Diabolical

"Please, Mistress Vanta, be angry with me. Hit me more," his eyebrows are pulled up as if saddened, eyes glazed in unbridled lust.

Vanta scowls at him. "You pathetic masochist; look at you; once the great Clyde Stavings, the right-hand man for Savage, now pushed down to a worthless beggar," this was no role play, her words ring true, just as true as her disgust and fury as the man moans at the abuse of words. He pleads for more and she is even angrier. "You want pain?"

"Yes," he answers in a heartbeat, "Please, more."

"I'll give you pain." The screams can be heard outside of the prison. Yet he still begs for more, more pain, more pleasure, more, more, more. Vanta is growing frustrated with him; she has been sick of him the third week he wasn't able to break, now he's enjoying this rather than dreading. She badly wants to give up her position on interrogation but isn't allowed, so now she's stuck until she can get answers. For once, her emotions get the best of her and she lashes out at him in full vent. He's beaten until he's bleeding, bruising, and crying in more pain than pleasure.

"Agent Vanta," the familiar voice above warns, but she continues her beating. "Agent Vanta, you will stop now!" the voice growls dangerously. When she still doesn't comply, the two muscular men have to restrain her. Moments later when she's pulled away and gone, a medic comes in to tend to Clyde's wounds. Vanta is lectured, but not punished, because she's needed to still interrogate. "Should we have a repeat of today, you will be suspended of your position and punished severely, understood?" the towering man stares down at the sitting woman glaring into her hands.

"Yes, Sir."

"Remember, once you get the answers, you're free from this...predicament," he slowly says, "but you should also realize you were the one to catch him and are responsible. You are dismissed."

Vanta returns a day later, much more in control of her emotions this time around. She takes position— her foot balanced on his chair, just brushing his standing cock that's wrapped with the whip, bent close so they're breathing each other's breath, and not looking once away from Clyde's stormy gray eyes.

He's silently begging her, but sinks his teeth into his tongue. After his beating he's come to rational terms; this can't go on forever, and he needs to make a decision. The more he's denied the farther he is from his release. He wants more, more than this imprisonment, he wants Vanta. As he looks into her eyes there's an unsaid threat that terrifies him. It's proven when she speaks.

"If you don't answer, I'm never coming back."

He whimpers, tears blinding his vision as he swallows a sob. The only sound is their breathing the slicking of her stroking him vigorously, her boot massaging his sac, and free hand clutching his scalp painfully. He wants to spill everything, but is still holding himself back. He's choking, desperately reaching forward to touch her, but no matter how hard he pulls against his restraints he can't. Suddenly she is slowing her movements and begins to pull away. Clyde's mind his set, concreted; he opens his mouth to scream for her, a fear of never seeing her again throttling him, blinding him, and everything pours out. He can't stop the dam as all thoughts he's been hiding away comes out.

When he's done revealing everything he knows, every single detail, there is a suffocating silence. Everyone is deadly still, save for Clyde who is panting and staring wide-eyed at the back of Vanta, mentally calling her back. He needs her so badly, it hurts, it's so painful and his whole being aches. Suddenly, the two men leave, nodding at an unseen gesture made by Vanta. "Have you been a good boy?" her words are soft, sincere, and a shudder zips up his spine.

He nods vigorously. "Yes, Mistress Vanta!"

She turns, stalking her way back tauntingly. "Truly?"

Clyde's neck nearly snaps from how eagerly he's nodding. "Yes, I've been a good boy, Mistress Vanta, I've been so good!" he's straining against his chains, desperate to reach her, touch her, taste her. With hot tears spilling from an onslaught of emotions, his body rakes from his weeping as he watches her stretch her hand and gently touches his cheek. His words are a slur of entangled thoughts and incoherent sentences, but he knows he's repeating, "Good, I'll be good, I'll be such a good boy for you, Mistress Vanta, so good."

The brunette presses her gloved thumb over his trembling lips lightly, swiping them across. "Take my glove off." Clyde enthusiastically complies, nuzzling into the warm leather, kissing with an open mouth, dragging his tongue everywhere, and suckling her fingers. Gently, he sinks his canine into the edge of her middle finger and pulls the glove. It easily peels off and he sees her bare hands for the first time. The man worships what he's rewarded, giving her naked hand the same fervent treatment, moaning loudly into her skin, feeling the baby softness, and the addicting sweet-saltiness.

Vanta pulls her hand away, Clyde whimpering at the lost of touch. He needs to touch her, have her touch him. "Will you promise to be a good boy from now on?" she tenderly holds his face in her other gloved hand.

"Yes, Mistress Vanta."

"Good," she whispers nearly against his lips, staring deeply into his eyes, her own jade ones finally filled with passion. Her bare, glistening hand slides to capture his erected cock, inducing a cry from the bound man. She furiously strokes him, not breaking eye contact. "Who's a good boy?"

He gasps, desperately gulping in air, "I am, I'm a good boy!" his body is jerking, undulating into her sweet hand, seeking a release he knows she will finally grant him.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You, Mistress Vanta, I belong to Mistress Vanta!"

"Does the good boy want to cum?"

"Yes, oh, yes please, Mistress Vanta, please!"

"Then cum."

And he's cumming hard, streams of his whiteness erupting and painting her propped thigh. However, there's a glint in her eyes, and he realizes she isn't going to stop. She keeps stroking him in the same vigorous manner until he releases twice more, until he's sobbing, begging with eyes rolling into his skull and on the edge of blacking out from the overwhelming pleasure. Finally, Vanta is merciful and slows her stroking. Her hand, thigh, and torso are coated with his seed. "You've made a mess," she doesn't need to instruct him further.

Clyde willingly takes her dirty hand into his mouth and cleans it off, sucking each finger slowly, all the while staring up into her jade eyes. Once her hand is clean he turns his attention to the enticing thigh. Vanta makes a signal and all chains are off him. He looks up at her for permission to touch and she merely nods. His tentatively grabs her thigh, afraid that if he touches her, she will disappear, and bends to lick himself off of her in a ginger manner. Once clean, he trails hot, open-mouth kisses up, hesitating when her clothed sex comes into his line of vision. He swallows hard and loud, but continues up her hips to lap up his whiteness splattered across her stomach.

Clyde feels the brush of her breasts against his head, driving him insane, but he knows better and just wraps his arms around her, yanking her closer until he nearly presses into her. He moans and whimpers into her stomach, pulling her into his opened legs, nuzzling his head into her warmth. He knows she can feel his hardened cock pressing into her thighs. The man wants more, but is fearful, so merely lifts his head up to peer up at her between the valley of her breasts. "Thank you, Mistress Vanta," he automatically says, tightening his arms around her, because he's afraid she will leave.

Vanta tenderly runs her hands into his inky brown locks, slightly slicked with sweat, and then grasps his face. She leans down, but he knows what she's doing and meets her half way. Their lips meld and he immediately moans, forcing his tears back. He's tempted to deepen it, tangle their tongues, and just fuck her to oblivion, but he holds himself for her, for his Mistress. The kiss is gentle and tingles warmly, but the woman pulls away too soon, Clyde rising up to capture her lips again. He's held back, disappointment filling his being.

"Did you get all that?" she tilts her head up to a hidden camera, speaking to it.

"Every word; well done Agent Vanta," a smile can be heard in the man's voice. "You know the procedure." The good guys won, but he didn't give a shit. Suddenly she pulls away and holds up a hand when he desperately reaches out to her, like a child wanting the comforting touch of his mother.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Stavings. To prevent any form of threat or harm coming to you due to your assistance, you will be appropriately imprisoned in our facility. Good day, Mr. Stavings." Vanta turns on her heel without a second glance and leaves the confused man alone in the brightly lit, white room.

"W-Wait, Mistress Vanta, wait!" his screams are heard as he desperately calls out to his Mistress. He pounds and pounds on the door, weeping for his Mistress to come back, but she doesn't, and he breaks down.

. . .

"There is no way in hell I am going to take him under my vigilance," Vanta growls to her employer. "You said once I got the answers out of him I would be free of this predicament. Well, I did the job now I want out."

He reprimands her in a sweet, calming voice. "Mind your temper, Agent Vanta. I'm sure you recall informing our captive that he's to be imprisoned, yes? The only possible way to prevent any harm to be done is to keep him under your eyes. Savage has his ways and I'm positive he will know of his unwilling betrayer sooner than later. By decree of the Law and our Code of Conduct, we must keep him imprisoned, as he is, or was, part of the espionage society. We are on the light of the side after all, the good guys, however those teenagers entitle it, and we won't euthanize him. Besides, you seem to have him wrapped quite securely around your fingers; perhaps you might be able to convince Mr. Stavings to switch his mind of thinking and join our forces, hmm?"

Vanta is burning holes at him, knowing she has no say in this matter. Since when has she? Besides she knows perfectly well she has no one else to blame but herself for the attachment Clyde has created. "Yes, Sir."

"Very good. You are dismissed."

She returns to Clyde a day later. He's a naked, curled ball against the wall of the room. His whimpers echo from his arms he encases around his head. At hearing the door open, he doesn't move. However, when she walks forth and her familiar heeled-boots click, the man snaps his head up so harshly he nearly receives whiplash. He can barely believe his eyes, seeing his Mistress, his Goddess before him. On the verge of sobbing, he bites into his tongue as he crawls towards her.

Vanta allows him the satisfaction of burying his face between her thighs as he cries, arms wound tightly around her. She's afraid he might not ever let her go. "Mr. Stavings," professionalism coats her words as she ignores his desperate nuzzling, "you are being given the option to reconsider your position. You may join our espionage for the greater good of our world, fighting the enemy along side with us, or you may choose to remain as who are and become imprisoned. I suggest you choose wisely."

Clyde stares at her in awe. They are giving him a chance, and with this chance he will have an opportunity with Vanta. He nods vigorously. "I want to join your espionage."

"I must warn you of the consequences. In any situation you may have to come face-to-face with past comrades. Your life and death position has become more vulnerable."

At the moment, he is her equal, so he stands, finally standing over her in nearly five months. As he looks into her eyes he knows of his situation. There is no hesitation, and he nods. "I agree to your terms to become part of your espionage."

She's grim when he expects her to be delighted. "Very well, from today forth you will be under my careful vigilance. Should you make one mistake, I will not hesitate to throw you back in here, is this understood, Agent Clyde?"

A thrill streaks in him at having the chance to work beside her. "I understand, Mis—Agent Vanta." He quickly corrects himself. Soon, he is led out of his imprisonment and taken to thoroughly bathe, eat an actual meal, and personally meet with the mysterious man who is in charge of Agent Vanta and this organization. He's given the overall conditions and agreements of switching sides, essentially knowing his case and that he isn't the first to become a turncoat, or as his employer likes to call it. The man holding their positions is Maxwell. That's all Clyde knows about him, nothing more or less.

They don't need to test him for any proof that he may be lying just to get on their good side, the broken man is absolutely smitten with Vanta. He is basically a lost puppy, enamored with the black-dressed woman and her jade eyes, much to her disdain. Clyde is instructed to remain with her at all times, thus the pairs' living conditions are changed. Now he resides with her in a private home to which he has no idea of the location, although he's suspicious that it's somewhere in the north of the United States. His thoughts are proven correct when he begins to spot Michigan license plates. It's just the end of summer, so the air is slightly crisp.

The house is in a fairly wealthy subdivision just created for their espionage organization. Vanta's cover-up job is a head pharmacist, while he was previously a personal trainer. He has to keep his profile low to avoid attention, so resumes a different cover-up job, working along his Mistress. Clyde remains as how he used to be before breaking, taking his role as a spy agent to his life, but when it comes to Vanta, he can't help but shrink back to the submissive man he has come to be, just for her.

"Listen, my actions were for the sake of gaining information on Savage, nothing more, nothing less. None of it was real, not the moments of pleasuring you, not the moment when I turned back to you. Let this go and act like a man." The woman knows better than to threaten to castrate him (or anything violent along those lines), because any abusive words only turns him on. She is severely cold towards him, refusing to speak and look at him, unless need be. Having the pathetic man live under the same roof as her doesn't ease her mind in the least. Vanta knows he will never do anything against her will, or so she wants to believe.

. . .

"Exactly how long must he stay with me?" her leather gloves creak as her nails drive into her palms. Her visibly shaking fists are physical boundaries holding the dangerous mixture of irritancy and rage simmering within her. She's a favorite of Maxwell's; he's known her when she was but a girl of grade school, so Vanta is an exception to the employer-subordinate relationship. She knows he sees her as his own daughter, but that doesn't mean she can be disrespectful, he's just more lenient with her.

Said man of forty-eight years merely sips at his tea, not an ounce of worry etching his face. Although considered much older, he's aged quite well. His crown of dark hair is salted here and there, mostly on the side, his physique doesn't say he's nearly half-aged, and once a time ago he was handsome, although many would say he still is, in that handsome-middle-aged-man way. Maxwell has the bluest of blue eyes, which gives him a youthful, yet wizened aura. Vanta admits to herself she once had a crush on him growing up, since he was in his thirties and dashing and charming in every way and took her under his wing. He was his own James Bond. She's drawn from her thoughts when he sets his china cup down.

"For as long as need be," his English accent still hasn't gone away, even after stationing in the United States many years ago. "We nearly have Savage's pack within our grasps, and nearly his throat within my fingers," he mumbles the second half of the sentence more to himself, but Vanta hears. "Mr. Stavings is now your comrade, whether you enjoy the idea or not, but by order of our Conduct you must keep his life within your hands as we will you. Besides, it's best to keep him close by should he decide to play charades and turn at the last moment, however, that I highly doubt. I know a smitten man when I see one, and that boy is terribly obsessed with you," he chuckles mirthfully, coming around his desk to lean on the ledge of its front.

Vanta's scowl only deepens. "No need to rub salt into the wound. I know perfectly well it's my own fault he's come down to such a pathetic man, but I can't stand his behavior; it's sick."

"You're a gorgeous woman, Vanta. Don't think I can't act like your father when need be; I, too, notice that you're quite the lovely eye-catcher, so I don't blame Mr. Stavings," he winks teasingly at her, and she realizes her crush hasn't completely disappeared; there's a tiny part within her heart that soars when he compliments or boasts about her. "As I was saying, be sure to have an eye on him; protect him as he would protect you. If it means to endure his passionate throes, then so be it."

The brunette woman bites her bottom lip, but nods. "Yes, Sir."

A moment of silence settles between the pair before he reaches slowly to caress her cheek with a roughened thumb in a tender, affectionate manner, just as he had done many times in the past when she was upset. He knows it still works, because her face softens and she leans into his hand. He barely has any excuse and time to drown her in his fatherly gestures, but Maxwell's love for her is the same unconditional sentiment as for a dear family member. "Be on your way, Jade," he hasn't said her real name in so long, but it's a familiar ring on his tongue. "However, should anything happen, immediately call me."

"Yes, Sir—" she stops at the disapproving look and corrects herself. "I mean, Max."

"Good," just as Jade is nearly out the door, Maxwell also adds, "oh, and should he do anything dishonorable to you," a cruel spark gleams in his eye, "I'll personally, as teenagers uncouthly put it, rip his balls off and feed it to him."

The woman stares shell-shocked at the coarse words coming from his lips. "He might just enjoy that more than dread it," she says breathily before biting her tongue to keep from laughing.

. . .

Clyde fidgets in his seat at their dining table, the silence throttling him. Vanta is a...delicate case when it comes to their standard of living conditions. He knows not to get in her way, but sometimes he can barely hold himself back. The woman is literally right within his grasps, and he wants to please her, have her please him, so terribly much. It's unbearable having his Mistress so close, yet far out of reach. Her behavior towards him hurts horribly; she doesn't even acknowledge his presence. He's so desperate, so ravenous for any kind of attention it's slowly killing him inside.

What does he have to do to get her attention? He wants it, needs it so bad. She's becoming his air, and he doesn't quite mind, if only she let him breathe her in. He loves that she can make him vulnerable, make him beg pathetically, make him delirious. He can sob and bemoan all he wants, but she's cruel, and he loves that. Vanta's his ultimate Achilles' heel and he's left to her bidding. It's the idea of being imprisoned to her sexually and emotionally that has him addicted, because he doesn't just love her body (if only it was that simple), he's terribly obsessed with her. He knows she aware that he enjoys the torture of pleasure she had put him through, which only drew him in further.

Clyde bites his lip helplessly, eyeing the beauty before him silently eating her dinner; even the manner of way she eats is beautiful. His gray eyes flicker towards the salt shaker in the middle of the table and an idea occurs to him. It may be incredibly stupid, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. He clears his throat quietly, because even that gesture is loud. "Um, can you please pass the salt?"