Title: DAY 3
Pairing: Hans Gruber x Fem!Reader x The Interrogator || Die Hard x Closet Land
Categories: smut
Kinktober: Threesome
Word count: 2.7k
Nothing.
You could see nothing, and you could hear nothing.
Everything was deadly quiet.
Your breathing was even and still, gradually growing rapid with fright. Why couldn’t you see? Why couldn’t you move your hands?
Thud. Thud.
The sound of heavy footsteps came from behind you, accompanied by the sound of someone breathing right beside you.
The footsteps ceased… and there was only the sound of breathing. Your head turned helplessly towards the noise, but to what avail? You could not see…
“Why are you here?” A grave voice asked, “Confess.” And then a loud banging sound behind you that made you jerk forward, but you were held back by whatever was tied around your arms. From the brief sensations, you discerned you might be on some form of chair, and your wrists were bound to the chair behind you with handcuffs.
“You can’t fool anyone, speak.”
You had no idea what was going on. What could you have done that got you here? At most, you’ve crossed the road in restricted areas, but surely that was not serious enough to be abducted like this.
A hand grabbed your shoulder, squeezing it painfully. “Speak,” repeated the person. “You want me to jog your memory, hm?” The loud banging noise came again, this time from your front.
“Were you accomplices to the terrorist?”
“What?”
“Don’t act foolishly, we already know everything.”
The treatment continued, forcing you to admit to something, which you would have had you any idea what this man wanted from you. You were confused, disoriented… terrified. Then that man said he’d leave. You heard the door.
Minutes went by, until…
Steps again? You curled in the seat, afraid the man returned, but this time whoever spoke had a different accent, a different pitch. It must not have been the same man. Had there always been two people?
“Tell them… tell them the truth,” A man’s voice… whiny. A bit theatrically whiny, you noted. “He won’t spare us if you won’t tell him, say what he wants to hear.”
You jerked forward, but you were still bound in place. “I don’t know what that man wants from me… I’d confess had I done something, but I don’t know what it is I’m accused of!”
“You don’t know? He didn’t tell you? It’s about the terrorist. You worked with him… He knows it already.”
What terrorist? You had no idea what these people were on about. But you were frightened, and anything was better than nothing.
“I don’t know who… what’s his name, the terrorist?”
“I can’t tell you; he’ll do worse things to me.” He crawled over, clinging to your leg. “Please tell him what you did. Spare me…”
You only now realised you had no idea what connection this man had to anything, so you drew your leg away.
“Please, Y/N, be merciful!”
“Who are you… You work for the terrorist? You want to shift the blame to me? How do you know my name?”
“No-no, I don’t work for Mr Gruber.” He suddenly shrieked, and loud, rapid steps approached.
“You rascal, you know the terrorist and this one here? You’re deep in shit now. That’s half a confession by now.”
There was a chase, based on what you could hear, and by now you were thoroughly terrified. You would rather lie a confession, because whoever this Interrogator was, he wouldn’t accept the truth, which was that you did not have ties with the culprit.
You confessed. You followed up every single one of the questions with whichever answer the Interrogator wanted, only to know what was happening. Pleased at last, the set of steps belonging to the one asking the question moved behind you, then you felt your arms released, handcuffs removed. Then he removed the blindfolds, and you could see where you were.
At first, it hurt: the sudden light, the emptiness of the room, everything overstimulating you.
Then you saw him… the man who had been asking questions.
A tall man with a stoic expression – unreadable, standing with his arms crossed in front of you. He did not let any emotion show, and that was making him eerie.
“How vile… that you should work with the likes of Hans Gruber.” The man spoke, starting to circle your chair, his fingers tracing across the back of your seat and shoulders. “Hm, he chose well…”
Sharply, your head was yanked back by the hair, and his mouth was on your neck, sucking a mark and then dismissing you just as roughly.
You turned your head in shock to look at him, standing from the chair and starting to back away. Fast.
He made no attempt to catch you… He stood there, expression unreadable as you tried to back away more and more. Then your back hit something. Before you could turn, your wrists were caught by a set of strong hands and wrapped around yourself – in a very twisted and forced hug from behind.
“Good girl… You told them the truth, hm?”
You recognised the voice, even though now it sounded like mocking rather than that whiny begging from before. You tried to squirm away, but to no avail; the man had an iron grip on you and was almost amused by your attempts to leave.
“Hey, hey… no need for this now, you already told him everything, right? What, you’re not scared of me, are you? I helped, remember?” He was mocking you. “Come on, you told him you work for me… so why should you be scared now… your boss would never harm you.” He grinned by your ear as you finally escaped and tried to run from him, only to be caught by the Interrogator this time.
“You recognise him, don’t you? You admitted to it. Why are you running from him now? He and I must have a word with you.” Then he held you still as Hans approached you, with the same sheepishly mischievous gaze you saw as you ran from him.
The two men had you kneeling between them, both demanding your attention. They had removed their lengths outside their trousers and were stroking themselves eagerly, expecting you to replace their hand. You tried to give it to them both, but neither was satisfied; both wanted to be the one whose mouth was on. Despite having two hands, you only had one mouth, so you could not give them both the same level of interest, no matter what you did.
For a little while, your mouth would be sucking down on Hans. Just as he seemed to get pleased, your head would be yanked away by the Interrogator, who would take you to his side to suck him, the men exchanging you like you were their toy.
You were their toy.
By now, they were both fully erect with no more need for preparations, only using you to amuse themselves due to your frightened look and servitude towards them. How willingly were you submitting to them? But you had no other way around it – they were two, and both had more power over you than you could fathom.
Your mouth was on the Interrogator when Hans removed himself from your hand, groaning, mockery gone from his voice.
“Enough of that,” he called, and you tried to look at him, but the Interrogator held your head in place.
“Not yet, I am not done.”
Hans had gone away for what felt like a few minutes, while you continued to give the Interrogator your undivided attention. Your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, your lips on his tip to tease him before you’d take as much as you could of him in your mouth. His hand moved to the back of your head, forcing you to take more each time, greedy.
Then Hans returned, and you stole a passing glance. You noticed he had removed his suit jacket and tie and unbuttoned his shirt. The man signalled the Interrogator and, in an instant, he stopped and removed himself from your mouth as well.
“Get up, follow,” Hans instructed, pointing at the chair you were previously bound to. As you looked to see where he was pointing, the Interrogator had forcefully shoved down your trousers and knickers, placing a kiss on your ass.
“You won’t be needing these,” Hans explained; the Interrogator pressed himself against you from behind, making you feel his erection pressed against your ass.
“Go sit.”
You did.
Hans and the Interrogator exchanged glances, then Hans smiled as if he was onto something you were not, then came over and knelt in front of you, forcing your legs open. The Interrogator came, helping Hans with this, forcing your legs to remain open as he stared down at you, no word spoken, just his piercing gaze that moved from you to Hans, who was feeling his beard.
Then Hans delved in, his mouth on your cunt, licking a long stripe with his tongue flat between your folds. He lapped at your arousal, which, despite the situation you were in, had not failed to occur. You were dripping, and as Hans felt your juices on his tongue, a low rumbly groan escaped him.
One hand he kept on your thigh, although that was not necessary because the Interrogator had your legs locked in place, and his other hand down to his erection, stroking himself.
Then the Interrogator spoke.
“Describe what she tastes like; she might want to hear.” He spoke, drilling through you with his eyes.
That made your cunt throb and clench against Hans’ tongue, who disliked the interruption. He just stared back at the Interrogator.
“Don’t interrupt, unless you want me to interrupt when your turn comes.”
He meant it when he said they’d be taking turns. When Hans had had enough, he waved the other man down, while they swapped places, this time Hans being the one to hold the other man’s legs open.
You were doing the best you could do, refraining from giving them the satisfaction of a reaction, of an orgasm. You did not want to come off as a whore who enjoyed this – although you did. The situation was dire, but they were doing marvellously in eating you out. The Interrogator was doing a fantastic job.
Hans had been more focused on his enjoyment, being sloppy about it. The Interrogator was locked on getting that orgasm from you. You weren’t sure if it was for your sake or his own ego. You suspected his need for control was the reason why he was going to such lengths.
Both his mouth and fingers worked together, and unlike Hans, he paid attention to each subtle change of your body, the increasing breathing speed, the squirming, the whining. He noted them and pushed what he had been doing in an effort to intensify those reactions and force an orgasm out of you.
His mouth was abusing your clit, and his fingers were following the rhythm until you started to show signs of your orgasm approaching. The signs were so obvious, the jerking of your hips was too intense for even Hans to notice as his grip on you had to tighten to keep you open for the other man.
“Stop fighting it, if you don’t give in, he’ll do it again until you finish, trust me – this guy is worse than me.” Hans mocked, and the Interrogator replied with a snarky grunt, causing Hans to roll his eyes and shut up.
When you came, the Interrogator did not stop; in fact, he continued to guide you through it, but not from any charitable intention. Far from it, he wanted to see how far he could push your body, for how long he could control these reactions from you. He got off seeing you helpless because of him.
Then the two men drew back again, leaving you shaking and trying to recover while they admired you, but they were not done just yet. Neither of them had cum yet, and that was unacceptable, so Hans came over, pulling you by the shoulder to stand up again.
“I can’t… not yet. I am tired.” You argued, but Hans just raised his brow at you, motioning the Interrogator to come over with a subtle movement of his head.
The other man came and held you standing, his chest against your back, his arms around yours, forcing you to stand, despite how weak your legs were. Hans towered over you from the front, sliding his hand down to your thigh, then moving it up around his hip, securing it there while his other hand gripped his own erection.
You braced yourself for it, trying to look away. The Interrogator punished you, biting on the exposed side of your neck, and you had to turn your head towards Hans again to stop the other man from biting you.
Hans Gruber had guided himself inside you, pushing up into your body, without giving you a second to adjust. You were lucky enough that the Interrogator made you cum because that made you sufficiently wet to be able to take Hans without flinching too much.
Hans then grinned at you, leaning his head against yours, pecking your lips in the form of mockery. “I am the nice one, remember?” He licked over your lips languidly. “He won’t warm you up.”
Warm you up? For what –
Then you felt it. The Interrogator removed one hand from you and reached down between your bodies, gripping his erection and pressing it against your butt. Your head tried to turn, but this time, Hans bit you, licking over the bite.
“No, he doesn’t want to be watched. I do. Eyes on me, okay?”
You whined, tensing your body at the realisation of what the Interrogator wanted to do, but Hans felt it too, scoffing.
“You are not helping your case, doll. Relax, or else it hurts more.”
You did your best, but how could you when that imposing size was pressing against your ass, forcing its way inside you, little by little, while Hans was already in you, still, stretching you. As the Interrogator pushed himself inside you, you leaned forward and hugged Hans to distract yourself from the ache, which made him let out a surprised little sound.
You were sure the men were smirking at each other, but you did not care…
Luckily, once the Interrogator had been inside you, he was nice enough not to fuck you right away, just move you against his chest again, while Hans was the one to abuse your cunt with greedy, desperate thrusts, burying himself as deep as he could inside you, unbothered by the fact he could feel the other man’s size instead you too.
The Interrogator began to move only when your ass completely adjusted to him, and even then, the thrusts were slow, monotone in rhythm. He did it to add more movement and drive you crazier. As for him, your reactions were what aroused him.
Hans continued fucking into you, with one hand holding your thigh up, the other holding your jaw. The Interrogator’s hands had also moved, one arm around you – holding you up, the other squeezing one of your breasts.
The first to cum was Hans.
He removed himself from you and pulled your head down to take him in your mouth and suck him as he spilt his seed down your throat. The Interrogator took the opportunity, seeing you bend over now, and his hands moved to your hips, holding them as he suddenly roughed his pace – fucking your ass properly this time.
He was not playing around anymore.
It took all your strength not to accidentally bite down on Hans due to how hard the Interrogator was working behind you.
Then it was that man’s turn too. He did not pull out – he had no reason to. He finished inside your ass, giving it a hard smack before both men pulled out of your orifices. You were caught from falling by the Interrogator, who dragged you over to that chair.
Hans Gruber and the Interrogator dressed themselves, leaving you there to catch your breath as they seemingly discussed something. Then the Interrogator left, without giving you a second look, while Hans approached. He placed one forceful kiss on your mouth, grinning.
“Good girl.”
Then he pulled away from you and followed in the Interrogator’s steps, leaving you there, alone in that interrogation room.
Alan Rickman Characters & Their Favorite Toys --- Part Two
Author's Note: I decided to write a part two to this fun ask I received a few months ago. Let me know if you'd like to see a part three!!
👉 Part One Here.
Character(s): Hans Gruber x Gender Neutral Reader, Frank Benson, The Interrogator x Gender Neutral Reader, and Eli Michaelson x Female Reader.
Warning(s)‼️: (Given under each individual story, below the break).
Word Count: 1.2k
Author’s Note: Most of the “toys” in this edition are not traditional sex toys, but rather equipment or a type of play. I really wanted to make sure each character was different (I’m hoping if I end up making another part, I don’t end up duplicating. However, if that were to happen, I plan on making that particular drabble stand out).
Hans Gruber - Gun (Play)
Warning(s)‼️: Rape/Non-con Elements. Oral Sex. Cockwarming. Come Swallowing. Desk Pet.
Hans Gruber, a lover of sex toys? Bitte! He was a busy man, an enjoyer of luxury and wealth to the extreme. Sex toys were made for lesser men, those who wanted pleasure but never could manage to retain a date. He was no limp-dicked loser, ending the day with his cock burrowed in a lube-coated fleshlight. An exceptional thief, he was more than capable of stealing hearts and persuading both women and men alike to service him sleep with him. That was what his Glock was for, after all…
Hans sat at his desk, his handgun lazily pressed inches from his latest pet’s heart (aiming for the back of their skull was perhaps more persuasive, but not tenable at the moment for obvious reasons).
You lunged forward, eagerly slurping his heavy, lengthy cock all the way down your throat, his full, aching balls dangerously close to following suit. Cocking the hammer, he enjoyed your flinching back in fear—enjoyed how you, his pet, hollowed your cheeks in the manner that he absolutely adored, the manner that nearly always sent him over the edge. And this time was no different, his balls drawing up in preparation, cock spilling down your throat without warning.
A low grunt left Hans’ thin lips against his pristine, tightly held self-control, his hips, shallowly thrusting, finally stilling with his finish. His slowly softening erection remained on your tongue, the salty, slightly bitter taste of his seed lingering on your lips as he placed the cocked gun back onto the desk’s surface. Hans had other matters to now attend to…
Frank Benson - His Hand
Warning(s)‼️: Male Masturbation.
Mmmmph. Lieutenant General Frank Benson was a busy man—his calculating, sarcastic mind frequently rewinding the news from his latest intelligence briefings and visiting offensive strategies even whilst off-duty. Frank Benson was a simple man. He did not have the time for such luxuries as self-pleasure.
He utterly despised waking up in the middle of the night, his thickly veined cock that curved to the left hard and aching, and keeping him from achieving the little sleep his demanding position allowed. Frank groaned aloud, groaned into the pitch-black silence of his bedroom, knowing full well he’d hate himself in fifteen minutes time.
Frank rolled onto his back, hazel eyes staring at the plaster beginning to peel across the ceiling, slipping his large hand into his boxers to tightly grip his unrelenting, completely undisciplined erection with an unrestrained moan. He gave the tip a harsh squeeze, precum bubbling out of the slit, his fist painfully pumping his partially dry member in an attempt to spread the meager, clear liquid around.
Shame seized his chest as he began to pant, already embarrassingly close to the point of no return. Frank loathed being captive to physical need, but after years of ignoring his cravings, he’d discovered giving in was easier—at least it meant a quick return to blissful, untroubled sleep. He never wanted to enjoy the feeling—never bothered to invest in the creative catalog of toys of that nature he’d casually glimpsed in taboo magazines.
No, Frank thought, as his hot, sticky cum erupted across his fingers, simultaneously coating his sheets, naked skin, and bedclothes, his hand was more than enough to get him by.
The Interrogator - Bondage & Restraints
Warning(s)‼️: Non-con Elements. Pain Play.
A tall man with dark brunette hair that waved at the edges stood alone in a slate grey room, a maze of white fluted columns surrounding him. Well, nearly alone. A seated figure lay before the well-dressed man, their back stiff and upright, body unnaturally still.
The interrogator silently admired his handiwork—thick ropes wrapped tightly around you, his prisoner’s wrists, torso, and ankles, securing your body to the wicker chair. He loved the way your skin bulged where the bonds dug too deep—when he removed the restraints hours later, the skin there would be red and chafed. Raw.
He walked behind the chair, fingertips elegantly removing the silk blindfold from your eyes, marveling at the way you ever so slightly leaned into the physical contact. He always knew just how to make someone desperate, how to make someone painfully wanting.
He’d enjoy breaking you. Yes, indeed.
Effortlessly, he tilted the lightweight chair back on his hind legs, smirking at the look of unconcealed terror blooming across your face.
He let the chair fall back to the floor with a sharp clatter.
Esteemed Professor Eli Michaelson stood up from his desk, unbuckling his trousers in one fluid motion, pleased at his latest toy’s, err, student’s, punctual arrival. Nothing compared to the real thing, in his mind, he thought with a chuckle. No, nothing beat a young girl’s desperation to earn an A, even if it meant letting their professor fuck them across his desk into utter oblivion.
He sank himself into your pussy without preamble, delightfully wet from his encounter hours before. Eli was eager, dreadfully eager, to leave his mark once more upon you, laying a swift succession of smacks across your arse as he continued to thrust from behind. Your nose was unceremoniously buried in a stack of papers he’d been marking until you’d waltzed in—make-up now smudging the white sheets as sweat mixed with your tears of pleasure.
Eli was smirking—your total ruination was quite satisfactory. It was like an aphrodisiac—for he knew you weren’t untethered, you still saw your out-of-town boyfriend on the weekends during the school year. Yet, here you were, whoring out your body for a grade—students were so simple.
He was close—balls heavy and full, smacking against your cunt with every one of his rushed thrusts. Eli was grunting—his low baritone gravelly and absolutely out of breath. He burrowed into you, his lengthy cock fully sheathed in your warmth, his stocky arms wrapped around your body a little more intimately than he would have liked as he came, rope after white rope of thick cum.
Eli pulled away, breath not fully controlled, droplets of sweat dribbling down his back underneath his unbuttoned dress shirt. He tucked himself within his trousers without any embarrassment, admiring the view of his student’s, your, naked arse, his essence slowly trickling out your pussy. He pushed his seed back inside and pulled your panties up, giving you a playful smack to let you know that he was done.
“And Y/L/N,” he called, as you were straightening yourself up, attempting to fix your make-up, but to no avail.
“Yes, sir?” His soft cock gave a twitch at that.
“Stay after class.” You, his student, exited his office, off to take your seat in his lecture hall. Five minutes passed before Eli permitted himself to chase after.
Summary: Rules were made to be followed. Each and every one of them knew what the rules were, and there were always whispers about what would happen if they were broken.
Sometimes though, if you were special, better than the rest, well…sometimes a blind eye could be turned to those who broke them.
Pairing: The Interrogator x Fem Reader (sorta read the notes!)
Tag(s)/Warning(s): Dehumanization of Prisoners, Torture, Restraints, Assault, Physiological Abuse, Sexual Assault, Mentions of Incest, Mentions of Rape, Boss/Secretary Relationship, Rough Oral (M Receiving), Female Masturbation, Name Calling, I Can Make Him Worse, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT
A/N: OH SHE AIN'T NEVER SEEING THE GATES OF HEAVEN WITH THIS ONE. Look if you've ever watched Closet Land you know this is about to be unhinged so turn back now if you aren't trying to read some fucked up shit. Also the 'reader' character has a 'name' and so does the Interrogator, but not really. It's explained in like the first sentence so yeah.
Anyways I'm going to go pray.
Word Count: 10K (In 3 days almost)
Rule Number 1: No Names
The moment someone entered the building, they were no longer themselves. Rather, they were who they were hired to be. Instead of a first and last name, they were assigned a letter from A to Z. Pair that with a job title, whether it be a doctor, secretary, cleaner, or something more active like an officer or an interrogator. That was who they were until they left the building for the day.
And on the off chance a colleague visited from some faraway office, well, they would get a number.
Simple, easy.
Unlike the work.
While interesting, there was something about the work that made sure most people didn't last longer than a few years in a position. Whether it be the brutal alternating hours, where one would work 8 am to 5 pm one day, and the next was a midnight to midnight shift.
Or the constant vigilance outside of work of having to make sure nothing slipped out about the workplace, and the type of activities that went on. The reasons were many and varied for anyone working there. Even for someone as simple as a secretary like her.
At least most of them were paid handsomely.
So, when she entered that nondescript building, which was located on a nondescript road, which was hidden by the many trees that surrounded the complex, she was no longer who her friends and family knew her as. She was merely Secretary I, or Ms. I, whenever she wasn't in a group with Doctor I or Nurse I, the other two women that she shared a letter with.
Had they been in a larger facility, it would have been confusing. But with their line of work, smaller, tight-knit, was better. It was easier to find and deal with any leakers that way.
"Ms. I," Officer A nodded to her as she placed her brown leather messenger bag and insulated water bottle in an open-topped black plastic bin.
"Mr. A," she acknowledged politely with a curt nod and small smile as she watched him push the bin onto the conveyor belt of the scanner. "How're your kids doing? I heard one of them was graduating from high school soon."
Rule Number 2: Always Be Polite. You Never Know Whose Watching.
He smiled at her, genuine surprise in his eyes that lit up with warmth at the mention of his kids.
"You remembered! They are doing great. The oldest just visited the university they got accepted into. One down, one more to go," he joked.
"It is my job to remember things," she stated with a cheeky smirk as she walked towards the human height scanner placed next to the item scanner. "But that's good to hear, maybe they'll end up working here one day?"
"Doubt it, kids still scared of his shadow."
A muted chuckle left her lips at his words as she entered the scanner. Had she had anything on her person that was prohibited, it would have rang a sharp, blaring noise paired with a strobing red light. But of course she didn't.
She knew the rules.
Stepping out on the other side of the machine, she was greeted with her bin of items, which she carefully collected as Officer A rolled his chair over so that they were across from one another.
"There's no shortage of shadows here, but you never know," she said, putting the messenger bag back on and collecting her water bottle that jingled as a metal charm clinked against the body of it. "Maybe he'll change his mind one day and want to help with the mission."
"One day hopefully! It'll make the family proud if he did with how there's always been a generation of us here making trouble," Officer A joked as he watched Ms. I gather her things and begin to ready herself for another full day of work.
Making sure everything was as it should be, she shook her head and took a deep breath. It was a ritual she did before entering the depths of a building that held an untold amount of secrets.
The smile on her lips melted into a line, her eyes steeled, and she rolled her shoulders back. Tension pulled at every muscle as she walked forward towards heavy iron doors that separated them from the world. But before she could be buzzed into another world, she was stopped at the sound of Officer A addressing her.
"Oh and Ms.I," he called, that cheerful tone of his taking on a more amused lilt as he spoke. "Overheard Dr. I saying something about how there was a stubborn one tonight."
The hand that she had on the metal door handle tightened. A slight grin tugged at lips that had been drawn tight as the grip on her water bottle twitched just a smidge. There was a tilt of her head as she turned around to look at the man. Steely eyes faltered for a split second, and Officer A smirked at the woman who was no longer the same person whom he had just been exchanging pleasantries.
"Stubborn? Those are my favorites."
Rule Number 3: Everyone Was Guilty
She made sure of that.
Whether it be the artist who pleaded and begged them the entire time they were questioned. Swearing on everything they loved, that the art they created was not in any way a message to the people. Or to the journalist who was quick to rat everyone in their organization out in hopes of a more lenient sentence.
She knew how to twist every word and every action. Mold everything that was said or done to make a narrative that fit piece by piece into a perfect puzzle. To find every scrap of information that existed on that subject of interest. Photos, recordings, friends, family, web searches, book interests, everything.
No stone was left unturned.
No lead was left unfollowed.
It was part of her job to gather it up, summarize it all, and tie it into a pretty little report for —
"Ms.I, Dr.I told me you had the medical summary for CEG248?"
Her fingers froze mid-stroke of the keyboard keys. Concentration broken by the sound of her name wrapped in a smooth, velvet, baritone that had just a slight nasally quality to it. She almost smiled a real smile when she looked up at him.
The Interrogator.
Hair swept back neatly, with only a few strands that lay across the middle of his forehead, his hazel eyes observed her with the same amount of intensity with which he put into his work.
A lot.
Pair that with a pleasant, almost friendly smile plastered on his lips with a warmth that never reached his eyes as he waited for her to answer, and that was the interrogator. Or as she usually addressed him as —
"Mr. I," she greeted with the same amicability, before her fingers began to glide expertly across the keyboard again to find the notes he was referring to. "You seem to be here earlier than usual. Someone in trouble?"
"Hmm, you can put it that way if you like. Though more of a reaping what's been sown type of trouble," he responded in an even tone as he crossed his arms against his chest. "I'm sure you've heard by now about our problem child."
"Problem child?" she feigned ignorance with a flick of her eyes up to him before looking down at the computer screen. "Ohh you mean the simple street artist escaping all the little tricks you have up your sleeve? Don't tell me you're losing your touch," she teased as she opened up the file that he was referencing. "Maybe you're getting rusty in a place like this?"
There was a pause as she clicked around on the screen before the mechanical noises of the printer behind her desk began to rumble to life. Page after page of medical records and vitals inked in black as she looked up at Mr. I, who now wore a sort of lopsided smile. Never had a smile looked so threatening.
Being menacing and kind all at once was a skill hard to acquire, and harder to maintain. It was a balance that was difficult for most people to toe. Important for getting close to someone so that they felt safe enough to tell you their darkest secrets. The things they would never whisper out loud in case the walls were listening.
But he was good at that.
Very good at it, actually.
Not that she gave any indication of being affected by the dichotomy of two different emotions being directed at her. What could she say? When you've worked here for so long with some of the most daunting people, it was easy to compartmentalize these things. A necessity almost in this line of work.
"Rusty? That's the first time anyone's told me that," he muttered, his lips pursed as he took the papers she had offered him.
Hot off the press, as one would say, as he paged through the papers. His eyes were sharply scanning, searching for any bit of information that would be helpful with the 'problem'.
He stood for a few moments, silent, and she knew better than to disturb his meticulous search for the truth. Or whatever truth they deemed was close enough. So instead of going back to her noisy work of typing up a report and looking at schedules, she watched him, drank in the sight of the tall man as he shifted his weight from one foot to another.
A look of concentration etched on his features as his furrowed, and she could see the slight indent that sat right where the bridge of his elegant Roman nose began. Even with his glasses, she could see how his eyes fluttered, long eyelashes ghosting the skin of his face as he read.
That was the other thing he had in his favor.
Handsome.
Disgustingly so.
And he knew it. It was an asset. Because who didn't want to trust someone who looked like him? Deep yet soft voice that was intoxicating to listen to and perfect for storytelling. Devastatingly handsome and tall. Why, it was a winning combination anywhere. But especially inside this fortress they called their workplace.
She smirked as she observed him, her fingers itching to run through the soft brown hair that had specks of blond running through it. There was an urge to mess up the 'angel' wings that he had styled the sides of his hair to look like. Make them something more in character, closer to what she and others knew he could be.
Brutal wasn't even a close quantifier.
"Interesting."
So deep in her musings, she hadn't even noticed that he had looked up at her until his voice punctured the silence.
She cleared her throat, and with it, her vision focused on Mr. I, who smirked at her. No doubt catching her leering eyes as he looked through the document.
Never one to back away from his perceptive eyes, she brushed it off and asked, "What's that?"
"It seems like our Dr. I found something that might be of use for our little problem."
"She's always finding something isn't she? May I?"
"Mhmm, right here," he pointed out, his finger on a paragraph that was hidden in the middle of a page.
Taking the paper from him, she scanned the words he had pointed out and deciphered the terms with ease, even with the amount of jargon that had been thrown in it. Twice she read it. Once to get an initial thought and twice to confirm what they had both read.
And with the confirmation, there was a smile. A smirk, really, as she looked at him and found him mirroring her own expression. Though with his, she could already see the cogwheels spinning, and it thrilled her to no end at what the mind of his was formulating.
Impatience pounded through her veins, and she had begun to tap her feet, the click of her heels echoing on the cold marble floor.
"This wasn't on the original?"
He shook his head 'no' and she handed the stack of papers back to him.
"It seems like it was held back on the account of privacy."
They shot a mutual look of disgust at one another.
"Privacy?" she scoffed to herself, garnering a nod from the man who tucked the papers under his arm. "Well, they can explain themselves when the time comes. But what I'm more curious about is what you're going to do."
"I have several ideas, however..." he paused, the frown from a moment ago replaced with a slight smile. "I'm sure you know I prefer to show rather than tell."
The thrill that shot up her spine made her want to jump up from her chair at his words and follow him like a lost pet. But, how unprofessional would that be? Instead, she opted for leaning forward, putting her elbow on the desktop, and placing her chin on her closed fist.
"Is that how you ask people for help?"
There was a slight twitch of his lips at her words before he spoke, "Oh, you only know I have one person I prefer to go to for things like this."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. I."
Back was the self-assured smirk on his lips as he looked her up and down before asking,
"Really?"
Rule Number 4: One Interrogator Inside; One Supervisor Outside
Whether it be a doctor so that they could intervene medically if necessary, which was hardly ever the case, as most interrogators could tell with practiced ease, of someone's breaking point. Or another interrogator who was dealing with a party related to the subject their fellow interrogator was questioning.
There was always supposed to be someone there to observe.
Why?
For accountability, as she was once told. But most of the time it was an underling watching. Someone who had less knowledge, less experience in dealing with what was happening in the gray concrete room that housed a subject of interest.
Also, who were they to be accountable to if they were by definition the law of the land? She didn't know. And she couldn't care less as she would be the last to complain about it, as she made herself comfortable in the one padded chair in the observation room.
It was the very first room that she had watched him do what he was best at with such ruthless efficiency that she couldn't help but stare at him in awe when he stepped out of the room.
She had watched the subject of the day collapse to the ground after only a few hours of questioning, before they were begging to sign a confession of treason. He hadn't even truly gotten started as the warden had told her, but she had seen enough.
The cruel kindness he had started off with, had already lit something deep in the pits of her stomach as she watched him with fascination while he lured the subject into a false sense of security.
By the end of it, there was still a smile on his face as he thanked the subject for cooperating. Plucking the paper out of their hand as they sobbed and trembled on the floor before he stood over them, and admired what he had done.
If someone had asked her what she had been thinking during her observation of the man she would come to know as Mr.I, she wouldn't have shied away from the answer, even if it wasn't what they would have been expecting.
A giggle, an almost childish-sounding one, left her lips at the memory before her attention was drawn to a door that was on the far end of the room being opened. At first, the door opened to only the background of darkness.
Nothing was at the doorway except the specter of the black hallway in the background that led to the room. Until a speck of white appeared for a brief moment, moving from outside to inside of the room in a fluid motion.
The door slammed shut, and on the floor right in front of the door was the white speck she had seen. A subject on their knees as they banged and screamed to be let out. They clawed at the door, pounded on the metal that did not yield as they screamed for their lawyer. For someone.
Anyone.
But no one answered.
"Scream, scream all you want, no one's comin to get you."
If they knew what was good for them, they would confess this time around instead of putting on an act of resistance that was all but futile. But she knew they wouldn't. Hoped they wouldn't truly. Because where was the fun in that?
No, it was the reason he had brought her to observe this little play. He knew this one wouldn't disappoint, and when she saw him step into the room, unfazed by the subject who screamed and cursed at him. She knew she was in for a treat as that empty smile appeared on his face.
"And we're off the the races," she whispered.
Rule Number 5: All Charges Must Have A Signed Confession
No rule made him want to blow his brains out as much as that rule. A waste of time, effort, and resources that could be put to other uses. Not that he would ever say it out loud. But it was true.
What was the point of having someone sign a confession when they all knew they were guilty? They wouldn't be here, locked in this room with him if they were innocent. Better yet, they wouldn't be in this place at all if they were as innocent as they proclaimed they were.
Yet, as much as it frustrated him, it did bring him some sort of joy.
No, joy wasn't the right word.
Maybe delight?
Thrill?
Because it was certainly thrilling to watch the hope that he had built in them crumble the moment they realized he wasn't there to help them leave. The moment they screamed their throats raw trying to get anyone, someone, to hear that they had an 'apology' letter and were supposed to go free.
That they were innocent.
But no one was innocent. Not in this place.
"Prisoner CEG248, I've been told you've not been eating lately," Mr. I stated as he sat down on the familiar seat at the head of the table in the middle of the room.
Placing the briefcase that was his usual companion on the table, he took his time in opening it. His movements precise and fluid as he pulled the confession papers out and placed them down, and next to them, a fountain pen. One which revealed quite a sharp tip to it when he uncapped it, the gold glinting in the cold light.
Once everything was in its place, he closed the heavy bag with the same meticulousness before his eyes bored down on the subject who stood on the opposite side of the table.
Their arms were wrapped around themselves defensively as they glared at him with such loathing that a lesser person would have been shaken. There was a fire of defiance in their eyes as they stared at him with such loathing, and the flames from their gaze licked at every cell in his body.
A warm rush traveled down his spine, and it coiled tightly in his stomach as he shifted in the seat. Not from the discomfort of the hateful gaze, but from the way he took pleasure from being the one to cause it.
"Well, that won't do at all," he continued, crossing one leg over the other and leaning forward to get a good look at the subject who hadn't moved since he had entered the room. "Our policy is to make sure no matter the charges that everyone is to be kept as healthy as possible. And you're making it quite hard on-"
"I'm making it hard?" they shouted, a bewildered, almost crazed look in their eyes as they cut the man off, who only raised an amused eyebrow at the outburst. "This has got to be a fucking joke! You're acting like I'm not the one who was dragged out of my house in the middle of the night and thrown in here for some bullshit!"
"I understand how frustrating this is, but as I told you before, our officers don't make such mistakes."
Cool and collected as always as he watched the way his response infuriated the subject more; their anger emboldening them as they marched up to the table. Their hands were balled into tight fists as they slammed them on the table, making the papers on the surface slide a little.
Yet, his features didn't change.
He was utterly unmoved by the emotion.
'That's right, just a little closer.'
"So you're infallible? Is that what you're saying?"
Yes.
"No, but our officers are, and I can assure you that the information they received comes from only the best among us."
While he couldn't see it, he could feel her smirk on his skin. It was an image burned into his mind that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand just as the thought of her watching.
His eyes flicked to his side and then back at CEG248, who continued to wear an expression of disgust at his words. Yet it did nothing to quell the waves in his stomach that had already begun to travel further downward.
He had wanted to draw this out, bask in the despair that soaked the atmosphere of the room, but it seemed like even he himself didn't want to cooperate with his own plans. Another time maybe?
Because there would always be another.
"Now, let's continue from yesterday, why don't we?"
"No."
He tilted his head slightly at their answer. A smile still etched on his thin lips as he watched them narrow their eyes at him, their grip on the table tightening at his look.
"No?"
"If you think I'm going to sit here and feed you some story to make the pack of lies you have the truth," they spat, as they prowled closer to him with a face twisted in fury, "well you better find someone else because I haven't done anything and I'm not going to say I have!"
'Almost there.'
"Then how about you prove your innocence?" he asked with a knowing look and a nonchalant tone that seemed to infuriate them further. "I'm not here for a story; I simply want the truth. Haven't I told you that already?"
Even in the cold room, he could feel the heat that radiated off of them. The pure burning desire to pounce on him and bludgeon him to death. But they wouldn't. They could try. He wanted them to try; it made it a better experience when they got physical.
Their lips moved, but what was said was inaudible. But that wouldn't do. Not here. Not in his kingdom. He had to know everything. It was his right.
"What was that?"
Silence.
"Prisoner CEG-"
"I said you're a fucking lunatic!"
Not the worst he's ever been called. Not even by a long shot.
"I tell you what you want and then what? Huh?" they yelled, throwing their arms out in emphasis, their feet drawing them closer to him as their eyes held his attention while they ranted. "You do the same thing to the next person right? Come up with some false narratives to have them throw someone else innocent under the bus isn't that right?"
"Do you really think you would be here if you were innocent?" he asked nonchalantly as he watched every minute expression and movement that they made in his direction. "Every artist, every author, every professor, every person who thinks they are above what we do is watched."
Just as he watched them creep closer to him, their eyes revealing only anger, yet he wasn't a fool. He knew already. It was the most common thing that happened.
"Some of them are innocent of course, being good little citizens and toeing the line but never going over it," he explained as he began to tap his foot on the ground as they came closer to him. "Some even support our cause. However," he paused, as they came to a stop just a few steps away from him, their hands unclenched as they stood within reach of him. "You've never been one of them. A troublemaker from the start. So, let's not waste any more time with this charade. Shall we?"
His question was met with that same look of determination that he had seen in all of them beforehand. One that almost always petered out once they finally realized that they never had a choice. Some were harder to break than others, and he was quite fond of those in a way, as they let him play a little longer.
Challenged him.
Just like this one. But just like all of them before, they would just be another notch on his belt.
"Fine then," they finally answered, bringing him out of his musings. A poorly hidden glimmer in their eyes as they prematurely announced their intentions. "Let's."
When the words left their lips, he had to drown the absolute delight that bubbled in his chest because finally.
He hadn't been the only thing in reach when they made their way up to him. As much as they tried to avoid exposing themselves, he saw the quick flicker of interest in the golden dagger of a pen. A weapon to hold against the system that didn't tolerate dissidents. Each and every one of them were the same, no matter how they tried to act as if they were above everything.
Such a fool. All of them
They were fast; he would give them that.
But unfortunately, he was faster.
Had he wanted to stop them from grabbing hold of the pen in the first place, he would have, but there was no fun to be gained from that.
No, the pleasure came from the way they screamed as he grabbed the hand that attempted to plunge the sharp object into his neck. It was quite a popular place to be targeted, which unfortunately made it all the more obvious to their detriment.
"L-Let go of me!" they shrieked in pain as he twisted both of their arms against their back and slammed their front against the table.
The awkward angle of the subject's hands forced them to drop the pen with a loud 'clank' onto the ground as it rolled away from either of their reach. Another pained screech escaped their throat, and the strangled noise did nothing but travel down his spine right to his cock that jumped at the commotion.
Finally.
They were finally at his - their, favorite part of the act. Or at least one of the favorites.
"Now that wasn't very nice of you," he reprimanded in an overly saccharine tone, as he pulled open a hidden compartment on the table that made it look like it had grown arms.
Yanking one of their hands away from their back and eliciting another cry of pain out of them from the force, he slammed the appendage down on the added arm of the table before lifting up a bar from underneath the compartment that wrapped around their wrist before locking them in place.
"CEG248," he huffed out their 'name' as they protested futilely while he snatched their other hand and pulled it in the direction where he had been sitting. "Weren't you ever told it's not nice to attack someone who's just trying to help?"
The question was met with another string of expletives as he searched for something underneath the table, and when he found it, he revealed another compartment just like the other that their hand was locked onto.
Mimicking the same actions as before, he snapped the lock closed, but not before he made sure to draw another delectable cry of pain from them once more as he put more force into securing the lock than necessary. Pleased with his own efforts, he backed away to admire his handiwork.
Each arm was stretched out in either direction as their front was bent over, forced to rest on the edge of the table. Even from the looks of it, it wasn't comfortable. But their comfort was the least of his concern.
Hungry eyes that were darkened with a variety of emotions drank in the sight at such a revealing position, and had he been a weaker man, the groan that he was suppressing would have escaped the moment he had grabbed the defiant little pest.
But he was, even if the trembling legs that were spread in front of him drove heat to every inch of his body and made the ache in his pants ever more clear. It was then that he flicked his eyes up to the opposite wall again. One that cleverly hid the presence of an audience of one, whose own legs were trembling at the sight for a much different reason.
He could almost taste her on his lips as he smirked menacingly in the same direction, before he looked down at the pathetic, quivering body that was forcefully bowed forward.
'Let's finish this up shall we?'
He thought to himself as he stalked back up to them so that he was hovering above them, close enough that he could see the hairs on the back of their neck standing.
"Now that we've sorted that out, I've heard from a little birdy that when you were young, you had a troubled family life. No mother, no siblings, just you and a barbaric father," he rambled as he lowered his head just so that he could blow air on the back of their neck, a yelp of surprise leaving them at his action.
"Is that right?"
The answer he received was silence, as they turned their head in the opposite direction from which they had been holding it. And even from where he was, he could tell their eyes were squeezed shut. Just like the rest, who thought they could wish away their current predicament as if it were a nightmare. A dream they could wake up from.
But it wasn't. This was no dream.
"Answer me. Isn't that right?" he hissed as he pressed himself against their back, their body snapping into panic at the feeling of his arousal that he purposefully shoved against their thinly clothed backside.
"S-stop it! Let go of me!" they protested loudly, yet the strength of it had diminished greatly as they tried to shake him off to no avail.
"Will you confess then? That your art is a message of propaganda that is used to influence others?" he asked as he leaned forward so that his lips were close to their ears, and all they would be able to hear was him.
He had even made it a point to grind his hips against them even harder as he blanketed himself over them, grinning at the shallow gasp that left them even if they tried to hold back.
"Come on, don't you want this to end? All you need to do is give us one little signature," he explained as his hand crept over their hips before he dug his fingers down into the flesh, causing them to yelp. "Just like all the pictures you've signed before. How hard can it be?"
"F-Fuck you!"
Anger and fire still burned in their voice. But so did the sob that they were trying to hide, along with the fragility of the human spirit. And he was more than happy to be the one to break it.
Just like everyone before them.
A wicked grin etched itself on his lips as his mind went back to what he had read before asking, "Like how you're own father fucked you and passed you around to his friends for money?"
The strangled gasp that tore from their throat was enough evidence that what he said was the truth, and the rush of adrenaline he felt was hypnotizing. He could feel how they froze beneath him. Tension strung in every molecule of their being as they stilled. Even their breathing seemed to stop at his words.
Pure silence. Until it wasn't.
"Isn't it true?" he asked, his fingers gripping their hip harder while his other free hand ghosted the skin of their upper thigh that tensed at his touch. "That's why you do it right? You just wanted attention from anyone you could get so you could feel something, anything."
"S-stop it…stop please!"
He shook his head no, not that they could see it, before he made a low noise of disappointment as his fingers began to trail further up the measly gown they gave all their subjects.
"Stop it? Is that what you would tell them when they touched you?" he whispered hotly as the feeling of bare flesh against his digits only spurred him on further with his mission. "Told them to stop even though deep down you knew you deserved it. Why I think you even wanted it isn't that right."
"P-please stop it! I'm innocent! You know I'm innocent! Stop with this pack of lies! I want a lawyer, give me a lawyer!"
Again with the same tiring plea of innocence. When would they learn?
"Tsk, tsk, on CEG248, you know that's not true, and you know I can't do that," he crooned as the hand he had on their hips dropped, but only for it to hover over the bottom of the thin gown, where he played with the fabric that barely covered their skin. "But there is something I can do for you."
With one fluid motion, he pulled the gown up to their waist, exposing their back to the cold room and eliciting a terrified scream from them as they yanked at the unyielding restraints.
They tried to kick, to fight, to keep him away, but all it did was excite him more as their head whipped from side to side as they sobbed in desperation. Cries of terror echoed around the room as his eyes lit up at the exposed skin that was there for the taking.
"No! No Stop! STOP!"
"Confess then."
"No! I won't! I haven't done anything please!"
"Again with the lies. Oh, CEG248 what to do with you?" he sighed with faux disappointment as he ran his fingers across their exposed ass that tensed at his touch. A touch that was oddly delicate for a man who reveled in the misery of others. "Though with an ass like this, I can see why it was hard to stay away from it. Even a degenerate like your father can have taste too I suppose. Now let's take a better look huh?"
He hadn't given them time to even breathe out a scream before he was spreading them open for his eyes to devour. Exposing them to him as he listened to their screams become shaky shrieks as they practically convulsed beneath him. What a humiliating thing to happen to someone. To bring up something so wretched and strip them down.
Yet all he could do was watch with thinly veiled amusement as he continued to stroke the soft flesh that trembled against his hold. And for a split second, his mind wandered and thought about another's flesh that was softer and much more pliant to his touch.
One that was keen to be devoured by him. A soft groan that was drowned out by the noises of what was beneath him escaped his lips, and he flicked his eyes back to the opposite wall before he looked back down in disgust at what was under him.
"STOP! Stop! Please!" they shrilled, as their voice broke with each plea and was muffled by wet sobs that were simply pure music to his ears.
"Will you confess now?"
He was met with an answer that only contained a shaky cry and uneven breathing, which was far from what he wanted. So, he asked again, his grip on them tightening and another wail of despair being ripped from their throat.
"Prisoner CEG248, do you confess to the crime of spreading false propaganda to dissidents that actively oppose what we do in keeping the people safe?"
First, there was silence. And when he was about to repeat himself. A warble. One that he couldn't quite hear, but could easily figure out. However, he wanted it to be clear.
"I will repeat myself again and the answer must be clear-"
He hadn't even finished his thought before he was interrupted by furious shrieks that lacked any sort of fight in them.
"I confess! I confess! I confess!" they screamed again and again until it turned into sobs. "Is that what you want to hear? Is that what you want!"
He smirked.
"Almost. However, a signature is needed as well."
The way their body went lax under him as he spoke only served to exhilarate him more as he let them go and stepped back from the shaking body. A broken body was one thing, a broken mind, well, that was better.
Quietly, he stepped around them and walked over to the papers that had been only slightly disturbed from the earlier sneak attack that they had tried to perpetrate. Plucking another pen, a less lethal one, from his briefcase, he went back over to the subject who was still quivering as wet hiccups escaped their throat.
"I assume I don't have to warn you about any false movements?" he asked as he slid the paper and pen to the hand closest to him.
"Y-yes..yes."
A smile, one that was as close to a genuine one as they would ever get from him, grew on his lips as he unlocked one of their hands and placed the pen next to them. For a moment, they stared at the pen and paper with a dazed expression and empty eyes. There was no attempt to move, not even a single sign that the person they were was still there.
He, however, had no patience for it.
"Prisoner CEG248," he snapped, eliciting a startled noise from them as their gaze flew up to him, terror evident in unsteady eyes.
"Your signature, please."
Pointing at the paper, he watched as their eyes slowly followed in the direction before, silently and without protest, they picked the pen up. Each movement was painfully slow as he watched them ink their name against the paper with trembling hands. With each shaky swoop of a letter, the chance to stop, to go back was shut. And with one final letter, all doors were closed to them.
With a satisfied look on his face, he plucked the pen out of their hand, noting how loose their grip was, and grabbed the signed confession.
"That wasn't hard now was it?" he mused as he left them there, one arm locked to the table as they collapsed on the floor with a strangled sob.
Their limbs flailed as they screamed and yelled incoherent things at him while he calmly placed the signed confession in his briefcase and closed it. Glancing up once more, he stared at the opposite wall, and his lips tugged into a smile as he imagined what was about to await him on the other side.
"Good day CEG248," he simply stated, right before his words were met with another blood-curdling shriek as he picked up his briefcase and exited the room without another word.
Rule Number 6: No Fraternization
Amusing how such a rule was close to the top of the list. She had always wondered how often this had caused issues if they needed to put it so high up and in plain wording.
All of them knew the rules. Some could even recite them word by word if necessary. A violation of any one of them, no matter how small it seemed, could cause the removal of someone from their post. And in the rare instance, they could face the same treatment as the ones who unwillingly called this place home.
However, when he opened the door to the room where she had been observing the entire scene, both of them agreed that some rules were worth forgoing. Especially when they both knew the rule after five which was -
Rule Number 7: Blind Eye for the I
The I being the interrogators. Call it a perk of being a valuable asset.
Valuable enough that sometimes turning a blind eye was better than speaking up. And why would either of them speak up and deprive themselves of this?
The tightness in his pants was suffocating as he gazed upon the definition of desire. One arm wrapped around the back of the chair, while the other was busy between her spread legs as the faint sound of sobbing could still be heard from the other side. He could smell her arousal and faintly hear it as well, as she let out a muted moan while she rubbed circles around her swollen clit that throbbed at the attention.
A sigh of pleasure escaped her as she rolled her hips forward with each stroke of her digits, and he could see a little peek of tongue sticking out from wet lips as her head lolled back.
"Having fun?" he asked, the low timber of his voice going right down to her core as he finally unglued himself from his spot and began to stalk forward.
The door behind him closed and locked on its own as he dropped the briefcase on the ground and began to undo the belt that constricted him. Once free from it, he threw the offending accessory aside on the floor with a breathy sigh as he approached the woman, who had cracked her eyes open just enough that he could see him.
She wore a tiny smirk on her lips before a breathy whine left her throat as he advanced on her, a hungry look in his eyes as he watched her fingers find her glistening entrance that was swollen with need.
"N-Not as much, ah, as I could be," she stuttered, never stopping her ministrations, even as he finally stood to the side of her, the bulge in his pants directly in her line of sight.
Even in the dim room, she could see the darkening stain on his pants, clear evidence of his arousal as she flicked her tongue against her lips before she looked up at him.
"Not as much as we could be having," she added before another moan escaped her lips as curious digits spread up silky folds that ached and begged for more attention.
"They don't like greedy, you know," he groaned as he brought a thumb up to her bottom lip, tracing the swollen flesh before he placed it at the seam of her lips.
Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked up at him, amusement and lust barely hidden in her gaze at his reference to the ones who ultimately ran the show they performed in. With a soft chuckle, her tongue darted from between her lips, tasting the salty digit before she wrapped plump lips around it.
A moan escaped his throat as he watched her suck, a mere example of what she could do for him as her fingers continued to play with her aching slit. Spreading her wetness all around her hungry cunt that throbbed in anticipation from the heated way he was staring down at her.
His hair had become slightly disheveled from the whole ordeal, and it only excited her more that his normally put-together self was absent at the moment. Maybe she should thank CEG248 for helping in that effort. With one last suck, she licked his digit once more before she parted her lips to allow him to pull away. A thin string of saliva connecting the two as he did so.
"But do you?" she finally asked with a lick of her lips.
He didn't answer; instead, he took the thumb that had been in her mouth and swiped his tongue along it. Collecting every bit of her that he could get into his mouth before sucking the digit clean to the sound of her whimper.
"Fuuuckkk," she whined as she reached for him with the arm that had been holding on to the back of the chair. "Please I need you sir please."
A grin, one that was playful yet menacing, appeared on his lips as she stroked his clothed cock at the same pace that she stroked her wet cunt.
"Please, please, please."
"When have I denied my secretary anything?" he purred as he watched thinly veiled desperation cross her features as she knitted her eyebrows together in a silent plea.
"Plenty of times."
"Only because you crave it."
She didn't have a response to his cheeky, self-assured answer because he was right. He was always right, as they were two sides of the same coin. Perfectly matched with one another to the detriment of anyone they had to deal with.
All she could do was pout at him with the cutest look that he didn't think quite fit her.
"Fine, go on then," he purred darkly, his fingers dancing at the waistband of his slacks before they dipped down to unbutton them.
Fire was alight in her eyes as she watched him, the sullen pout already morphing into a look of delight as she watched his fingers continue downward to tug at the zipper.
"Consider it a souvenir from the show."
With practiced hands and a muffled groan, he tugged both pants and boxers down just enough that his cock sprang forward out of its confines and into her hungry sight. The large member glistened with precum from the previous act, but there was still more that flowed out as its owner tugged at it, coating himself with slick before he offered her a turn.
Never having been one to need instructions explained twice to her, or turn something like this down, she opened wide for him, her tongue sticking out obscenely as he tapped the tip of himself on her. White salty liquid coated the pink appendage, as he smeared it all over her mouth, coating every inch so all she could taste was him as her legs spread open even more as she rubbed her soaking cunt.
"That's right, fuck, just like that," he growled, feeding her his cock inch by inch. "Such a good secretary, such a good little girl."
A shiver ran down her body at his praise, and it made the hair on her arm stand up as she listened to the breathy groans that escaped him. The sounds went straight to her cunt that pulsed wildly at his word, and the only answer she could provide was a muffled moan as she wrapped her lips around him and began to hungrily suck.
Over and over he praised her, called her his good girl as she dipped her finger inside her hungry cunt and played with herself, spread her wetness all around her folds to his delight as he watched with lust-lidded eyes. It was a performance like others, but no two were ever exactly the same when it came to them.
Where was the fun to be had in that?
With each suck, she pressed her fingers inside her, swirling them in the same way she swirled her tongue against his tip before she changed to lapping at him. She could taste the salty musk of his precum as it leaked into her mouth, and she swallowed all of it every single time as if it was his gift to her.
Not that what they were doing wasn't already a treat.
Another moan tore itself from her throat when she felt his fingers press at her scalp, massaging the area before a tug at the roots of her hair had her flicking her eyes up in his direction.
"Mmph?"
"Open," he commanded with a shaky breath.
His voice was raspy as he looked down at her damp face and even damper cunt that made a soft squelching noise as she pulled her fingers away from herself. A soft protest left her throat, but she did what he told her, though not before she bobbed her head up and down his cock a few more times before releasing it with a delicious 'pop'.
Groaning at the cold air that suddenly replaced her hot mouth, he took his free hand and trailed a finger along her jaw that ached from the stretch of him in her mouth. He observed every tiny reaction before he gripped the bottom of her jaw tightly.
His digits dug into her skin with such force that discomfort was inevitable, along with lingering imprints. Yet there was no complaint from her lips as he leaned down so that they were both at eye level.
The warmth of his breath tickled her skin as their parted lips brushed each other numerous times, but never did they touch completely. They were so close that she could even see the specks of brown in his hazel eyes that were almost devoured by the blacks of his pupils.
"Keep it open," he murmured, as his lips ghosted against hers again. "Can you do that?"
There was no doubt in her mind that she could, as she nodded, or attempted to nod with his steel grip around her jaw.
"Good," he purred as he dropped his hand from her face and stood up.
The fingers resting in her scalp tightened as he pulled her forward towards him, his free hand now stroking his wet cock that made a similar sound to the one her cunt made as she fingered herself. It was a mouthwatering sound and sight as he brought himself to her mouth, and had she been expecting a gentle introduction, she would have been a fool.
However, she was too practiced to even consider the thought as her mouth was forced wide open as he tugged her head forward while snapping his hips in her direction. A choked, muffled sound escaped her lips, and tears sprang into her eyes as she felt the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat.
But she didn't move, didn't close her mouth as he let out a long, guttural moan that echoed around the walls of the room. No, instead she relaxed completely as sticky fingers began to trace wet circles around her hungry cunt that wished to be as stuffed as her throat was at that very moment.
"Fuckkk," he hissed from above her as he dragged his cock slowly away from her swollen lips.
He left a trail of salty cum on her tongue right before he forcefully buried himself in her throat once again. It elicited a wet gag from the depths of her throat as he began to fuck the warm cavern that spasmed around him with each thrust.
With each snap of his hips towards her, she pushed her fingers deeper into her soaking cunt that squeezed greedily down on her digits as she caressed the spongy velvet of her channel. Her moans only fueled his hunger as he buried himself deeper down her throat, basking in the choked gags that would leave her lips as he held her throat hostage with his cock.
He would wait for the exact second that he knew from practiced experience when it would be too much. Wait for the way her throat spasmed in such a way that he could feel the vibrations all the way in his balls that tensed at the wet noise.
Only then, when he knew she was on the precipice of tapping out, would he pull away, an animalistic snare on his lips as she took a deep breath before he was fucking her mouth once again.
"That's it, oh fuck that's it," he growled quietly, his grip on her only tightening as he felt that familiar burning coil in his stomach begin to come undone. "Such a fantastic little whore for me, isn't that what you are? My little whore of a secretary."
"Mhmm! Mhmm!"
She could only moan her affirmation to him, her mouth too busy being the object of his praise, which only made her cunt gush as her legs began to shake and spasm.
More, more, more, she wanted more. She was so close, so fucking close. And from the throaty noise that came out of him as she licked the underside of his shaft, as he forced himself back into her mouth. So was he.
"Mmm almost there, almost there," he chanted, as the sound of his cock plunging down her throat mixed with the sound of her soaked cunt created an erotic symphony. "Just a little more my whore. A little more! F-fuck!"
His breath hitched as he felt her throat tighten the same way her cunt did around her fingers as she began to tremble. A loud moan tore itself from her throat as her hips rolled mindlessly into her hand at the frantic way she touched herself.
So close. Just as he had said. She was so close as he fucked her mouth at such a brutal, relentless pace that was so much like him as a person. Spit and cum damped her cheeks, her lips, her face, but all it did was add to the depravity of the act.
It was so wrong. Against the rules. But the thrill of it? Oh, it was worth any punishment they would have given them. Not that she hadn't had her fair share of them before.
Yet, even with his cock buried down her throat and her fingers buried inside of herself, it wasn't that that pushed her over. No, it was when she looked up at him and saw the way his gaze was squarely on her.
It burned the way he looked at her with darkened eyes that burrowed itself deep into her soul. Just as he buried himself down her throat once more before a broken cry slipped from her lips, only to be muffled by his cock.
And then it snapped. The hot coil in her stomach spasmed uncontrollably in the same way her legs both seized and spasmed all at once. If she could scream, she would have, but all it would have been buried by the shout he let out as her throat tightened around his cock. Massaging him and sucking him, as she gushed around her fingers, that didn't stop their ministrations.
"That's it, fuck that's it! Almost, fuck almost!" he growled as he forced himself to pull away from her mouth before burying it back in her throat once more.
He threw his head back with one final, "Fuck!" Before he was emptying himself down her throat.
Somewhere in her post orgasm haze, she could feel the hot spurts of cum paint the back of her throat as she swallowed hungrily. Each drop of the salty liquid that flooded her mouth was drunk with enthusiasm as her fingers slowed their movements in her cunt that had been flooded by her own juices.
When he finally completely emptied himself in her, he was slow to pull out, and she was slow to let him as she gave his softening cock and few more licks before she allowed him to pull away.
Somehow, he had managed to look only a bit more disheveled after what they had done, while she was sure she would need to make a trip to the showers afterwards.
Fine by her.
It was a small price to pay as she watched him meticulously straighten himself up. He even had a handkerchief with which he dried cock with before putting it back in his pants.
A little giggle escaped her lips at that, and it caused him to raise an eyebrow as he zipped his pants while looking at her.
"Something funny?" he asked, watching her with that steady gaze of his as she began to also follow his lead of cleaning up.
While she had enjoyed it thoroughly, it probably wasn't the best to look like she hadn't just gotten her throat fucked on company time.
"You," she answered shortly as she wiped her sticky fingers against the inside of her pencil skirt.
A trip to the bathroom was definitely in order, she thought, the taste of him still on her tongue as she straightened her outfit out.
He raised an elegant eyebrow at her statement and crossed his arms against his chest. Pair that with a tilt of his head that was too adorable for a man who had just been calling her his whore, and maybe he would get the picture.
The duality of man.
"Have you always been such a neat freak Mr. I?" she asked as she walked up to him, her hands going to fix his tie that had become skewed just a bit.
Looking down at her, he waited until she finished her job with a pleased little pat before she met his gaze. She was unwavering in front of him, and it was what he enjoyed the most about the little secretary who surprised him from the first time they had crossed paths. Such a sweet face with the same empty eyes.
"When you work here long enough, and have to deal with," he paused before a fake pleasant smile found itself on his lips. "Vermin. You come to develop something of a habit."
"Maybe I've not been here long enough?"
"You will be, with talent like that, I think you know you have a long career ahead of you."
A pleased little smile found its way on her lips that were still swollen, and the urge to kiss them itched heavily in his mind. But he restrained himself, just as she had done when she hadn't pulled him down for a kiss by his tie instead of fixing it for him.
"High praise Mr. I. Why, I say that was even kind of you," she teased as she let him go and stepped away. "I'll make sure not to break any of the rules just so I can make sure I'm here as long as possible."
An amused 'hmph' left his lips at that, and he shook his head at her as if they hadn't just broken one of many rules.
"Of course you won't."
His response was simple as he turned away from her and began to make his way to the door; his job from earlier still not completed with the intermission that had just been had.
"Oh and Mr. I," she called as he picked up his briefcase on his way out.
He stopped, but he didn't turn around.
"Next time, would you be so kind as to put my name down as a cast member instead of someone in the audience?"
Her words lingered in the air as she stared at his unmoving form. A slight smirk played at her lips as she felt a dark heaviness begin to weigh down on them. It was delightfully oppressive, and the shiver that ran through her was equally as good.
And then, without a verbal answer to her question, he made his way to the door, opened it, and vanished into the dark hallway.
Someone else would have been perturbed, confused by the non-answer. However, to her, it was more than clear what his answer was. And it was one that caused a deeper, more sinister grin to appear on her lips as her eyes cut back to the room where all performances were made.
Title: DAY 20
Pairing: The Interrogator x Fem!Reader || Closet Land
Categories: smut
Kinktober: Mirror Sex | Dubcon
Word count: 2k
The room was cold and unwelcoming.
The floor was even worse, stony and uncomfortable underneath your knees. How many days have passed since this torture began? You could not tell. But each day, each time you returned to this room from your cell, it felt like an eternity.
You received questions, again and again. Never told why, or what it was that they wanted from you. You responded to queries about things you've never heard of, and every answer seemed to be wrong or not good enough.
You were always with the same man whenever you were allowed to see. Sometimes they would blindfold you, but the voice would be different. You suspected it was still the Interrogator; something from his sadism never changed despite his efforts.
This man was driving you mad. He wanted to make sure you would not leave that interrogation sane.
Or alive.
Today was different.
Every day was different.
This time, there was no table, there was no chair, just a mirror secured to one of the pillars, and the man, in his white shirt, staring down at you.
He was eyeing you.
You wondered if he planned everything before or if his torture was a spur-of-the-moment thing. It was all so precise that it made you believe everything was a plan he had made ahead, but then, when he would lash out and change his behaviour altogether. It felt too real for you to think it was a scenario.
But maybe this was his plan? To make you question everything.
He wanted to make you doubt yourself.
The Interrogator was planning to sow the seed of uncertainty in your mind. To break the body was not enough; one had to break the mind to get what he wanted.
He came over, no emotion on his face.
What would he be like today? Will he start nicely and then change? Or will he force himself on you from the start?
The latter happened.
The Interrogator forced you down on your knees, pulling you by the hair and making you stay in front of the mirror, then he dropped down on his knees behind you. He sat peculiarly, forcing your legs to remain parted as he inserted his own knee between yours, his thigh under your cunt. The man's chest was flush against your back, and his lips were by your ear.
The uncertainty was driving you mad. You swallowed.
The Interrogator stared at your reflection, waiting for you to do the same. The sight was making you want to look away. Too many days he tortured you, so all you wanted was to force your gaze away, but he hated that. Your task was to obey and look, and when you acted against what he wanted, he punished.
The Interrogator gripped your jaw and forced you to stare right at your reflections together.
At first, he said nothing, only giving you time to take in the sight. You had a white, ragged dress they put on you when they abducted you. He, on the other hand, was always dressed freshly, clean and shaven, and in a suit. This time, no suit jacket, only his suit trousers and shirt, without his glasses, but with the same piercing expression on his face. His arms were muscular, and you saw it well now that his arms were around you, keeping you still and forcing you to look at yourself.
To see yourself and him, to become painfully aware of every marking on yourself. To recount every day spent under the interrogation, he gave you. You had no escape but to relive every second of your abduction.
"What do you see?"
"You and I."
"Wrong."
The Interrogator's hand gripped your hair roughly, pushing your face into the mirror, giving you no room to wriggle about. You were still as your face made contact with that icy reflective exterior.
"I asked, 'What do you see?'. Not, 'who?'"
"I see you forcing me to do something I don't want to do."
"WRONG."
He hissed again, pressing your face against the chilly surface until your breath formed cloudy vapours on it.
"What do you see?"
"I don't know what you want me to say!"
"Say the truth. Say that what you see is depravity. You are a whore, are you not?" The man's voice became lower, more intimate as that last word flew from his lips and lingered in your ear like a sentence.
"You are a perverse woman; you only comply when we force you to do so, it causes you pleasure."
You grunted, trying to close your eyes, but he pulled painfully at your hair until you had to open your eyes again.
"I will ask you again."
The Interrogator pulled your head back from the mirror, this time making you stare at your reflection again. You were kneeling with this man behind you, one hand of his on your shoulder, the other in your hair, keeping you still. He leaned in your ear again.
"What do you see?"
"Depravity."
You mumbled, but your head got yanked back, the hand from your shoulder moving around you, to your breast, squeezing it roughly through the thin fabric of your dress.
"Not enough."
"I am a whore."
His fingers found your nipple through the fabric, twirling it roughly. The Interrogator's mouth moved by your ear, and he gasped sluttily by it. The sounds made you react, and you tried to squeeze your thighs closer together, but he pressed his knee between them from behind, further up, forcing you to kneel with your thighs apart, cunt throbbing against his thigh that kept them parted.
"You are." His voice softened considerably, almost as if he were a different person. As if he regretted what he was doing to you. That ambiguity drove you mad because you could not tell which side was the real him. Each time you started to believe he was a cold, ruthless man who abused you, but when he softened up this way, you began to distrust your judgment.
"But that is fine, you just have to admit to it, and it all becomes easier."
He kneaded your breast through the fabric, in such a way that it no longer felt like a punishment but like a reward, and so the pleasure made you lean back against his chest, cunt resting on top of his thigh.
"It feels better when you come clean. Does it not? When you tell them the truth."
The Interrogator released your hair, his hand moving lower, to your knee, tracing his fingers up and under your dress. He lifted it, pushing your knickers aside. You could see it in the mirror.
The man had you against him, his chest against your back, arms locked around you, with one hand on your cunt and the other on your breast. He began to trace his fingers over your cunt, but when you tried to look away and not see the scene, he bit your earlobe until you squealed and returned your gaze to the reflective surface.
"See your own depravity. Be ashamed of yourself for loving every moment of it."
The Interrogator's previous sharpness returned, and you quickly complied to his order, watching how he eased his fingers against your slit, taking your arousal on them, then punishing them inside you, moaning by your ear to challenge you. Your cunt squeezes around his finger, and you grit your teeth, and he licks a line across your neck.
"You are so responsive."
His softness returned, the maddening change of his personality making you sit on the edge every second.
"You take it well, you deprived little thing. Look at yourself."
He squeezed his arms around you, locking you further into him while a second finger began prodding your cunt, joining the first one. You were throbbing around them, forced to watch how he pumped them into you. Your breast was in his other hand still, squeezed and kneaded to make you squirm.
And how you squirmed after he added the second finger and upped the speed of his ministrations, you jerked and rolled your hips. He held you so tightly into himself that all you managed to do was to worsen your case because your cunt was grinding against his thigh, leaving a wet spot on his trousers.
"Oh, sweet whore, look what you are doing. Can you not stop yourself? Are you that vile that you can only think about getting fucked?"
His fingers worked harder, his thigh pressing up into your cunt, making you mewl and toss around, forced to see yourself while he used you.
"I can fuck you, you know. No one will know. No one will believe you. I bet you will like it, you like these things. You are so wet while I use you. It's disgusting. You should be ashamed."
You felt your cunt was nearing an orgasm; it was so close that your tossing and your actions were nearly uncontrolled. The Interrogator knew that and pushed forward, calling you out while his fingers continued their attack on your cunt, until, when your orgasm was nearly crashing over you, he took his fingers out and, before you had time to whine about it, he forced you down on the cold floor, mirror to your side.
He pushed your head down, straddling your back. You grunted, forced to keep looking at the mirror, eyes slowly welling up with tears.
"Look at yourself, can you believe it? You nearly milked my fingers. You thought you could hide it from us? Was that all you ever wanted, to be used? We knew it, dear."
The Interrogator held your head down roughly as his other hand reached down to push his pants lower, until his cock was out. He forced himself inside you, without warning or objections from you. You accepted it. You knew he would do worse if you didn't.
"Whore."
His gentleness was gone, and so was his aggressiveness. Now he spoke with simple disgust and ignorance towards you, holding you down and forcing you to watch yourself as he pounded into you, using you for his own pleasure. There was no exchange of words, no passion, and not even any remarks. All you saw was the man's hips moving, rapid thrusts that only served to pleasure him while you were held down and used.
But he was right.
You were a whore, were you not?
Why did you like it?
The sight of it, the man using you, the expressions of disgust on his face, why did it arouse you?
What was wrong with you?
You were to him nothing but an inmate, and yet, you were horny.
The feeling of your own orgasm began to approach again, this time forming that knot faster within you, and despite your whines and cries for him to go harder, he did not listen. The Interrogator continued fucking you the way he liked it, and when you climaxed, he did not bother to stop or to guide you through it, just continuing until his own orgasm neared. He then pulled out, crawling on his knees to your face, and releasing his load on your cheeks, forcing you to see yourself like that.
A whore.
Nothing more than a whore who loved every moment of it.
He stood up, zipping his trousers and leaving you there. He left your dress rode up, your eyes were red, and your cheeks splashed with tears, cunt still spasming weakly from the aftermath of your pleasure, and your face splattered with his thick load that was dripping from your cheek to your lips and onto the concrete ground. You were dishevelled. You lie splayed on the floor, seeing yourself in that state.
You were cold.
You were confused.
Why were you there? What did he want? How did he know more about you than yourself?
Have you always been this way? So fucked up, so depraved?
It was your fault. You deserved it all. You were a whore.
Title: DAY 20
Pairing: The Interrogator x Fem!Reader || Closet Land
Categories: just a small image | interrogator good side?
RICKMAS: December - Adrián Berenguer
Word count: 1.2k
"Do you know what month it is?"
You raised your eyes from the ground, eyeing the Interrogator who came into the room. He wore his fine suit, his expression unreadable, deceptive. Another one of his tricks? Was he trying to mess with your mind and memory? To make you believe you had been trapped there for longer than you could remember? What tactic would he employ with you now?
When no answer came from you, the man stopped walking and leaned back against one of the pillars, staring down at you with an expression that betrayed his pity.
"I asked, Do you know what month it is?"
You shrugged, glancing at the floor, avoiding him at all costs.
The Interrogator sighed and pushed himself to stand, walking over to you with heavy steps that echoed through the room. So empty and frightening that chamber was, that each time his shoes hit the ground, you heard the click all over and around you, ringing in your very brain. You hissed, seeing the polished tip of his shoes enter your line of sight. Only then did you raise your head to face him. If not for fearing he would hit you, you would have spit at him. But the fear of being struck made you behave and eye him like a threatened animal, caged and tied, forced to learn tricks you did not want to know.
The Interrogator stepped closer still, until his body was so close that the heat emanating from his body reached you.
"So you don't?"
"How could I? You didn't exactly give me a way to keep track of the time."
The Interrogator rolled up his sleeves and dropped down, squating to your level. He tilted his head, analysing you. The man's eyes studied you from head to toe, then he nodded. From squinting, his eyes softened a tad, and he offered you his hand. You were not stupid enough to believe him after everything he had done, so you refused to take his hand. For a moment, he stared down at his hand, as if confused.
Then he sighed and pushed himself up, hand still extended to you. It was an offer to help you stand. You didn't take it, and he didn't insist.
"You learnt not to trust me."
"Hard to trust you."
The Interrogator crossed his arms, watching you stand in front of him.
"What do you want from me?"
"It's December."
The mention of December made you squint and let a soft sigh escape your lips. It had been so long since the night he kidnapped you, unfortunately, though you couldn't even remember just how long. All you knew was that when he said December, it felt like an eternity had passed since you last saw the light of day. If only you'd know how long he planned to keep you around, or what this was all even about? But these were not answers you were going to get, so you closed your eyes and nodded.
"It's December? December."
"Yes."
"And what relevance does that have? Will you get creative with the torture? Make it festive?" You mocked, walking past him and toward the table in the room, dropping down on the chair. The Interrogator mimicked you and came over to sit on the other end of the table, crossing his arms on it.
"I understand you will not believe what comes out of my mouth; however, I assure you, today you are safe."
You snorted, arms crossed defensively against your chest. "Yeah, like fuck I'll believe you. You always say something like this, and it's nothing but a disgusting lie. What now, you'll say it's because Christmas is coming? Yeah, like I'll believe that."
The Interrogator leaned back in his seat, watching you accuse him. You weren't wrong to think he was unreliable, so he made no effort to try to change your opinion.
"I am not doing this because I want to. You talk as if I do this out of my own enjoyment. I get paid to do this on a normal day. Today, there is no payment for me, thus no reason to torture you." The Interrogator stood up, reaching into the suitcase he came with this time. You didn't even notice it until now, but now it was all you could focus on. What was inside? Will he pull out some torture device?
The Interrogator saw your reaction and sighed.
"Relax."
He opened his suitcase slowly. The dramatic effect was accidental. It was more of a work habit. The Interrogator pulled out a package wrapped festively and pushed it over the desk to you. As your eyes followed the sliding box, he leaned down and took another item from the suitcase, this time a sort of cake that he placed on the table too.
"I have told you I will not harm you, and I mean it. Have a taste. I bought it for you; I did not tamper with it. I suspected you won't believe me, but see? It's not open."
"Not hard for you to change the wrapping." You eyed him, taking the box and shaking it, "And what's in this?"
"A gift."
You almost laughed, putting the box down. A gift from the Interrogator was a gift you could live without. He let you unwrap the cake and cut a slice, keeping his hands to himself so you would not think he had any plan to harm you. Surprisingly, when you took a bite, it was actually tasty. No lingering disgusting aftertaste. No weird item inside. No attempt by the Interrogator to shove anything down your throat.
"Trying to earn my trust?"
"I am doing nothing to harm you. As I told you, I get paid to hurt you, and today I am not. I came here purely out of wanting to make your life a bit better."
"Let me out of here then."
"That I cannot do."
You sighed, taking the box in your hand again, shaking it. There was a noise, but the weight didn't match the sound, which was strange. You eyed him again, then with a careful hold, began to unwrap it. As your fingers worked on it, you heard a noise and froze. The Interrogator rose from his chair and came over to you, placing his hands on the box.
"Relax."
He whispered, taking the box and cutting it open, leaving it on your lap before stepping away. You stared at him as he moved away, then turned your attention back to the box, checking what was inside. There, you found a plush toy and a book. When your confused look met the Interrogator, he shrugged.
"This is all I could bring you." He explained, leaning against the pillar and watching you. No longer by the table. "Anything else the guards would have taken and thrown off. The book I brought you is not on any censored list, but they might also throw it away. I recommend reading it fast." There was a questionable look he gave you, a suggestion in his eyes which you felt was intentional. "As for the toy. It will keep you company."
You knew better than to ask questions anymore, but the look he gave you lingered. You couldn't wait for him to leave so you could check the book privately.
Author's Note: Apologies for this coming late; I've been in a bit of a slump. The title/line is a reference, kudos to whoever guesses correctly, lol.
Summary: You are hauled in for questioning and a confession. Your interrogation does not go as you had planned...
Character(s): Interrogator x Gender Neutral Reader
Warning(s)‼️: Non-Con/Rape. Oral Sex. Facial. Come Swallowing. Bondage. Swearing.
Word Count: 2.9k
Read on Ao3 or below the break:
“Then perhaps, I am not what is called a civilized man.” His voice was a husky drawl, dark hazel eyes having grown a deep shade of amber, drinking in pure pleasure as he watched you squirm beneath him. His hands grasped your middle, corner of his lips quirked up in amusement, hands retracting to slam on the glass table, the transparent surface cracking in a million directions. “You seem to be living under the delusion that the world is made up of the civilized and uncivilized, good and evil, and I am here to teach you the error of your predispositions. This world consists of the strong and the weak-willed. And I think we both know which category you belong under.” The tall man lunged forward, one bare hand wrapped into a fist. Your world went dark.
The room you were brought to was rather bare. Minimalist. Clinical, yet presented with a classical flare with the row of fluted columns flanking the strange-looking glass office table. The metal cuffs restraining your wrists chafed against the sensitive flesh, matching the metal trapping your ankles to the legs of the wicker chair. An eerie whistle echoed off the walls and hidden ceiling of the strange room, distracting from the painful ache coursing throughout your body. The heavy door wrenched open, somewhere behind your left shoulder. Fear pelted your heart, its slimy tentacles tightly grasping your insides. Sharp taps clacked along the solid floor; your attacker, your pursuer, finally returned to finish you off.
A man came into view, strutting over to the chair opposite you, a chair you had not bothered to notice before now. Loosening the button of his baggy black suitcoat, he fixed you with a cold hazel stare, an unsettling glint reflected in his eyes, staring behind wire-framed glasses. He turned his focus away from you, narrow pale fingers popping open the locks on his leather briefcase with a click. A stack of papers was removed, case suddenly slammed shut, and pushed to the side of the desk.
“Name, please,” the cool British tone slipped from his pink lips. All you could do was gaze at the man dumbly, one brow raised. Hazel eyes rolled beneath dirty blond hair with a frustrated mutter. “Are you not Y/N L/N?”
“I—”
“Your name is Y/N L/N, correct.” The snarl took you aback, the man’s manner jarring compared to his average-looking appearance.
“Yes. That is my name,” you muttered tightly. Perhaps if you answered the man’s questions quickly, you could learn what exactly was going on. Why precisely you were in such a bare, unusual prison.
“You will find your situation will improve if you answer my questions concisely and with the utmost haste.” Apparently, the man could read minds. He wasn’t looking at you, hooked nose buried within the stack of papers, black ink pen scribbling a few cramped lines at one page’s bottom.
“You are aware of why you have been brought here, are you not?” All the answers to your questions could easily be obtained with only a two-letter response. Mouth dry, you found yourself suddenly mute, comprehension seconds from being taken away forever. Your lips stupidly opened and closed, no sound escaping.
“Cat got your tongue?” He silkily purred, red flush coating your face from the neck up.
“No–No, I am not aware.” Words forced their way past chapped lips, your heart now throbbing painfully deep in your chest. You silently prayed you weren’t being accused of anything serious. You read the paper. You watched the news channel. You knew the stories.
The man across clicked his tongue, rifling through the stack of papers, one finger now tracing its way down the white page. He scoffed, the kind that might accompany a knowing smirk, though none stretched his face; only an annoyed frown graced his thin lips. “I must say, usually our people are quite good about informing their charges of their alleged crimes. And their rights,” he said it as an afterthought, tone quite bored—as if this were just another day in the workplace. And you supposed it was.
“Ah—Here it is,” he wasn’t triumphant at the discovery, but somehow indifferent. Unattached. “Two curfew infractions—”
“Two curfew infractions!! That’s impossible, curfew has always been 9:00 p.m. in—”
“Curfew recently changed in your district to 8:00 p.m., as per the recent uptick in crime and resistance in multiple neighborhoods.” He finally looked up from his papers, hazel eyes disarming you with an intense glare. “Two measly curfew infractions are not enough to land you here. Our government is far too civilized, far too benevolent to make so frivolous an arrest. Sedition, on the other hand—”
“Sedition?! I’ve not—I’ve never—”
“Yes, you most certainly have.” A single sheet of paper was pushed down to your end of the table with an accompanying glower, the corner of his lips twitching. “Read it.” Your mouth parted, lips forming the shapes of the words you scanned. The article was yours—a piece you sent to the neighborhood’s local pamphlet. You complained about a new traffic signal at an intersection in your district causing an increase in accidents and confusion among pedestrians attempting to walk across the road.
“It is your writing, is it not?” You nodded dumbly, chapped pink lips still absentmindedly parted. “A verbal response, please.” He was fiddling with his pen on the other side of the table, not even bothering to closely observe you, his prisoner.
“Yes, it’s—it is my writing,” you weakly admitted.
“Then you admit to committing sedition against your own government. Your neighborhood’s paper has been dismantled, as will the remaining throughout the city once the chancellor has signed the appropriate legislation this afternoon. The editorial staff have all been hauled in for questioning and possibly face further charges. Why did the staff accept this childish piece of correspondence?” he’d snatched the letter back from the far side of the table. “They certainly know by now not to publish absolute rubbish like this.”
Wetness formed at the corners of each of your eyelids, and your bottom lip was twitching, threatening to turn into a full wobble. “I wrote it because I thought it was in the government’s best interest to ensure the safety of its citizens, not because I wanted to threaten a bloody uprising!” The corner of his lip twitched, but he let you go on. “We live in a civilized society, with civilized people after all, I just expected a different reception to my suggestions for improve—”
“Stop.” He didn’t yell the command. He didn’t have to. He lowered the hand he raised to silence you, your body subtly relaxing after flinching away in fear. Your interrogator looked from your face to his hand, and then back, expression of surprised curiosity dawning, lip curling into a satisfied smirk. “You are speaking foolishly.” He straightened the stack of papers into a neat pile, careful hands with narrow fingers diving back to drag a single, thin sheet from the metal briefcase, closing it up with a click.
“Sign.” The new paper slid across the table, black serif letters entering your field of vision. A simple black ink pen followed, rolling to a perfect halt next to the sheet. Your eyes skimmed the text, widening toward the final paragraph.
“I, Y/N L/N, admit to committing two counts of curfew infraction and one count of sedition. I waive my right to a fair and equal trial before a magistrate for the sake of the Justice Department’s economy of speed. I waive my right to accept legal representation, standardly awarded by the Justice Department at no expense to myself, the accused. I waive my right to…”
“No.”
The man across the table glanced up from the paper his ballpoint pen had resumed scratching against, hazel eyes darkening at your response. He slowly, purposely, laid the pen back onto the table’s glass surface, thin, folded-up wire glasses following. With a sharp intake of breath, he growled out, “No?” The heavy chair scraped against black shiny tile, the sound causing a painful cringe to form over your face. The brown-haired man stood, walking, prowling, directly toward where you sat, eyebrow raised threateningly.
“You, friend, I will remind, possess no formal legal standing in this cell. Anything could be done to you, and you would not have the legal justification to present your—case—in front of a court.” He paused, now standing behind your wicker chair, large hands grasping your shoulders, the iciness you were anticipating replaced by firm warmth. “This document is what civilized governments produce for their citizens to sign.” He stroked the smooth skin of your shoulders with the pads of each thumb, the scent of sandalwood, bergamot, and charcoal—his scent—hovering over you, intoxicating, yet dangerous. It reminded you that he was very much a man, and you were very much restrained. Exposed.
“This isn’t civilized,” you snapped, irritation flaring despite being in such disadvantageous proximity to him. “This is hardly an option, certainly devoid of even an iota of protection.” Large hands unwrapped from your shoulders, drifting further down your torso. “How can a civilized man such as yourself carry out such rot, such putrid, actively decaying, incomprehensible—”
“Then perhaps, I am not what is called a civilized man.” His voice was a husky drawl, dark hazel eyes having grown a deep shade of amber, drinking pure pleasure as he watched you squirm beneath him. His hands grasped your middle, corner of his lips quirked up in amusement, hands retracting to slam on the glass table, the transparent surface cracking in a million directions. “You seem to be living under the delusion that the world is made up of the civilized and uncivilized, good and evil, and I am here to teach you the error of your predispositions. This world consists of the strong and the weak-willed. And I think we both know which category you belong under.” The tall man lunged forward, one bare hand wrapped into a fist. Your world went dark.
Consciousness—acute awareness of the world around you—slowly crept into your being. The wicker chair was no longer beneath you. Your legs awakened, their position all wrong for the former chair, limbs far too tight to be comfortable. Bitter coldness gnawed at your limbs. A small draft flowed from your right, the hairs on your head ruffling back in the slight breeze. Eyelids fluttered open, meeting nothing but blackness. Darkness. You were blindfolded.
Thud! Your head slammed into something hard that traveled all the way down your back. Fingers attempted to push away from the hardness, but restraints ensnaring your wrists ensured the opposite. You could still feel the solid surface, with its regular dips in the smoothness covering the circular wall. You were tied to one of the fluted columns, on your knees, blindfolded, wrists and feet bound behind with heavy rope.
Steps echoed off the dark, plain walls, the identity of the intruder unknown. Indistinguishable. The sharp taps of shoes meeting the hard floor grew in volume, stopping altogether about a foot from your kneeling figure. The blindfold was torn away, the icy hazel eyes of the interrogator scrutinizing you, from your face to your knees. His pink tongue darted out of his mouth to lick chapped lips, wire-framed glasses folded, now hanging on the right breast pocket of his white button-up. The black suit jacket was absent.
“You asked for civility.” It wasn’t a question, rather a statement, spoken with his large, narrow fingers threaded in loose strands of your hair. He brushed his thumb against your cheek, index finger scratching at the stretch of skin behind your ear. He was petting you like one might pet an animal, a dog. “The best I can grant you is a choice.” Your brow slid up, arching in curiosity. What was the man before you going to ask? What was he about to grant you?
“The most civilized thing you can do for both of us is sign the form. However, I think you’ve lost that privilege.” Your other brow skyrocketed to your forehead, breaths quickening into slight pants. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your head, hand trailing lower to lift the tip of your chin up with just his index finger. “I plan on cashing in on the one bloody perk this job gives me. I’m going to fuck your throat.” You didn’t blink, eyes still locked on frigid hazel and the set, determined line the dirty blond’s mouth had drawn into. “I’ll extend my civility by giving you the option of keeping the blindfold,” you minutely shook your head no, “or inserting a gag,” his hand left your chin, prying open your lower jaw with ease. You shook your head again, gasping, his bitter-tasting fingers rubbing across your tongue, coating himself with saliva. “I didn’t think so. This is why cooperation is to your advantage, sweetheart. You wouldn’t be swallowing an older man’s cock like a cheap whore.”
He freed himself from his trousers in one fluid motion, average-sized cock a turgid, painful-looking scarlet color. The man hovering above you pumped his member with the hand coated in your saliva, one hand braced against the white column. He brought his engorged penis a fraction of an inch away from your parted lips, resisting the urge to fully sheath himself in your warm mouth. “Kiss the head,” he commanded from above, voice a husky growl, “you haven’t been able to keep your eyes off my cock ever since it left my pants. Kiss the head of the penis about to sully your pretty little mouth.”
You licked your lips, pink tongue sliding across chapped pink skin, eyes crossing at the sight of the man’s member only inches away. Closing your eyes, hating yourself for the position you were now in, you gave the mushroomed head a seconds-long kiss. Fluttering your eyelids open, you watched the swollen erection bob, clearly seeking further stimulation. The lower region of your stomach flopped. He still remained mere inches away from your mouth, the corner of his mouth twitching, threatening to break into a satisfied smirk.
“Beg me. Beg me to suck my cock.” You shifted your knees as much as your bonds permitted, refraining from physically recoiling at the order. Oral sex was a foreign concept to you, same as his need for dirty talk, for obedience.
“May I p-p-please s-s-suck your c-c-cock?” You hated the fear causing your voice to shake, the fear causing your words to fumble, to break the quietness of the empty room with childish stutters.
“Louder. There’s no place for shame in this room, slut,” his low voice was as authoritative as ever.
“May I please suck your cock, sir?” The “sir” was tacked on before you could reconsider your words, your begging plea reverberating off the fluted columns and endless walls surrounding the room.
“Open.” No praise was given for your humiliation, just another command leveled at your kneeling figure. Your lips parted, pink tongue dangling in the cool air. The fat head of his bulging penis touched the flesh of your tongue. The man did not taste of much as he dragged the spongy flesh up and down your taste buds. Clear fluid lightly dribbled from his cock’s swollen head, the flavor not unpleasant, but not quite enjoyable either. His pre mainly tasted like diluted salt. There was certainly no sweetness to him.
Your interrogator finally shoved his cock down your throat, the harshness of the action making you gag, bile threatening to rise. Large, narrow fingers threaded back into your hair, as if they belonged, as if they never should have left, the dirty blond’s hips heaving at a brutal pace. Your throat was definitely bruised, you thought, eyes watering, tears falling down your face, falling down the chest of your unbuttoned shirt. You willed him to finish, silently thankful he was no longer or no thicker in size.
He removed himself from your mouth with a wet plop, saliva and tears running down your face, mixing under your shirt. Blinking back tears, you watched as the tall man stroked his length, tip pointed directly at your flushed, ruined face. Dark lashes fluttered shut as white liquid splattered all across your face, the smell of salty semen filling the air. The man towering above you only panted from his vigorous efforts, left palm back to bracing his weight against the smooth fluted column. He had made scarcely any noise, only a soft grunt escaping his thin lips upon reaching the peak of his pleasure, as he spilled his thick load over your face.
His seed, his very essence, trickled down your chin, down your strained, aching neck. You struggled not to ingest any of him, but the man had other plans. “Open,” his deep voice was scratchy from restraining his pleasure, but it did nothing to light a fire within your core. Fear entered your abdomen; it was not difficult to guess what your interrogator, your torturer, might make you perform.
The pad of his finger swiped from the base of your throat to your chin, offering a healthy serving of his rapidly cooling cum for consumption. You hesitated half a second before opening your lips a crack, his large finger forcing itself inside, depositing his meal on your tongue. He was as salty as the air suggested, the taste making you long for something other than him. “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Title: DAY 3
Pairing: The Interrogator x Fem!Reader || Closet Land
Categories: angst | horror | stalker Interrogator || dubious end
RICKMAS: Carol Of The Fates - AtinPiano
Word count: 2.1k
Breathe.
Breathe.
You are envisioning things. Breathe.
The streets were quiet, eerie. Early December. The slush was turning to puddles under your boots. A squelch rang in your ears after each of your hurried steps. Your trousers became muddy on the cuffs. The spashes of the sludge drenched the fabric to the skin. You hissed at the sensation, darting back.
The street lights illuminated the side path you were taking to get home faster. You rushed your pace, the squelching noise causing you to keep looking back. Again. Nothing.
You had to be imagining.
Nobody was there.
Nobody could hurt you.
You felt your nostrils flare as you caught your breath, the misty air irritating the sensitive skin. Each breath felt like sandpaper. Your throat was coarse. Stop running. Nobody was following. You wanted to hinder your steps, but your instincts were screaming to keep going.
To run.
You reached the end of the path, the city lights ahead of you, your hand grabbing the brick wall of the building, leaning into it. Your chest was heavy; it stung with fear and fatigue. From behind you, a faint squelch made you flinch and gape behind.
A stray cat looked up at you curiously, meowed, then hopped on one of the trash cans. Your ears tingled, lightheaded from your run, you halted. You clutched the bricks until your palms felt sore. It was a cat. You ran away from a cat.
How stupid!
You turned your eyes to the main road, the buildings. All decorated for the celebration. It was all warm and welcoming. Kind. There was nothing to fear. Not now. Not anymore.
He was not here anymore.
It was not too late, the evening was young; however, winter darkness already shrouded the streets. When the last months of the year approached, the day shortened. The nights were celebratory. The early descent of darkness was an opportunity for people to light the peril with abundant colours. Decorations and ornaments hung from every balcony. Tinsel encased around lamp-posts. The smell of baked goods inundates the evening mist.
Everything was alright.
You let your head clear up for a moment, the ringing in your ears replaced by a faint sound of music. Carols. You wondered where the sound was coming from. An open balcony? Maybe a coffee shop? How strange, you could swear the sound was coming from everywhere, yet there was no music device anywhere near. A group of people walked past you, and a child among them jumped in fright as he bumped into you, distracted by the colourful ornaments. The adults apologised and moved on, but you were glad. This interaction reminded you that everything was alright. You were safe. People were there to enjoy the sight.
The carols, however, grew louder, which was an oddity. There was no apparent source for this noise. At first, it was comforting, but the closer and louder you heard it, the more dreadful it became. It was deafening, as if the source was not outside but in your head.
"Shit."
The sensation returned, the feeling that you were not alone. Sure, you were not 'alone' in the sense that there were groups of people at a distance, watching the decorations, talking or enjoying hot chocolate with friends and family. But this was different. You felt watched, followed. You felt a chilly shiver cross your spine, freezing you to the core. Your instincts triggered again; this time, the hairs on your body rose like the spikes from an imperilled hedgehog.
Your head turned to the dark path. That alleyway you came from, and for an instant, you saw a pair of eyes. Cold, menacing. His eyes stared at you. You recognised them; they were engraved in your memory, carved into your being, never to leave.
You gasped, walking backwards and tripping over a gap in the pavement, and fell on your butt in the slush. A group of passersby helped you up, but when your eyes returned to the alleyway, the eyes were gone, and the music ceased. The thanking was short-lived, frightened. You whispered some kind thanks to the people, but left in a rush before you could even see their faces.
Looking back.
Looking around.
You were going mad.
But you saw them, those ruthless eyes.
You felt tears welling up in your eyes, cold and salty, sliding across your cheeks. The damp trails on your cheeks left in their wake ice burning from the cold. Your breathing was hot and rushed, coming in puffs of steam that dispersed into the air as it left your lips. Your head began to hurt, a migraine pulsing behind your eyes from the effort, from the cold sensitising your sinuses. The further you went, the more you hoped to have escaped the man.
Maybe it was the cat? It had to be the cat.
But the music?
The melodies began again. The maddening call of the Christmas carols, which would usually bring you comfort, turned to torture.
The kind of torture he condoned.
This turmoil had to be his hand.
The Interrogator.
You saw it ahead of you, a ray of hope. Not far from you, the flat where you lived began to grow larger as your steps took you closer.
Your escape.
Once inside, you'd lock the door. Block it with chairs or anything on hand which could prevent the man from coming inside. Barricade the windows, whatever it takes, so that the man does not pursue you.
You had to seem insane.
But everyone else would have done the same had they known The Interrogator. People watched you, confused, worried. Saw how you darted back, crying and running, running as if your life depended on it. The carols were more piercing and more vociferous. It had to be your imagination. If he were chasing you, you would see him! Hear him. But all you heard was that noise.
But you made it.
You made it to your flat, rushing in and slamming the door closed behind you. The music fell silent. Everything became still.
No noise, no colours, no lights, just the familiarity of your home.
You were safe.
Minutes passed, turning into half an hour before you had the strength to rise to your feet. Your trousers ended up drenched from running and falling, and the stress was subsiding substantially. You decided to calm your nerves with a bath. You left the door, staring at it for a while longer to make sure nothing was amiss, then your feet led you to the bathroom.
A steamy hot bath.
You sank into the warm water, let it embrace you as you cleared your mind of today's scare. Now safe in the comfort of your home, everything seemed laughable. That cat had to be the culprit, and the music? Maybe an unfortunate coincidence or the result of a troubled, fearful mind. The lack of sleep, work. Could be so many reasons that your initial assessment, which said this had to be that man's doing, seemed pathetic.
Surely not.
You were coping.
Deep down, you knew nothing was coincidental, nothing was what it seemed since that devil of a man appeared in your life. But he was gone. He had to be gone. You sank into the steamy water, breathing, calming. You were safe, at least in your home; you were safe.
As you relaxed, a noise, so very faint that you blamed it on tinnitus. Then it transformed, from a buzzing, a thud, a line, a chorus, a melody.
The carol.
No, it couldn't be. You jumped out of the bathtub, chest heavy, anxiety causing your heart to throb painfully. You felt you were going to cry again. No. Anything but The Interrogator. With only a towel around your waist and another to cover your upper body, you slammed the bathroom door open and dashed into the living room.
The entrance door was wide open. You felt the footing slip from under you and suddenly felt faint.
You made it to the door and shut it again. You locked it and listened for noise. Any noise, a sound, breathing?
Nothing.
Not the carol, not breathing, no movement.
Convinced that you must be losing your mind, you walked with uncertain steps to the bedroom to look for your clothes. You cursed yourself for not bringing them to the bathroom with you. You felt bare, which was odd. It was your home, and you were alone. Yet it felt wrong to be naked now, after everything that took place this evening.
Once in the bedroom, you went to your closet. You began to search for pyjamas. You searched for a set which would keep you warm overnight.
"Where are you..." You whispered to break out of the eerie silence.
Thud.
It was too late.
Before you could turn to the bedroom door to see what happened, you heard heavy footsteps behind you and, in the blink of an eye, felt a strong pair of arms forcing a piece of cloth over your face.
You wriggled, squirmed, and kicked. You tried to yell, shout for help.
"Don't fight."
The voice, you recognised it, and your body quickly fell limp in his arms. There was no escape from him; no amount of kicking would remove you from a trained persecutor.
"Good girl."
You cried into the piece of cloth, feeling your body grow weaker and weaker, your head dizzy, fuzzy. Sleepy.
"You can't run from me. You know this."
His arms wrapped around you tightly, an iron grip which you couldn't escape even if your body had been in perfect shape. Yet with whatever he made you inhale, there was no prospect of fighting.
"I told you, if you run, I outrun you. If you hide, I find you. If you ask for help, I silence you."
The Interrogator's hands let your arms go, sliding instead down your sides, stroking the flesh under his palms. There was no need for the cloth anymore; you were too limp to fight, so he let it drop on the floor as he kneaded the flesh under his palms.
"You like this? To be chased?"
His fingers undid the towel, making it fall on the floor. You remained bare in his arms, his hands not shy of touching your stomach, and sliding lower, between your thighs.
"You do. You always run. You want the thrill."
You felt your eyes closing, your consciousness slipping.
"I win again."
Your phone alarm rang, obnoxiously close to your head.
You felt blindly with your head for the device. What the fuck, you could swear you had nothing to drink the other night, yet you felt hungover. After that loathsome alarm stopped, you waited for a while longer, your mind fuzzy.
You could not recall how you got into bed. You faintly recalled taking a bath. Then all you felt was a mess scrambled in your mind. One by one, as you lay there, your memories returned.
The fright, the chase. The carols.
Had it all been a dream then? Perhaps you fell asleep with Christmas music on, and that had been the source of the recurring melody in your nightmare. If it had been The Interrogator, surely you would have felt it. But your body was fine by the looks of it. You were naked, but you had no markings. Perhaps you had been so exhausted that you forgot to take your clothes off?
It wouldn't be the first time you lie down thinking you'd close your eyes for a minute. And then wake up an obscene amount of hours later.
You rolled to the side, wanting to grab your charger from the nightstand, when your heart sank.
There, a vase. In it, a bouquet of black dahlias and white lilies and a note. You knew for a fact you had never bought these flowers nor received them from someone. Not while being conscious.
You fetched the note, with shaking hands, ears ringing, a knot in your throat.
Darling,
I insist you accept a humble token of my esteem. 'The Carols of Fates' sang in your favour the other night. I have not done anything to harm you. I came to remind you that I'm watching you. I know you think of me as a liar, and you are correct not to trust me. I will tell you, however, had I done anything to you, you would know. I have no interest in taking something without you wide awake to feel it. Until next time.
Pairing(s)/Character(s): The Interrogator x Fem!Reader
Summary: In where the Interrogator acts on the solution he has given his prisoner. Continuation of Day 14 - Deceptive Kindness
Tag(s)/Warning(s): Smut ( Restraints, oral - fem receiving, overstimulation, coersion/dub con, electric play, begging, 'no means yes'), abuse of power, slut shaming
A/N: I hope ya'll didn't think there wasn't going to be a part two to this because why would their not be LOL. This man is uhinged and we need a little bit of something from him of course. : ) Be free my friends and enjoy the teasing from this man.
When she had agreed to play his little game, she didn't think she would end up like this. Spread eagle on the table that had been extended to accommodate her height, and then cuffed down onto it by hidden manacles that came with the piece of furniture. Granted it was more like a piece of equipment than furniture.
Not only that, but he then pulled out an interesting little device that had two wires extending from a black box. When she inquired about it, he told her not to worry too much about it. That it was just something he thought she might enjoy as he set it up, placing the box on the table by her legs.
Once he had set it up, she felt his hand roaming all over her thighs, stroking up her legs until he reached her bare cunt. A soft whimper left her lips as she felt him attach something sticky to each side of her folds. And instead of questioning him, she just kept silent, letting him pet her. His fingers stroked the outer edges of her cunt, before he moved over to caress her wet silt that quaked at his touch.
It wasn't the only thing that was quaking when he pulled away from her either. Her whole body was ablaze with a want and need she didn't know she had as she watched him walk back closer to the top of the table where her head lay.
She also didn't expect it to excite her so much either as she watched him slowly roll up his sleeves. Folding the pristine white fabric up his forearm methodically, one crease at a time as his eyes hovered over her body. One which was only covered with a thin baby doll dress that was now bunched up at her mid-section. It left her upper thighs, arms, and collarbone all exposed to the cold air of the room, yet she wasn't cold at all in the present moment.
Quite the opposite as she had warmed up quite quickly from the cruel words thrown at her that turned into her allowing him to…
She quickly dismissed the thought. Telling herself that it was all in the name of self-preservation.
"Now, now that's enough thinking."
His command came in low murmur, as she felt his fingers suddenly brush against her cheek lightly. It caused her to let out a startled gasp as he trailed his digits down her face, and towards her neck where he placed his entire palm against the area before squeezing it lightly.
A whimper, mixed with fear and something else escaped her lips at the pressure that constricted her airways slightly, and the smirk that flashed across his lips told her that he had enjoyed the sound of it.
"It's what got you into this mess in the first place."
He finished his sentence by giving her throat one more squeeze before letting go of her, and she sucked in a harsh shaky breath as he stared at her with amused eyes. His fingers continued their travel down her front, and her belly was taut with nerves as he brushed over her collarbone before gliding lightly over the stiff peaks of her breast.
Even with the fabric covering them, his touch still shot a surge of desire through her belly as curious fingers circled lightly around the flesh, before he was pinching the pert nubs. Rolling them in his fingers, before tugging at them harshly, causing her to let out a loud squeak, her hips jolting upward slightly at the treatment.
"Oh, you like that?" He purred, noticing her reaction, and testing it again, pulling at the sensitive skin with even more force. The sound she made caused his eyes to light up like the star on a Christmas tree, and she truly wondered what she had gotten herself into. "You like pain."
It was more of a statement than a question. Yet she felt the need to shake her head.
"N-no I don't." She stuttered out, even as she tried to suppress the mew that wanted to leave her as he pinched the sensitive nub one more.
That answer seemed to dissatisfy him, and a frown appeared on his lips as he peered down at her from over his glasses. The look sent a chill of fear down her spine, and for a very good reason, as she watched him reach down the table for the device that he had placed.
'What is he-.'
"AH!"
A sharp scream pierced the air just as a wave of electricity shot through her lower half and down her legs. The burning pain of it had her writhing away on the table as the feeling knocked the breath of her.
"Now, now what did I say about dishonesty?" He questioned, his voice becoming hard suddenly as he turned off the machine. Her muscles instantly relaxed, and the forced contractions stopped, leaving her body tingling with pain and her mind racing. "It will get you nowhere, no matter how charming I think your lies are. Remember, I am your guide, and your only hope is through me. Now tell the truth. You like the pain don't you?"
She hesitated, watching him and when he began to move back to the device, she nodded furiously before letting out a panicked,
"Y-yes."
A groan left his lips at her answer, and the sound somehow soothed the pain he had inflicted on her. God what was wrong with her?
"Oh you are going to be a troublesome one, but," his voice dropped almost a whole octave this time as he practically pressed his nails into her breast, causing her to let out a whine. "I know how to deal with all sorts. Your kind though? Your kind are my favorite."
Dread filled her stomach instantly at his words as he continued his travels down her body. Walking down along the edge of the table to explore her. What did he mean by that?
Her question wasn't left unanswered for long.
Once his fingers reached the edge of her dress, he trailed the ends of the fabric before sliding his palm up her thigh grabbing at the skin, pinching as much flesh as he could reach. She let out a soft whimper at the pinches, her body reacting positively to it as the urge to rub her thighs together to calm the pressure inside of her grew. Yet with her tied down basically, she could only endure this teasing while he explored her at his own pace.
It was torture as he dragged his blunt nails against her heated skin on his way towards her cunt that was crying out for him. And she was ready to do that same thing, wanting him to touch the ache that had grown quickly in her.
"Needy are you?" He chuckled lightly, looking at [Y/n] whose chest rose and fell erratically as his fingers finally found their way to her damp opening that throbbed the moment he brushed against it. "Already so wet. Just from a few touches and a little bit of pain. A sign of a true whore," he chuckled darkly as he began to stroke her warm flesh.
Her breath hitched at the touch, her fingers clenching and unclenching as she sighed out a moan as he touched her. And he took his time, too. Unhurried feathery strokes against her core that begged for more.
"P-please," she whimpered, her body aching for something more than the delicate strokes he was giving her.
"Oh? Does the little whore want something?" He asked, a smile on his lips, and his eyes shining with glee which was so off-putting.
Yet her mind was too focused on the pleasure, or lack thereof to even care at this point about the name calling. He could call her whatever, but she needed more than what he was giving her and she nodded her assent.
"No none of that," he growled, the cheerfulness in his eyes switching to darkness in a dizzyingly fast manner. And then the pain came again.
Just as fast as his emotions switched, the shock of the device pierced her once more. Her body stiffened, and a loud gasp was ripped away from her again. But before she could even realize what was happening to let out a scream, it was off again and he was speaking words that her mind was trying to wrap around.
"Confess it with your mouth. Admit that you're just a little whore whose only crime was wanting to be fucked. Come on, the faster you do it, the more of this you'll get."
The squeal of pain she was meant to let out, morphed into one of delight the moment he said that, as he took the chance to push his fingers inside her with no warning. His thumb joined in on the teasing by rubbing her clit and sending a jolt of pleasure down her body as he teased her. It didn't last long though of course, as he stopped the moment he felt her wet hole clench around his fingers as her insides tried to suck him deeper.
It caused a desperate whine to leave her and he only chuckled his amusement.
"Come on, confess little whore," he urged, his thumb lightly flicking her bead that quickly swelled with pleasure at his devious touches. "Confess and I'll give you everything those other people couldn't give you, we don't have much time. Once I leave this all stops."
And stop he did, his fingers pausing the teasing of her clit, and she swore out loud before letting a desperate cry leave her.
"Please! Please I promise I haven't done anything," she cried, warm tears brimming at the edge of her eyelids as she struggled against the manacles, needing his touch but getting nowhere as they held her down. "I just…I just."
"Almost there, you can say it, don't be shy now. Don't you want this?" He stroked her clit one more time, and she knew it was her downfall.
"Oh god!" She cried out, the tears that she tried to hold back streaming down her face, blurring her vision and the dark predatory look on the man's face. "Please I promise! I promise I only met them because I needed to be fucked," she confessed, "Mmm just a whore for them I didn't do anything please!"
"Good girl, very good girl!" He praised, his demeanor changing back to the kind man that she had first encountered at a dizzying pace. Yet he kept his promise.
His thumb placed a delicious pressure on her clit as the fingers he had buried in her wet heat began stroking her insides with expertise that had her lips parting yet no words left them as he stretched her open. "So wet little whore, oh so wet. Did those men ever make you feel like this?" He asked, thrilled at the way she writhed from his touches that elicited sobs and moans from one end and wet slickness from the other.
"N-no!" She whined, shivering with certainty that she had never felt so hot, so turned on, in her life.
"What an honor little whore," he purred, "maybe I should give you something else for being so honest. Would you like that?"
"Y-yes please, please more fuck me please."
"Oh I will sweet whore, but not until I get a taste of you. Not until I see how much this cunt can take, then," he purred, his face inches away from her heat that glistened with her juices. The scent of her made him lick his lips as if he were about to devour a most delicious meal. "Then, I'll fuck you, make you my little whore."
It was the last thing he said to her before he dived forward, his tongue tracing her inner folds as it joined his fingers in drawing out the most delicious cries from the woman below him. Her legs shook and tensed, and the urge to shut them against his head was incredibly strong, but she was forced to stay open for him as his tongue dipped into her.
A noisy growl escaped his throat as he tasted her sweet cunt which only provided more of her wetness for him. Wetness that he eagerly lapped up noisily, wanting her to hear how good she tasted to him, which only made her stomach knot up even more as she felt the rush of pleasure invading her mind.
The sounds of her cries increased as he increased the speed his fingers were fucking her, and it was no surprise that when he went and wrapped his lips around her swollen clit and sucked it harshly. Tongue darting out to lick her, before he scraped his teeth against the sensitive bundle did the pain and pleasure of the action send her over the edge.
Her body arched as much as she could being pinned down, and her insides clenched so much that it almost became painful.
She let out a loud, long, and watery cry of, "FUCK!" That filled the air as he continued to suck at her, his fingers only slowing down as her insides clenched around them in an attempt to draw them in deeper.
Truly the cunt of a whore. He grinned at that, yet he didn't stop his assault on her body as he happily licked at her bead, his touch turning painful as she writhed underneath him.
"P-please too much too much," she sobbed, yet her body seemed to want more as it pressed against him, and the dark joy he felt was tremendous as he pulled away from her cunt, his fingers still stroking her even as she begged him to slow his movements.
"Oh no little whore," he grinned madly, watching tears stain her face as she cried and wriggled helplessly. "Weren't you listening to me earlier? I'll stop when I think you're done. And you are not done."
A distress noise left her lips as he dragged his fingers in and out of her. Yet it wasn't long before those noises morphed into ones of pleasure again. The cycle starting once again and lasting until he wanted it to end.
A/N: no regrets and now i wanna write all the unhinged smut with this man.
