Ms. Maz

Who was Ms. Mazarine?

She was a quiet, focused woman. She was a handler for what was likely the most prestigious 'spy' company in the world. She could type at 120 words per minute while humming Mozart's 9th symphony in C major, and she was on a high-protein diet that lent itself almost beautifully to her physical appearance.

Mazarine wasn't a shy woman, but she was soft-spoken and so she was often mistaken as such.

Sebastian saw her walk quietly through their work doors every morning with her head bent over her phone, heels tapping quietly against the marble flooring, and the arm of her glasses hooked neatly over the fold of her breast pocket, and he understood why people assumed her to be unconfident, bashful, even reticent.

Despite appearances, though, Ms. Maz was more commanding and confident than any other woman he'd met in his life, and it was a pity that few men had ever experienced her for long enough to learn it. He raised a glass to any man who'd been exposed to even a quarter of that feisty personality burrowing itself under her secluded demeanor.

When she passed him with her nose in her work and said, "Good morning, Seb," as if he were a peripheral thought, it wasn't so evident. But a moment later when she was standing at the elevator doors and she looked over her shoulder at him, slowly licked her lips, and then turned back to the elevator as if she hadn't done it, it was much more obvious.

He was curious. He was intrigued. He wanted more and if that meant prematurely raising a glass to himself in preparation for that goal, then so be it.

-

Sebastian had dreams about Mazarine all the time, and in them, sometimes she was talking with her mouth. Most times she was talking with her body.

He remembered fondly that in one of his dreams, Maz was laid out on the cold, wooden floor of her office and beneath her back were these ugly, blue blankets that he'd nicked from the supply closet. Her pencil skirt was pulled up around her hips, she wasn't wearing any shoes (only the lace mid-thigh stockings that often accompanied her office dress), and her lace panties were pushed down to her ankles. Her feet were on the floor and her legs were spread neatly so that standing over her lower body, Sebastian could look down at her exposed, shaved pussy.

None of it was real, but Sebastian felt it all the same. His stomach was in knots. His fingers were itching to touch. His mouth was aching to taste. He wanted her more badly than he'd wanted anyone.

"You think there's an excuse for your behavior?" Mazarine asked softly. She said it with so little conviction that it came out almost passively. She was continuing a conversation that Sebastian couldn't remember - maybe didn't need to remember. That often happened in his dreams. Just the calm lull of her voice was enough to make the conversation relevant.

"No Ma'am," Sebastian responded. In this dream, he'd come off of a mock-50's mission and was still done up neatly in a suit, but he reached up and yanked his Hamburg hat off of his head and whipped it neatly aside. Then he slipped a finger between his neck and his tie and loosened it. "But I sure hope that this'll explain at least a little bit of it."

It'd been a long time since Sebastian had been on his knees in pursuit of a woman's pussy. This time, he went easily down onto them and pushed Mazarine's legs a little bit further apart. Her ankles tugged at the panties holding them close to one another, and they stretched, threatening to tear. He was dreaming, Sebastian reminded himself, and since he was dreaming and Victoria's Secret was free in the land of imagination, he ripped them easily and threw the newly ruined garment aside. Then he coaxed Maz's thighs far enough apart from one another that he could crawl between them, hovering over her as he reached down between them and pressed his fingers easily between the folds of her lips.

Mazarine had a gorgeous body. Sebastian had dreamt about it so often that he'd forgotten she'd never let him see it in real life. She was always wet, ready for Sebastian to slip whichever part of himself he wanted into her. The way her body accommodated him no matter which he chose to use was almost as surreal as the idea of her on her back in the first place.

This time he only used his fingers. When Mazarine's body gave way around them, she was so warm. He could feel every ridge and bump of her as he slowly pushed two of them into her as deep as his knuckles, and she sighed happily, her eyes fluttering closed as he pulled them back out and then pushed them back into her again. She licked her lips as he began to fuck her with his fingers.

"Sebastian," Mazarine breathed.

Sebastian loved this the most about his dreams. It was the sound of his own name slipping from between Maz's gorgeous lips - quiet, low, and unbidden. She never begged for anything when they worked a case together, but with his fingers pumping into her steadily she almost always gave it up. Her hand snuck to her chest, gripping and rubbing her breast through the fabric of her work shirt. For every second that passed with Sebastian fucking her gently, she breathed his name over and over again until, "please," slipped free.

Sebastian could feel the strain of his own cock pressing excitedly against the zipper of his pants begging for a turn, and he thought for a moment that he might give it to her. It would be so easy to take the zip down the track and just let himself free, fuck into her with his entire body and push her up the floor with the force of it; break her in bit by bit until she was sweating and crying, shaking and convulsing, unable to speak. It felt better to go slow like this, though. Be steady and listen to her slowly build up her orgasm around him.

He whispered, "Come on, babe, I got you," and she whimpered in response.

Maz's hips started to move against Sebastian's fingers. She settled her feet more firmly against the ugly blankets and rocked herself so that every time Sebastian pulled out and pushed back in, he went a bit deeper. His body was settled so comfortably between her legs and his fingers were coated in her, lubricated with her excitement. He could take his fingers back if he wanted, then just grind between her legs until he came in his pants like a horny teenager - but truth be told, his orgasm wouldn't be nearly as worthwhile as watching Maz's eyes roll back into her head when she finally came from just the work of his hand.

It was only a minute that Maz had to ride his fingers before her thighs started to shake a bit. Her head was tilted back against the floor, her harsh breath coming out in small pants that seemed to fill the otherwise dead silence of the room. He fucked her a bit harder, and then a bit harder, and then he fucked her hard enough for his wrist to start hurting. Until she came, she didn't beg again. But after a moment her body went unexpectedly tense around his fingers and the fluttering of her insides sucked him in. Her back arched up off of the floor and she moaned, "O-oh, fuck," louder than he expected, and in those two sounds was the loss of composure that made every second of his unconsciousness a blessing.

One day he wanted to hear it outside of his imagination.

-

"Sebastian? This is important information."

Sebastian blinked himself back to focus and looked around quickly. Same old wooden table he saw everyday. Same untouched cup of coffee he poured himself everyday in front of him. Same coworker on his right side, watching him curiously as he waited for the response. He was in a briefing, recollecting a dream he likely shouldn't have had in the first place.

With a quick cough, he adjusted in his seat and said, "Yes ma'am. Just a bit tired, that's all."

"And you think that excuses your behavior?"

The words took him so quickly by surprise that he immediately stuttered, "W-what?"

"You're an agent for one of the best agencies in the world and you think there's an excuse for conking out during your briefing. Misunderstanding the information that's being provided to you could get yourself or a coworker killed. If you'd like to take a nap, you can do it when I'm not telling you how to survive an infiltration of an underground mob in Ibiza."

This was who Ms. Maz was. A competent handler. A no-nonsense woman. A woman that Sebastian could easily see himself settling down with. And if nothing else had ever come from this stupid job, those dreams that he had of her every other week could hold him over until he retired because they were that damn good.

With a smile on his face, Sebastian nodded his head quickly and said, "Yes ma'am," a second time.