by AverageSmutBoi
A battle of wills between the assassin and warrior.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I survey the scene, knife in hand, as I try to figure out what to do next. Semen stains the floor in several places now. Strips of clothing lie about after I cut my legs free from the chair. I'm butt ass naked from the waist down. She lies out cold on the floor, body bare except for my belt, which hangs loosely around her waist. Time to leave.
"Open room." I say into a mic next to the door while placing my left hand on the only red tile on the wall. It reads my handprint, checks my voice against the database, then with a soft click the door opens. I glance behind me once more at the mess, then head through the door toward the supply closet. The door shuts automatically behind me.
The facility I'm in was once used by a now-dead organization.
ABISMO. Autonomic Body Systems Information and Manipulation Organization. They were the first to discover channelling. Well... not exactly the first. But the first of the modern world to discover its potential.
They were a sub organization of DARPA, looking into natural physical and mental performance enhancement through voluntary control of different 'autonomic' parts of the body, such as the nervous system. Autonomic, as in usually you shouldn't be able to control them, they'd happen automatically, regulated by your body. One of these was the sympathetic nervous system. The 'fight or flight' response.
I think back to the days before I knew what channelling was. Before I knew what I was capable of. At the time, ABISMO hadn't existed. But, an extremely small percentage of the population were trying to figure out what was going on with them, a skinny, nineteen year old me being one of these people.
As I walk down the long hallway toward the supply closet, I remember, remember scouring the internet in search of what this weird voluntary, tingling, nervous feeling was, that I couldn't sustain for very long, but it would make me sweat, make me twitch with energy. Before long, I found others like me in forums, where we discussed it and tried to understand it.
Then some idiot made a youtube video about it, talking about the forums, the possible explanations for what it could be, and all sorts of stupid shit.
It was taken down a day later, but not before getting multiple thousands of views. I remember that day vividly. Staring at the screen, at the error message. Feeling a sense of foreboding. Then I was met at my door by a very excited-looking professor flanked by two large, tough looking men in black suits.
I shake my head of the memories as I open the door to the walk-in supply closet. I throw my knife into a bucket, grab it and a mop from the corner, and take the soap from the top shelf and toss it into the bucket as well. I turn to go, but pause, the rope on one of the lower shelves catching my eye. I pick it up and toss it into the bucket too. She escaped the cuffs pretty easily, but I notion with rope I'll be able to make just a little more difficult.
As I walk back to the interrogation room, I'm once again flooded with memories.
I was escorted from my humble apartment to this facility in a lavish limo by the trio, the professor talking with me animatedly the entire time. I was to become part of a very important 'research project', one that would serve the country. Did I have any choice in the matter? No.
Did I really care?
No.
I was young and lost. No direction. Not enough money for college, and I was adamantly against using student loans.
I was more than happy to finally have a purpose. I didn't even stop to consider how many laws they'd broken to find me.
At the facility I was tested. They strapped me to an EMG and a heart rate monitor and watched my pupils. I was asked to surge for as long as I could, surging being what they termed the process of voluntarily activating your sympathetic nervous system. I remember the professor distinctly smiling at the results, then me. Afterwards, I was put with the rest of the people like me. Some were disgruntled, some vehemently angry. None were as calm or as at piece as I. All had previous lives they wanted back, whereas I had just started mine.
I come back to the present, palming the biometric reader next to the door.
"Open room."
The door clicks open. I push it forward warily, half expecting an onslaught of attack from inside. But none comes. I sigh with relief.
I walk over to her naked body. Even in my post-orgasm tiredness, I can appreciate her supple form. I drop the bucket and mop, flip her over onto her front and begin tying her up, looping her thumbs first. As I pull the rope tight, her thumb hyperextends back to a gruesome-looking angle.
Holy fuck.
Supple indeed. She must've broken her thumbs to escape the cuffs. No. That can't be right, her thumbs would be swollen and immovable. And there's no way she stroked me that effectively with broken thumbs. She must just naturally be hypermobile. A useful trick.
Keeping this in mind, I finish connecting her thumbs, then her wrists with the rope, and then tie the lot to her waist. She's not getting out of this unless she's a serious contortionist.
I remove the belt from her midsection and my knife from the bucket, before sheathing it and walking out. I head down the hall to my old room, and pick out a new set of clothes before trodding tiredly to the showers. I throw it all on a chair and remove my hoodie and shirt in one motion. I turn on the shower, immersing myself in the feeling of the hot water. It brings back the memories once again.
----------5 YEARS AGO-----------
I've been put in a group of six, four of which are women, the other a sleazy middle aged man. All of them wanted out at first, all of them were angry. Two of them, the sleazy man and a tall, haughty woman, flat out refused to cooperate. They were escorted forcefully from the facility.
Only the woman came back, broken and wide-eyed. She doesn't talk anymore.
They leave us alone for a few days before beginning tests. We're each given our own room, a bed, a few personal items, and a meal plan. I'm given six medium sized meals a day. I don't ever finish them. Far too filling.
The first couple days are boring, there isn't much to do except watch TV in the 'living room' or read the provided books, which aren't much of a read. I mean, 'The Catcher in the Rye'? Really? Talk about boring. We ask the guards multiple times what we were waiting for.
"Paperwork." They say, tight lipped. I suppose I should be scared by my situation, with the woman coming back mentally broken and mute, and by the lack of information, but I somehow can only feel... excitement.
On the fifth day, the professor returns with a large smile. The paperwork is done, apparently, and the testing phase has begun. They started by hooking us up to multiple machines and having us surge while sitting, running, walking, jumping, etc. I'm the only one who actually talks with the professor anymore. That's the name we give him, because he wouldn't give us his actual name. I'm curious about the tests.
"Eh?" He responds, at first taken aback by my non-fearful disposition. "Oh. Well, your sympathetic response usually enhances your physical ability beyond normal boundaries," He stops, thinks a moment. "You ever see those movies where a guy touches an electric wire and flies back?" I nod.
"That's not the electricity that's doing that..." He pauses thoughtfully for a second. "Well, in a way I suppose it is... But I digress, it is actually your own muscles that contract to throw you across the room. The electricity just activates them."
He configures a force plate on the ground in front of me.
"You are far stronger than you realize, but your body naturally caps your voluntary strength to protect you, so you don't accidentally tear your connective tissue, like your ligaments and tendons."
He straightens, then gestures toward the now-ready force plate.
"Stand there."
I step on the plate. He presses a button on his computer.
"So basically, we're trying to see how far you can push past your natural voluntary boundaries by surging. One of the ways to do this is by testing how much extra force you can generate" He waves his hand at me to jump. I do. He consults the laptop for a second before turning back around.
"Now surge for two seconds before jumping." He holds up a stopwatch, and I when he presses down, I begin surging. When I reach two seconds, the energy has completely flooded my body and I tremble with the need to move. I jump far higher.
The professor examines the results, then makes an approving sound before turning back to me.
"Again."
Later we sit around the table, me trying to finish my sixth meal of the day. Chicken and brown rice, plus broccoli. I hardly touch the broccoli. Nasty stuff. The others talk about what they miss from life outside the facility. One of them addresses me.
"You don't say much, Flynn. What do you miss?" It's the older woman, Joanna. She looks at me tenderly. I resent it.
"Nothing." I say, and glare at my food, suddenly angry. I stab a broccoli with my fork.
"Surely, you must miss -"
"I said, I don't miss anything!" I shout, standing up. I can't think.
"Flynn, calm down-"
I flip the table, plates shattering, food spilling on to the ground. I stare at her angrily for a moment longer, then storm back toward my room. I sit on my bed, brooding. She knows nothing of my life. She has no business assuming things of me.
My door opens, and one of the others enters. Lily. A year or two my senior, she's the only one I can really relate to. Psychology major at University of Michigan before she was brought to the facility.
She sits next to me on my bed. I become extremely aware of her close proximity, and suddenly I'm no longer angry. I'm extremely conscious of my skinny frame, my gauky body and defeated posture. I look up, face still set in a frown and she sits regally, legs crossed. Her back is straight, although she's short, so even though I slump, my head still rises above hers. Her dark eyes look intelligently into mine. She's not wearing much makeup. Yet still, very attractive, with high cheekbones, large eyes, and fit physique, apparently an outside in volleyball, she told me.
I fantasize for a second, imagining us in bed together, before cringing inwardly at myself. She could never want me.
She scoots forward and hugs me in one movement, and all awkwardness is gone. I feel...comforted.
"Breath in," She says quietly.
I breath in.
"And out."
I let it out. As I do, I feel my body begin to cleanse itself. A deep shudder runs through my spine, and to my surprise, I begin to cry. Almost as if I was a sponge and my emotions water, she begins to squeeze and it all flows out. I let it all go and sob in her arms, not enough left in me to feel embarrassed.
"It's okay."
She rocks me back and forth.
"It's okay." She repeats.
----------PRESENT-----------
The hot water runs out, shocking me out of my flashback. I turn off the shower, exit the stall and throw on my new set of clothes, buckling my belt on once more. My old clothes I toss into the wash basket on my way out. I head back to the cell, feeling slightly refreshed.
"Open room."
She explodes through the door, leading with her shoulder.
Fuck.
I drop instantly, but I'm not quick enough. She hits me, her shoulder lower than mine, ripping me violently off my feet.
I lock my right arm around her head in a guillotine choke hold mid-air. We both crash onto the ground, her on top, but with her hands still tied to the back of her waist she's all out of options. Or so I think. She turns her head in my arms, and I feel a stabbing pain on my right lat.
She's fucking biting me.
I grimace, and tighten my hold, putting pressure on the arteries in her neck. She struggles a moment longer, her legs clawing at the floor. Finally she falls limp. I release her and flop backwards, my head now next to hers. She drools on the ground. Cute once again.
I stand up, swaying. I lift my arm up in pain to assess the wound, but I can't see it under the clothing. I shake my head, then refocus.
I pick her up, sling her over my shoulder. I stumble one step at a time through the cell door, and place her on the table. Time to mop. I pick it up and begin to clean the whole cell of its mess. Half way through I exit the room to switch out the water and soap. I come back and continue cleaning the cell. It's a full minute before I realize.
She's gone.
The woman no longer on the table, I freak for a second, expecting a her to come out at any second and attack me. I take a moment then, considering my options. She can't do much short of tackling me, not with her hands bound the way they are, and she already tried that, to no avail. I take a second and put myself in her mind, and assess her options.
She could try to run, try to attack me again, or bide her time hiding, figure a way out of the rope.
Trying to run won't work. Can't open any important doors without my voice, the whole complex is practically a fortress. Attacking me already didn't work, even with my guard down. As insane as she seems, she's not stupid.
So. No choice but to hide.
I smile. This girl. What a piece of work. She faked being out cold, not to get me on a second attempt, which she knew to be futile, but to escape, pursue the long game. Well, nothing to be done now. I'll find her in the morning. I finish cleaning the room, leave the mop and bucket behind as I exit, not forgetting to relock the cell before finding the pantry, grabbing approximately twenty-six cereal bars (like all I could carry) and a gallon of milk. Don't judge me. For some reason I had a craving, and it needed to be addressed. I eat every single cereal bar except two, and feel sick and tired as fuck near the end. When I'm done, I walk half asleep to my room, lock the door, find my bunk and collapse into it.
I dream of the past.
----------5 YEARS AGO-----------
The days pass as everyone begins to accept their fate, their lack of freedom. They turn into weeks, then into months. I'm given a workout schedule, and the testing stops. Three days a week I train, and in my spare time I read anything I can get my hands on. I'm supervised and taught by a burly navy seal, who I give the name "Joe" (he won't give me his name). I like his manner. Extremely to the point, rude, some might say. But honest. The first time he sees me, he stands back, looks me over, grunts, then laughs, a loud guffaw.
"Fuckin' hell. Kid, you're a stick."
He puts me on compound lifts and a typical gym schedule, starting with high rep ranges and low weight, but slowly progressing toward less reps and more power based training. I become stronger, breaking new personal bests each week. My training shifts to 5 times a week. My body grows slowly, and I begin to get hungrier.
I finish all my meals now.
Joe explains basic strength and power building concepts, like progressive overload, eccentric overload, mechanical muscle breakdown, and sliding filament theory, all while we train. I soak it up. Something about learning while moving lets me focus to a degree I've never experienced before.
I begin look forward to my morning gym sessions. It becomes fun, exciting even. I get up groggily at five AM, train for two hours, then get ten hours of sleep at night. Joe tells me he's there to build up my basic fitness and strength.
"Training your engine." He's fond of saying.
When I'm not training, sleeping, or eating, I read. They let me request books. I start out with fantasy, but soon it bores me. I grow hungry for information. I ask for books on sports psychology and biomechanics, trying to compliment my training. I begin to grow mentally as well as physically. I relearn basic physics concepts like angular momentum and Newton's laws but from the perspective of sport and motion. I learn about how the human mind processes information, black box theory, hicks law, and how to take advantage of the psychological refractory period.
If I'm not reading, I'm talking with the others. As strange as it may seem, they've each adapted, either becoming extremely introverted and never talking to anyone (the mute woman and the japanese lady), or internalizing what the professor and guards tell us, that we're helping our country (both Lily and Joanna). I talk mostly only to Lily. I started by approaching her with sports-psychology concepts, and she responded in kind with her own opinions and with information she learned in college.
Joe won't tell me exactly what the end goal of the training is, but it doesn't matter. I love it. Soon he adds burnout complexes at the end of every workout that leave me weak and gasping for air. While I hate them in the moment, afterwards the high is incredible. I begin to grow steadily as months go by. My shoulders begin to take shape, separate muscular heads visible. My baby fat on my stomach disappears, then faint lines form. I see faint teardrops outlines in my legs when I flex them.
My pecs remain small. They don't want to grow, and my progress in the bench press and other push movements suffer because of this. Joe laughs at me when I ask what's happening.
"It's genetics son. Your pecs are your 'lagging' muscle group. Don't worry, we'll give them a little special therapy, and you'll be just fine."
He adds pectoral-specific movements at the beginning of each push workout. My pecs hurt like a bitch, but after the first couple weeks they stubbornly grow to match the rest of my body.
I'm no longer gauky. Well, not entirely. I'm fit, tall, strong, but not quite muscular.. I don't look like anybody's fitness icon's just yet, but you can tell I train. I have the body of a male catwalk model. Skinny, but fit.
Then, one day, Joe isn't in the gym when I enter. Neither is any of the usual gym equipment. Instead a tall, lithe man stands in the center of the room, facing the wall opposite the mirror. He's almost my height, well built, yet not burly. He wears no shirt, but a pair of tight jogging pants hug his lower body. His feet are bare. Something about him seems... strange, even from behind.
He turns to face me, and his eyes freeze me. They're both completely white. He's...blind.
But when he turned, his body moved like it was made of water. He seems in complete awareness of every inch of it, carefully monitoring, expending just enough energy to move in the direction that he wants.
I move my head a little to see if he can see me. His eyes do not follow my lead. Rather they stay slightly to my left.
"Hello?" I ask, somewhat scared, though I don't know why. Some buried instinct tells me I'm in the presence of a very, very dangerous predator.
His head snaps to my voice, and then he stalks toward me, taking three, precise steps. I automatically take several steps back in return. He stops, and smiles, as if forgetting himself.
"Yes?" He states simply. His voice has a middle eastern accent, matching his dark hair and olive skin.
"Who are you?" I ask, beginning to get worried. He smiles thinly.
"Your
teacher." His tone is...indescribable. The closest description that I
can come up with is 'terrifying', but it's more than that. There's a
knowing edge to it, a piercing quality that lets you know that he knows
everything you are thinking at that moment, as well as everything you
aren't thinking and really should be thinking. He is, without a doubt, the scariest person I've ever seen.
White eyes (he doesn't give me his name either) leads me to the center of the room, has me remove my shirt, and demonstrates before me a perfect handstand. He begins explaining the importance of body awareness mid-handstand, his voice retaining its terrifying quality throughout, strain apparently non-existent. Then halfway through his lecture he switches to one hand in order to use the other to gesture in the air as he speaks. I stand there, dumbfounded, and if not for his exceptionally scary voice I would never have been able to pay attention to what he said.
I watch his muscles shift, adjusting, maintaining balance. All of it effortless. He talks of how true mastery of the body comes from the awareness of not just each muscle, but each individual muscle fiber. A connection of the primal brain to the body, allowing fluidity and grace within each movement, no matter if practiced or not. This is what he says he has attained.
It also sounds impossible.
For that to be the case, each muscle fiber would need to have its own motor unit, and it just...wouldn't be possible. Yet the man certainly looks, definitely moves, as though he has complete control.
White eyes then has me demonstrate a tragic attempt of a handstand. He watches, then chuckles as I flail and fall onto my back. I don't know how he sees or judges my attempt. He acts blind, his eyes not following anything that I do.
But yet does things that he could not possibly do without sight. I don't understand. I ask him, tentatively,
"Are you...blind?"
His mouth contorts into a half smile.
"Oh you noticed? What, did the white eyes give it away?" He asks dryly.
I sit on the ground in confusion.
"But how do you..." I search for the word, but give up, gesturing at him helplessly.
"Move? See?" He asks, laughing. His eyes look up while as if sharing a joke with someone in the ceiling, then back to me. "Seeing is far more than just sight."
He removes a coin from his jogging pants, flips it into the air, its arc high and shallow. It gets to about head level.
Then he moves.
I almost miss it, it happens so quickly. It starts at his hip, and I watch the physical contraction of each individual muscle, one after the other, completely efficient, traveling up his torso, then flicking out his arm and catching the coin between his index finger and thumb. He ends completely extended, yet completely relaxed. His eyes stay looking downward through the entire process, unlike his ear however, which cocked toward the coin as it traveled through its upward arc.
"You... heard it." I say, in awe once again.
He scoffs. "I did not hear anything. I saw it." He turns around to face the wall-length mirror. "But yes, you are correct. My ears are just one of the many tools I use to see. What you call 'hearing' is just the most basic use of one of the most underappreciated organs of the human body." He pauses, then turns back to me.
"Well done on catching that, first try. Now, handstand. Again."
----------PRESENT-----------
I wake up, roll over, and glance at the clock. Nine full hours have passed. It's now five AM. I push myself out of bed and stand up, feeling refreshed. A full night of sleep without needing to get knocked out in order to accomplish it. I head to the bathroom, and catch myself smiling in the mirror. I stop, face myself for a moment. I have a ridiculous smile on my face, and I try, unsuccessfully, to wipe it off.
After I finish pissing and drinking water to replenish my liquids, I sit on my bed and ponder why I feel so happy. I can't quite put my finger on it.
I mean, I shouldn't be, considering there's still an psychotic, dangerous, lethal minx on the loose inside my little fortress of solitude. So I make my bed quickly, sit on it in lotus, and begin to meditate. I start with a few deep full breaths, then when I've established a relaxed state, I delve into my own mind.
A few minutes pass by. Or perhaps a few hours. I can't really tell.
I chuckle out loud when I finally realize why I'm so happy. I open my eyes and glance at the alarm. Only a couple minutes after all.
I'm happy, energized, because I finally have a purpose again. Something to figure out. Something, someone, to fight against, maybe fuck.
Fuck? Whoa. I stop mid thought to take a second and trace it. Ah. Guess my sex drive is back up and running again.
Before the, well, shit. What do I call her. Up until now I've just thought of her as her.
As I think, I realize I already gave her a nickname.
Well well. Before the Minx tailed me, I had not had a proper goal for the longest time. I was aimless, the country I had believed in not worthy of my support, the apparently unstoppable opponent I had invested so much energy in preparing for -actually just a...well, not what I had been led to believe. So I drifted.
The Minx was my first real excitement in a year, if not more. I wasn't going to let her escape that easy. Besides, she was sexy as fuck.
Yeah. My sex drive drive was up.
I move quickly, removing yesterday's clothing, then pulling on a new pair of underwear and jogging pants. I consider a moment in front of my dresser, then decide to leave my chest, as well as my feet, bare. The bite mark she gave me yesterday contrasts red and angry against my pale skin, but it's not an open wound. I still take a second to cover it in a loose bandage and wrap my chest a couple times to bind it tight.
Gives a whole new meaning to love bite.
I buckle the fairbairn on and take a few deep breaths before unlocking my door. I nudge it open, prepared for anything.
Silence awaits me in the hallway.
I move carefully through the door, fox stepping silently, channelling on the basic level. Nothing out of the ordinary. As I walk down the hallway, I try once again, unsuccessfully, to wipe the grin off my face. I'm excited.
I get to the gym section of the facility. The training knives lie scattered about on the floor below their resting spot. She must have tried to cut the rope with them. No use. They're blunt for safety purposes. They are however, still dangerous if wielded correctly.
I continue fox stepping to the old living quarters hallway, where I once slept. The decorative wooden door at the end leading to the commons room is kicked down. I have to laugh, ruining my whole silent approach. That door was solid fucking wood. I shake my head.
I proceed down the hallway and walk through the now-empty doorframe, expecting an ambush. Instead, I find a pile of rope on the floor next to a box of matches, and a few used matches on the floor, as well as an empty space where the poker used to be for the fireplace used to be.
Smart. She burned the rope. I think about it. She must have burned herself as well as the rope in order to escape. Burned herself pretty badly I would say. Badly enough that she wouldn't be able to fight. I frown. Not very smart. It doesn't...seem...right.
Unless...
I glance to my left and see shavings of rope on the ground, next to a pocket knife resting in its place in the layers of dust. It has carries none itself. Ah.
I duck, knowing what's coming.
The poker swings through the space my head just occupied, and I feel it graze my hair. I twist, springing sideways toward my attacker, hands outstretched. The fucking Minx dances back, out of my reach, and I grab nothing but empty air. She twirls the poker expertly, then takes an en-garde position, chin tilted up.
I note she once again wears an oversized top as a dress as I assess her curious stance. Must have explored more than just the commons room then. I take in her lithe figure, and my hormones predictably start sending furious messages to my pelvis.
She lowers the poker to her side to speak.
"Well hello, Cock. Do you like my new shirt?"
She closes her eyes and breathes in, arching her back, and her breasts rise aggressively under the fabric, raising the bottom hem dangerously close to the beginning of the swell of her shapely ass. I feel a small twitch in my underwear.
"I borrowed it from one of your bedrooms. I've been meaning to ask, why do you have so many?" Her eyes open, then settle on mine as she finishes her question.
I get up slowly.
"Perhaps I'm narcoleptic." I say, tone light. The corner of her mouth rises. She likes that I'm finally playing.
"You disappoint me. I was rather hoping you'd say it was due to all the women you bed," I roll my eyes at the pun, and she continues, "From what I can tell, the way you take your women would lead to some broken ones. Tell me, Cock, if you were narcoleptic, wouldn't you want to place the beds a little more strategically, not have every single one in the same hallway?"
I pause a moment, pretending to think. Then I frown.
"Well, I never really was the quick one when it came to strategy. Then again. Quickness was never really was my best attribute. Anything I do or have tends to be of the lengthy variety." I say, doubling up on the puns.
"Oh I know." She says, her eyes flicking downward to the source of my stirrings. Then as she looks back at me I see her eyes begin to sprout black swirling spots. She's channeling now.
She lunges, aiming to thrust the poker into my solar plexus.
I sidestep and spin along her outstretched arm, and her weight takes her forward into the space I just occupied. I three-sixty slap her ass as she travels past, and watch the delicious ripples travel through her cheeks.
I'm still only channelling on the basic level.
She turns slowly, staring murderously at me through her now-messy hair, pausing to unconsciously try to blow a few wisps of it to the side. Cute.
Then she attacks, swinging the poker low toward my legs. She expects me to retreat, to keep me at bay while she figures out a strategy. I cannot allow that.
I move, reacting impossibly quickly for a normal human, and step inside the arc of the swing. Her inner-arm bounces off my thigh, tearing the poker from her grip. It clangs against the ground. She straightens slowly, possibly now realizing how outmatched she really is. Her nose almost brushes my bare chest as she rises to full height, yet she doesn't look up. I'm far too close now for her to effectively strike anymore.
"Why did you tail me. Why did you try to kill me." I ask, determined to get answers this time.
The Minx stays silent, and I see her eyes moving from side to side. She's thinking, calculating, formulating a plan.
"Who sent you?"
Still no answer.
"Who are you, really?"
She finally looks up. Done calculating then. She must have a plan. Then the Minx bites her lip.
Ah. So it involves sex.
"I'll give you the answers you think you want," She starts, haughty once more. Her fingers dance down my bare chest, tracing my V-line.
"On one condition." Her finger reaches my waistband, and she dips it inside, pulling it towards her suggestively.
Our eyes play a primal battle, neither of us able to look away.
"But I already have you. I could just torture your for the information. What makes you think I'll need to obey your condition?" Her finger moves from side to side, tugging along my waistline as she clicks her tongue.
"Oh, I think you'll like this little condition. In fact, I think you won't be able to turn it down once I've told you. Besides, if you torture me, you'll have wait a while before I give anything at all, and even then, it might just be deliberate misinformation. Might not, but the regardless, you won't know.
"Are you willing to chance that?"
My curiosity is piqued. She has me, and she knows it.
"What's your condition, then?"
My heart rate rises. Her finger freezes inside my pants. She smirks.
She spins, and too late I realize what she's doing. She pivots on one foot and power kicks me straight in the stomach. I only have time to tense before I fly back and end up sprawled on the ground. Damn. She really got me there. I get up, chastising myself silently a moment, but then she speaks.
"Fuck me."
I look up.
"Get that monster" She nods to my crotch, "In my cunt again, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."
I'm shocked. But then I start to smile.
I see the genius behind what she's doing. She knows I want to fuck her, as well as get the information, so she's combining them to give me a handicap, making it easier for her to escape.
But she makes one crucial mistake. She assumes she'll be able to resist herself from wanting me inside her. I plan to test that.
"Stop grinning cock. I'm not going to make it easy for you." She says, but her tone is light, and she grins too.
The game is on.
The dark spots in her eyes swirl faster, and I realize she's deepened her channelling. She'll be faster. Stronger.
Far more fun.
My cock twitches in my pants. Begins to harden.
Then she attacks. She moves quicker than before, and gets halfway across the room before I realize she's attacking. She tackles me onto the ground, and once again I try to apply the guillotine hold around her neck, but she brings her shoulder up, making it difficult to loop my arm around her neck. We crash into the ground, but this time, instead of her being out of options, I am, and she spins over me, faking first an armbar, then going for my leg.
I'm confused. I would have thought she'd want to keep it limited to strikes, as I'm far stronger than her, and getting involved in locks and wrestling would both limit her mobility and her ability to escape.
Then I realize she need to both keep me alive, and have me captive. She can't make it out of here, not without my express voice command and palm print. She wants to interrogate me again, and to do that,
-she needs to choke me out.
I smile. Things are going to get interesting.
I use my strength and flip her sideways, rolling with her so I end up on top. Mid roll, she spins around so we end up opposite each other, our heads at each other's feet. I deepen my channelling for a second to precisely coordinate my arm so it passes between her legs as she wraps them around my neck. Then she begins to squeeze.
I'm mostly safe, I just need to make sure I protect my neck from most of the pressure. I do this by lowering my arm so her legs slide a downward. Time to play.
I move myself closer to her crotch, forcing her legs apart, allowing access to her entrance. I move her shirt out of the way, and then pull her panties down. I feel her cunt.
She's soaking wet.
Meanwhile, she's squeezing with all her might. I probe her entrance with a finger, then begin to rub slowly up and down her slit. I pass over her clit, just barely brushing it, and her legs shudder briefly around my neck and arm. The pressure lessens.
I lick her clit. She shudders again. I press make my tongue flat and press it against her entire pussy for a few seconds, before making a slow lick to the top. She shivers once more, and her legs lose all their strength. Not to be out-oraled, the Minx pulls down the elastic waistband of my joggers and pulls out my somewhat hard cock.
She brings it to full extension with a few pumps, then licks it from base to tip. Now it's my turn to shiver as she moves her hand from the base of my shaft to pull on my scrotum. The Minx starts to slowly take my length down her throat. Fuck that feels good. I don't see it, but I can definitely feel it. I continue lapping her cunt, then insert a couple fingers slowly.
She moans on my dick, now halfway down her throat.
This girl is cunning. I see her plan. Thinks she's can make me cum, and that I'll be too tired to fuck her. Thinks she can get me off, make me too tired to continue. Finish me before I make her beg for my cock.
I'm still supporting myself with my knees on either side of her head, and since she kindly lined everything up for me, I take advantage of the position, dropping my hips. My cock sinks the rest of the way into her hot, wet throat.
I continue slowly both licking her entrance and fingering the spongy tissue some call the g-spot while I stay hilted in her throat, waiting for her to run out of air. I want her to be on the brink of consciousness, so that when she cums the first time, it's explosive. She begins vibrating and contracting her throat around my cock in desperation, realizing she's fighting a losing battle.
Fucking hell, this minx.
I wait a full two minutes of simultaneously fingering her and eating her out before her legs finally begin shaking and kicking, indicating that either she's out of air, or is about to cum. Or both. My bet would be both.
I lick over her clit a final time before removing my cock with a loud squelch from the recesses of her throat, and she sucks in air desperately, her whole body frozen, before letting out a choked scream, her whole body quivering around mine. She's cumming. Juice flows freely from her cunt.
I wait a moment for her to come down from the orgasm. When I hear the lowered moans, and her legs buck for the last time, I grin. Second round.
I lower my cock head to her lips, and I peel them open. No resistance. She still thinks she can win. Then I begin to thrust, slowly at first, but then more, and more violent, till I hear the squelch of my cock burying itself with every pump. My whole body moves with my thrusts, and my balls slap her face. I feel myself slowly rising toward orgasm. I want to go faster, but I don't have enough leverage, and my glutes are already burning. I growl in frustration.
I hilt myself in her throat once more, and deepen my channelling a second time. With the extra strength and body control I hug her legs close, preparing to get up and she senses my intentions, and moves her hands from the base of my cock to my ass to keep herself fully on my length as I move. I get to my feet, cock still embedded in her face, and slam her bodily into the wall. She grunts in pain, and I resume fucking her throat.
My pumps become more urgent, my need more desperate. Her head is trapped between my thrusting hips and the wall, allowing me to efficiently deepthroat her with my entire length at a furious pace. I rise dangerously close to orgasm. I know if I cum, I lose. She knows this too. Yet I want so badly to cum. Saliva drips onto the ground from my cock every time I pull out. Her hands move from my ass to my balls, trusting me to hold her up by her legs. She pulls on them, massages them, tugging on them individually, then manipulating my entire scrotum in different directions, sending electric currents of pleasure through my pelvis and cock.
Fuck. I'm going to cum.
Time to pull out my ace in the hole. Both figuratively and literally.
I pull out of her vibrating, vacuum throat completely with a popping sound, as she reluctantly relinquishes my length. She kisses it with a finality, and I realize she knows I'm past the point of no return. My cock convulses in front of her pouting lips with pre-orgasm contractions like some kind of morphing monster. Her tongue flits out and licks the pre-cum from my uthera.
I drop my channelling another level. My penultimate level. Now in almost complete awareness of every aspect of my body, time moves in almost slow motion. I'm able to inspect each individual source of pleasure on its own, and trace it to its source. Her tongue in my cock. Her hands on my balls. The idea itself of owning such a dangerous, sexy, alpha female is such a way, having her willingly take my entire cock down to the base, and freely being able to pin her to the wall, and cum on her face.
I take a second to enjoy it all. Then time to work.
I find and disable my refractory period. Okay, so it's a little more complicated
than that. Basically I reprogram the packet of hormones and
neurotransmitters set out to fire and release once I cum. Instead of
doing what they would normally do, I redirect and cancel out so that the
refractory period lasts just around a minute instead of the normal
fifteen. Bodilar scheduling is not quite an exact science, but I have a
feel for it. I cancel the tiredness entirely and then phase out of my
channelling, back into the basic level. Staying that deep can have
adverse effects if held for too long.
I release the tension on my kegel muscles, and my monster convulses one final time before beginning to paint her face in my semen.
She quickly opens her mouth (protein!), and captures more than a third while pointing and jacking off my length with one hand while massaging my balls, causing me to meanwhile be high off my ass in pleasure, my entire body shuddering as the electric current of orgasm waves through me.
She swallows, savoring the taste, as I come down.
My cock slowly shrinks, but instead of feeling tired...I feel...energized.
She begins contracting her legs around my throat and arm again, thinking me now weak and ripe for an ambush.
I smile.
I let her waste her strength, and as I stand there waiting, an idea comes to me.
I begin slapping her ass. First one cheek, then the other. I can only really use my one arm, as the other is trapped between her legs, protecting my throat. Her firm cheeks don't ripple as before, being squeezed in tight concentration. I up the dose of spanking, harder and harder, till I'm invariably whipping her ass with my hand, leaving large, red, stinging hand prints. My hands large, strong, toned freaks. They attest to the size of her ass, that it isn't dwarfed by my hand print.
The Minx is suppressing the pain, I'm sure, but some is definitely getting through. Her legs tremble slightly with each hit. I look down and she's gritting her teeth. She sees me look down and growls at me. I grin and slap her again, dangerously close to her cunt. I feel her quake around me. She can't escape, not when I'm pressing her into the wall with all my weight. I slap again,
-And she moans.
I look again, and her eyes are closed. Her teeth aren't grit in pain.
I almost laugh.
She's trying not to orgasm.
I deliberately slap playfully next to her labia, and she jumps around my neck. Another moan.
My cock begins to harden again.
I probe her entrance with two knuckles.
"Fuck. Fuck you cock. Just fuck youuuuu" She barely gets past the first two insults before I push into her cunt. I leave them in there and slap her her ass one final time. Her ass is completely red. Her entire body tightens completely and freezes around me. She quivers once, twice, then screams. Her whole body shakes as she cums around my fingers.
I pull them out as she comes down, and it's as if someone pulled the plug on her body. She relaxes, going limp, and I set her down gently on the floor. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head. Guess suppressing orgams took a toll on her.
I get up and step back. Seeing her, lying helpless and unprotected, yet still so beautiful gives rise to several emotions.
My cock finishes growing, fully hard, but at the same time I have the strange urge to protect her. I shake my head to dismiss it, and continue with the plan, waiting for her to come to.
"Wake up minx. We're not done yet." I say.
Her eyes open, and she rises in a flash. She stumbles slightly, and I no longer see just manipulative, cocky self confidence in her eyes. A fear, a wanting, and a realization of how truly fucked she is, all reside there now too. This turns me on to no end. She will bow to me before we're done.
Her eyes dip down to my swaying length.
"Well, Cock. I don't know how it's possible, but your namesake must have superhuman abilities." Lust fills her eyes once again, and I know my plan is going to work.
"Oh you mean this?" I ask, pointing to my dick, as if only just realizing it was there. "Yeah it's like, a superhero sometimes. I just let it loose and it takes control, saving the world and such. Apparently it makes evil villainesses fall in love with it."
She scoffs, but her eyes betray her. I continue.
"With the taste. With the rock hard feel. With the length." I say pointedly, hinting at where this is going. I walk toward her, dominance in my step, till I'm a little more than a foot away from her. Her eyes stay locked on my cock the entire time, now so hard it can no longer support its own weight, yet still crossing more than half the distance between us.
"Eventually they love it so much they say they'll do anything, just to even touch it." I say, and her eyes look up at me suddenly, as if startled that I'm still there.
I take another step closer, and she instinctively grabs my cock, but does nothing, her gaze questioning. I nod to her, and she starts pumping my cock once again.
I cradle her jaw, cheeks and back of her head with my massive hands, looking down on her, while she jacks off my cock, the only thing occupying the space between us.
"And, at some point, I give it to them. But only after they ask for it," I say, slowly looping my fingers through her hair, "Plead for it," I say, my voice losing its soothing storytelling quality, and turning into a command,
"Beg for it."
The Minx's eyes widen as she realizes what I want. She becomes herself for a moment, and I see the struggle in her eyes, her hand stroking my giant member speeding up as her brain rushes toward a conclusion.
Giving up her pride. Her honor. Her self preservation. All for my cock. To become my slut. To have her tight cunt stretched by my dominant massive length.
I watch as she becomes a creature of lust before me.
Her hand stops. She's finished thinking. She knows she's lost. But it doesn't matter to her anymore. Her hand begins slowly working my cock once again.
"Please," She says pitifully. My hands twitch in her hair. "Fuck me."
A giant satisfaction fills me to the core, while at the same time a terrible hunger opens up. A hunger that fills my body with an aching, bottomless pit of raw energy.
I tighten my hand in her hair and extend my arm, pulling her first backwards, then twirling her around, and shove her into the wall. The last thing I see in her eyes is a combination of lust and fear.
I take in her beautiful legs, pale calves and thighs leading up to a fully rounded and red ass that I slap once again, that I realize with satisfaction that I now own. her back arches into the wall, crushing her tits into the cold, bare surface. I line my cock head up with her entrance before gathering her two hands in mine and putting them above her head against the wall. Then I thrust.
I spear her in one smooth motion, lifting her up against the wall with the force of my hips.
A rasping moan escaped her lips as I pull out, then thrust again. Fuck the warm up. I'm taking no prisoners.
My pace increases slowly, but after about two minutes I'm furiously pounding her cunt, my hips hitting her ass with meaty slaps. The Minx's breaths come in gasps, still not able to comprehend the length with which she's being penetrated, and her ass quivers from each thrust. I move my one hand from her hair to squeeze it, and her gasp turns into a moan. I release her ass and trace upward to her tits, my hand sliding between her taut stomach and the wall, before carefully cupping one breast, first caressing it, then squeezing and pulling on it when I thrust, occasionally flicking the nipple.
My hand moves up to her face, and I grab her jaw, fingers inserting into her mouth around her jaw bone. Hot breath pants out past my fingers. She sucks them, and the sounds she makes become more intelligible as she begins to find her way back to reality.
"You. Fucking. Cock. Yes. Fuck. Ungh. So. Fucking. Deep." She says, teeth clenched around my fingers, each word as if propelled out by her upward movement on the wall, which in turn is propelled by my hips.
I release her hands with my other hand and they stay there, resting against the wall above her head. I thread my fingers into her hair, then twist and pull back roughly. Her head snaps back and she yelps. My hand in her mouth moves from to her now-bared throat, and I squeeze lightly. I look into her eyes from above, and watch her pupils widen.
The Minx shows off her flexible body, her back hyper-arched so that I can both slap and pound her ass from behind, all the while looking into her eyes. And so I do. Nothing left in her gaze but pure lust.
I lean down, and kiss her, all the while thrusting away and restricting her airway. She loves it.
I can tell she's close to another orgasm so I pause mid thrust..
Her hips quiver for a moment around my cock, then she groans into my mouth, moving her hips backward pathetically to try to re-join our pelvises. I pull back, and she mewls angrily.
Ha.
I slap her ass roughly, my hand not really leaving a mark with the expanse of skin already an angry red.
She jumps. I hold out, establishing my own self control. Her one hand leaves the wall and travels downward lazily. I get ready to punish her, thinking she's going to pleasure herself, then she winks at me and I feel her hand grab my balls.
It's my turn to jump forward, my body acting on its own accord, sheathing my length in her cunt once again.
The little Minx. I slap her one breast and continue pumping, but slowly. I slow down even more as she approaches orgasm, till I'm pumping at a fraction of the speed that I was.
Suddenly she freezes. Quivers once, twice.
I continue my slow thrust up until the hilt.
Then she emits a scream, and shudders, her cunt contracting rhythmically around my cock. It feels so good, I have to continue thrusting at a furious pace. Then I realize.
Fuck. I'm gonna cum.
It snuck up on me. I could still cancel it, continue for longer. But I don't want to. I've already won. I pull out, just wanting to assert my dominance one final time. I spin, pulling her backwards, and then man-handle her onto her knees before me, finishing by laying my cock across her face. Her eyes are glazed over, dazed, but she takes it in both hands and jacks me off while sucking one ball. Her one hand cups and twists around my glans with her palm, while the other works my base.
Seeing her so fucking submissive and willing before me snaps something in me, and a monsterous growl rises out of my throat. I grab her head in my hands and hilt myself in her throat several times, her hands instinctively massaging my balls, before disengaging, trailing spit from her mouth to my cock head.
Her mouth is open, lips parted, tongue slightly out, hands back on my cock, pumping once more. Her eyes are locked on mine. She wants it.
I can't hold it back any longer.
I cum, showering her face and tits in three thick, sticky ropes before she jams my tip in her mouth. Her eyes stay on mine as her hollowed cheeks fill with my seed.
When I finish, my cock slips from her lips, and without breaking eye-contact, she opens her mouth, tilting her head back as to not spill anything, and I see the massive pool of cum. She slowly closes it, and then swallows.
Only then does she break eye-contact, falling backwards in exhaustion. I see her eyes close. She's completely out of it.
I feel myself swaying, empty. The energy I had is now gone. I flop forward, just catching myself before crashing into her, and lay down next to her. She instinctively curls into me, and my arms wrap around her.
It feels natural to me as I hold her protectively. The last thing I think of before I sleep is her face, as she swallowed. Her eyes. She understood.
She's mine.
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