2 comments/ 12192 views/ 13 favorites No Honor Ch. 01 By: Scornelius Sara hunched over the keyboard, squinting first at it and then at the computer screen. Her red-framed glasses reflected the white light of the screen, hiding nervous hazel eyes. She knew what she was doing with the computer, what she was searching for, and she could read the Cyrillic fine, but her hands were shaking badly, and there was sheen of sweat on her forehead, telling that she was afraid, and not trained enough or experienced enough to hide the emotion. Mikhail hadn't had good night's rest since he got back from that death camp the SVR called a research facility. Long hours toiling at a desk in a dark room had left him with the tendency to not get any sleep at night. He was in his bed but wide-awake thinking about the job he had to go on in only a few days. Pick up package #696 in Odessa and have it brought to the facility for its final tests. He was used to hearing bumps in the night, but what he heard just then was not his mind playing its usual tricks. He got up, pulling on his sweatpants and taking one of the handguns he kept in his night table. Downstairs, Sara let out a soft sigh of relief when she found the file she was searching for, and hastily transferred it to her flash drive. As soon as it had been downloaded, she snatched it from its port and shoved it into her bra. Safest place for small thugs that needed hiding, she had always thought. Mikhail was making his way down the stairs, a handgun at the ready. There was someone in his workroom. The light from the computer was shining through the cracked open door. How did someone get past his security cameras and the sealed shut entrances? Whoever he was, he had to be a highly trained expert. He cocked the gun, the silencer on. Quickly, he kicked open the door, pointing the gun at the intruder. "Do not move!" He shouted in angry Russian. Sara had to stifle a scream when the door got kicked in and the shouting started. She had never been good with loud noises. With the light in her eyes she couldn't see who was threatening her, she only knew that he was male, and he was large. Mikhail had his handgun pointed straight at her, an expression of anger and fear on his face. He didn't know what he was dealing with here. His other hand reached for the light switch. He flicked it on, shocked by what he saw standing in the room. A woman. No, a girl. A young girl. At least seven years younger than him. The fear disappeared from his face, as he saw the same expression on hers. "Who are you? What are you doing here?!" She remained sitting in the chair, frozen in front of the computer. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. He had a gun. The gun was pointed at her. She couldn't speak, she was terrified, even in training she had never been so terrified. At least there she knew they wouldn't kill her! Say something! "I...I..." Don't tell him the truth! "That's classified," she blurted. The Russian rolled off her tongue with a trace of an accent. He caught that hint of an accent when she spoke. She wasn't Russian, he could tell. She could speak the language well, but she wasn't one of them. He approached her slowly, his hands shaking as he held the handgun at her. He seemed to be almost as nervous as her. He looked over her shoulder at the computer screen. He could read the open window on the screen. 'File upload complete.' His face contorted and he turned back to her. "What did you take?! Answer me!" he shouted angrily. Her entire body tensed and she fought the urge to cringe. She was used to shouting, but that didn't mean she liked it. "That's classified," she repeated, her voice weak, frightened. She had a good poker face, usually, but she could never hide the tears that built in her eyes when she was under stress. And dammit, this was stressful! Mikhail was used to being yelled at too, only this time he was the one doing the yelling. He looked angrily into her wide, hazel eyes. "I will ask again, in case you did not hear me," he said as he pushed the barrel of the gun against her forehead. "What. Did. You. Take?" The gun was at her head. She had been trained to resist torture. The guns had been pressed against her head. Had fired blanks close to her face. But it was different when it was a gun she knew for sure was loaded with bullets! "Odessa!" she said immediately, quickly. She was scared out of her mind, and her body was shaking. The tears had spilled over and left trails on her cheeks that glistened in the too-bright light of the computer. Mikhail's face froze. Questions were flooding into his head. Who did she work for? How did they know about that? And what did they want with it? He lowered the gun, backing away from her but his eyes locked on her. "Stand up. Now," he said menacingly. Without even thinking she did as he ordered. He sounded like the people who had trained her: firm and domineering and very, very scary. Her fingertips were still on the desk when she was standing, and her fingernails made tiny pitter patter sounds on the desktop. Why couldn't she stop shaking?! Because she was in a life or death situation, and no one could help her. She didn't even have an older agent as backup. She was just alone, and Sara hated being alone. He looked her up and down, trying to identify the kind of stealth suit she was wearing. He'd seen it before, but was trying to put his finger on it. He looked at her with anger. He had many questions for her, but it would have to wait for now. "Where is the data that you stole?" he asked as calmly as he could. As long as she was with him, no one would get the files. "Emailed to the... to my employers," she answered quickly. It was gratifying to know that she could still lie under pressure, even if she was crying. She wanted to get out of there. She should have taken the first flight to 'anywhere but Moscow and out of the USA' she could find, but she had been too afraid to disobey her orders. Mikhail's face darkened. Could she be telling the truth? If so he was in trouble. He glared, pressing the gun back against her head. "If that's the case, I may as well kill you now before killing myself." That information getting out would in fact mean the death of him. She glanced over at him with a panicked look on her face. "I lied! I didn't send it to anyone!" I am pathetic, she thought. A few minutes under a gun and she completely broke down. She didn't want to die! She had been through too much shit to die! He nodded. "I thought so," he said and nudged her with the barrel of the gun. "Come. We're going to have a talk." As long as the data hadn't been sent, he had nothing to worry about. She slowly stepped out from behind the desk, being careful not to make a move that might make him shoot her. She had never been shot before, but it had never looked very pleasant. Again, she thought about how much she wanted to go back to the camp. There was no more home for her, but at least at camp she wasn't threatened with death and real torture. Only fake torture and ten mile runs through the Nevada desert with little water. Mikhail held the gun against her back as he walked her into the kitchen. There was a single lamp on the table, which he turned on. He pointed at the chair at the end of the table. "Sit." She sat, not taking her eyes off the giant man on the other end of the table. He could hurt her easily, and he probably would. The very thought made her whimper softly in fright, her hands twisting together on her lap. Mikhail sat down in front of her, a dark, angry expression on his face. "I am not going to bother asking your name, so why don't you just tell me who you are working for?" He asked. The gun was lying on the table, the barrel pointed at her. She was silent for a full ten seconds before she finally answered. "The United States government?" It was the truth, but it sounded like a question. He raised his eyebrow. He had a feeling she wasn't Russian. So he assumed she was speaking Russian because she'd learned it. "So, you are American?" He asked in English. He was looking over that suit again. CIA, he assumed. "Yes," she whispered. Her eyes were locked on the gun. It was shiny, she thought idly, clenching her fists again. She didn't want to die. She considered begging him to let her go. Heaven knew she didn't have any problem with it. He frowned, getting up from the table and walking towards her. "And your superiors knew about the Odessa project. What did they tell you?" he asked her menacingly. "They didn't tell me anything but where to find it, I swear!" she said, nearly squeaking in her fear. He was huge. From Sara's perspective, he looked seven feet tall and even huger. He glared, leaning closer to her with a menacing expression. "I should kill you for breaking into my house..." he said as he began circling her around the chair. "After you stole my files, then what were you going to do?" "I was supposed to take them to Minsk, Belarus," she lied. She wrapped her arms around herself, hunching over, trying to make herself smaller. Not an easy feat for young woman who was nearly six feet tall. She wasn't looking him in the eye. She was shaking, trying to become smaller. Only a fool would think she was telling the truth. He pointed the gun against the back of her neck. "Let's try that again, little liar. Where was your extraction going to be after you robbed me?" The cold barrel pressed against her skin and she broke immediately with a rather pathetic sob. "Odessa, Ukraine!" Don't hurt me. Don't hurt me! She chanted in her mind. He nodded his head, continuing to pace around her. She was surprisingly compliant for a CIA agent. "So they meant for you to take Package 696, did they?" he asked. She nodded quietly, tensing up whenever he got close. This wasn't a training torture session, and he wasn't one of her instructors. She was expecting to be hurt badly at any moment, and this time it wouldn't be a punch or a slap to the face that would sting and bruise. It might be something that actually broke her. Sara had never broken a bone, but she was sure it hurt. Mikhail saw she was just a girl, probably inexperienced, but skilled enough to break into his house. She was cooperating with him well enough, so he didn't see the need to get violent with her. Yet. As far as he knew she still had the data on her somewhere, and until he recovered it, he couldn't risk her leaving. "Well American, you now carry valuable information on you, so I'm afraid I cannot let you leave," he said. Couldn't let her leave? What was he going to do with her? Tie her up and lock her in a dark closet? "Wh-what would you do if I gave you the information back?" This girl was every spy's wet dream; she sang like a canary under the slightest amount of pressure. Mikhail looked at her curiously. Was she really that afraid and that weak? He thought for a moment. "Well, in that case, I think I could be persuaded to let you go. Or at least make your stay more comfortable." He didn't want her running back to her superiors and having them bring hell onto him. Having her as a hostage would guarantee his safety. She couldn't go back without the information. They would hurt her if she didn't bring it back! This man was the immediate threat... but the CIA was much more frightening. She wouldn't give it to him then. So she just stayed silent, and the shaking of her body slowly stopped. He couldn't possibly hurt her as much as they could... right? He looked her over. He could tell she'd chosen to honor her country. He shook his head. Looks like he'd have an unwelcome guest for a while. Sadly, as this as a residential home that he didn't want to remind him at all of that hellhole facility, he couldn't lock her away. He put away the gun in his holster. "Upstairs. You're going to have a nice long stay here," he said. She stood silently, starting to step away from the table. And then she realized that moving that way put her closer to him, and side stepped nervously. She was like a skittish animal. He rolled his eyes. She was such a pathetic looking girl. He almost felt sympathy. Almost. He pointed towards the stairs. "Move." He'd have to secure any exits before going to bed. She walked up the stairs slowly, occasionally glancing over her shoulder at him. She was pathetic and she knew it. She couldn't hold it together for even ten minutes, and now she was a prisoner! In Russia. She was a prisoner in Russia. Russian prisons were scary! She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. No more freaking out. No more trembling. Try to stop crying. Mikhail led her up the stairs, up to the spare bedroom. It was no prison cell, but it would have to make do. He gave her a light shove into the room. "This is where you'll be staying. Don't bother trying to escape, this room is sealed." He was too tired to try and search for the files. It could wait till morning. "I'd rather not be shot, so I won't bother," she mumbled, moving quickly away from the door. She sat down on the bed and stared her boots. The minute she had put the dark blue suit on she had felt like she was in bondage gear. "I'll deal with you in the morning," Mikhail said, shutting the door behind him and locking her in. The windows were secure and he went to double check the security alarms. Clearly he'd gotten lazy for her to break in without alerting him. She bent down and took off her boots, setting them neatly at the end of the bed. Next she took the pins out of her hair, letting the long brown curls tumble down her back. The pins and her red-framed glasses went on the nightstand and she slipped under the bedclothes, pulling them up to her chin. She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but when she opened her eyes again; the sun was streaming through the window. The next morning, Mikhail was up and double-checking the doors and security. He knew she was still there. He unlocked the door, speaking through it. "Come down when you're ready. We still have more to discuss," he said. He went downstairs, starting to fry eggs and bacon for them. He didn't know why he was cooking for the prisoner, but he didn't want her to starve to death. She sat up, rubbing her eyes blearily. It was surprising how easy it was for her to sleep when she was a prisoner in an unfamiliar country. She slipped her glasses onto her face, and combed her fingers through her curly hair as she walked down the stairs. "Most people don't let prisoners wander their homes," she said softly, sitting down at the table. He nodded. "Well, this is no prison. If it was, you'd be in a cell." He put a plate down in front of her. "Now eat. Once you've got your strength back, we've got much to discuss." He was intent on finding that data. The flash drive was still in her bra; she could feel it there. She wasn't going to tell him that though. Instead she just started eating. If her mouth was full she couldn't answer questions. Mikhail made himself coffee and made a cup for her too. He wanted to get this over with as quickly as he could. The more comfortable he made her feel, the more compliant he hoped she'd be. He wanted this over with quickly before tomorrow when he had to go to Odessa for his extraction. Sara ate the food, but didn't touch the coffee. She thought the stuff was vile. "Thank you," she said, her voice still quiet, like she was afraid he'd be angry if she were too loud. He exhaled, taking a drink of his own. He sat down across from her, visibly tired and annoyed. "I'm curious. How did you get past all of my security measures? There are cameras on every hall and the windows are sealed shut," he asked with no shortage of curiosity in his voice. "I hacked your system," she said, this time actually sounding a little proud of herself. She could at least do that and not screw it up. He raised his eyebrow with surprise. He'd thought that was inconceivable. He'd built that system himself. "Well, that's slightly impressive. I wasn't aware that they taught you that in America." Her expression fell back into one that closely resembled one of fear and anger. "Not in conventional training, they don't." He was supposed to be a genius, she knew that much about him. So why couldn't he figure out that the eighteen-year-old in front of him wasn't exactly a normal G-man? He looked at her curiously. He'd figured that out long ago. No ordinary agent could enter his house undetected and hack into his computer database. She was clearly not given the same training. Her skill set and her inability to handle pressure proved that. "You still have that data on you somewhere, and I'm going to find it before the day is out," he warned her as he took a bite of his food. "No you won't." She wanted to sound confident, but the faint tremble in her voice gave her away immediately. She had absolutely no faith in her ability to hide and protect the information, no faith in herself not to crack and just beg the frighteningly handsome man to let her go, to not hurt her. He frowned, crossing his arms. "I've been trained by the SVR, young lady," he said, as he had a feeling she knew this already so he didn't feel the need to keep quiet. "I have ways of making you talk." He doubted she knew that he was only trained to kill, not interrogate. He could fight and uncover new things about nuclear physics. Not much else. But he was big and imposing enough to cause her concern. All she could think about now was the horror stories she had heard about what the SVR did to people who didn't cooperate. She was stiff in her chair, her hands clenched into fists on the tabletop. "You wouldn't dare hurt me. I'm just a kid!" Even as she said it she knew she was lying to herself. Being a kid wouldn't stop him from hurting her. It hadn't stopped the trainers from hurting her. Besides, being 18 made her legally an adult. He chuckled, trying to look intimidating. "And? You're wearing the uniform and you broke into my house. I have every reason to hurt you." He had a feeling she'd been warned about SVR agents. Little did she know, he hadn't been trained the same way as one. Nor had he been brainwashed into a killing machine. But as long as she thought he was, she'd stay in line. She whimpered involuntarily, shrinking back against the chair. "I won't give it to you." Sara wasn't suicidal. The CIA would hurt her worse than he would. "I can't give it to you!" she cried. He shook his head. "Well, you're not leaving here with it, I can promise you that." If the CIA got to the package before he did, he'd be dead. They wouldn't hesitate. "I'll give you one last chance. Hand it over," he said. "Go fuck yourself!" she shouted, very clearly frightened and angry. "Yo-you'll never get me to give it to you. Ne-never." She didn't want to be hurt, but she didn't want to die even more. He frowned, crossing his arms. "You leave me with no other choice then." He replied, standing and backing away from the table. "Stand up. Now." He didn't have the gun with him, but he had a feeling he didn't need it. Not with her. She gave him a wide-eyed stare as she slowly got to her feet. Sara didn't dare take her eyes off of him. What was he going to do to her, she wondered, trying to keep herself from panicking. Would he pluck out her fingernails? Slap her under her cheeks were bruises? Cut her? Waterboard her? He looked her up and down, still in that CIA issue stealth suit. She had that flash drive on her somewhere. And he was going to find it. He pointed to her suit. "Strip." He said with no shortage of seriousness. She flushed angrily almost as soon as the order left his mouth. "No!" She didn't have to obey him, she didn't have to...but her fingers were already holding the zipper. They didn't move though, seemingly just holding it in place. "No." she repeated, stepping backward. His expression darkened when he saw her backing away. If she thought she was getting away, she had another thing coming. No Honor Ch. 01 He stepped closer to her. "I said, strip. Now." His fist clenched. He was going to make sure she did as he said. She flinched when she saw him come closer, and took another step back. She bumped against the wall. She was now trapped between a china cabinet, the refrigerator, and him. She shook her head no. His glare darkened when she opposed him a second time. "Either you strip yourself, or I strip you. And I can't guarantee your clothes will be in any condition to wear after that." He didn't care, all that mattered was that data. "Go fuck yourself," she repeated weakly. She didn't want to die, dammit. She couldn't lose the data or... well, Sara didn't know what would happen if she returned without it, but she knew it wouldn't be anything good. It would likely involve heat, needles, and that frightening German doctor that reminded her of a female Mengele. Mikhail snarled, taking another step closer. "Do you want me to rip that suit off of your body? You comply and this might not involve a cavity search." He hoped that convinced her. He sure as hell didn't want to do that. Her heart was pounding fast, and suddenly she was all too aware of the little flash drive that rested in the left cup of her bra. An image of this frightening man tearing her clothes from her body flashed into her mind, decided it liked the view, and stayed there. And Sara was even more terrified. "I'm not letting you have it," she whispered. Had she spoken any louder her voice would have been strangled. Mikhail was getting annoyed. How stubborn was this girl? As a field agent, that was all she had going for her. Stubbornness. Something that could easily get one killed. He grabbed for the zipper of her suit, intentionally missing it. "One last chance. This doesn't have to be hard." The tears were coming again. She shut her eyes tight and held onto the zipper, refusing to give in. Maybe they wouldn't hurt her if she gave it her best shot? Doubtful. Mikhail growled at her. He grabbed her arm holding onto her zipper, pinning it against the refrigerator after some struggle. "You made me do this. Do not forget," he said. He grabbed hold of the zipper and began bringing it down her body. She struggled even as he pulled the zipper down, revealing first a snug black bra that barely restrained her large breasts, and skin that was so fair that it wouldn't survive half an hour in the sun without reddening. She snarled and snapped at him more when he pulled it lower. Her belly was toned, but had a bit of lingering baby fat that even years of training couldn't get rid of. In fact, all of her body was like that. Toned, but very soft feeling. He was looking her body up and down as he unzipped her suit. He found himself surprised. Her breasts hadn't looked that big under the suit, and her body was toned, likely a result from her training. She was extremely white as well. She'd be right at home in cold Russia. He pulled the zipper down all the way to the point where she only had to slip the suit off of her shoulders. Her struggling had the suit slipping off one shoulder. She barely noticed the chill that hit her, since she was too busy trying to hit him, and failing miserably. She was too panicked to aim or put power behind her punches, not that there was much power in her to begin with. She clearly wasn't trained to be a field agent, despite a few of her skills. She was more like tech support, or the kind of pretty, innocent looking girl the CIA would send out if they wanted information off a lecherous diplomat. Her breasts jiggled with every jerking movement she made. The slight rectangular outline of the flash drive was visible in the silk and foam of her bra. Mikhail looked her body over, searching for where she could be hiding it. His eyes suddenly came upon the outline of the flash drive in her bra. How clever. He pressed his finger against the outline. "What might this be?" He smirked slightly. She was silent. He had found it, he had found it and she couldn't protect it and she was going to be killed. "It's nothing at all. A tracking device. Birth control. A thing." She wasn't even bothering to sound convincing now. He rolled his eyes. She knew she'd lost. He was tempted to take it for himself, but wanted her to do it instead. "Take it out and show me, then." He grinned. Her face flushed red again, and again she refused him. "No. If you're so damn eager then you can get it yourself," she hissed. He was embarrassed and frightened and dammit, why was he grinning like that?! "Let go. I'm never giving it to you," she said, continuing to struggle. He shook his head. "Too bad then, American." He reached one hand into her bra, fishing around inside of it till his fingers closed around the flash drive. Wow, her breasts felt good. Soft, full... He quickly shoved these thoughts aside as he pulled out the flash drive. Her face had only blushed a darker red when he started searching around for the little device. No male had been that close to her breasts since... well, years ago. "No... give that back," she growled, lunging for it and not getting very far, since her still held one arm against the refrigerator. Was she going to die now? He held the flash drive up, keeping her from getting it. "I think not. It's mine, remember? You stole it." He was beginning to wish he could feel her breasts some more, but quickly eliminated that idea. She was a prisoner, nothing more. "Finally. I'm going to need this for the trip tomorrow..." he said to himself out loud. "You aren't going anywhere with that," she snarled, wrenching free of his hold and jumping for the flash drive. Her body was rubbing against his, but she barely noticed. Her only thoughts were to get the flash drive. "Give it!" it was almost cute, how desperate she looked. The fabric of her bra was rubbing up against his bare chest, as was her soft, toned stomach. But he was just focused on holding the flash drive high up where she couldn't reach it. They must've looked like two siblings fighting over a toy. "Not a chance. You have no idea what this is and why your superiors must never have it," he said with a dark expression. "It's Odessa, and they need to have it so they won't hurt me!" she snapped desperately, her eyes welling with tears of frustration again. Mikhail was beginning to lose patience. He glared down at her and used his free hand to shove her, knocking her to the floor. "That's not all it is. If this fell into the wrong hands, the world would be thrust into World War III!" She fell to the floor with a startled gasp, and quickly pushed herself back to her feet, cradling her bruised elbow with her opposite hand. "Then let it be thrust. I only care about myself." That was also a lie, but Sara was terrified enough of her employers that she wished it were true. He growled at her, putting the flash drive away in his pocket. "Well, then you're in luck. It just so happens I need to take this to Odessa tomorrow. I am curious how much your superiors are willing to negotiate for your return," Mikhail said. Sara wasn't sure how much she was worth to them. It was a small program, and she knew for a fact that quite a bit of cash was spent on training her and others, but people vanished all the time... Mikhail motioned to her. "I hope you dressed warmly. Tomorrow I'm leaving for Odessa, and you're coming with me." No way was he leaving her here. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she growled, backing toward the front door. "You've got your information, now let me go!" Mikhail glared, stepping closer to Sara. "You broke into my house. And you think I am about to let you go? The government will pay me for your release. Plus, I'd like you to be there when I bring the package to my superiors. Then they will know America is our primary enemy." His superiors?! She didn't want to get anywhere near those people, they would kill her for sure! "They'll berate you for letting a kid defeat your security system. You don't really want to take me with you. I'll cause trouble!" She wanted to run back to camp. At least there everything was sort of familiar. He frowned at her, grabbing her by her arm. "Listen, you've caused me enough trouble as it is, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you go. You broke into my house once; you could do it again. And how do I know you won't call for backup agents to take me down once you're free? You're my insurance against your superiors." She didn't think he actually wanted an answer, so she kept her mouth shut, glaring up at him hatefully. She wanted to zip up again and go hide somewhere warm. He was glad her obnoxious mouth wasn't going to spout any more complaints. He released her arm. "Good. Now go back to your room and don't bother me unless it's an emergency." He felt like a babysitter; an unwilling babysitter. "Bite me, bastard," she hissed. She HATED being talked down to like she was some naughty little girl. She got enough of that at the camp. He growled, raising a hand and smacking it against her ass almost violently. "I said, go to your room." He'd hit her if he had to. He didn't want her becoming too out of hand. She yelped and blushed. "You did not just spank me," she said angrily, clenching her fists. "What are you going to do next, take me over your knee?!" He was standing over her with the most menacing look possible. He'd learned it from his father. "I will if you don't start listening to me. You're the prisoner and I'm the warden. So you either do as I say, or you face the consequences." She was only marginally cowed by his expression. She'd been given menacing looks for years. It would take more than that to make her back down, especially now that she was freaked out enough to get mouthy. "Is this your fetish or something, pervert?" she asked. He wasn't enjoying being talked back to like this. He clenched his fist. "No, but it must be yours if you're still arguing with me. If it'd satisfy your sick mind I can do it again." And he did, delivering another blow to her ass. "Stop that!" she cried, red with embarrassment. "I'm not some child you can just beat into submission!" Yes, she was. One well placed slap and she would be as meek as a mouse and as skittish as a doe. He smirked slightly down at her. "Want to bet?" he asked. He didn't want to hit her. It was against his morals to hit a female, especially one so young, but she was an agent, trained for the field. Her eyes ran over his body briefly. No. No she really did not want to bet. He was big, and muscular, and even the slightest slap from him would hurt, she knew. But she also didn't want to be a prisoner, and she was sick and tired of following orders... "Fine, take me over your knee, sick pervert, I've had worse done to me," Sara challenged. Mikhail frowned. He really didn't want to, but this was getting out of hand. She was so damn stubborn and obstinate; he needed to do something. He sat down on the chair, grabbing her by the back of the head and bent her over his knee. "Hey! Hey, I didn't actually mean it!" She squeaked the second he grabbed her head. She felt the pressure of his leg on her abdomen and squirmed angrily. The last time she had been in this position she had been six, dammit. Mikhail didn't care. She was really getting on his nerves. He wanted to put her in her place. He couldn't get the suit down any lower, so he deemed it best to just do it over her suit. He raised his hand and delivered a hard spank to her ass. He found himself liking the feeling of it. Round, toned but with enough fat to give it that shake. He groped one of her ass cheeks briefly before letting go. She gasped as a flash of pain erupted on her ass cheek. She thought she felt his hand linger, but she couldn't be sure. She clutched at his knee with one hand, wriggling, trying to escape his hold on her. He raised his hand again, spanking her a second time. Her ass was very impressive. He gave it another squeeze this time as well. He was tempted to undo her bra while she was in this position. "Are you done being a little brat?" This time she yelped, her entire body stiffening from the force of the blow. "I am not a brat, nor am I little!" she snapped, kicking her legs and trying to make contact with his head. "And stop molesting me!" No one had ever grabbed her like that before. Despite the sting of it, Sara was close to considering this to be erotic. He rolled his eyes. "Then stop acting like one!" He spanked her again, this time groping her ass cheek and fondling it just to spite her. "Your ass feels very nice." Mikhail didn't show it often, but he had a perverted side: a result of him being locked away for years in a government facility. She whimpered, but the sound cut off abruptly once she realized she was the source of it. Pleasure was her weakness, since she got so little of it, and his fondling soothed the ache of the spanking enough to feel really good. But this wasn't a time to be thinking about that! "Fuck off!" He chuckled. She enjoyed this more than he thought, or more than she wanted to. He reached down, fumbling with the straps of her bra. "Let's see if we can get this off too." This was just to show her he was in charge. "No!" Touch me more. "Don't you dare undo those clasps!" Give me more pleasure. "I'm warning you!" Don't stop. Her mind was a mess of confusion. Just giving up was a wonderful thought. Give up and get all the pleasure she had missed out on in the five years she had been at that damn camp. He delivered another hard spank. "You do not tell me what to do. You are the prisoner." It took some struggle, as this was not something he'd done in some time, but he was able to undo the clasps and release them. As he did, his hand was absentmindedly fondling her ass. She whined and squirmed again, and as she squirmed the bra slipped down her arms and dropped to the floor, and her large, creamy, pale breasts swung free. "Please stop!" she cried, clawing at his leg. There was the confusion in her voice that could only come from a confused, horny, and frustrated virgin. He looked down, unable to see her breasts from this perspective but he tried not to care. This was just to annoy her. He spanked her ass a fourth time. "Are you done being so bratty?" he asked her. "Are you done being a pedophile?!" She was just calling him the first things that came to mind now, even if it didn't make sense. Yes, she was young, but she had the full, luscious body of a woman that just begged to be touched. She didn't know how old he was, nor did she know his name. She only knew that he was a genius who was older than she, with gorgeous eyes and soft looking hair. He rolled his eyes. "Please. No underage girl has breasts that big." He simply stood up, letting her fall off his knee onto the ground. He dangled her bra over her. "Want this?" He smirked. This was more fun than it was supposed to be. Humiliated, half naked and upset, Sara only frowned at him and turned away, fumbling with her sleeves and trying to cover herself again. "I'm not begging you for my bra, bastard," she mumbled sullenly. He smirked, continuing to dangle it. "Well then you're not going to get it. You'll be awfully cold without it," he said. Her attempts to cover up were being hindered by the size of her breasts, and her nipples had already hardened into tight, sensitive little nubs. Why was his house so cold?! "Please. Give me my bra. Right now," she said, not turning to face him. She crossed her arms over her chest and shuddered as they scraped against her nipples. The only things that she was succeeding in covering were her nipples. The rest of the pale flesh of her breasts was clearly visible. He chuckled. "Well since you asked so nicely," he said as he tossed it to her callously. "Next time it'll be your panties." He smirked. "And again I say 'fuck you, bastard'!" she turned away from him and fumbled with her bra until it was on properly, and hastily zipped up her suit. That had been humiliating. And exciting. He chuckled again. "I suggest you rethink your attitude. I'll be more than willing to do that again if you continue to disrespect me," he said. And just for fun. She seemed to get flushed when he touched her like that. Her sexual, kinky side, a part of her mind that had long been dormant suddenly woke up. Again? Sara blushed. She shouldn't want that. Even though it had felt really good. "Just stay away from me," she said weakly as she backed towards the stairs. He smiled. "That will depend on the nature of your behavior." He stretched his arms, going to the kitchen to clean up the dishes. The kinky side stood up in her mind, begging like a dog. Moremoremore. Touch me more. Give me more good feelings. Sara squashed that side down viciously as her blush deepened. She shouldn't want to be taken over his knee again and embarrassed. She shouldn't want to have been turned over so he could see and fondle her breasts. But she did want that. Mikhail began cleaning the plates in the kitchen. He'd seen her body language when he was spanking her. She didn't seem to have been fighting it. When she did it was very haphazardly. He knew nothing about this girl. He decided he needed to do some investigating. Once his back was turned Sara made her way up to the guest room sullenly, shutting and locking the door behind her. She sat down beside the window, and thought. And ten minutes later she decided that there was probably something wrong with her. For five years she had been held in a place where she got very little affection, and even fewer touches that could be considered kind or even pleasurable. So, she thought, perhaps those lacks of touch made her react oddly when she was touched in a sexual way. After another few minutes of thought, Sara came to the conclusion that she was probably sexually frustrated. There weren't any chances to touch herself in a place with so many cameras. Mikhail was beginning to wish he hadn't taken the security cameras out of the guest room. He'd come to the conclusion that he was just being paranoid, but now he had a reason to have them there. He sighed, putting the dishes away on the shelves. He had to start packing for the trip tomorrow. And now he had additional package with her. She glanced around the bedroom. She stood up and very thoroughly checked the mattress, under the bed, in the little bathroom, and even under the lampshade. No recording devices that she could detect. Maybe... no. You're a prisoner, she reminded herself. Prisoners don't... do that! She growled in frustration. She could feel the slick lubricate in her panties. Jesus, how long had it been since she had been this turned on? Forever, it seemed. And by a spanking, of all things! A spanking by a very pretty looking man, she was reminded by that part of her deep in her mind. Sara told that part to shut up. Mikhail walked back up the stairs, stretching his arms as he walked past Sara's room. He did have motion detectors in the hall that would know if she left the room. But for now, she had privacy. Something he doubted she'd had in the CIA. He went back to his bedroom to pack. He shut the door behind him so he could pack. The walls of the house were very thin, so if something happened outside of his room, he could hear it from the inside. That was part of how he found Sara so easily. His room was almost right next to hers, but he wasn't paying attention. He got out his duffle bag and started packing essentials for the road trip. The more she thought about it. About masturbating in her captor's home and possibly getting caught, the wetter she got. "Dammit, what is wrong with me?" she asked herself quietly. She shifted position and blushed when she caught the musky scent of her own arousal. Dear god, she was so fucked up. She glanced at the door, then at the window. Then she stood up and walked into the little bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. She took a deep breath and turned on the shower. As it heated up she stripped out of her suit and underwear almost nervously. When the water was steaming she stepped in the little stall and just let the water wash over her. No Honor Ch. 01 Mikhail could hear the shower running from his room. He acknowledged it and soon went back to packing. Clothes, weapons, his passport, food for the road... He then came upon a picture. He was a child in it, and there were two other people in it. Their faces he thought he'd forgotten. He sighed deeply, putting it in the bag. Mikhail took the flash drive out of his pocket and went to his desktop computer in his room to look at it. Sure enough, the little minx had meant to make off with his top-secret files regarding Package 696. He didn't think the CIA knew exactly what the package contained, but they just knew how important it was to the SVR's operations. Sara had used the generic soap and shampoo to wash herself, and then just stood there for a few seconds, gathering her courage. Then she bit her lip and grabbed the showerhead, adjusting the water pressure until it was thrumming deliciously against her hand. She shivered, and wondered how it would feel after five years of not doing it. The sexual part of her mind told her to stop analyzing and get to it. So she did. She leaned back against the wall, and as soon as the stream of water touched her clit, her body went ramrod straight and she let out a soft moan. Her muscles clenched and she whined, the sounded echoing gently through the little bathroom. So good... she turned, holding the shower head on the wall with her body, keeping it shoved right against her sensitive little clit. Her hips moved slightly, rubbing against the stream of water. This was mind blowing for her. It had been so damn long! As Mikhail packed, he was beginning to hear noises coming from next door. He thought it was just the shower, but there was something else mixed in. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He walked out of his room and into Sara's, opening the door. The bathroom door was closed and he didn't want to invade her privacy. The sounds were more audible the closer he got to the door. He knocked on it. "Is everything alright?" Her eyes squeezed shut as pleasure rushed through her body. So close... so close... She moaned again, rolling her hips against the showerhead and pressing her sensitive body against the warm tiles of the wall. And then she heard his voice, and she panicked, backing away from the wall, holding the showerhead in her hand, not knowing what to do with it. "N-no! I'm being held prisoner by an old lecher, how can anything be alright?!" She felt her own slick juices running down her legs with the water. It didn't occur to her for a few seconds that saying what she had wouldn't keep him out of the bathroom. Mikhail rolled his eyes, starting to turn the knob to the bathroom. "Why are you making these noises?" He had a feeling why, but he wanted to find out. "Because I was crying, now go away!" He believed her to be a bratty teenager, so she may as well act like one. She was afraid of what might happen if he entered. She was sick of being ridiculed! He paused, his hand still on the knob. He sure as hell didn't want her up in his face about her privacy and complaining about being in captivity. He snarled, shutting the door. "Well keep it down." He stepped away from the door, but didn't leave just yet. He was curious to get a better taste of what she was doing. Just to be safe, she waited a couple of minutes before resuming. Much to her own shock, the prospect of being caught had turned her on even more. She reached down, feeling her own juices and biting her lip when she brushed against her clit. So slick and soft... Shortly after that she resumed her position against the wall with the showerhead, and didn't bother stifling the gasp that tore from her lips when the water hit her clit again. Less than a minute later she moaned and started moving her hips again, making little gasping sounds as she drew closer and closer to climax. Mikhail was standing outside of the door, listening in to the sounds that she was making from the bathroom. Those weren't crying sounds. Those were sounds of pleasure. So she did get enjoyment out of what they'd done. Either that or she'd been unable to do it for months. Those were sounds of built up pleasure. Finally she climaxed with a high-pitched gasping sound, bucking her hips into the showerhead and driving it into the tile with a muffled thump. Trembling from the force of it, she quickly fumbled it back into its proper place and shut off the water. Mikhail smiled to himself, hearing her release with that delightful moaning sound. That was all he needed to hear. He stepped quickly out of the room, heading back into his. He knew now. This girl was a nymph. She was so sexually frustrated that being molested by her captor turned her on. He could use this. It could help him keep her in line. This would certainly be an interesting trip... he thought to himself as he returned to his room, slowly closing the door behind him.