2 comments/ 16601 views/ 13 favorites Two Spies Ch. 01 By: sugar_green *I'm a big fan of the piece 'Hunted' on this site and I know that my main male character shares the name of the main male in it...but I wrote this before I read that and, although I considered altering his name, I couldn't find another that suited him as well. Character is shamelessly based on the assassin in 'Behind Enemy Lines' (hence the name) - except he's Russian instead of Serbian. Thanks for bearing with me =) x Enjoy* "You stupid bitch! What the fuck is this?" I pressed myself back into the wall of the alleyway as the man advanced on me, angrily. He had every right to fury. The rules of the document trade had been clear, and I had been stupid enough to believe Sykes when he had told me that the papers were in the case. "I'm sorry," I mumbled, stumbling over my words. My trademark confidence and strength hadn't quite returned after the last two years of interrogation in Russia and any show of violence, of genuine aggression made me shiver in a confusion of emotion ... as I thought of Him. "I didn't..." "You didn't what?" the thug continued to come towards me, but he had flicked a knife out by then. It glistened in the damp moonlight. "Didn't think that you'd pay for this? Huh?" "I didn't know," I whimpered, my voice was pathetic and I knew it. He wasn't the kind of guy who would feel guilt for murdering a young woman right there in the street. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." I was getting hysterical as he trapped me between his thick body and the cold brick wall. The knife was freezing, icy on my neck. "Please," I murmured again. "Get the fuck off her!" A familiar voice shouted from the darkness. A familiar hand grabbed the man by the collar and threw him into a puddle with familiar strength. The thug echoed my whimpers with genuine fear and surprise as a boot connected with his well padded stomach again and again. Sasha didn't stop beating him until the mumblings ceased. I remembered the last time he'd treated me like that and resumed whimperings of my own. I had never thought that I would see him again...my interrogator, my torturer. "Are you OK?" he turned to me, lifting my chin to check for any damage. I struggled weakly but he held me firm. "Hey!" "I'm fine," I whispered. "I..." Embarrassingly, my legs chose that point to give way and I collapsed into his arms. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he supported me. "Come with me." I wasn't sure how far he carried me, but soon I was enveloped in the comforting warm darkness of a luxurious car's front seat. I could feel his eyes occassionally glancing over my shaking form, and I knew he was surprised that he had found me in such a vulnerable position. I had always been so strong with him. "Are you OK?" he asked again as he started the car. I just nodded, and let my head loll against my chest. I was in a weird state of utter confusion. It occured to me for a brief moment that I was possibly just dreaming, that this whole event was in my imagination, because Sasha couldn't be here...in London. It just wasn't...possible. He was an FSB officer and talented in more than just the art of espionage. We had spent two years of torture together - two years of fucking and screaming and beating. Towards the end, I considered, blearily, there had been a spark of friendship. Our personalities collided with a force that always either united or broke us. It seemed tonight was one of those uniting kind of nights. I had never given him any information worth having. I had remained far too detached from him for that but by the time of the prisoner trade that had granted me my freedom, I had had to admit a little strain in my heart at leaving him. I was a masochist, I had to face it, and in these moments of unity he complimented me perfectly. We stopped after awhile and he lifted me from the car, slung me over his strong shoulder casually. We were both almost completely recovered from our sudden meeting and I was becomming ready to fight. I struggled a little in his grip, almost warming up, but he clasped me firmly against his muscle, squeezing my ass with threatening tightness. I couldn't see what was happening but I heard him turn a key in a lock and then the creak of a door opening. Warmth flooded out of the building and washed over me. I brushed my fingers through his short brown hair, savouring the sharpness of every little strand. Inside, he kicked the door shut again and took a few more steps with me still over his shoulder before swinging me down. I almost screamed at the sudden swooping in my stomach - but he had my trust...for my life if not for my confidence in a painless encounter. My back slammed into the cushions of a sofa. He followed me down and pressed his weight onto me, his 6,1" solid body covering me protectively. I pulled my legs up and tried to push away from him. I still didn't want him. Not in that way. Not then. Not after such a sudden and soul-crushing experience. I tried to sit up so he pushed me back gently but firmly, letting me know that he wasn't going to hurt me unless I did something that would make him react violently. His weight was off me but we were still pressed closely together. His shirt was soft on my neck. "Sasha," I whispered, pleadingly into his ear. He hushed me in Russian, massaging my neck slightly threateningly. "откинулся назад" Lay back. I did as I was told and let my head lean back onto the arm rest of the sofa. Sometimes it was best not to fight. Besides, I didn't have the energy for it. I recognised my surroundings - an MI5 safehouse. How the hell did Sasha have access to...? But then I lost my thoughts as he pushed his rough hand determinedly up across my skin, drawing the fabric of my blouse away from my stomach with it. He whispered something that I couldn't quite make out into my ear, nibbling at the lobe as he worked at my jeans button and zip. And I moaned softly as his hand found its way around my belt. He ripped it aside easily, doubled it and wrapped it around my neck. I leaned back further, suppressing more noise. If the safe house was bugged, anyone could be listening. Anyone could be watching for that matter; my friends, co-workers. "Sasha," I murmured again, still pleadingly. "Last warning," was his only reply. His hand had moved from the leather belt to my hair, he was pulling slightly and my scalp was starting to sting. "You want me to fuck you?" he growled. His accent turned me on and my hands slid to his arse before I could stop myself. "Mmm," he murmured. "Such a little whore. My Russian slut, aren't you?" Trusting me to stay still, he slipped his fingers to my hips, hooked them under the jeans waistband and jerked them down easily. To my surprise, he pressed our lips together and forced his tongue into my mouth. He'd rarely kissed me before. It was brutal and he tasted of spearmint, just masking the slight sense of tobacco. His groin dug into mine even though his combats were still on. He was hard under the fabric and I could feel myself getting wet. God! I hated being at his mercy like that. I didn't want it! I told myself, desperately. I didn't want him! The kiss was still going but he moved it along to my cheek and then my neck, lips working my skin in tight circles. He licked just above the belt gently. Suddenly, he stopped and I heard his knife flick open. I didn't have time to be worried. He cut my knickers open quickly and hushed me again. "'S OK, baby," he muttered. "I'm not going to hurt you tonight. Just behave, hmm?" I stroked his cheek lightly, not able to stop my body from wanting him. But I didn't! I begged myself to stop submitting to him. I quivered as he touched my clit, rolling it onto his thumb. His weight was off me, elbows raising him so that he could look straight at me while he played with me. I grabbed the buckle of his belt suddenly and he didn't push me away. It opened easily. "Naughty girl," he whispered, pinned my hands above my head and whipped the belt out himself. He fastened it quickly around my wrists and then put the strip through the leg of the lamp table. I struggled for a few seconds, writhing under his weight. I hated being tied down. When I stopped, he was looking down at me, muscles tensed with eyes burning from anger. "Shall we forget foreplay?" he hissed. "I'm sorry," I whispered, "God, Sasha, I am so sorry. Please. Can we just go back and be...I..." I slipped into Russian, begging in a way that only he could get me to. "Stop playing with me," he ordered. He was wriggling himself out of his trousers. Hoping for forgiveness, I rolled the soles of my feet down the backs of his thighs, pushing the combats lower. He pushed against me. "Don't think playing keen gets you off the hook, sweetheart." "I wasn't..." "OK then," he growled. He yanked his boxers down and pushed into me. I grunted into his neck and wrapped my legs over his. "Hmm...please," I whispered, getting over the initial pain of it. "Please what?" I cringed away as his breath drifted against my ear and tickled me. "Please fuck me, Sash," I said. I wanted to get it over. "You telling me what to do?" he said, pulling out a bit. I tightened my legs over his arse so that he was forced back into me. And he chuckled, digging even deeper than I had made him. I gasped. "Вы любите этот?" You like that "Да," I groaned. Yes! "I'm not sure that I want you to," he said, voice as controlled as ever. "I'm kinda pissed off." He began thrusting, pulling out until there was barely an inch of him left in me and then slamming back home. He gripped my hips so hard that white marks started to form where his fingers were. He pushed hard, yanking me back against him. "Mmm...please stop," I groaned. "Please stop it, Sasha. I can't..." If anything he jerked harder. The friction was making me tingle, my body desperate for release. He could sense it and he went even faster, slipped his hands under my ass. "Come for me you little bitch. Yeah. оргазм для меня." The orgasm hit me suddenly and I bucked under him, half begging for him to stop, half pleading for him to keep going. "God," I almost shouted. He was still hard in me when I stopped struggling. Jesus, the man was like a rock for fuck's sake. "You done?" he growled, guttural and wild onto my neck. He bit. There would definitely be a hickey tomorrow. I was shaking, barely able to speak from the aftershock. He realised it was genuine and held me for a second, tipping slightly onto his side so that I was rolled onto his chest. My lips twitched against the little sliver of skin that his soft canvas shirt didn't hide. He moved his hand onto the other side of the couch so that he was leaning over me again. He reached over my head and twisted the belt around my wrists so that my hands were free. I appreciated his little gesture of honour as he wrapped his arms around my back and traced the scars under my blouse. My fingers quivered as I trailed them down his shirt and fiddled with his buttons. He gave me a look to say; "You don't have to do that." I kissed him, just under his nipple and rolled my tongue weakly across his mid-chest. Almost gently, he pushed me back down and settled himself on top of me. His dick automatically nestled into my crotch and reminded me that he hadn't come yet. "Please," I murmured. "Can we stop, please." The searing pain had started in my intimate areas. "I'll suck you off," I begged. "Just don't. Not there. Please... пожалуйста..." "Not there, huh?" he growled. He was angry, and understandably so after all the sympathy he had just offered me. All I had needed to do was let him come. "Come here," he hissed. He pulled me, with one hand around my waist and the other dug firmly under the make shift collar. I knew what was coming. He threw me onto my stomach and was immediately on top of me, pinning me down again. This time, there were no words, he pushed straight into my ass and starting pumping. It hurt so much that I was close to screaming but he pushed my head down onto the sofa cushion so that it was muffled. If the flat was bugged, the last thing he wanted was my friends to hear him raping me. But I hadn't done anal since I had left his country and the little amount that my muscles had given way in his previous similar treatment of me had closed back up over the time. "Keep quiet," he growled. "Unless you want this to last longer." I shut up. And it didn't take much longer. Ten minutes later, he shuddered and buried himself deep inside of me. He was always quiet when he came but he grunted a little at the very end. Then we were still together and he grazed my hip softly and let me lean against him. I felt myself drifting before I actually fell asleep. I was only vaguely aware of him slipping out of me and wandering into another room. A couple of seconds later I felt the soft material of a blanket over me. The sofa dipped a little as Sasha slid under it next to me. I hurt, but I still leaned against him. With his hands around me and his legs wrapped over mine, I fell asleep. I woke with a start. A thin glaze of sweat had settled on my skin. It had soaked my shirt and my legs were wet. Even the blanket was a little damp under my clammy hands. Within seconds my dream was forgotten and only the slightest memory of water hung on at the front of my mind. I murmured in the back of my throat and leaned back for a second, breathing slowly to calm my heart rate. Sasha's arm was draped over my shoulders, his fingers resting on the tattoo on my upper left arm almost protectively. I watched him for a few seconds, our noses were only centimetres apart. His eyes flickered under their lids as he slept. My feelings for him were so damn confusing. On the one hand, he wasn't evil, not like Vladimir or some of the other men that I had encountered during my short life. A part of me still wanted to believe that he was just doing his job and that it wasn't his fault. Then again, how can anyone feel anything but hate for someone who had tortured them for two years. And it wasn't his job anymore, was it? I exhaled slowly through my teeth and threw his arm off me. My legs shook as I stood up but I was used to it and I pulled my jeans back on quickly. My MP3 was still safe in the pocket. "Where ya going?" asked Sasha, just as my hands found the door knob. I jumped back like he had caught me trying to escape or something. His cheeks were pale from sleep, eyes red and crusted. "Nightmare," I murmured. I hated talking to him about how I was feeling. "I'm gonna go run it off..." "You're gonna be cold," he said, quietly. "It's fine." "It's snowing," chuckled Sasha. "I'm fine," I replied. His concern was so pathetically fake that I couldn't even be bothered to come up with a decent excuse. "I'll see you tonight." And I hated it...but I would see him then. I would so definately see him then. Two Spies Ch. 02 I ran with a vicious anger in my body, as though I could run away from what I had just let happen to me. I could still feel where he had scraped at me inside, where he'd left his hot cum within my body and it hurt so much that I thought I would pass out. Still, I felt a deep, needy longing for him. Stockholm Syndrome. That's what it was called, right? A fake love born out of alternating kindness and cruelty. He was so unpredictable! Always so, so unpredictable. But turning up here?! I returned to my theory of dreaming, then the pain contradicted that possibility loudly. I knew for sure that I loved my country, that I loved my job and that I loved my boyfriend. What I had just let Sasha do to me was a betrayal of all three. And I knew that I would give in to him again, when he wanted me again. He'd let me go! That was something new. But where was there to go when he was in my home city? Where could I run to when I was already in my refuge? I didn't go home to my flat before I went to the office. I couldn't deal with being left alone with my internal arguments. And I needed to confront my boss, Samuel, about the fuck-up that was last night's document deal. I hadn't forgotten it. I went in the back entrance. It was barely dawn so there were only a few people about and I could hide my obvious emotion reasonably well in the darkness. I swiped my pass and surfed my thoughts to my desk. The floor that I worked on was completely deserted -- just me under the dull fluorescent lights. It had been a quiet week. The screen blurred in front of my eyes. I caressed my aching temples. I should be concentrating on the document deal but the words blended into whiteness as my eyeballs ached. Unintentionally, I pulled my knees up to my chin and slipped my hand under the waistband of my jeans. I pressed my palm against the aching area between my legs, trying to soothe a little of the frustration that was building up there every time I thought of Him. I leaned back, losing myself with a little moan. Remembering... * * * * * Two years, three months ago: The door creaked open. I stayed completely still on the bed, forehead frozen close to the cold, stone wall and concentrated on the sound outside the small room. Two voices; low and guttural, and speaking Russian. "You must be joking," one said. It would have been a pleasant voice if it wasn't for the context. He was talking dialect, slang, giving me the impression that he was a middle class Moscow kinda guy. "She's a spy," the other replied. That was Artem. I would never forget the gravel in his tone. "And it's your job." Another interrogator. That was all I needed. "She's barely a woman." "She's MI5," said Artem. "That's all you need to know, Sasha. And if you have a problem with the morality of it, maybe you should think about it next time you have a gun to a man's head." Silence. And then a single lot of footsteps walking away down the concrete corridor. A sigh. More footsteps, close to me. The door creaking shut again. "Wake up!" the new man murmured, nudging my shoulder. I groaned and screwed up my eyes desperately, forcing them to become blurry so that he would believe that I had been asleep. I turned over and wrenched my legs up so that my knees were under my chin. He was tall, with short dark hair. He was looking away from me. The click of a cigarette lighter and a flash of dark orange light as he lit a fag. I craved the nicotine hopelessly. I waited, watching his back. A couple of seconds passed and then he faced me. He was staggeringly good looking, although in a very rugged way. His eyes were very dark green with eyebrows of the perfect thickness slanting upwards over them. He wasn't clean shaven like Artem but had the shadow of a beard and moustache over his slim lips. "What's your name?" he asked. His English was good, with the hints of an unfamiliar accent. His hair was a little gelled at the front, evidence of some civilisation, a natural widow's peak dipping over the forehead. He took a couple of steps towards me, exhaling smoke into the cold air. "Hasn't Artem taught you to answer questions?" "Sally," I replied, quickly. "Green." "You liar," he growled. My head snapped up. "What..?" He chuckled, quietly, sucking at the cigarette. "It's me asking the questions today, baby," he said. I crossed my arms over my thighs. "What happened to the moral difficulties?" I asked, in Russian. "You little spy," he murmured, in his native language. I smiled. He obviously had a better sense of humour than Artem. "I don't wanna hurt you," he said, sitting down on the bed next to me. I turned my head slightly to watch him. "I don't want you to hurt me, either," I said, evenly. "So talk to me." "I don't know what you want." He sighed. "Don't play games with me," he said. "OK," I said. "Let's look at this in a decent way, like a business angle." He looked at me, a smile in his eyes but his mouth fought it. "Like a deal. We're both professionals. Let's just talk about it..." "Right.." I looked up suddenly, surprised that he was even slightly listening to me. Then he was standing in front of me, his hand firmly wrapped around my neck. "Or we could just do things my way." He grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up, throwing me across the room. I hit the wall, tried to dark to the side but he was already pressed up against me, his mouth on my ear. "Tell me what you are doing in Russia?" "нет!" I exclaimed, trying to push him away. No! He stumbled backwards but I knew that he did it deliberately to stretch out the game that we were playing. I made a dash for the door but he seized my arm and threw me to the floor on my back as though I weighed nothing. He planted his booted foot on my stomach so that I couldn't move without pain and dropped -- knees either side of my hips. He held me firmly, hands pressing my wrists into the concrete by my ears. I groaned, softly. His weight was making me feel faint. "Well this is a...compromising position," he said. I shifted my knee a little to try and knee him in the groin. He just growled in the back of his throat and pushed his legs between mine. I couldn't help but moan. "You fucking stay still," he ordered. I ignored him and struggled harder, bucking against his hips. He slapped me hard, and then backhanded me as well -- keeping my head to one side. He dragged my hands further above my head as I stilled and dug his groin into mine, grinding aggressively. His right hand slid down my chest to my tracky bottoms waistband, played for a couple of seconds -- teasing me, cruelly. The struggle had shaken my hair loose and it fell across my face: a tangled mess of strawberry blonde. He pulled it away from my cheeks and used a handful of it to pull me into a sitting position. He was still on top of me, looking down at me with cruel viciousness. "What am I going to do with you, hmm?" he muttered. He pulled my head back suddenly and I cried out at the pain. I hadn't meant to give him the satisfaction so soon. "Have you any idea, slut?" I whimpered in despair at the last word. One of his strong hands was working it's way up from my hip, along my side, to rest on one of my heaving breasts. They were relatively small, but firm, and my sensitive nipples rose at his touch. I told myself that it was the cold. "I'm gonna fuck you," he growled, leaning forward so that he said it directly into my ear. I shivered against his muscular body. "And I don't give a damn how much you beg and scream, I won't stop until I've got what I want from you. Then I'll do it again," he paused, sucked at my neck ferociously. "And again, and again and..." "Oh God," I whimpered. "Please, no." "Don't make me gag you," he warned. He pulled the elasticated neck of my black vest down under my breasts, pulling hard on my nipples with a vice-like pinch. "Not when I want to hear you screaming for me so much." "Fuck you," I growled. That was too much. I scooted out of his grip and fumbled back along the floor. There was nowhere to go, but a little defiance felt good. Instantly, he seized my ankles and pulled me back to him, this time leaning straight over me, eyes dark with vicious anger. His fingers closed around my throat, squeezing the breath out of me slowly. Still, I didn't give up struggling. The thought of the alternative option was too much to think about. He pulled his other fist back and punched me -- full force. He didn't pull his punches. Again and again and again, each time with a little more force than the last. Slowly, I stopped squirming and surrendered into the floor. He smoothed my bruised cheek as his anger disappeared with my rebellion and pulled me forward, all the way onto my knees with his fist in my hair. He stood in front of me, but I didn't dare move. Fingers that seemed to be smudged with my blood slowly undid his belt. He kept his eyes on mine as he opened his zipper and pulled his dick out, threatening wordlessly. He would try to break me. "Get over here!" He pulled my face into his naked groin. The fight had made him hard. I tried to wriggle away in disgust but he hauled be back, bending down to slap the injured side of my face sharply. He kept slapping until I opened my mouth half from the ache, half from tiredness and he stuffed his dick into it. It filled my mouth completely, filled my throat. His fingers knotted into my hair once more, preventing me from pulling away even slightly. I felt myself drifting away from consciousness as I suffocated, but he released my head just in time. "You even think about biting me," he hissed. He repeated his actions, and this time I managed to take a deep breath before he cut off the air supply. He was hot and throbbing against my tongue. I decided to make it quick, swirled my tongue, sucked a little. "Oh you fucking slut," he muttered, fucking my face as though it was my pussy. I kept on pleasuring him. I'd only done that to a few men but I liked to think that I had some skill in knowing what he would like. The next time he pulled out, I let my tongue slide along his full length, delicately brushing the tip. He still wasn't trusting me enough to release my head but he had loosened his grip so that I had enough room to bob my head back and forth to his thrusting. Every time he hit the back of my throat I tried desperately not to gag but I hated the thought of him in my mouth, controlling me with such powerful dominance. My hands had been on his thighs all the time. I could feel his warmth under his jeans, under my palms. But I had stopped pushing him away a while back. "You love it, don't you?" he said, cruelly. My determined denial was muffled by his dick as he thrust roughly. "Fuck!" My mouth was starting to hurt by then, lips all stretched around his width -- jaw aching from desperately trying to stop my teeth from collapsing onto his tender muscle. I could feel drops of pre-cum hitting the roof of my mouth as he pushed my head back for more access. He could feel it too, so he pulled out before a full orgasm could hit him. I didn't know whether to be relived or concerned. He stepped back to look at me. I wasn't a pretty sight -- bruises beginning to rise to the surface of my pale skin, hair tangled, little beads of saliva trickling from the corner of my mouth. His hand jerked towards his cock but he wouldn't touch himself...not in front of me anyway. "Tell me that you want me to fuck you!" he ordered. I swallowed. The pain was almost unbearable but I couldn't beg him to rape me, I just wouldn't. "No," I replied and my voice was strong. He crouched in front of me and frowned. "Tell me," he repeated, slowly. "That you want me to fuck you." I refused to give him an answer then, and instead decided to use up the excess moisture in my mouth by spitting it into his face. He let me deliberate in my action before reacting to it -- wiped our combined fluids off his rough chin with a sweep of the hand. Then, he stood up to his full height again -- towering over me- and walked around to stand behind me. I whimpered again without meaning to but I didn't have a death wish so I stayed on my knees and kept my head focussed straight ahead. Suddenly, his hand covered my mouth -- first and little fingers forcing my lips apart. "Lick it up," he hissed, pinching my nose shut with his thumb. "Come on you little bitch!" he emphasised the last word with a strong and well aimed kick at the base of my spine, forcing me further into his hand. Pain radiated across my back. I could tell that my struggles were beginning to annoy him. My clawing hands kept managing to make little air-holes in his obstruction so he pulled his belt out of his jeans. We had a brief battle as he tried to grab my wrists together without removing any of the moisture in his right palm. Another jabbing kick and he succeeded. His boots had steel toe-caps that I could feel bruising my bone almost immediately. "Let's try again," he hissed, roughly strapping my arms together behind me with his thick, leather belt. His hand returned to my mouth, nose pinched shut once more. "Lick it up." Desperate for breath, I gave in and obeyed, lapping at his open palm far longer than I needed to. "Good girl," he muttered, stroking my hair. "Now," he nipped the top of my ear with his teeth. "Tell me that you want me to fuck you." My new restraints lessened the little control that I had ever had over the situation. He was crouched behind me, sat on his heels, and his knees were squeezed into the sides of my ribcage tightly -- my bound hands were dangerously close to touching his erection. He kissed my neck, hungrily, letting my take some time in my answer. Recognising that I was going to need a little more persuasion, he shoved his hand down the front of the soft, grey tracksuit bottoms that I'd been wearing for the last few months and found my clit quickly, sliding his fingers across the unusually furry surface of my hot mound. Small, quick rotations. Oh God! How did he know that I loved that so much I would be begging for more within minutes. He pulled me back against him so that there was no denying his hardness against my lower back. His free arm encircled me, keeping me in position, and ground at my breast cruelly. Again: "Tell me that you want me to fuck you." "God," I whispered, dropping my head so that I was talking into his strong arm. "Please!" The little circular movements continued. I could almost feel myself getting wet. "Oh, God, please!" "Please what?" he demanded, pressing a little harder into my tender bud, squeezing a little more aggressively at my already aching breast. I flexed and relaxed my leg muscles, bobbing up and down in pathetic desperation. And I couldn't hold on any longer. I needed something in me! "Please fuck me," I moaned. And I didn't need to ask him twice. He threw me face-down onto the floor, but held my knees in position so that I was ass-raised in front of him -- everything exposed as he yanked the trousers down to the base of my thighs. I whimpered slightly out of desperation and pain as he landed a heavy hand on my ass. "Say it again!" he ordered. "Please fuck me!" I repeated, his hand was still in my crotch and driving me wild as he knelt behind me. My face was hot against the cold floor, my neck ached from the awkward position. "Please fuck me, sir. Please, please!" He seemed pleased that he hadn't needed to ask me to address him so respectfully, and pulled my hips back -- mercifully abandoning the pleasure filled torment of his fingers on my clit. His breathing was heavy as he knelt back and he smoothed the moisture across my pussy before pressing the tip of his dick into me. I gasped at the feeling. I was far too wet for it to really hurt but there was still that slight jabbing, that pressure. I moaned into the ground, trying to push back onto him. But he held me still, planted a surprisingly gentle kiss in the middle of my slender back. When my whimpering had calmed a little, he pulled my hips back and thrust inside me violently. I cried out at the sudden release and came furiously on his dick, bucking and writhing beyond a point where he could stop me. He had to hold my ankles down to stop me from accidentally kicking out at him. I resurfaced to the sound of his cold laughing. "Slut," he hissed, thrusting as hard as ever. I couldn't understand how he did it: the perfect pace, the perfect depth. And I hated myself for giving in. "No," I mumbled, despite my body's reaction. "No, no, no!" He crawled forward during my protests until his body covered mine -- pounding at me like we were animals fucking relentlessly in the dirt and darkness. He had wanted me to want it, so the sudden resurrection of my fighting was unwanted. He found my clit again. "No!" I repeated, a little more strongly at the prospect of having to submit to further unwanted pleasure. "Would you rather I beat you?" he replied, pushing deep inside me with almost every word. "Huh?" He slapped my damp mound hard and tingling pain added to the tingling warmth from his rough treatment. "No," I whimpered again. "No, sir." Because the pain in my face was worse than any shame he could make me feel. "I thought so, whore," he growled. He rubbed at me madly, speed of his thrusting increasing to match the pace of his fingers until, finally, we both exploded into orgasm. It was long, and blissful, and he pulled me back by my hair and hands until I was sat against his knees, back leaning onto his chest, forced down completely onto his softening dick. We panted together; sweat and dust coating our bodies. "I'm Bethany," I murmured, turning to bury my head in his chest. "Sasha," was his breathless reply. I fell asleep. * * * * * Memory over, I relaxed into my chair and breathed...heavily. The hours passed but I refused to do anything. I had a distinct urge to rebel. And my colleagues trickled into work one by one until the desks around me were occupied. "Bethany." I jumped at the voice behind me...the sudden intrusion on my thoughts, but I cleared my throat and tried to maintain a little composure. It was Sykes. "Good escape last night." I bit back screaming at him; for leaving me to the lions. He had left me in Russia for two years and now he was sending me out with false info. Damn him! I would have been killed last night if it hadn't been for... I tried not to think his name. I tried not to let him into any part of my life. It hurt to shut him out, but not half as much as it would to let me in. Still...there was a certain irony to it. "But at least you got to meet Sasha." My heart froze. "You what?" "Our latest recruit," replied Sykes. There was something in his eyes that let me know he already knew of my history with the Russian. "No, no, no," tripping over my words again. I felt sick. "Sasha isn't...He isn't on our side. He's..." "He was working as an interrogator for cover," shrugged Sykes. "Passing us information all along. He asked for extraction a few weeks ago, and..." "And you did it?" I growled. "He tortured people! Our people." "He never did permanent damage..." "Oh, and that's all that matters to you!" suddenly I was afraid. Not because Sasha had got so close to me so fast, but because my own alliances had been twisted out of shape -- I wasn't sure whose side I was on. "I can't..." I paused, swallowed. "I can't be here." I took the stairs, I always took the stairs. I hated elevators, I didn't trust them and I still had the remnants of claustrophobia thanks to some very interesting methods of Sasha's. I was in a daze from all of the information. I still hadn't processed the majority of it from my night before with Sasha, I was still lost in a dream world of distant, painful memories. And my feet stumbled over each other as they pounded at the thick steps. Two Spies Ch. 02 Unintentionally, and completely out of panic, I counted the steps. My breathing was heavy. I was halfway down before I realised that there were footsteps spiralling down after me. It wouldn't normally have bothered me but I quickened my pace a little, increasing the stumbling. More counting. Just one more flight until I could get back into a public area. I had just hit the bottom of the steps when he caught up with me and grabbed my upper arm with a tight fist. I struggled, pointlessly. "Sasha," I gasped, not entirely surprised. "Get off!" My fighting only made him hold me tighter and the hand that wasn't latched onto my arm seized my neck brutally. I choked immediately and relaxed a little, my back leaning against his firm chest. "Don't," I murmured, pleadingly. He walked forward, maintaining his hold on me, and shouldered the door to a cleaning cupboard open roughly. It swung shut behind us. Panic rose up inside me and the familiar warmth of his touch was worryingly absent. "Please." He didn't seem to care about my begging. It usually either irritated him or turned him on but he ignored it, coldly. He abandoned my arm to yank my trousers down from the front, scraping the skin down my stomach and legs as he did so. My panties came with them, but he left the delicate lace around my knees instead of pushing them down any further. His palm brushed briefly over my ass but he didn't offer any more caressing -- this was for his pleasure, not mine. With that blunt cruelty, he seized my waist and pirouetted me. My panties slid the rest of the way to my ankles and I stepped out of them. He was too tall and I was too short for him to fuck me from behind. He hated that. I was glad. He lifted me, forcing my thighs to part around his stomach as he squeezed the most tender parts of my legs. His shirt pushed up with me so that our naked skin touched. I gasped, for the first time becoming a little aroused by the situation. "God," I murmured. My hands found his chest. I wished that he was more free with taking his shirt off in front of me. I needed the heat of flesh to flesh contact so badly! I was forced to clench my legs tightly around him as he stopped supporting me to unfasten the front of his pants. He was breathing heavily, mouth burying occasionally into my neck as he forgot that he was trying to be mean. "Sasha," I whispered. I could feel him hard against my pussy, teasing my clit. He growled as he guided himself towards my only slightly wet entrance. Fuck! This was going to hurt. He hesitated for a moment, hovering in the tension of my body, then he thrust roughly into me: one harsh jerk. He pushed my face into his shoulder before I could scream. The sound was only just muffled, still audible for him to shiver at. The next thrust went even deeper but I was too exhausted to make any more noise, just grunted weakly from fear and half pleasure full pain. He slammed both of his hands into the stone wall on either side of my head, pinning me with such a force that I could barely breath. I lost track of his erratic rhythm; sometimes waiting in me for my muscles to twitch and spasm in frustrated ecstasy, sometimes pulling out straight away painfully. "Please," I groaned. Again, he completely ignored me and thrust even faster. I tried to hide in the muscular curve of his neck but his aggression created a strange distance between us. Even harder, deeper, faster. I bit him, and not at all gently but he only growled and calmed his movements a little, savouring my warmth. In the pause, my hands drifted from his chest, round to his back -- tracing the lines of his shoulder-blades almost lovingly. He was fucking me so hard that my shoes were slipping off. I laughed light headedly at that and then moaned as it angered, powered his aggressive pounding. At that point, he was only pulling out about an inch before pushing completely inside me again. It was overpowering. His smell encompassed me: sweat, peppermint, gun oil. And the still done up button of his jeans above his open flies was perfectly placed to dig into my clit every-time he buried himself in me. The cold metal of it was so damn arousing. I felt a familiar pressure building up in my stomach and begged him to go faster, harder...anything to let me have a little release. For the first time, he showed a little emotion in the form of a breathless chuckle at my desperation. But he obliged, and dug deep, banging me against the wall like a machine, he went even faster as the tension increased in both of us -- unusually grunting into my ear. Still, I was pleading ... getting higher and higher in pitch until I couldn't hold on any longer. We shared an intense orgasm: shaking, gasping, grinding against each other as the wave of pleasure drenched us. Then, he dropped me. I didn't have the energy to stop myself from smacking into the concrete floor, I didn't even have the energy to cry out. He grabbed my jeans off the floor and whipped them onto my shivering legs as he fastened his own. He left. Just like that. God! I hated him. Two Spies Ch. 03 (Sorry if this part seems to be a little rushed - busy life =(. I know it's not as good as the first two but it's the story that counts. Thanks for reading - enjoy! And please keep commenting and rating, it's great to know what you guys think of the piece so far =) x) * I went straight home to my flat in a daze of shame and conflict, but my anger was spent -- I was too tired to fight anything other than my own submission to the situation. It was still morning, but I had no intentions whatsoever of returning to work that day. Not when there was the possibility of running into Him again. I knew that, in his classic 'Sasha' way, he was just trying to avoid talking. All the sex and violence was a good way of keeping me distracted from the enormity of his defection. It was odd...For once, I was the one looking for answers. In the safe-house his presence had almost been comforting. In the cupboard he'd been trying to regain some of his natural control over me. The worst thing about him was his total unpredictability. Whatever happened next, it would come as a complete surprise to me. I turned my key in the lock, leaning my forehead against the cool, painted wood for a moment. Just breathing away my increased heart rate. I locked the door behind me. The key went on the floor as my fingers relaxed from around it. I just wanted to cry, to sleep. There was a familiar shadow in front of the sofa. "No," I muttered, reaching for the little piece of fallen brass. That one mistake could cost so much. Key dishes save lives. Sasha's hand was in my hair. He pulled me back from the door and threw me into the opposite wall. "Don't make this hard," he told me, quietly, warningly. I couldn't quite work out how he'd got home faster than me. Not that it mattered... My fist connected with his stomach, then the back of his head as he doubled up. I tried to knee him in the face but he kicked me back. We fell together. My hands went straight to his neck, his to mine. We struggled for some time -- control switching between each of us in turn. But he was stronger than me and found his way on top, pinning my arms above my head with one hand around my wrists. The other forced that all too familiar knife to my throat. "So," he said. "What shall we do now?" I took advantage of the momentary stillness and forced him to roll until my hands were keeping his on either side of his head. I slid the knife out of his palm. He didn't stop me. A couple of seconds passed while we just lay there, breathing heavily. Then, he threw me off him and stood up. The fallen key was in his hand. The only key. "What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded. Familiar surroundings gave me the confidence to put authority in my tone, but I stayed on the floor -- watching him with fearful eyes. "I wanted to make sure that you wouldn't do anything stupid," he replied, matching my authority with his rough accent. It made me shiver. "You really don't have that much of an effect on me," I lied. "Oh yeah?" "Yeah." He chuckled and shook his head slowly. We both knew that he could always tell when I was lying. It was like a gift. "This is how it's going to go," he said, resuming seriousness as though he had flipped a switch in his brain. "At work, we're going to pretend that nothing has ever happened between us. You don't talk to anyone about us, you don't tell the Russians where I am -- because I know that you have contacts. Outside of work, you're mine. You understand?" "This isn't Moscow," I hissed. "You can't just claim to own me like that! I don't want you...I don't..." "You understand?" Eyes met. It really wasn't worth the pain. I shrugged. "My boyfriend..." "Is away for three weeks," finished Sasha. "I read your diary." "You read my diary?" I repeated. I bit my cheek to stop myself from punching him. Briefly covered my eyes with the balls of my palms. "I ran you a bath." "I don't want a bath." "You're having a bath." "Oh, fuck you, Sasha!" "Baby, you can fuck me whenever you want." I hid my smile desperately, tried to summon up some kind of frown to continue the charade of hatred. It wasn't working out so well. He leaned down, took my hand and pulled me up onto my feet. "Sasha..." I began, as he led me over to the spiral staircase that went up to the balcony bedroom/bathroom. But it was no use arguing with him. He undressed me slowly, gradually uncovering all the bruises that our previous two rather violent encounters had produced. I wasn't a big fan of being naked in front of him -- everything exposed. Especially when he so rarely took off his clothes too. He shut the door and locked it. He never had trusted me...he never would. I had never really given him good reason to. After all, I'd tried to escape fifteen times. I'd succeeded on three of those occasions. Steam encompassed me. It blurred the bathroom into a smudge of turquoise. Sasha lifted me into the water. He knew exactly what temperatures I could withstand and it was a little too hot for my delicate skin, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of a change in expression and adjusted to the heat quickly. He reached for me but I squirmed away. There really wasn't anywhere to go. He grabbed my waist roughly pulled me towards him until my back slammed into the bathtub side that created a barrier between me and his chest. He grasped the back of my knee, stroking his fingers gently against my skin. "Keep that there," he ordered, lifting my leg forward until my foot was hooked in the flannel rack. I didn't want to struggle any more. For a minute he didn't do anything, just ran his hand up and down my thigh -- teasing me every time he reached the top of my leg. I struggled not to moan. He nuzzled at my neck -- breath warm against the sensitive flesh. He was kneeling up by then so that when he grabbed my hair with his left hand and yanked it back, the top of my head rested on his tight black t-shirt. I saw his sharp eyes through my lashes -- cold and mean, if a little amused by my fear. "You gonna behave?" he asked -- voice dangerously soft. I moaned to the vaguely positive in the back of my throat. Not enough. His right hand drifted over my ass. I shivered, causing little ripples to drift across the water. "Yes sir." He circled my ass hole teasingly and I cringed but he got bored when I refused to speak any more, pushed forward a little to touch my pussy. I gasped at that, and jerked against his palm. His touch was light, so gentle that I almost wanted more. "Like that?" he murmured. I gasped and groaned. "Yeah." He just laughed and dug a little deeper between my legs. I jerked against him. "Fuck!" I grabbed at his arm and, almost immediately he snatched his hand away. "You want me to stop, huh?" "No!" I moaned. I hated how easily he had me on the edge. "Please, Sasha!" He put his hand back in the water and lifted my leg out of the rack. "Turn over," he order, pulling me onto my back. He didn't need to tell me to open my legs. I was past shame. I really just wanted him to fuck me. No! That's exactly what I didn't want. "You're in a very sluttish mood," he commented, rubbing the inside of my thigh with his thumb. "I'm not sure that I should encourage this kind of behaviour." "Oh God!" I gasped. I grabbed his hand and pushed it between my legs. "Please!" "Mmm," he smiled. "You really are a whore, Bethy." He slapped my thigh hard and then he slid his thumb up over my clit for a second and I gasped, jerking forward so that his hand was clamped between my legs. "Ah-ah-ah," he told me shaking his head slowly. He took off his pants and threw them over to the heap of my clothes in the corner. I stayed still and watched him, waited. My desires were so conflicted that I'd lost track of them. He was so damn manipulative! And he knew me too well. He stepped into the bath and put a knee on either side of my thighs, pinning me down with his rough hands on my shoulders. He leaned forward, just a little bit, but I pushed up so that our lips met. He wrapped his fingers in my hair, almost gently guiding me down back against the tub side as he refused to deepen the kiss. "Ow," I murmured as he shifted, crushing my legs together. "You OK?" he asked, automatically pulling away a little. I couldn't stop myself from smiling as he tried to take back the concern. I could see him mentally kicking himself. "What?" I said, pretending that the water had got in my ears for a second. "ничто," he murmured. Nothing. He leaned down, hovering over me with hands on either side of the bath like he was doing press ups. "Legs," he ordered. I slid them apart just enough for him to settle between my thighs. The water level increased a bit and rose just over my mouth. I spluttered but he slid a finger over my lips, parting them just a little. His other hand brushed down my stomach and pushed between my legs. "пребывание все еще." Stay still. I pulled my legs up and crossed them, locking them just below the small of his back. "I said stay still," he growled, slapping me lightly across my cheek. "You not doing what you're told anymore or something? Huh?" "пожалуйста." Please. "Shush!" he grabbed my legs and pulled me forward so that his erection nudged against my opening. The water lapped over my nose and I squirmed for a minute, feeling the panic of possibly drowning filling me. The fear of drowning, when cross-referenced with Sasha, produced quite a few results in the memory-library. "пребывание все еще! For God's sakes! I tell you to do something and you fucking do it!" He grabbed my shoulders and flipped me, pressing down hard onto my back. "Give me your hands," he growled. I struggled to get them out from under me and the force of it pushed me under water for a few seconds. He leaned over the tub and grabbed his belt so that I couldn't move my wrists. He dragged me further down the bath and forced into my ass. I nearly shouted but the water muffled the noise. Sasha's hand was in my hair, throwing my head underneath the waves made by his thrusting. "Please!" I screamed as I surfaced for a second. "Shut up!" he shouted, honest anger slipping in there. I stilled under him, so noticeably that he stopped for a second to check I hadn't drowned or something. "You gonna be good?" Silence. He grabbed me by the hair and pushed me roughly under water. I struggled, but he was too strong. My legs kicked up a bit, hitting him in the crotch. He yanked my head back up and then smashed it against the bath side. "Hey!" he shouted, throwing me back under water. I didn't have time to close my eyes and I saw blood from my nose drift across the green of the bath. "You gonna be good?" "Yeah," I murmured. He hit me against the bath again. "Properly." "Yes, sir," I replied, struggling to speak. He thrust again suddenly and I groaned, too exhausted to slide away from him. "You like that, Bethy?" he asked, quietly. "Don't you?" he added, when I didn't answer him. His chin stubble scraped across my shoulder and I shivered. "Here," he murmured. He turned me, more gently than before so that we were face to face. He went for a kiss but retreated an inch after touching my lips gently. "'S OK," I replied, arching my neck forward a little to give him a peck. "Let me see those wrists," he said softly, pushing me onto my side. I gasped as my chin crashed into the plastic. He ripped the belt aside, not stopping it from flicking my back. I flinched away from the sting of it but he pulled me back. "It's getting cold," he said. Almost in one movement, he stood up and gathered me up in his arms. He held me very close. I wouldn't dare attempt to escape but he was cautious. He carried me through to the bedroom, dropped me onto the duvet and I instinctively pulled my knees up to my chin, shuffling right the way to the wall. Sasha raised his eyebrows at me for a moment and then looked away, picking up a towel from the pile on the dresser. I couldn't help but watch him. He was still hard, erect against his perfect chest muscles. Several water droplets remained on his slightly tanned skin, shining in the dull light of the table top lamps. He grabbed one of my boyfriend's cream see through shirts and slung it over his arms. "Come here," he ordered me, sitting on the bed next to me. He had dropped the damp towel and picked up a fresh one. For some reason I didn't do what he said and kept still in the corner where mattress met wall. "Are you kidding me?" I caught the warning tone in time and shuffled hesitantly towards him. Before I could change my mind he grabbed my arm and pulled me almost completely across his knees. "You do as I say straight away next time. Jesus, I thought you'd learned over the last two years." "It hurts me," I exclaimed, in a sudden burst of emotion. "That's all. It just hurts. IT JUST HURTS!" His hand came down on my arse with a slap. "You don't speak unless you're asked!" "Mmm!" I growled into his thigh as he slapped me again. It was degrading. The room was bugged. Of course it was. Who was watching this time? I curled my arm under his knee and tensed my muscle in frustration. He hit me again. Two more times. It wasn't that the pain was particularly bad, just the humiliation of it; trapped under him like an insect. Without meaning to, I nibbled on the soft skin of his leg. Another slap and he spread his legs so that I was bent over just one knee, my head resting awkwardly in between. He squeezed them with my head between so that I could barely move. "Try that again," he said, accent thick with annoyance. "I dare you." I whimpered into the sheets as I felt his hand come down again. I tried to protect myself with my hands but Sasha threw them aside, gathered my wrist and pinned them into the small of my back. His hand contacted with my burning skin but it stopped at the last minute and caressed me instead of hitting. He ran his fingers up the inside of my thigh until his thumb settled between them. "You still haven't made me come, baby," he murmured. I let him lift me again until I was pushed all the way back up the bed. He settled himself back over me, elbows taking his weight like before. He dropped his fingers to my clit and stroked lightly, I bucked gently and involuntarily under him. One arm found it's way around the back of his neck and settled on his shoulder. I could feel a bullet wound there, bumpy and scarring. "You like that?" he asked, quietly, passing a finger over the curve of my thigh. "Don't you?" I tried to whisper something but my lips wouldn't quite move. "Answer me, baby. Or I can make this painful." He squeezed my clit a little and I tried to shut my legs but he was in the way. "Дa." He grabbed my hands and forced them over my head pushing into me all the way. I shrieked quietly as he hit my cervix. He pulled out almost all the way and then slammed home again. Then again, and again, and faster. It wouldn't have hurt quite so much if it hadn't been for the simple deliberation of it. Every movement was planned, perfect. In causing me pain of course. I tried to pull my legs to stop the cramping in my muscles but he flicked his ankles over mine and kept me still. His movements increased in speed and depth, one sole aim, to orgasm. He grabbed my shoulders, yanked me forward and came, shuddering in me. To my surprise, at the last minute I came along with him. I gasped and writhed, moaning against his sweaty skin. "Finished?" he asked when I finally lay still. He was watching me with a cruel amusement, loving the fact that he had made me come. He always recovered fast. "You are such a little pain slut," he said, pushing himself off me. He rolled me playfully off the bed and I was too tired to stop myself from slamming into the rug. I groaned quietly. "Teach you to fight me, hmm?" He kicked at my back and curled his bare toes onto my flesh. "Да, sir," I muttered. "All right, get up," he ordered. "Get dressed. We're going out." Two Spies Ch. 04 (Another not-quite-my-best I'm afraid. College work etc remains my excuse ='( In fact most credit goes to boyfriend for ideas As always...thanks for reading and comments/feedback would be muchly appreciated.) * We sat on a bench by the river, watching tourists take overpriced boat rides up and down the Thames. It was warm for late November, and the icing-sugar frost of the early morning had disappeared into midday heat. "I thought you might feel better talking in a public place," Sasha began. "Post-raping me in my flat, you mean?" "You know that you loved it," he replied, quietly. We both kept our eyes straight ahead, refusing to compromise the exchange with any form of emotion. "You must hate me..." "Oh, more than you know," I murmured...I lied? "I didn't leave Russia for you." "I didn't suggest that you did." "Consider our relationship a side-effect of my new employment, not the cause." "Understood." A pause. I knew that my lack of feeling must be confusing him. Normally, I was the emotional one. A robin darted from the skeletal tree on our right and glided across the water -- a shimmering shadow. "You aren't asking me anything," he commented. He enjoyed it when I fought with him, argued a little -- not to the point of total disobedience, but just enough to make the victory sweeter. Therefore my mere indifference gave me the satisfaction of irritating him. I shrugged. "You'll lie to me anyway, won't you?" "Lie?" He chuckled. "No, that's one of your character-flaws. Not mine." Yet another pause. He shifted across the gap I had tried to keep between us, brushed my arm gently. I shivered, confused by a touch that was neither violent nor sexual. "I'm not going back, you know," I said, before he had a chance to suggest it. "I won't go to work with you." "You don't have a choice, Beth." "No, I never do, Sash." He chuckled. We still hadn't looked at each other but I was checking my peripheral vision to see how close to angry I was getting him. But he was determined to keep calm, on a higher level than me. Role reversal. "Come live with me," he said, suddenly. "No," I replied, immediately. "It wasn't a question." I looked at him -- two pairs of dark green eyes connecting for the briefest of moments. I smiled. I hid it quickly, glancing down at the floor before returning my gaze to the lunchtime traffic. "I have a life here," I replied, trying to suppress my anger. At myself for temporarily losing my defiance? At him for assuming such a massively dominant role? Most likely a bit of both. "I've settled back in to it and I'm not going to let you fuck it up. I'm not your property, Sasha. And the people round here...the people who care about me...they aren't going to let you treat me like this!" "Oh, yeah?" "Yeah." There was the dangerous expression: the sparkle in his eyes as he planned what he would do to me for my rebellion. "You could at least come and see the apartment," he suggested, eyebrows raised. "As a friend." It wasn't a suggestion. It was a dare. And there was my real fatal flaw. I couldn't resist the desire to fight him. "Fine," I shrugged. It was a bad idea, but it was already too late to back out. "OK then." He took me out of Westminster, but not very far, to a weirdly shaped building in the middle of an unusually forested area. It felt like a cross-roads of life: still in the city, I could hear the main street traffic, but oddly set apart from the rest of the world. We went upstairs to the third, top, floor. There was only one door. "This is me," he said, unlocking the door. I smiled nervously as he held it open for me, feeling a little...well...trapped by the situation. The flat was basically one huge room, all on one level apart from the raised bedroom area to the far right. The door had opened straight out into the living room, dining table just beyond the deep crimson sofa. The walls were bare brick -- no paint or wallpaper, but the stone was clean and dark red. Beneath my feet was only floorboard, ragged rugs strewn across the flat here and there. And the high, triangular ceiling was criss-crossed with heavy wooden beams. It was very gothic...Very Sasha. "What do you think?" he asked. I shrugged, continued on into the kitchen. I was desperate not to let myself seem afraid of him. "Short term of course." "Of course," I replied, sarcastically. I hopped up onto the black marble of the counter top, slid my shoes off. Seducing him would, temporarily, put me in charge. And with me in charge, perhaps I could find his real motive for being in London. He stepped up to me. For once, we were face to face -- eye to eye ... on the same height level. He parted my legs and stood between them. A single finger traced a line up and down my arm. I shrank away from him a little. What little confidence I'd gained in familiar surroundings had disappeared the minute I'd entered the building. This was his territory. And that didn't bode well for me. "Give me a break," I murmured. "You've already had me four times since you got here." He drew back a little, frowned. "Three times," he corrected. Oh...damn memories didn't count did they. I was halfway to thinking up a decent excuse but he was already disguising a grin that told me he knew the real reason. "But still..." "Got a lot of catching up to do." He ran his palm across my cheek then traced my hairline gently. My head still hurt. "You'll get me into trouble," I whispered. I hadn't had time for much protest the last...three times. Now, I was going through it logically. "Ssh," he murmured. "Nobody's watching us here." He lifted me suddenly from the counter to carry me back across to the dining room. He put me down on the table and pushed my skirt up my thighs, smoothing the inside of my legs as he went. He kissed me roughly, and his other hand went to my cheek, stroking gently as his fingers played with my pussy. I returned the kiss, fighting his tongue for once. He loved it when I didn't give in. I grabbed his ass, slipping into his pocket up to my second knuckles. "You're keen," he laughed, sliding his foot inside of mine. Gently and slowly he nudged my leg further open until he was standing between my knees. It seemed that we had both forgotten the earlier incidents of the day. "Don't know why I'm bothering with foreplay." "Because it feels good," I told him. I pulled his head down so that his mouth met my lips with both hands on his neck. I crawled them forward to run my fingertips through his short, soft hair. "Is that so?" he said, when we broke apart. "What?" I smiled, rubbing his chest, "You don't like this?" I opened his belt easily and pushed a hand down the front of his trousers. "Or this." He growled softly into my ear and nibbled the lobe. I popped the button of his trousers open and undid the zip, flicking his boxers forward with my thumb. "Oh, I like it, baby," he muttered, opening my bra with both arms encircling me. "I like it very much. I just prefer doing this." He pushed my knickers aside and thrust into me suddenly. I gasped and threw my arms over his shoulders, grabbing at his back just for something to cling onto. My nails were digging into him, scratching his soft skin and my face was forced sideways, cheek resting against his muscular chest. "Do you like it, baby?" "Yes," I gasped. He laughed again and dragged my hips forward so that I was rocked back a little bit. He caressed my knee and used it to urge my legs even further apart. He dug a thumb into my clit, pressing just where he knew it got me most. "How 'bout that, blondie?" he blew into my ear, "You like that." I didn't answer him so he thrust harder and faster, shrugging my arms off so that we were more detatched. "I..." I began, gasping as he stopped deep inside of me. "You what?" he whispered. I moaned softly and tried to kiss him again but he pushed me away. "You can kiss me if you answer me, sweetheart." "Please," I gasped. "Please what?" he asked, caressing my cheek. "Please fuck me," I begged, pushing myself forward. He considered and then pushed me back suddenly. Before I could do anything, I was on my back flat down on the table with his arms pinning mine high above my head. He drew my T-shirt up over my breasts and ripped my bra off, kissing and licking every inch of my chest. I arched forward, overcome by the power of his weight on me. The pressure against me was erotic. Then, he stopped. "What's the angle?" he murmured. "No angle," I replied, trying to inject some offended tone into my words as he pulled me into a sitting position. "I missed you. It's just taken me a while to..." "Bullshit," he spat, lightly back handing me. My hair fell over my face and I didn't straighten up. At least this way my expression was a little hidden from his stare. "You're after something. And I want to know what!" He slid me forward a little, one of his hands drifting up the back of my leg until it found my arse. He swept my up suddenly and carried me up the couple of stairs to the bedroom area. He dropped me next to the silk-sheeted bed. It was a proper drop, without lowering me even the tiniest bit. I groaned as I hit the hard floor. The small of my back shot with pain. "Sasha," I groaned. But I couldn't help that I was actually starting to want him. "Hush," he muttered. He stepped over me, stripping his jacket as he went. Over the two and a bit years that I had known him, I had learned not to move when he pushed me down. I waited, watching from the floor out of the corner of my eye as he carefully unlaced his shoes. He left his socks on though and crouched beside me, dangling his hand close to my face. He stroked my cheek gently, trailing one finger near to my lips. "For some reason," he said, quietly, voice thick with accent. "You are trying to distract me, baby. And I want you to know that I am going to hurt you till you break and tell me." "I just wanna sleep with you," I said, forcing tears into my voice. "You're good, Sasha. Honestly, you're really good. I want..." "Fine," he said, pulling me up by my wrists, "If that's what you want. That is what you will get." He threw me over the side of the bed and zipped his trousers open. His thumb hooked my panties aside and he was in me with one punishing thrust. "Sasha!" I gasped. I tried to push him away but he caught my wrists and bound them behind my back with his belt. He started to fuck me, not even bothering to start slowly. I moaned softly into the sheets. "Good girl," he said, a hint of breathlessness in his voice. "Stay still and take it, baby." With one deep thrust, he moved my body further up onto the bed. He flipped me easily and my tied hands dug into my back. I stayed still through the discomfort of it while he took of his trousers completely. "Open your legs," he ordered. I shivered in anticipation but my body wouldn't obey. "This is what you want, isn't it?" he quizzed. He nearly ripped his shirt off and chucked it down at his feet. He slapped the inside of my thigh, forcing my legs open. "Do as you're told," he growled. He settled himself on top of me, not really caring that his weight was driving the breath out of me. The second entry was even rougher. He was so talented at torture. I struggled under him but his patience was out and he hit me properly across the face. He pulled it. I kept my face to the side, scared at the pain that would arise when I did. He screwed me hard, one arm supporting himself a little, the other wound into my hair painfully until he got what he wanted from me. "I guess you've earned your kiss," he breathed, slowly slipping the belt from around my wrists. I pulled myself up against his strong body and claimed it, fighting his tongue for awhile: wrestling and nibbling it with my own, but he regained control quickly and held me to him, exploring my mouth deeply as his hands wandered from my face to my ass to my pussy. We didn't pause for air -- lost in the warmth of one another. My fingers found their way into his hair and wound into the short messiness of it as he rubbed at my clit. He broke the kiss, abandoning our touch suddenly and cruelly. "Don't you want to come?" he demanded, again. I shook my head defiantly, trying to ignore the desperate, needy throbbing between my thighs. This was a battle of wills that I intended to win. He leaned down, brushed my lips with his lightly. "Fine," he shrugged, forcing me to maintain eye contact. "But don't you dare get yourself off, you hear me?" I nodded a little fearfully because he had a shine in his beautiful eyes that usually made me expect a blow. "Yes, sir," I added, as an afterthought. "Make yourself come and I'll punish you, OK?" Another nod. "Good girl" I turned in his arms until my back was pressed into his chest, our legs entwined and his face forward so that his chin rested on the top of my head. "Night Sash," I mumbled, before I could stop myself. A brief pause. I could hear his smile. "Night Bethy." I couldn't help to feel, no...not happy, but perhaps comfortable being back there in His bed, with His arms wrapped around me. There was something secure, satisfying about his touch. His breathing slowed steadily until it fell into the gentle rhythm that I had come to recognise as a trademark of his sleep. There was still the aching between my legs. The more I thought about it, the worse it got. And I was pressing my ass into his groin as the need grew. I bitterly regretted my own stubbornness. He would hurt me if I disobeyed him. But this hurt too! I fought myself. This throbbing desire was surely worse than anything he could do to me. It was a huge lie. But it convinced me. I carefully moved my arm. From the pillow, to the sheet, to my hip, to my...I paused, checked his breathing again. I could feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest on my back, the warmth of his rough skin, the tense clench of his muscles. Oh God! I started slow, pinching the tiny bud between my thumb and forefinger. Little waves of electricity darted across my thighs, through my stomach. I had to slow the movement a little to stop myself from bucking back into him. Then, small circular movements, rolling my clit across my fingertips like Sasha did. It wasn't the same though. I was always too gentle with myself. By then I was desperate -- lip bleeding from where I was biting down on it, upper arm aching from the pressure and speed, pussy exploding with building pleasure. Then, Sasha's hand covered mine...and I froze. His breath tickled the side of my face, stubble scraping my delicate skin. "What did I tell you?" he growled, softly. I tried to struggle away but he was already holding me tightly so I rolled onto my stomach. He followed, weight pressing onto me completely. "Please!" I moaned, desperation muffled by the pillow. "Please what?" "I'm sorry," I mumbled. I was almost in tears from the range of emotion flooding through me, the spectrum of feeling. I felt like such a victim. "Please what?" he repeated, voice louder -- angrier. "I need..." I gasped as he forced my head back to look at him, hands digging into my cheeks. "You need what, huh?" He grabbed my sweaty hair and pulled my back even further, straddling my ass. I whimpered pathetically. "I need to come!" "Oh yeah? And didn't I already ask you that?" "Yes." "What?" "Yes!" I gasped, louder. The strain on my neck was starting to choke me but he released me suddenly and I collapsed into the mattress, panting and sobbing. "I'm sorry," I cried, softly. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm..." I felt his arm push between the bed and my body, forcing me back up against him as he fell onto all fours over me. His hand went lower. "Oh no...please!" I begged, no longer sure what I wanted. He cupped my pussy, smudged his fingers across it, and then slapped the tender mound sharply. I gasped, jerked against his groin as he ground mercilessly at the little bundle of nerves. The intense pressure pushed his actions beyond pleasure, into pain. I moaned. "Don't!" Both of my hands were fighting his, my legs were clenched together tightly but he didn't stop. If anything, he rubbed harder. I was shaking, whining under him -- lost in a world where fighting had become impossible. He kissed at my neck, sucked, bit, licked across my shoulder. Pace quickened and his other hand crept up my chest, roughly yanked my nipple. And I came -- sobbing, pleading, whimpering. I collapsed back into the bed. He breathed heavily for a moment on top of me, almost riding out the waves of intensity with me. Teeth gently bit at my ear. Then, he stood up and pulled me out of bed by my hair. My legs refused to hold me up and I stumbled, crashed into the floor before I could put my hands out to stop the fall. Sasha just kicked my in the ribs and then dragged me down the couple of steps to the living/dining area. He grabbed a length of rope from under the table and tied the end of it around my wrists, glaring at me angrily as he made the knots tight. He stood back, tossed the other end over one of the low beams. It looped over first time and he jerked out the slack, hoisting my arms over my head painfully until I was forced right onto my tip-toes. I cried out sharply as my muscles stretched. He ignored me and secured the end of the rope around the sturdy table leg. "Sleep well, slut," he growled. And then went back to bed.