1 comments/ 9247 views/ 7 favorites Diabolical By: 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?" Diabolical She pauses, fork part way into her mouth. For the first time in many days Vanta meets his eyes, her jade irises clashing with his platinum ones. His heart is in his throat as her gaze pierces him deeply. "You do realize it's within reachable range," it's not a question and she looks at him skeptically. He doesn't care, she's spoken to him, that's all that matters and he's beaming proudly at himself for his achievement. "Yes, Mistress Vanta," and then he reaches for it. Vanta realizes he's cunning, very much so when he wants to be, and she scowls at him. She momentarily remembers how many unpleasant memories that entitlement brings, flashes of his withering body and pleases twisting her stomach in disgust. Her appetite spoils within seconds and she pushes her plate away. "Don't," this she grounds out through her clenching teeth, "call me that," the woman doesn't know whether to be embarrassed or furious and figures anger is safer of the two. Clyde is absolutely grinning on the inside as he bites the inside of his lips to keep from smiling. "Yes, Mistress Vanta." Vanta can't help the threat that automatically slips out. "I will cut your tongue out if you keep calling me that." "Yes, Mistress—" She moves in a blur, reaching across the table to grab him by the collar and yank him until their noses kiss. Her glare is so cruel it drips shudders down his spine. "If I had a choice, you would have been dead a long time ago," of course, this isn't true, but the thought sounds rather pleasant at the moment as she wraps her free hand around his throat. The man swallows against her fingers, excited yet hurt at the same time. He knows she hates him, abhors him, but her hatred fuels her anger, which in turn arouses him to no end. He's a sad masochist, only hoping for the impossible to hurt himself. He smiles sadly, whispering into her breath, "Use me, beat me, abuse me, kill me as many times as you want until you're satisfied. Everything I do, everything I am is for you, I exist just for you." They both know the hard truth of those words and it scares Vanta more than it should. She releases her hold on him, but he goes against his beliefs and snatches her fingers in his tight, iron grasp. When he looks deeply into her eyes he's still smiling sadly, and for the first time she fears him, not of what he will do, but what he's willing to do for her. Trying hard not to strike out at him, Vanta remains scowling. "It's unfortunate that I can't or I'd be punished severely for homicide of a comrade," her hiss is more from the tightness of his hold rather than her crumbling anger, so she yanks her hand free. When she walks to the kitchen, plate in hand, Clyde stops her. "Jade," she stiffens, breath frozen in her lungs as her name, her identity, rolls off his tongue with ease, as if he's been saying it for years, "no matter how much you hate me or torture me I'll always return, because you broke me. You have me on a leash, and I'm yours until the end." There's the sound of her plate clattering on the floor with her silverware, then suddenly she's in front of him, hand slicing the air, like a blade, as she strikes him across the face as hard as she can. The impact nearly sends him tumbling if he wasn't anticipating the reaction, his body tense and rooted to stand. The sharp slap echoes in their ears, both of their faces burning, one from pain and the other from an unexplainable anger. She's close, too close, to murdering him where he stands. All she has to do is just reach forward to wrap her hands around his bobbing throat and he wouldn't fight back. "Don't you dare call me by my name," her name is her dignity, it's the one thing that labels her as herself, as an individual. Her name has power, not meant to be given to others carelessly. Only certain others are privileged with saying her name and Clyde certainly is not one of them. "You don't deserve to say my name; call me Mistress Vanta for all I fucking care. You are lower than the dirt on my boots," ire is blinding her, and she doesn't even care that he's slowly lowering to his knees, hot, bothered, trembling, and panting like the dog he is. "I will torture you in the most unimaginable ways until you're begging to be killed out of your misery," they both know she can do so, but she won't; the threat is empty, it's just her anger speaking, because she can't form a coherent word to explain how mortified she is. Clyde knows her, and once more he is aching terribly inside from her hurtful words, but he also aches in arousal, euphoria coursing through his nerves and striking his body faster than fire. He moans loudly when her hand drives to harshly yank his head back, neck revealed and vulnerable. He's completely flushed, his cock is hot, burning steel, and it's difficult to restrict himself from touching her. He loses his resolve, his power no longer held by a fiber, when she shifts her feet and unintentionally brushes his engorged cock. He moans so loud it wrenches her from her haze, aware of his hands greedily roaming and gripping her thighs, which brings her closer until he can deeply bury his face into her crotch. She feels his every moan and hot breath as he eagerly inhales her scent, seeking more. Jade rips herself away, more exasperated with herself that she allowed herself to get carried away than with Clyde. She can't even come up with a quick threat, she's used them all, and now all she can do is glare deadly at his sickening face of pleasure before storming out. "Clean that mess up," she growls quickly as she's half way out the doorway. The man does so dutifully without a complaint, not minding an ounce. He takes his time finishing his meal and with cleaning up their dishes and spoiled food, and then stealthily walks up the stairs until her door is before him. Clyde's inky brown hair mingles with the rustic wood of the door as he listens for her movements. He's not insane enough to try his luck, but it's been so long since she's willingly touched him, and his craving is growing by the days. If he doesn't try something he won't get anything, even if it is a threat or scolding. Knocking gently on the door, he patiently waits. There are only two of them, so she doesn't need to ask, but she stays silent on the other end. The man doesn't try again, although he calls for her in a tender manner, as if he is consoling someone. "Mistress Vanta," although it's quiet, he knows she can hear it as if he has whispered in into her ear. "Mistress Vanta, may I come in?" there is no answer, but he hears the shuffle of her bed sheets. He might get himself dismembered, but he knows the only way to get her to answer is to say her name, to which he doesn't hesitate to do. "Jade." The door yanks open, nearly wrenched off its hinges. Her hair is slightly damp, indicating she's taken a shower, and she's in a robe. She glares up at him, because he's still half a head taller than her. Although right now is a horrible time to take in his features, for the first time, Jade notices that Clyde is rather handsome. He's a mix between roguish and classic with a crown of inky brown locks and the most gorgeous gray eyes. With a lean body, light on his feet, yet alarmingly strong, he's deadly, in both contexts. Shoving those thoughts aside in a forgotten recess of her mind, Jade crosses her arms when he just stares at her. "Well?" He needs her, this very moment, and they're both aware of it. The man still has his raging hard-on that is painfully straining in his jeans. He's hurting, aching, needing her so much he can barely stand in her presence. "Mistress Vanta," his whisper is hoarse, "please." Pink tinted lips thin. "Please what?" He falls to his knees, out of breath. "Please," he swallows once, twice, and desperately crawls the short distance between them, "please let me touch you, taste you, pleasure you. I beg that you touch this pathetic cock of mine, please, please, please," it's becoming a mantra, a spell that's keeping him sane. A whimper escapes his lips when Jade retreats a few steps out of his range of reach. When his hand extends out to grab her, intending to pull her back, she raises a bare foot, perfectly balanced on her standing, lone one, and places that bare foot on his shoulder. Pressure is placed gently and she's pushing him back on his knees with a straight back. A shudder rips through him as her foot slides down his chest, purposely grazing a nipple, down his rippled abs, and just above the hidden dark hair leading to his throbbing cock. He curses the shirt standing as a barrier between the sensation of her skin. "Why should I? How do I know if you deserve such pleasure?" Jade can't keep this up anymore, this resistance and constant myriad of negative emotions. In a way she's giving up, but she's going down with a fight, a fight she always seems to win at. She admits she relishes the rush, the thrill, of being able to overpower him with mere words, but his erotic pull to masochism and sadism makes her uneasy, so she wants to get this over with, satisfy him until he isn't begging. She never intended to turn him into such a man; it was all in a means to get the needed information, because nothing else was working. Besides, she received permission from Maxwell that she could do as she pleased with him, even if it meant torturing him sexually. It worked, but she's always regretted the days after. To hell with it, she mine as well play along. "You've been a bad boy," and she knows perfectly well that she has him right where she wants him. If it's possible, he hardens even more at those triggering words. His body caves slightly, trying his hardest to not instinctively grab her foot and indulge in the reward. Clyde's holding himself back for her, he needs to wait for her permission first. It's the sensation of impatience, or waiting that makes the end all the more worth it, so he locks himself in his iron restrains. He doesn't understand her sudden change, but he doesn't question it. "I'm sorry, Mistress Vanta. I promise I'll be a good boy from now on," his gray eyes gleam as he looks up at her, like a child pleading in that comical, cartoon way with 'puppy eyes.' "How sorry are you?" finally, her sweet voice returns, and he nearly rolls his eyes into his skull from the sweetness of it. It's honey in the air and he can taste it, drowning in it. "Truly sorry, truly, Mistress Vanta, truly," he keeps jerking forward as if going to snatch her foot, but her stare literally pins him down. "Show me, show me you can be a good boy, then I might just reward you," she simply glances at her foot and it's all the encouragement he needs. Clyde pounces on the appendage, worshipping it like gold. He laps at every inch of skin, suckling her toes, lightly nipping at her instep, slowly circling the ball of her heel until her foot is glistening with moisture. He glances at the bed in the background, slowly beginning to push her towards it. She instantly recognizes his indication and backs to the wide mattress. When he starts towards her, she holds a hand up, and he obediently listens. If he was a dog, she could easily imagine his erect ears and wagging tail. She regally sits at the edge of the bed and crooks a finger for him. He crawls seductively, licking his lips as he eyes her bare thighs that are revealed from the split in her robe. The very sides of his tongue tingles, mouth watering, as he takes the other foot into his warn cavern and treats it the same. With a fiery path of wet kisses up her calf, he slowly lifts her left leg and places it on his broad shoulder. He tenderly kisses the inside of her knee and he hears the sharp intake of breath. Gradually her legs open to him, both legs propped on his shoulders, and he's kissing, licking, and nipping his way towards his long awaited treasure. Her thighs are painted with smattering love-bites, which he prides in. He hesitates, awaiting the words to grant him passage. A look of uncertainty crosses his face, licking his lips nervously, as he looks up at her. His hands are clenching and unclenching around her toned, yet soft thighs. Suddenly he feels like a child. However, for one, he's incredibly experienced, and his past one-nighters were extremely pleased with his services, often seeking him out for more. He's a womanizer, was a womanizer, and gifted in the art of pleasure since he was fifteen. It's essential, especially when it comes to his missions and his target it a woman; it comes in handy. It's been so long since he's actually fucked a woman, plundering a pussy with his cock. A five month dry-spell is a long time, a very long time, and Jade's tease-and-denial hand jobs won't satisfy him much longer. All those denials of climaxing are building the tension higher and thicker. He highly doubts she will allow him even the entrance of his head, he knows it for sure, but that doesn't stop him from hoping. Swallowing audibly, Clyde shifts forward until they're both comfortable with the position, and then he looks her in the eyes, seeking an answer. He feels like he's having sex for the first time. "Mistress, um, may I?" he's so scared of her answer, but they've come this far already, unless Jade decides to just kick him out and leave him to his bothersome erection for another unfulfilled night. She merely raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "May you what? You have to be clear," the brunette highly considers using the endearment 'pet' since it fits him perfectly. Clyde shifts out of nervousness this time. "May I...may I have a lick of your pussy, Mistress Vanta?" he's gentle and careful about his words, sounding like a child. "You forgot to say a word." He looks up at her in confusion, then it dawns on him. "Oh, may I please have a lick of your pussy, Mistress Vanta?" his eyes sparkle when she nods her consent. "You may have one lick, pet," she instantly knows he loves the use of 'pet' as he perks up excitedly when it rolls off her tongue. With barely contained joy, Clyde dives in, but pauses to a jerk immediately before his nose can touch her panties. He wants to thoroughly enjoy this, but most importantly, he wants to make this enjoyable for Jade. Gingerly, he takes hold of her robe and parts it fully, and then with torturous slowness, he nears his face to her clothed pussy. Instantly, a wall of heat and musk hits him, filling his senses and he groans at the arousing scent. It drives him insane, and he's seeking for more. He gently presses his nose to the protruding bud between her lips, breathing hotly into it. That's all he does for the next minute or so, breathing her in with his eyes fluttering as they roll up. Clyde looks up at her, pleading her to touch him as she pleases, so her hands comb through his hair and grips them from the roots. It drives him further, and he kisses her core deeply. His watering tongue finally stretches out and he gives an agonizingly deliberate lick, from the bottom to her clit. Jade sighs at the tingling pleasure, her grip tightens in his hair. The man pulls away slightly, looking up at her in askance. "May I please have another lick?" She hesitates for a quick passing moment, but then nods her approval. "You may." He licks in the same manner once more, savoring her. "Another?" his whisper is quiet. "Yes." He has another, this time placing more pressure. After the third lick, Clyde feels famished; he needs more, and this damn panty isn't helping his situation. Although it's lace and thin, it's still a barrier. He craves to feel the softness of her flesh, to taste it directly on his tongue. Looping his arm around her left thigh, he reaches underneath the robe, and grazes the band of her panty subtly. That gesture speaks more words than he can ask, and Jade's leans until her back hits the mattress gently as she spreads her legs further. She places a pillow beneath her nape so she can watch, and then caresses his face for admission. Clyde slowly hooks his fingers into her panty and pulls them down until they hang at her ankle. He loses his breath at the sight before him; perfectly trimmed strands just sitting above her pink bundle of sensitive nerves, with not a single strand anywhere else, her pussy lips are smooth, not stretched, and looks as if she's never had a man. Her honey is glistening and wafting, the scent even stronger now without the lingerie. Clyde doesn't want simple licks, he wants to plunge into her warmth, drink her sweet honey, intake her intoxicating scent, he wants to feast on her. He does just that. The tip of his tongue glides up one side of her lips, circles her throbbing clit, then glides down the other lip. She's warm, delectable, and he's immediately addicted. His tongue travels and tastes everywhere, swirling, lapping, suckling, and nipping. He relishes her more than any meal he's had, and he knows she's in pure bliss from her quiet moans, sighs, and the way she sinks her nails into his scalp. Jade is quieter than him, but she's responsive. Clyde is frantic and passionate, eager to bring her to a mind-numbing, blinding white climax, and then he doesn't just want to stop there, he wants to keep going, riding her orgasm until she hits the edge over and over again, until she can't scream, until she has to force him away. His fantasy shoots magma straight to his member. He's reminded that he's still clothed, so breaks away for a moment to indicate his problem. Jade gives her consent and the man hurriedly stripping, ripping his shirt off, throwing that to the side, and pulling his jeans off along with his boxer-briefs, also tossing those in the same direction. His cock stands to attentions, dripping at the tip, throbbing, and hard. She's forgotten how surprisingly endowed he is, but her thoughts are quick to dissolve when Clyde returns to his ministrations, furiously eating her. His actions are overwhelming, brining her closer to her peak, but she wants to drag this session out. Jade slightly pushes his head away, a string of her honey connecting from her pussy to his lips stretching the distance. He looks confused, panting, and licking his lips clean. He's fascinated with the rise and fall of her bosom and the way her robe's sleeve and slipping down her white shoulder. A whimper of being forced away spills from his lips, making to move forward, but she keeps her grip in his hair tight. "If you want to be a good boy then take your sweet time," she almost laughs at his pout. "Nothing is sweeter than you, Mistress Vanta," he says into the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, but he listens to her demand, and kisses his way back to his treat. "Does your pussy belong to me?" their eyes clash as he asks innocently, deliberately. Suddenly she sits up and his scalp is pleasantly burning from her clutch, his mouth separating from her pussy with a soft squelch. His excitement spills over the meter at the hard look in her eyes, the cruelty in them as he looks up into them.. "No, it doesn't, and it never will," with her free hand she runs a thumb across his bottom lip, which he immediately takes into his mouth and suckles it with a slight moan. "You have to earn that privilege, understand, pet?" she pulls his mouth open until she can see inside. Clyde nods, swirling his tongue out to catch more skin of her hand. He answers her, but his words are incoherent. "If you're a really good boy, then I might not share my pussy with anyone else but you," the mention of other men feasting her, pleasuring her, grows a disgusting jealousy within him, and he knows it's showing on his face in a grimace. "No," his growl is feral and rumbling deeply, "I want to be the only one, I want your pussy to be mine," his grip on her thighs tightens from the unsuppressed displeasure. "You're so selfish."