She waits a second until she’s satisfied that I’m done protesting and then the hungry look comes back to her eyes.
She leaves a quick trail of kisses down my torso between the ropes and her lips come to rest on the head of my cock. The first surge of pleasure as she goes down on me is incredible. “Wo-ow. Fuck.” I can feel her grin a bit, but she doesn’t break the spell. She slowly builds me closer and closer, every stroke on my cock a little stronger than the last one. I’m peaking and I start to thrust against the ropes as she takes me to the edge of orgasm.
And stops. She squeezes my cock so hard it hurts, and the pleasure drains with an ache and a whimper. “God,” I exclaim aloud. She sits up and wipes her mouth with the back of her wrist then dips down quickly to lick the precum from the tip of my penis. She lets out a quick laugh that gives me chill-bumps.
“Mmm, yeah. This is the only way to do it. I think. But,” she sits up her her elbows, letting her breasts hang seductively and faces me with an elfish grin. “I will give you a say. Two choices,” She opens the drawer beside her bed, slides something aside, and pulls out a small caliber handgun and a little case.
“I’m about to pleasure you endlessly, leaving you just short of release over and over until you break. Option one is simple enough. When you can’t stand any more say, ‘I’m done’, and I will aim that gun at you and pull the trigger. I’m Russian and a gambler and so naturally this is russian roulette. You have a 50-50 chance there’s a bullet in the chamber when I fire. In any case, pick that one, and I will not let you come. If you survive, I will leave and call someone in a few hours to cut the rope and let you go after you’ve had time to simmer down.”
“Option two -” she opens the case and there is a small vial of clear liquid and a syringe, “Say ‘I need it now, please,” and I will give us both the single greatest sexual experience of your life, but it will be your last. I’d explain it in more detail, but that would spoil it. All I promise is that you will come and I will be on top of you when you do and that it will be the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had.”
And thus begins hours of intensity. One false ending after another as she touches, teases, builds me up to the edge of coming, coming closer every time. I keep thinking she’d actually let me come if I kept a straight enough face. Alternatively I think that I’ll numb out but she has a knack. Always she pulls back at the last minute and forces me back down to earth. I hold out over and over, thinking she would exhaust herself or that I would think of something, but gradually I come to realize that she is just plain better than me.
After what feels like days but was probably mere hours I am exhausted from want. Oksana straddles me. I feel a painful/pleasurable thump as she finally lets me inside of her. But she takes just the head of my cock in and no more. Then she takes the vibrator from the bedside table and flips it on. She is remarkably still. For all the strength I exhaust against the ropes, I am bound. Not a fraction of an inch more of me does she allow in.
Her face and breasts and hips all blush as she comes closer to coming. I can feel the heat in her thighs and her groin. She makes the slightest sound, loses just the slightest bit of control, and her muscles contract around me, squeezing my cock as she comes. It’s all I can take. The never-ending pleasure burns me and I am spent. I don’t even toy with the notion of possible freedom and ‘Option 1.’ It’s just not my kind of luck.
“Oksana…” I break off, inhaling sharply as she grinds against me almost gently, and I come right to the edge. I’ve chanted her name a hundred times in the last hour as she pleasured me, but this time it’s different.
“I need it now, please.”
I can feel her body heat up as I say it. Her face goes flush and she climbs off of me. I wonder for a moment if she’s having second thoughts and I start to hope. She bites her lip, then seems to steel herself. She frowns. “Are you sure?”
“Okay,” she bites her lip again, looks around as if she’s forgotten where it is. Then reaches over and takes the syringe. She puts the point into the vial and draws a small amount of the clear liquid into it. I brace myself. She kneels over me and kisses me gently on the lips for the first time since she told me who she was. Then she sits up next to me on the bed with a serene look.
She takes my cock in her hand. I feel her stroke my skin one last time, and I see regret in her eyes as she searches for a vein near the base of my penis. She finds one. “This might sting, but only slightly. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” She pauses. Heartbeats pass. She takes a breath and holds it. And pushes.
I feel the needle prick at the base of my penis. It makes me even harder. “There… It’s in. This is your last chance to say no. I will honor it if you do.” She waits. I hold my breath. There is nothing left but endless need for release. I can’t even consider the cost. I just hold there and bite my tongue and wait for the squeeze. A few second passed. “Okay.” And a second later, a slightly cool feeling in the vein of my cock and I am aware of the enormity of it. I am going to die. For pleasure.
“Done.” She climbs back astride me and nestles the head of my cock between her labia. “You have about 8 minutes. Your cock will go last.” She explained it matter-of-factly while reaching back to guide me into her. Already so close… “You feel so good. And you’ve been such a thrill I’m almost sorry. Don’t worry. If you fall unconscious before you finish I will make sure you still get to come while you’re inside of me.”
Then she begins to grind and I can feel my hands going cold, “Kiss me while I can still feel your lips, Oksana,” I beg, and she leans in as she rocks her hips across me pumping the poisoned blood through my veins faster even as I become more desperate to hold on. Her tongue tastes sweet as she gives me my last kiss. I thrust against the rope, trying, not to escape but to force the last half inch of my cock into her. I have every ounce of my body involved, afraid, desperate for life, but willing to cope with death so long as there’s release.
“Come for me, Justin.”
But I am going. My muscles are getting hard to move and my vision is hazy. I wonder if I will fall asleep. If I’ll come in my dreams before I pass. The pounding rhythm of her hips is matching my heart, and I’m still awake and getting closer. As my nerves are shutting down around me, I still keep feeling her more intensely. All my consciousness remaining is focused in eight inches of my body. She reaches up to caress my face even though she knows I can’t feel it.
I feel warm all over. I take one last long gaze at her breasts. Heavy, ample, her nipples grazing against me as she fucks me desperately. My imagination of what they feel like is intense as the real thing. I watch her come, cords of muscle in her athletic body straining on me. Then I close my eyes. … that’s it, … I’m coming and it’s the most powerful sensation I’ve ever had. … I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, come for me…
The only thing left of me is my cock, and without any other feelings it’s like my whole self is wrapped up in squeezing the last bit of my life into her. As the last ounce of come enters her body, I can feel myself slipping away. Everything is pleasure and fear. She lies on top of me, rocking her hips back and forth very gently to feel me slide around inside her softly as my erection fades. She holds my cock inside of her, tears in her eyes as she watches me and feels me go. I feel the wet slick of come and lubrication on my cock as it slips out of her, both it and me spent. “Thank you, that was… singular” Then, nothing.
And then I wake up. I feel surges of pleasure coursing through my veins starting at the head of my cock. I leave my eyes closed, wondering if this is going to continue or if this is just a last blast of semi-consciousness, but as things become clearer, I can tell that she’s going down on me, breathing life back into me one thrust at a time. I feel the waves of pleasure crash against my hip, then my navel, a flood of consciousness chased by ecstasy pouring in from her lips and reviving me.
I open my eyes. My fingers and toes are working, and I start to try to strain against the bindings only to find they’re not there. I moan and she looks up and grins and runs her tongue along the base of my shaft, sending a shiver that wakes everything else up. “I’m still alive?”
“Mmm, yes. But I’m not done. Be quiet and let me finish you.” And it becomes clear that however desperate I am the feeling of her lips on me, her tongue snaking around the shaft of my cock, and the gentle pressure of her sucking me off is more than I’m willing to give up just at the moment. I thrust my hips into it, feeling glad to have use of them again, and she reaches up and slides a finger into my ass. I buck and tingle and she grips tighter around my shaft with her hand. I cry out as a flood of ecstasy focuses at the base of my cock and forces its way out. She sucks still, fucking me with her finger and dragging every drop of come out of me with desperate lips.
“Are you ever going to tell anyone who I am? Reveal me or out my employers for trying to kill you?”
“Then I have no reason to kill you. The people I work for give me total freedom with my methods and my judgement. I always accomplish my assignment, even if I decide that death isn’t the only means of achieving it. I have back what you stole. You’re not going to reveal me. I could see it in your eyes even as you knew I had killed you. And frankly I owe you. This really will save my sister if I can synthesize it in my lab.”
“What was that you used on me?”
“A drug of my own devising. Amazing stuff. Shuts down everything but the body’s ability to feel pleasure. Absolutely everything for just a little bit. Long enough to let them see you dead when they came by. And now I really am very sorry, but I must ask you to go. Not the way you came. You’re free for now. If you even dance with the idea of getting back in this business I promise you they will kill you, and I can also promise you it won’t be me who does the job. Thank you, truly, for everything. And … I’m sorry.”
She gets up from the bed and leaves me to gather my effects. I hear the shower come on. My beard has grown, and I realize I must have been out for days. Flickers of remembrance of dreams come to me, lurid dreams full of impossible sex. I walk out the door wondering how many times I came for her while I was asleep, and I hope despite the ache of loss for that pleasure, that I never cross her path again unless we both survive long enough to retire…