Stephen

There’s nothing worse than being stuck on desk duty, in my opinion. The funny thing is, this time it isn’t even my fault, I’m just trying to keep myself out of trouble as I wait for the paperwork to clear the Office of Professional Responsibility.

In the meantime, I get stuck on desk duty until the bureaucrats finish up what they need to do. It’s not that I fault them for their jobs, they’re doing what needs to be done to keep the CIA working. At the same time though, when I’m the one getting punished with desk duty while Keith Young, my former partner who I reported to OPR, is getting a two month and running paid vacation at home... I wonder who was thinking what when the rule book was written.

I complete the form that I’m supposed to be checking, a terminal leave request for a guy who’s done his twenty five years and is ready to move on to something with better pay, better hours and less danger. Pussy. We do what we do because we’re not supposed to be here for the money. We join the CIA because we want to make the country a better place, we want to take down the bad guys. We don’t go into it in order to get a good retirement packages, weekends coaching Little League and a nice three bedroom place on the lake.

Whatever, he’s put in his time, and checking the computers, he’s got the right number of days built up in the system. So, Peter Van Dam of the Buenos Aries field office, the Central Intelligence Agency wishes you a happy retirement and all the best in your future endeavors.

I punch in the proper codes to authorize leave when I get a beep on my phone. It’s my boss. “What do you need, Penny?”

Penny Wallaby, my direct boss and supervising senior agent, has earned my respect. Fifty four, twice divorced with one kid in Annapolis, she came into the CIA back in the time when it was still a boy’s club for the most part, and she’s still kicking ass twenty nine years later. “Need you to come by my office. You busy?”

“I’ll be there in three minutes.”

Penny’s office is upstairs, the rest of her group’s got an op going and she can’t have me around when I’m pulling desk duty in the bullpen. Ah well, at least the air conditioning is better down here anyway. I run up the stairs to save the time, getting to Penny’s office with a minute to spare when I knock. “Reporting as ordered.”

Penny points to the chair in front of her desk and I take a seat, making sure to unbutton my suit coat as I do. “How’s the form processing coming?”

I shrug, trying to not tell the truth that I’m bored out of my fucking mind. It doesn’t matter, I knew when I signed up for the Agency that it wouldn’t all be fun and games. “There’s plenty more to do. There always is. Is this about the OPR?”

“Yes and no,” Penny says, tapping a file on her desk. “The OPR did come back, Keith’s been reprimanded and reassigned.”

“Good. He screwed up, but he didn’t need to be fired for it,” I reply, and Penny purses her lips. “What? He broke the rules.”

“A rule that a lot of people break, Stephen. But that’s not the point. How long have you been with the CIA?” Penny asks, as if she doesn’t know exactly how long I’ve been with them. “Nine years?”

“Just a shade over,” I answer, sighing. “What are you getting at?”

“I went through your own OPR file and HR file as part of your complaint against Keith. You know what I see over and over?” Penny asks, and I nod. “What?”

“Lots and lots of the phrases unlimited potential along with doesn’t play well with others,” I reply. “Or at least synonyms of it. At least until the past two years.”

“That’s because after that long, the idea of potential sort of changes into the idea of wasted talent,” Penny says, sighing. “Dammit Stephen, one of those reports had my signature, and you know my policy, I don’t read your old annual reviews before I fill out my own comments. You’re top marks across the board on technical skills, and damn near scraping the bottom of the pile in terms of teamwork. When OPR came back to me, part of me hoped that they’d hammered Keith harder than they did, because then maybe someone might be willing to give you another chance to partner up, figuring you’d hit Keith on something serious. Instead, I’ve got a crew of eight people, and only six effectives. Keith’s left a fucking hole, and you’re a pariah among the rest of the team!”

I shift around a little, trying not to be frustrated, but I can’t help it. “Dammit Penny, I did the right thing! The goddamn rule book says we have to report every financial benefit that comes our way on an op, and Keith didn’t!”

“He failed to report a twenty five dollar gift card that he won at a raffle on the way back from the main op!” Penny yells. “Twenty five fucking dollars, Stephen! Christ, you can barely buy dinner for twenty five bucks in Tokyo! For that you nearly cost a good man his career!”

“So are you reassigning me?” I ask, not wanting to argue this again. I know I rub people the wrong way. But dammit, there’s right and wrong, and Keith did the wrong thing. “I’d understand if you did, to help your team.”

“No, I’m not reassigning you… but you’re not going back to the team,” Penny says, confusing me for a moment. She lets me squirm, then shakes her head, she’s obviously got something on her mind. “While I enjoy that look on your face for once, I don’t have time to play any more games with you, Stephen. You know about the Chastity Hendricks situation?”

“Who doesn’t?” I shoot back, losing my patience. It’s only been front page news for the past two weeks, ever since the girl disappeared from her hotel room in Baden-Baden while on a family vacation. There’s been plenty of rumors swirling, but after there was no ransom demand or terrorist group claiming responsibility, the main story’s been that she might have run away, or was off on a lark with some European boy toy. She’s a little young for it but not too much so. “What’s that got to do with me? Kidnapping is an FBI game, or maybe Secret Service since she’s the Sec Def’s daughter and she disappeared overseas. What’s your point?”

“She was found ten hours ago,” Penny says, her voice catching, and I immediately feel like shit. Penny has one child, a son who’s a second year midshipman at Annapolis… but she’s also got a sister with a daughter just about Chastity’s age. From what I understand, they’re close.

“Where?” I ask.

“Washed up on a beach in Athens, Greece. Preliminary reports are that she was raped and drugged. Toxicology is still waiting on the exact nature of it, but it was some type of opioid, probably heroin,” Penny says, blanching a little. “So this isn’t a missing minor or a kidnapping case any more. It’s a manhunt.”

“Which is where we come in,” I note, and Penny nods. “What’s the play?”

There’s a lot of words used in the CIA like ‘play.’ They’re put there for a reason. It’s a lot easier to deal with taking lives when you don’t have to constantly talk about the effects of your actions. Penny falls into this sort of shop talk quickly, finding some refuge from her inner turmoil in it. “So far, the US has been lucky. The Greek authorities were quick to call us in, they’re still wanting to get some concessions on the bailouts for their banks from the EU, and the EU wants the administration to play nice with all Brexit headaches. So Chastity was never examined until NCIS got a team on site from a nearby carrier group. The White House and the Pentagon obviously want this handled with discretion. There’s been enough of an outcry over the girl being kidnapped. For her to die the way she did… the administration isn’t happy. So we’re playing this quiet and deep.”

“Oh no,” I groan, realizing what Penny’s saying. “Deep Cover?”

Penny nods. “You’re good at the wet work, Stephen. In fact, you’re too good at it, freaks some people out. But you don’t know the area. On the other hand, MI6 has a Deep Cover agent in the area. She’s part of a criminal network that is familiar with the region where Chastity was found.”

“Yeah but-” I start before shaking my head. “Penny, Deep Cover operatives are like the exact opposite of me.”

“No shit,” Penny replies. “Let’s lay it out. You’re efficient, you’re professional, and you’ve got the rule book practically memorized. Meanwhile, Deep Cover operators….”

“Deep Cover agents barely have a passing acquaintance with the rules,” I finish for her. “If you think I have a problem playing well with others on a regular team, how do you expect me to work well with a Deep Cover agent? And a British one at that? Christ, MI6 and CIA totally do things differently.”

“So you drink your coffee, and let her drink the Earl Grey at tea time,” Penny finishes. “The fact is Stephen, this isn’t a choice. You’ve pissed off enough people that you’ve started to overshadow your abilities. So this is the deal. I actually like you, you remind me a little of myself when I got started in the Agency, plenty of skills but with my head up my ass. So I’m giving you one more chance. You’re going to team with this MI6 Deep Cover agent, and you’re going to find out who is responsible for Chastity Hendrick’s death. You’re going to neutralize them with extreme prejudice.”

“A constant green light?” I ask, and Penny nods, making me whistle. “That doesn’t happen often.”

“When you see the pictures of Chastity Hendrick’s body, you’ll understand why. You fly out in two days.”

* * *

“What’s bothering you, little brother?” my sister Victoria asks as we eat dinner together. Maybe some people would find it weird for me to be having dinner with my big sister when we’re both single and over thirty, but Victoria and I have always been close. “Don’t tell me it’s more of your cloak and dagger stuff. I thought you said that you were on desk duty for the past month.”

“Two months actually Vic,” I reply, sighing in frustration as I try to get the images from the briefing file out of my head. Penny was right, I can understand why the White House wants a message sent. The things done to that girl… it doesn’t matter, I’ll find whoever did this and take care of business. “But yeah, I’ve got a new assignment.”

“That’s good then!” Victoria asks. Victoria’s dressed like she normally does when we’re just hanging out at her place, tight shorts that show a lot of the long legs that let her be a fashion model for almost twenty years and a tank top to let her feel more comfortable in the summer humidity. I’ve changed as well, out of my suit and into a more comfortable pair of jeans along with a t-shirt.

“I mean, I know it’s been tough on you with me in Europe for the past month, but Milan is Milan, and they won’t come over here, so I have to go to them,” she says, sipping at her red wine. “I’m glad to be home though. I missed my cute little brother.”

“Yeah well, I might be heading out for a while,” I tell her, sipping at the gin and tonic that Victoria made for me. Nobody makes drinks like my big sister. “Not that it matters.”

“What do you mean, Stephen? You’re off of desk duty, isn’t that the thing you wanted?” Victoria asks, coming behind me and rubbing my shoulders. For someone so tall and lean, she’s got a lot of strength in her fingers, and even though there are times her touchy-feely nature with me feels a bit weird, when I’m tense there’s nothing like a good Victoria Knightsbridge backrub. “What else does my brother want?”

“I’d like to… I don’t know,” I reply honestly. The fact is, it’s all hard to really put into words. “I guess… if I had to pick words, I’m bored and frustrated.”

“Considering the women you date, I can see why you’re bored there,” Victoria says, digging in with her thumbs in just that way that makes me moan as the stress seems to melt away. “Then again, when you’ve got me to compare them to, I can see why you’d get bored.”

I chuckle, leaning back to look up at Victoria’s face, or at least the upper half of it as the rest is sort of obscured by her chest. “Yeah well, since Mom and Dad died, you’ve done a great job of taking care of me, Vic. Maybe that’s it, I’m frustrated that just as my best girl gets back into town, I’m taking off for a while.”

Victoria chuckles, and gives me a peck on the tip of my nose, just like we did when we were kids. “Don’t you ever forget I’m the best girl in the world for you. Hell, the only girl really.”

It’s a running joke between us, but still it helps me feel better. Maybe it’s all the time she spent in Europe as a teenager, but she’s always been more affectionate than most big sisters are I think. Yeah, she likes to push the line on what brothers and sisters should do, but it’s all in good fun with her. Victoria finishes her shoulder rub, coming back around to sit down on the sofa next to me. “So, frustrated I can understand, but bored? What’s got you bored by the CIA? I thought that was your dream job.”

“It is, but a lot of it is that I feel like I’m running uphill. Everyone’s more worried about making friends and keeping their buddy’s ass covered than doing the right thing. I guess… well, you saw the news tonight, right?” I ask, knowing that the cover story’s broken. Already the young girl’s face have been plastered all over the television, and the Department of Defense handed out a press release. “Well, that’s my assignment.”

“What do you mean?” Victoria asks. “The news said she drowned. I figured she got bored out of her mind in Baden-Baden, decided to try out some of the places that you see on the Travel Channel ”

“She came out of the ocean, that’s for sure,” I admit. “But… let’s just say someone put her there.”

“So you get to do the right thing then for once,” Victoria says supportively. “No more trying to chase down terrorists from e-mails, no more dealing with eavesdropping on people you can’t touch. You get to chase down bad guys, right?”

I think about it, then nod. “I guess you’re right.”

Victoria takes another sip of her wine, chuckling as she tucks her long legs underneath her. “I always am, little brother. Haven’t you figured that out yet? The sooner you let me run your life, the happier you’re going to be.”

I laugh, but even as I laugh, I can’t get the images of Chastity Hendricks out of my head. What they did to her…

“Hey, Stephen?” Victoria asks, and I glance over, realizing I’ve been ignoring what she’s been saying. When I raise an eyebrow, she chuckles. “I said the timer’s going off, dessert’s ready.”

I nod, not hungry at all. “Okay. Uh, we might need some Tupperware, but let’s see.”

Victoria gets off the couch, taking my hand as she helps me up. “I understand, little brother. It’s okay.”

If it only would be.

Larissa

The moving lorries trundle off, ready to distribute their cargo throughout most of England and Wales, and I make a mental note to send Scoglitti my regards, his men were not only quick this time, but also extremely professional. The fact is, a lot of the gangs in London still treat things like it’s some sort of casual game when it’s deadly serious. Ah well, at least they tend to follow the gun control laws. You might get stabbed or beaten by a member of the organized crime syndicates in London, but you won’t get shot.

I turn the collar up on my light jacket and shake my head, glancing up at the cloudy, overcast night sky, you can’t see a single star and the moon is just a slightly light colored blob in the clouds. There’s an old joke in the UK: ‘Ah yes, I remember summer, it was a lovely Tuesday.’ While it’s an exaggeration, compared to my home in Greece, I am chilled to the bone.

Then again, I think as I get into my Bentley and drive off, there’s good things to being in my ‘second home’ as well. Like the Bentley. Maybe I’m Greek by birth, and I still have my Greek citizenship, but I’ve spent just as much time living in the UK as I have Greece, so whenever I come back, I also make sure to visit at least one decent pub for a pint and some good fish and chips.

Tonight, the pub is a little further into London proper than where I normally go, but there’s a good sense of irony to going to Whitechapel for a meeting, especially as I can see the Tower and Tower Bridge as I approach. Inside the pub, which is in proper London style, I find my contact, who doesn't look at all like an MI6 agent, but then again he’s not supposed to.

“I see you already put in an order for me,” I note as I take in the two pints of Guinness on the table. “Or are you just trying to get a head start on the weekend?”

“You know you’re in a safe place, you can drop that bloody Yank accent,” my contact says. Ian and I have been contacts ever since I went into the Deep Cover program, and he never fails to complain about my accent. Honestly, while I do enjoy speaking in ‘proper English,’ I spend so much of my time speaking in the Greek accented American style English that I use in Cover that I sometimes forget.

“You know you love the way I butcher my vowels and make my th’s too strong,” I tease, sitting down. “Just be glad I didn’t have to try and be Australian Greek. They’re bloody atrocious,” I remark, sitting down and picking up a pint. “To your health.”

“Viva Britannia,” Ian replies quietly as he toasts me. We clink glasses, and I holler an order to the bar for two baskets of fish and chips. Ian buys the drinks, I buy the food. That’s been our deal for eight years now. “So how was your delivery at the docks?”

“Just like I’d planned,” I say softly. We could possibly be picked up by someone using a directional microphone, but over the general background noise in the pub, it’d be hard to pick out. “You have the tag codes?”

“Already passed them along,” Ian replies, referring to the RFID chips I slipped into the crates. “The Yard should get them in time.”

I laugh harshly, and even Ian chuckles. We both know that less than twenty percent of the shipment that I brought in will be confiscated by the regular police, with that going towards their own little party stash. The tracking is there so that MI5 can figure out what the gangs are up to while the power brokers in the country make sure they get their quid. It’s all fair play to them.

Ian and I exchange pleasantries while we wait on our food, watching as the rugby highlights play above the bar. “The team’s utter shite this year. You’d think with the money they’re spending, they could at least beat Canada.”

Ian shrugs, international rugby isn’t his thing. “Fuck ‘em, I’m just waiting to see the Open. They’re playing it at Royal Birkdale this year. Not St. Andrews, but still a good bloody course.”

The rugby highlights finish, changing over to the news for a few minutes. The top story makes me shiver when I see it. Chastity Hendricks. “They found her?”

Ian nods, sighing. “And you’re not going to fancy where, either.”

I turn, shocked. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

Ian shakes his head. “I wish I was. She was brought in by the tide to a beach in Athens. She hadn’t been in the water long, so she was easy to identify with that birthmark on her left shoulder. It was about the only thing they could identify on her though. The Yanks are reaching out to us on it.”

I sigh, looking over. “Who’re they sending?”

“Some lad from the CIA. Here’s his file,” Ian says, sliding a napkin across the table. Insideis the microSD card that’ll have everything, encrypted of course. I can check it later. “Take a look, he’s going to be expecting to meet you in eighteen hours.”

“Give me a lot of fucking time why don’t you?” I grumble, slipping the data card into my phone under the table. Security is going to have to take a back seat to Father Time in this instance. “With shite like this, you wonder why I don’t come visit more often.”

“I figured it was because you like the weather better there,” Ian says. “Tell me why you’re the field agent and I just get to haunt pubs again?”

“Because I’m the one that’s hot as hell, and you can’t teach that,” I reply with a chuckle. “Besides, if I spent all my time in pubs, I’d never get work done, I’d be too busy fending off horny chaps.”

Ian takes a look at me, noting like it’s the first time tonight that I’ve got a body to go with my personality. It’s one of the reasons that I like Ian, actually. He notices my face more than my tits. “Hmm, I feel bad for any man that hits on you without you being keen. You’d most likely break their arm. Or their heart.”

After finishing a quick meal, I go out to my car, feeling frustration. Chastity Hendricks, why the fuck did you have to get yourself kidnapped and die in my fucking territory anyway? I feel for you, but I’m worried about what your death means.

Knowing I need some help, I pull out my phone, calling a name that I really wish I had a chance to use more often. Sadly, our respective schedules keeps us from that. “Hello, Larissa.”

“Rodrigo, and how are you and my friend Jessica doing today?” I ask, making sure to emphasize my British accent. It’s the one way that we can verify quickly if I’m speaking to a fellow Deep Cover agent, or a fellow capo within The Network, the criminal empire we’re both members of. “I do hope that your news of her pregnancy wasn’t a trick?”

“Jessica is coming along just fine,” Rodrigo answers. “Actually, I was going to meet her for an early dinner, I have some work to do tonight. A shipment coming in from Scoglitti.”

“He’s been busy, I just handled a shipment from him a few hours ago. However, I’m calling on another issue. Chastity Hendricks.”

Rodrigo sighs, and I’m sure his FBI contacts have been bugging him about it. “When I heard she washed up in Greece, I thought I’d hear from you. What are your people saying?”

“They’re saying that I get to meet up with a member of your CIA to help him ‘investigate.’ I haven’t had a chance to look over his file yet. What are you hearing?”

“Less than you. Be careful with anyone CIA though, they tend to be assholes.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You know Rodrigo, the last asshole American guy I met ended up turning out pretty well. Settled down, got married, and he might actually be a decent man some day.”

“Aww, thanks. But I’m serious, Larissa. Those guys, they have their own rulebook and they run by it. You watch your ass.”

I laugh, getting in a little flirt with Rodrigo. We never hooked up prior to Jessica entering his life, but he’s certainly handsome enough. “You know I’ve got enough people watching my ass anyway. Just left thirty of them as I walked out of a pub. Okay then, can you keep me up to date? I’ve got to clear this guy through Scoglitti and Rachmaninoff or else I might find myself with a big problem.”

“I’ll handle that,” Rodrigo says, taking at least a little bit of the load off my mind. Why did I never tell him I was also Deep Cover for so long? “I’ve got a few high ups around here that I can say sent him. I’ll give a cover story of him being a private contractor. That’ll give you some flexibility with him.”

“Thanks. Let me go let off some stress, and then get back home. Give Jessica a nice spanking from me to show her how fond I am, please,” I tease, making Rodrigo laugh. “Take care.”

After hanging up, I’m still nervous and frustrated. A high profile case, the CIA involved, and I’m going to have to walk a tightrope between my position within The Network and getting justice for Chastity Hendricks. I may be upset that the girl got dumped in my area, but still for her to have that happen to her at all… it gives me bad thoughts of the bad times, and I need to work those out.

I drive to Canary Wharf, where in One Canada Square I find what I hope will help. Anyone going to the lobby or outside of the iconic skyscraper thinks that the thirty meter tall pyramid ‘roof’ is just that, decoration more or less. How wrong they are, as I take the key card only elevator up and get out in The Valley Of The Kings, the BDSM themed nightclub owned by The Network. Invitation only, and for most members a yearly fee higher than the average yearly Londoner’s salary makes it safe.

“I want a man,” I tell the manager, who I’ve fucked before. Decent fuck, but so not my type. “Someone who doesn’t mind being made my bitch.”

“For you Mistress Dryad,” the manager says, using my name within The Network, “I’m sure the line will be long and distinguished.”

“Shut the fuck up and send them to the private dungeon,” I reply, heading for the room that again only a very few people have the key to. I change, putting on my domination gear, a short black patent leather skirt and corset bustier, leather gloves and my knee high boots, no panties needed. Usually, the supple leather at least makes me a little wet, but right now I’m too frustrated and angry.

There’s a knock at the door, and a man wearing nothing but a little leather thong comes in. I can tell right away he’s one of the ‘financial members,’ those pathetic executive slobs who during the day act like they run the world, when at night they pay through the nose for what I’m about to do.

“Is this the best this fucking shitstain of a city can provide? A worthless sack of shit like you?” I ask, not playing around at all. I may be dominating, but what I really want is a man who can take everything I dish out, and be willing to turn it around on me. Unfortunately, I’m a spoiled switch. It takes a very impressive specimen to bring out my submissive side.

“Yes Mistress,” the slave says, his pale skin stretched over a body that at least has some decent gym muscles. He spends his time at the fitness center it seems. “How may I serve you?”

“Oh, let’s see what I can do to have some fucking fun,” I growl, an evil smile coming to my lips that makes the slave shiver.

Forty minutes later I’m even more frustrated as the slave whimpers and whines, his back streaked with the marks of the whip, while his gaping asshole barely gives me any resistance at all as I fuck his pathetic ass with my double ended strap-on.

“Come on, bitch! At least give me a little bit of work for my fucking pussy!” I yell, pissed off. I slap him in the back of the head with my flog and he starts crying, sobbing as he breaks. He’s already come, my dildo up his ass making him splatter all over the floor, and I shake my head, enraged. “Fucking pussy bitch. Get the fuck out!”

The slave tries but can’t stand up, so I kick him in the ass before getting one of the assistants to drag him out. “Tell the manager that bitch’s membership’s revoked for this room. I see him in here again, and I’m taking my biggest whip to the manager’s ass, got it?”

“Yes Mistress,” the assistant says. He’s well built, too bad his thing is totally non-sexual. Although I guess he probably either creams his jeans or maybe goes somewhere else to get his rocks off.

It doesn’t matter, I close the door in his face and turn around, angrily stripping off my strap-on, frustration overwhelming me. Usually that’s my go-to, whenever I need to work off the stress and get a good orgasm, pegging a slave at least is kinky enough that it helps.

The problem is, I don’t want just the kinkiness any more. Since seeing what’s built between Rodrigo and Jessica, I’ve started to want more than just nights of wanton kink and heaps of sex. I want a man, a real fucking man. Rodrigo is one, but while I’m a horny bitch, I’m not the kind to try and fuck with someone’s relationship unless it’s work, and those two are friends.

Desperate to get off, I go over to the ‘toy box’ and take out another vibrator, a smaller one normally used on women and lay down on the bed in the room, my pussy at least moist after forty minutes of dominating the bitch I just threw out of here. The vibrator feels good though, and as I slide it between my pussy lips, I close my eyes, letting my fantasies play out.

Tall… I want a tall man, with strong muscles but not bodybuilder bulky. A man who knows how to move, how to fight… I want a real man, confident and yes, dominating, but also who knows how to be tender. Someone smart, smart enough to really understand me, who can understand the reality of my life, and not judge me from one side or another. Someone better than the shit that I deal with most of the time.

My body warms as my fantasy man flutters in my mind while I pump the vibrator in and out of my pussy. The build inside me is quick and harsh, and I pull the vibrator out, putting the tip of it right against my clit and groaning as my body responds.

Mmmm… if he can eat my pussy too, that’d be a bonus. Actually, if he has no limits at all that’d be nice, someone who’s willing to do what it takes to get himself and me off…

I groan, the image of my dream man licking my pussy, his tongue fluttering over my clit sending ripples through me. My hips lift on their own, grinding against my vibrator as I imagine riding my man’s face, his tongue driving me wild.

My orgasm breaks, the release bitter as my fantasies dissolve, and I’m taken from a fantasy man to a dimly lit dungeon that smells of sweat and sadness. I shake my head and turn off my vibrator. Maybe I’m just being stupid, maybe seeing a miracle once in Rodrigo finding Jessica has me thinking lightning can strike twice, but I need more than just a good fucking.

And lately I haven’t even been getting that.

Stephen

The Virgin Atlantic Airbus dips slightly as the pilot adjusts to some weather up ahead, and I’m reminded why there are some perks to working for the Central Intelligence Agency. Perhaps it’d be cheaper for the government to send me in economy class, and I’m sure that most government agencies do. But when I’ve got ten hours of air travel on a red-eye flight, being able to stretch out in my own semi-private ‘pod’ and review my files before trying to catch a nap helps.

Actually, I’ve been trying to sleep since the plane took off, but every time I close my eyes, I see the pale, flayed open body of Chastity Hendricks. The holes, the coroner said in their preliminary findings, were caused by scalpels, and were done in such a way so that the girl didn’t pass out. The marks on her ankles showed that she was hung, upside down most likely so that the blood rushed do her head, keeping her awake and aware even as the bastards tortured her.

Chastity Hendricks, who in her file photo is still wearing the braces that she got off just after Spring Break, and is posing in the cheerleading outfit that she wore for her high school. Chastity Hendricks, who according to her classmates loved puppy dogs, peanut butter cookies, and who in the fall had an unrequited crush on the captain of the basketball team. Chastity, who went to the spring formal with her best friend because he had a crush on her, and by all accounts gave the young man his first kiss while the DJ played the last dance, and who went to Baden-Baden with her parents and sent her now boyfriend a note saying that she couldn’t wait to get back home to see him again.

Chastity, who was found face down on the beach, her body barely recognizable as human, who was subjected to things that no person should ever have to endure. And who haunts me every time I close my eyes.

I adjust my seat angle a little and look over my contact information again, trying to get my mind off of Chastity and onto something more useful. Larissa ‘The Dryad’ Moraitis is a Deep Cover MI6 Agent, and one of their most accomplished, having successfully worked her way up to a capo position within The Network, an international cartel that has connections throughout the world. She’s done it while still continuing to be an active MI6 agent, too. While she’s not the only Deep Cover operative in The Network, apparently my cover story was organized by another operative, she’s been in The Network longer, nearly eight years.

Her work is impressive too. She’s been an assassin for both The Network and MI6, taking out targets throughout Europe and Asia, with even a few hits in Africa. While I’ve had to kill a few people in my time in the CIA, Moraitis’ body count makes me look like a rookie agent. And she’s gotten a lot of information that she’s passed back to the Brits that have let them bust up quite a few of the gangs in their country.

It’s how she gets her information that turns my stomach, while at the same time stirs something in me just a little bit lower. She’s got computer skills, martial arts skills, she’s fluent in Greek, Italian, Arabic and English… but her preferred method of elimination is to seduce and then poison her targets while they’re still so distracted from the sex. Apparently she’s quite good at it. And she’s got no limits on who she’s willing to hit, based off the list of her known kills. I can appreciate her dedication to her craft, at least. Still, the way she does it… fucking and then killing her targets?

I shake my head, trying not to cast doubt. There’s got to be a reason that she operates the way she does. I flip to her contact information, immediately struck by how beautiful this woman is. Long, coal black hair that has just a little bit of wave to it, olive skin that glows with an inner deep amber light, plump, luscious lips that make me think of what she can do with them, but most of all her eyes. Violet eyes framed by almost impossibly long lashes that lay like dark butterfly’s wings on her innocent looking cheeks. Anyone distracted by her lashes and cheeks though is a fool, those eyes tell a totally different story. They’re full of knowledge, and I wonder… never mind, I’ve got a job to do.

I read the rest of my file again before I close my eyes, knowing I’ve still got a few hours to Berlin. Even if it’s going to be spotty, even if I’m going to be chased by images of Chastity Hendricks, I need to try. I can use the sleep before I change planes, unfortunately there’s no direct flights to Athens. Ah well, maybe I can grab a decent bratwurst while I wait.

* * *

“Fucking kidding me,” I grumble, looking at my phone. The message doesn’t change though, and I sigh. Less than a half hour in Greece, and I’m already dealing with stupid shit.

Cannot meet in Athens. Rental in your name at the Sixt counter. Call me when you get to town.

Is she fucking kidding me? Either way, I pick up my single travel bag and look for the car rental counters. There’s a sign for Avis, for Enterprise, Hertz, but I don’t see Sixt. Finally, I give up and go to one of the counters. “Excuse me, where’s the Sixt counter? I have a reservation there.”

“Sixt?” the worker says, chuckling arrogantly. At least he has pretty good English. “They’re a half kilometer outside the airport.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, it seems to be my new favorite word right this minute. “How do I get there? Do they have a shuttle?”

The counter worker shakes his head, and pulls out a map. He circles a spot, handing it to me. “Here. It’s pretty easy, but just be sure. Follow the signs to the short term parking exit, then turn right. Keep straight, you’ll see them on your left.”

“Thanks,” I reply, picking up my bag again. “Glad I packed light.”

“You sure you want to keep that reservation? I can get you into a Fiat no problem, just as cheap.”

I shake my head, waving him off. “Thanks, but company car, you know.”

I start off, muttering to myself as I do. British or not, Deep Cover or not, trying to be a capo (or is it capa?), this is just fucking rude. When we get face to face, I’m going to have a sit down with Larissa Moraitis.

I get to the airport gate and turn right like the guy at the counter said, angry thoughts of teaching her just who the fuck is the boss filling my mind when I hear the footsteps behind me. It’s dark, I landed on one of the last flights into Athens, so the streets are quieter than normal.

The two men are dirty, clearly up to no good as one of them pulls a knife. There’s no time to talk, I just move, kicking the wrist of the one with the knife while ducking the sucker punch his partner was going for with the brass knucks in his hand. Side stepping, I crush Knuck’s knee in with a stomping side kick that breaks his leg while making sure he’s going to spend at least six months in rehab for ACL surgery after this.

With Knucks down, I turn to Knife, or Knife-less now, who tries to kick me with his filthy, scuffed work boot, but I catch his leg and pull him close. I headbutt him, his nose crunching and blood spurting from his nostrils immediately. “Argh!”

“Wrong fucking move, asshole,” I grunt as I catch him and throw, twisting as I do to not fall on the pavement. He flies through the air to land next to his compatriot in a heap, screaming in pain as his stretched hip cracks on the curb, his leg or pelvis clearly broken. I pick up my bag and think about finishing them off, but then walk away. They’re not worth it and I don’t need the hassle. Besides, it’s not my mission.

Up ahead, I see the sign for Sixt car rental. The counter person is quick and courteous at least, and ten minutes later I get behind the wheel of my rented Range Rover, noting that nobody’s come to pick up Knucks and Knife yet. Ah well.

The Range Rover’s a nice drive, better than my Ford back home. Regardless, I’m going to have a talk with Larissa about professional courtesy. I’ve still got hours of driving ahead of me and then a short night in a shitty hotel before we meet, and I’m not looking forward to either.

Larissa

“Mistress Larissa?” my housekeeper, Elena, says as I sit on my back terrace and take in the morning sun after my morning exercise session. Like all of my staff, they use the proper form of address with me, regardless of how they serve, and Elena's been with me for nearly five years now, she's practically indispensable. “The information you asked for has arrived.”

“Let me see it,” I say, holding out my hand for the data stick. It would have been faster to try and get the data sent electronically, but I wanted to make sure I maintained security after having to do so much on the plane back from England to here. Besides, I just got back to my townhouse less than twelve hours ago, and I wanted to have a few minutes to enjoy my morning before I have to deal with Agent Stephen Knightsbridge of the CIA.

Elena hands me the stick and I plug it into my laptop, Elena disappearing as I’ve taught her to do. There is a very simple rule in my house, when Mistress Larissa is working, the staff is a ghost. I’ve only had to punish a staff member once for it, and since then nobody else has been willing to risk my wrath. They still don’t know where the body went.

First thing's first, I take a look at the written report and medical reports. The two men I sent to attack Stephen aren’t Network men, just a couple of street criminals who make a decent living hustling tourists and occasionally holding up someone who’s stupid enough to flaunt their foreignness and their money in Athens. Usually Americans. I have yet to understand the psychological need for some Americans to show up in a foreign country literally wearing their flag on their shirt like a giant sign that says ‘rob me, I have no idea how to act in your nation.’

Whatever. The men I sent weren’t top of the line Network operatives, but they weren’t soft either. Still, the hospital report reads like they got their asses kicked by a team. Fractured patella, torn ACL, LCL and MCL on the first, while the second has a broken nose, cracked forearm, two smashed teeth, and a broken pelvis. Even if they weren’t Network men, they were armed, knew the terrain and had the element of surprise. To get beaten so badly....

Sucking some more juice through a straw, I pull up the video files, the more difficult part of the setup. I paid good money to make sure these two approached Stephen at just the right spot so that the whole thing could be caught on two different cameras. The first camera isn’t that good, an ATM camera that is part of a Network bank and didn’t see much because of the darkness, but the second was set up by the thugs themselves, a small HD camera that captured the whole thing less from less than twenty meters away.

The first thing I notice about Stephen is his walk. He’s well built, tall and lean, and while he’s dressed to practically scream tourist in khakis and a polo shirt, his shoulders are well muscled. The thugs don’t get much of a drop on him, he turns while they’re still a good four meters away, he’s got good hearing and reactions.

The fight doesn’t take long, ten seconds at the most, and when it’s over Stephen picks up his bag and walks off like nothing happened, leaving his two victims on the sidewalk screaming in pain. I back the video up and watch in slow motion, and as I do, I’m very, very impressed. He moves with power and grace, each blow exactly where it’s supposed to be to deliver maximum impact with as little risk to him as possible. The effect of even his first block was impactful, and his throw was poetry in motion, power, balance and technique all wrapped up in one. I don’t know if his skill is just because of CIA training or if he’s studied on his own, but in any case he’s a skilled fighter.

Unconsciously, I bite my lip, wondering about Stephen. So much restrained strength, a body that certainly looks good, and while I didn’t get a great look at his face in the camera, he wasn’t disfigured. It's been a long time since I worked with a man as a mission partner, this might be a bit of fun.

I erase the files, and sit back, finishing my juice. I don’t have to wait long, less than four minutes after I finish the last drops, my Network phone rings, and I see I have a call from Sicily. I pick it up on my headset, smiling indulgently and switching to Italian. “Ciao, Luigi.”

I’m the only person I know of who has the permission of Luigi Scoglitti to call him his first name to his face, he’s always had a bit of a soft spot for me. Not much, he’d kill me in an instant if he knew I was Deep Cover, but enough that he lets me call him Luigi.

“Good morning Larissa,” he replies. “How was your flight?”

“You know that having a private jet and pilot's license always helps with air travel Luigi,” I reply, humming as I get up and stretch my back. “I could use a good massage session though. No matter how hard you go at it, workouts never do get all the kinks out of your back.”

“Larissa, your flirtations don’t work on me,” Luigi says with a chuckle, both of us knowing he’s lying. While Luigi isn’t as easily led by the cock as most men, he’s not dead. “I hear you have a visitor in your territory, an American?”

“Yes, Rodrigo said he’d clear it with you,” I reply. “I’m not happy about it, but it helps the Network. You and I both know which group has their fingerprints all over this death. And if The Network can get some more influence with the Americans, this can be to our benefit.”

Luigi hums, still not sure. In some ways he's the most cautious of the capo in The Network, a product of surviving an era when the people of Sicily got fed up with their local Mafia and started fighting back. “While that is true Larissa... an American military man working with The Network. It could be dangerous.”

“Former military,” I emphasize, going with Rodrigo’s cover story. Simple is always better. “And from what Rodrigo told me, he’s not the cleanest person in the American mercenary community too. This man has a reputation for only focusing on his job.”

“Still,” Luigi says, his voice cautious, “I would prefer if you do not reveal anything about The Network that isn’t essential to this man completing his job. I must ask, forgive me for doing so, but are you one hundred percent sure that nobody with The Network in your area did this?”

“One hundred percent!” I growl, a bit pissed. Old man, you know I wouldn’t condone this type of shit. “Luigi, I do not allow underage work among my people, regardless of the money involved. I’ll take the hit on that myself, but also, my people are not stupid enough to go and kidnap the daughter of a high ranking American official! Anyone who is would have been eliminated when I took over The Sultan’s position.”

“I know, figlia, I know,” Luigi says, using the affectionate term he’s always used for me when he’s trying to be apologetic. “I don’t mean to cause you stress. I’m an old man, I worry too much. I’d like to see my grandchildren graduate school from outside prison.”

No chance of that, old man. MI6 would never let you go that long, and you’d never see the inside of a prison anyway. I wouldn't disrespect you that much, when it's your time I'll make sure you're taken down clean, free and final. Not yet though, so I smile, leaning against the stucco wall that surrounds my terrace as I watch my city wake up. “Luigi, I’d like to actually survive long enough to see that myself. So I understand and totally agree. This American will only be put on the trails that I want him put on, nothing more. One American with a gun is nothing to me, I’ll have him eating out of the palm of my hand before dinner tonight. Or eating out something else.”

Luigi laughs, I think one of the last erotic joys in his life is listening as I tell him very explicit stories of some of my missions for The Network. At least he’s better than pervy Father Giacamo back in Sicily, who’d jack off over on his side of the confessional when I got to the good parts. “I look forward to hearing how you’ve added another American to your list of hearts you’ve broken. So you suspect the same people I do in this crime?”

I growl, looking out on the park in front of my townhouse, truly pissed for the first time. Down below, I can hear the laughter of children, something that I treasure considering the rest of my life. “You fucking know it, Luigi. I need confirmation, but if it is, then we gain more than just some help in the Americas. We can remove a cancer from our own sides as well.”

“If it is them, you crush them without mercy,” Luigi says vehemently. “We’ve tolerated their kind long enough because of their connections. But with this travesty, they have endangered the entire criminal fraternity in Europe. I’ve already spoken with Nikolai about this, he agrees. Whoever did this, crush them utterly.”

Oooh, a green light from The Network. I don’t get those that often unless it’s with a contract involved. “And collateral damage?”

“As Rodrigo would say, you must sometimes break a few eggs to make an omelet.”

I laugh, Luigi’s a charmer even if he is old enough to be my father. “Not quite Luigi, but good enough. I’ll be ready, and if it is what we suspect, I’ll update you then. Enjoy the weather, it’s a beautiful morning in Greece.”

“You are lucky then, the southern wind is burning us up,” Luigi says with a grumble, referring to the winds from nearby Africa that can scorch the very ground of Sicily it seems. “But thank you. Good hunting.”

Luigi hangs up, and I lean on my wall, watching the park down below. I’m meeting Stephen in an hour, and I’d like a little reminder of what all this shit is for.

* * *

The warehouse is empty but clean, one of my own in fact, and when there’s a knock on the door, I hit the lock button, letting him in. “Welcome to Kalamata. Try the olives.”

“Very funny,” he grumbles, crossing the dimly lit interior of the warehouse towards the table I’m sitting at. He gets closer, and I can see that the videos didn’t do him justice. He’s easily over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a tight waist that looks like he doesn’t have a gram of extra fat under his polo shirt. His forearms are corded with sinewy muscle, he’s no gym rat but looks like he earned his body with real hard work, the calluses on the tips of his fingers aren’t the type you get from Cybex machines. “Stephen Knightsbridge.”

“Larissa Moraitis,” I reply, pulling my shoulders back just a little. Most men take any opportunity they can to stare at my tits, and while Stephen’s eyes flicker, his focus is right back on my face before I can even begin to smile. He’s got cobalt blue eyes that burn with an inner fire, and while his cheekbones are just a little sharp, it’s the good kind, the kind that makes him look deadly. I like it already. “Have a seat.”

“I prefer to stand,” Stephen says, and I can see it in everything that he radiates off of him, he’s pissed off, but also, he’s used to being the man in charge. Or at least the man who doesn’t give a fuck if you like what he has to say or not, he’s going to say it. Interesting, and a little annoying, but it’s too early for total judgment.

“As you wish,” I play it off, leaning back. “You have something you wish to say?”

“You’re damned right I do,” he fumes, slamming his hands on the table and staring into my eyes, commanding and dominating. This might become a problem. His body, take charge attitude and confidence are quickly becoming hot in my eyes, but there’s something about him that still frustrates me. My initial good impression about him is souring very fast, he’s just so arrogant. “What the hell were you thinking just sending me a text to get a rental car in Athens?”

“I was thinking that I needed to see if you were worth sticking my fucking neck out for you, Yank,” I growl back, slipping into British English. I don't get enough chances to use it, and I relish the opportunity to do so when I'm angry, Brits sound so much better than Americans when they're pissed off. “In case you don’t know, I risked a shit-ton just to bring you in here. So I tested you.”

“Tested me?” he asks, arrogantly surprised. “With what? Oh… I got it, those two idiots I put through the concrete last night.”

“You did, but you fucked up at the same time,” I hiss, getting up to stare him in the eyes. “If they’d had guns, you’d have been a dead man as they could have both shot you with your bloody back turned! Good job, Mr. Langley-CIA, shot in the back like a bitch to die in the street.”

“There was no need, I’d hurt them,” Stephen says, his lip curling. “I don’t go rogue.”

“Go rogue? You better get savvy really fucking quickly Jack the lad, because you just stepped into a world that you’re not prepared for,” I shoot back, realizing what it is that pisses me off about Stephen. He’s dangerous, he’s dominating, he’s got a magnetism to him that pulls at me, but it’s immature, he’s too play by the rule book innocent for the world that I live in. He’s got potential, but so far it’s just wasted potential. I bet back home in the States he’s got plenty of women swooning over his badass vibe, but I’m no dental assistant who sobs at pictures of wet kittens on Facebook. “Unless you're willing to expand your horizons a little, you're going to get your goolies twisted very quickly.”

“I can handle myself,” Stephen says cockily, even though I can see he doesn't get some of my British slang. He gets the point though, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping back. “I was top of my training class at Langley, and I’ve been a field agent for years now. I’ve punched a few tickets in my time. I’ve got skills.”

“Yeah, I bet,” I laugh, stepping back myself to slide the tablet I brought with his fight video over to him. He picks it up, watching the video quickly before setting tablet back down on the table and shrugging for me to explain. “I got a view of your skills from ten meters away. Nice kick to the knee, but you still don’t understand, do you? This isn’t playing spy versus spy with some stupid cunt who spends most of his time behind a computer trying to crack databases and wanking off to Internet porn. This is old school, hard core shit here. Fuck James Bond, fuck Jason Bourne, they’d get themselves killed in about ten minutes in Deep Cover. And you show up looking like you got dressed by the CIA agent book for warm weather operations with standard issue polo shirt, standard issue khakis from The Gap, and standard issue short boots straight out of the fucking FBI catalog. You might as well wear a sign that says Shoot me, I’m the cunt sent here over Chastity Hendricks. Quite frankly, Agent Knightsbridge, your skills mean pretty much jack and shit to me.”

“I can handle myself,” he repeats, his hands clenching and his knuckles cracking. “Don't like the British English bullshit, but I can handle you too.”

“Then prove it,” I hiss, stepping around my table towards the middle of the floor. “You aren’t getting a gun or one piece of information from me until you can at least do that.”

Stephen considers it for a second, then reaches for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. In the dim light he’s even more impressive, his muscles looking like they’ve been carved from wood underneath his nearly paper thin skin, which is totally unmarked except for a thick scar that crosses his body from just below his left collarbone to under his right nipple. He looks down when he notices my look. “Bike accident in high school, chain link fence to the chest. No cool story.”

“Hmph, you could at least make it that you got it for a reason,” I taunt, rolling my wrists. “Let’s make it easy. You win, you get to be the boss of this operation. I’ll be Your Girl Friday and just give you information and introductions. I win, then you shut the fuck up and listen to someone who might be trying to keep both of our asses alive.”

For a moment, Stephen looks like he’s about to walk away, but then he stops and steps forward, bringing his hands up. “I’ve got no problems hitting a woman if she asks for it.”

“Oh how you’ll find out,” I grin, waiting for his first attack. He flicks out a jab, and our impromptu contest is on. I have to admit, as we circle and throw kicks and punches, he’s got skill. His hands are fast, and I’m barely avoiding in time, a few times having to absorb them on my arms or block with my legs.

He’s just as good on defense as he is striking, avoiding well and countering so that in about two minutes, neither of us have landed any sort of telling blow. But he’s making a mistake, and it’s the same thing I saw before He’s just too polite. He doesn’t want to get ‘dirty’ with a woman, he’s trying to give me a fair playing field.

I step in, and he steps back, unwilling to grapple with me where his strength and size would dominate me, and I use his attitude against him, faking a half stumble as he steps back and yelling in pain. “Fuck!”

“What?” he asks, immediately concerned and letting his hands down. I use the opportunity to strike, rolling into his shins and knocking him to the ground. I keep rolling, striking him with my thumbs and knuckles in the painful points that MI6 taught me. They might not cripple, but they do send sheets of pain through your body no matter how tough you are. “Shit!”

I use the moment he’s frozen to jab him in the armpit, temporarily disabling his left arm and turning him to his stomach, wrenching his arm up and between his shoulder blades, my elbow digging into the base of his neck. “Your arm or your neck. Which is it going to be, Yank?”

Stephen struggles and I twist his wrist a little, and he finally reaches out with a hand and taps the ground, giving up. I don’t let go, and I see a flare of panic in his eyes. “Hey, what the fuck? I tapped!”

“In this world, you don’t let go when someone taps out, you stop when they are dead or crippled,” I growl, grinding my elbow into his neck a little more until his face is pressed into the concrete hard enough to leave marks. I let go and get up, stepping back to my table while he recovers. “Now, are you going to listen, or am I going to have your body dumped in mountains to be eaten by the animals, mourners please omit flowers?”

Stephen rolls over, rubbing the back of his neck. “You cheated. I thought you were hurt.”

I laugh and sit down, shrugging. “Again, in this world there is no such thing as cheating. I don’t know all the details of the rule book you’ve been going by Knightsbridge, but you need to throw it out the window. It’s just going to get you killed. So… shall we begin?”

Stephen

My neck aches, I’ve got a scratch on my cheek that itches now, my left shoulder and wrist hurt, but I think the more painful part is the look in Larissa’s eyes as she asks me if we should begin. I’m tempted to tell her to fuck off, this isn’t in the CIA rule book, but then I remember Chastity Hendrick’s smiling face, and then what she looked like on that beach. Grudgingly, I get up off the floor and go over to the table, sitting down. “Okay, okay. I’m listening. Just... can the Brit slang, please?”

Larissa studies me with those disturbingly violet eyes of hers, and I take a moment to think that even if she hadn’t faked twisting her ankle, it never would have been a fair fight between us. She’s beautiful, more beautiful than my sister even, her pictures in her file didn’t even start to do her justice. Voluptuous, her top molds itself to her generous curves like it was custom made for her, emphasizing the deep hollow between her breasts and the golden olive tone of her skin. Her face, even when she’s angry or arrogant, which so far is all I’ve seen her, is the kind that would haunt a man’s dreams with one glimpse, but most arresting of all is her eyes. Violet doesn’t even begin to cover the depths of what’s looking out at me, full of intelligence, but also a haughtiness that is regal.

Simply put, fighting her was like fighting a walking sex goddess. The Greeks have the myth of Aphrodite, and maybe that’s who Larissa shares a bond with, because she’s pure seduction in almost every movement she makes. She’s a fantasy in the flesh, but when she talks or looks at me, all I want to do is figure out a way to wipe that smug, arrogant grin off her face.

Still, she kicked my ass and I lost. And she was right, in Deep Cover there’s no giving up just because you’re in a bad position. Larissa takes a moment to study me some more, then nods, sitting back.

“Okay. Let me start off by giving you the quick summary of what you’re involved in. If I repeat what you already know from your briefing, don’t worry, I make it a lot more interesting than what some dull briefing file can communicate.” Larissa sits back, and I do my best to focus on her words, but my body’s remembering the feeling of hers when she was about to kick my ass. My cock whispers that this woman isn’t like any other woman I’ve ever known, but at the same time, it doesn’t want to be at her mercy ever again. “Hey, Yank! Pay some fucking attention!”

“My name’s Stephen,” I growl, glancing back up at her face. “I’m not a Yank! Go on.”

Larissa rolls her eyes and leans forward. “I belong to a criminal organization called The Network. It stretches world wide, although this area, the Mediterranean, is the primary hub. I’m one of the capo.”

“Who specializes in information and assassinations,” I complete, and Larissa shakes her head. “That’s what my file said.”

“Oh, I still do that, but since one of your countrymen eliminated The Network’s man in the Middle East, most of the contacts and Mideast trade flows through my area. I have the contacts that moves weapons, drugs, women and more through there to the tune of about two and a half billion dollars a year. You must realize Stephen, if The Network was a normal company, it would be in the Fortune 100.”

“A fortune of crime,” I fume, angry again. Isn’t she supposed to be on my side? “Yet you sound like you’re proud of being part of such a group. Why?”

Larissa shakes her head, muttering under her breath in something, maybe Greek, before she looks at me again. “You think that The Network exists outside of legitimate areas of power, don’t you? Let me guess, you think that the US government and your CIA are the good guys, and The Network is the bad guys. Am I close to the mark?”

I nod once, glaring at her. “I’m not totally ignorant, I know the CIA has to do some bad things, but it’s for a better purpose.”

“I’m sure that a lot of good, innocent people have said the same thing right before they did atrocities as well,” she shoots back. “Stephen, if I wanted to I can give the American capo a call, and by the end of the hour get you a list of over a hundred members of your own government who are customers of The Network. For America, it’s mostly drugs and girls, a few boys too. You don’t want to know just how many ‘housemaids’ there are working for politicians and billionaires who came to America on a Network boat.”

I want to argue her, but I see it in her eyes, she’s dead serious. “Still… why? Why are you still doing this, and not taking them down? Aren't you supposed to be helping your country?”

Larissa laughs, and I think she’s genuinely amused. “Aww Stephen, you’re so cute with your innocence. It’s very simple why The Network is allowed to continue, it allows our governments to do the things that it doesn’t want the people to know about. Think about it, do you really want to know how it is that every ‘resistance fighter’ in the world is fighting with Russian made rifles while using American electronics? It’s because our governments use The Network as the under the table suppliers. The Network allows those with power in our countries to do whatever it is they want without having to look the people in the eye to tell them how bad they’re fucking them over.”

“So why continue to do it?” I ask, searching for any sign of humanity in this woman. Nobody can be this beautiful and be this empty at the same time, can they? “Why? It mentioned in your file that you were a kidnap victim. So why keep this going?”

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” Larissa says in frustration. “Stephen, this will continue whether we shut The Network down or not. The best that we can do, and I’m being one hundred percent fucking serious, is to steer what we can to protect the actual innocent and occasionally we get to try and stop the worst of the worst. Like who I suspect is who we’re looking for.”

“Who?” I ask, willing to set aside my frustration about Larissa for now. “You have a lead?”

She nods, sighing. “You mentioned a moment ago about me being a kidnap victim. You know a lot. When I was just seven, I was taken from my home and sold to be a sex slave. I stabbed the bastard before he could touch me. The group we’re going to have to go after, they’re the type that would have kidnapped me. You see, The Network at least has some rules. These guys, I call them The Circle just for convenience’s sake, they don’t.”

The way Larissa, who’s been through more than I can even imagine before she was even ten years old, says they don’t makes me shiver. “What do you mean?”

“They specialize in corruption, even more than I do,” Larissa says. “If you want a sex tour beyond the outer limits, and you’ve got a couple million dollars, they’ll get you anything you want.”

“Anything?” I ask, confused, and she nods.

“Anything. I see you don’t understand. Have you ever seen A Serbian Film?”

“No. I’ve heard about it though.”

Larissa sighs and shakes her head in frustration again. “I see. Let me guess, wild sex for you has meant getting a little bit of a blowjob before missionary and you get real wild by leaving the lights on. No… this is something you can’t even imagine then. The Network may be corrupt Stephen, but The Circle… they’re evil. Not in the whole ‘moral equivalence’ evil, but the big, capital letters, no questions asked evil. But because of that, and because of the money they’ve got and the power they can influence, they’re hard to get their hands on. I’ve been able to identify some names, some locations of their minor people, but that’s it. I could never confront them directly until now. And now, we have to get you ready.”

“Ready?” I ask, confused. “What do you mean?”

Larissa stands up and rubs my shoulder. “The bare chested look is nice, but not quite right for work, and I can never get you anywhere we need to go dressed like you were. You have a lot to learn about who you came to hunt. Come on, I’m taking you shopping.”

* * *

I feel ridiculous, but at the same time strangely turned on as Larissa takes me to four different stores in the town of Kalamata in order to, as she says ‘properly outfit me.’

Part of it is that I’ve never been one for fashion. The CIA handbook says that in the office I’m to wear a certain type of suit, so that’s what I wear. I wore khakis for the airplane flight over because I didn’t want to mess with jeans, and the polo shirt is again part of the handbook. But I have to admit, as Larissa smooths the button down shirt she calls a ‘resort shirt’ over my chest and arms, I like the way this all feels.

Most of it, I hate to admit to myself, is that Larissa’s been very interested in me the whole time. Whether it’s her evaluating look as I turn this way and that in a pair of pants, or even when she of all things checked me out in my underwear, declaring my standard briefs as ‘boring tighty whities,’ her eyes have roamed over me constantly, and her hands too. My cock’s been humming, and it’s taken every bit of willpower in me to not get hard in front of her. Not that I'm doing a good job of that, honestly.

Still, I can’t help but flirt back a little. “Like what you feel?”

Larissa chuckles and pats my chest before squeezing my arm and looking at me with those piercing violet eyes. Since stepping out of the warehouse she's shifted to an American accent, and it's both easier to deal with and a lot less sexy than her British one, thankfully. “You’ve got a lot to work with buddy. And you’ve got the type of body that these clothes were designed for. I know a few people in Paris and Milan who’d love to get their hands on you.”

“No thanks. I’m not interested in being a model,” I reply, and Larissa laughs. “What?”

“I didn’t say they wanted to get their hands on you as a model. I said they’d want to get their hands on you. You gotta learn to pay attention better. All right, you’re wearing that for now, let’s get you a light dinner and then I’m taking you to a club,” she says, turning to the shop assistant and rattling off some Greek that’s both sensual and commanding. She's got a presence in her native language, and with the way everyone's jumped at her every command, I can tell she's used to being obeyed.

But as I watch her move, as I watch her order the shop assistants around and even when she touches me, I want her. Not in the vanilla, plain way that she made fun of me at the warehouse, but in another way, something I’m not sure I even understand. I want to claim her, to turn that arrogance around on itself and make her humble before me. I don’t know exactly how I could do that though, which is frustrating too.

Larissa drives us to what looks like a business area of Kalamata, which so far has seemed more like a mixed resort and shipping town than anything else. That and the olives, there’s the namesake olive fucking everywhere in this town. But this part of town is different, and as we pull up, there’s nobody out front. “Lively place. What’s the waiting list to get in, five seconds?”

“The waiting list for a trial membership is currently two years for a normal person, but for someone like you we’d make exceptions,” Larissa says, smirking. “This isn’t a dance club.”

The valet outside takes the keys from Larissa like she’s a queen, and I realize that whatever this place is, she’s either the owner or controller of it. “Network?”

“Mmm-hmm. Now, in here, I have no name. I am either Mistress or The Dryad. Got it?” she says, her eyes twinkling but deadly serious at the same time. “Let’s start your education.”

The doorman lets Larissa through with a bow, but stops me to frisk me, his partner ready to help if I cause any trouble. I can see the imprint of the guns under their jackets, and I keep still, even as the guard cups by crotch. He makes a comment to Larissa, who laughs. “What did he say?”

“He says you’re armed, but maybe not dangerous,” Larissa says, then says something to the guard who lets me through. “By the way, what foreign languages do you speak?”

“Chinese and German,” I answer. “Nothing that’d help here.”

“You’d be surprised. In any case, I’ll make sure you meet people who can speak English here,” she says. “Hold onto your hat Dorothy, you’re not in Kansas any more.”

The first thing I notice when I step through the doors is the lights. They’re dimmed, but nowhere like a dance club. Instead they’ve been brought to almost a mysterious level, with circles of light that highlight certain areas of the club. What’s in those areas strikes me next, as in one of them two men are dressed in leather on a what looks like a narrow platform, making out while they grope each other, one of them fishing out the other’s cock to start jacking it off. I turn to look in another direction to see a girl who’s on something that looks like a big X, her body almost totally naked except for the ball gag in her mouth and the red cloth in her hand.

“You brought me to a sex club,” I comment, disgusted and turned on at the same time. Here’s what I’ve never had in my life before, and even though I personally wouldn’t be interested in joining the two leather boys on the couch, the sounds they’re making are at least more satisfied than anything I’ve ever made in the bedroom. Still… this is perverse, isn’t it? I mean, I've read stories, and there's sites I've visited on dark nights with my tablet.... but that's fantasy, not this. Nothing I've ever done or seen has prepared me for this.

“Of course I did,” Larissa says, leading me over to the bar where she puts in an order. “You need to learn what your prey thinks, what they want, what they’re looking for. Look around, what do you see? Not on the surface, look deeper.”

I look around, seeing quickly the ‘customers’ and the ‘workers.’ The girl on the X, she’s a worker, but at the same time she’s enjoying herself as she shows her lean, youthful body to whoever wants to do something with her. The two gay men are more difficult to discern, but I figure it out eventually as the pro rides the customer’s cock. “This isn’t just a club, it’s a brothel. The girl on the X, she’s a worker.”

“She’s one of my best,” Larissa confirms leading me over. She hands me a glass, and I'm pleased that it's a good scotch, I wonder how she knew that's my preferred drink, or maybe we share similar tastes. “She’s a natural submissive, all the girls in this club are. There’s another club for customers who want to be dominated, it makes it easier for me to keep them separated. Or else the staff starts playing together, and I don’t need that.”

I’ve heard her terms before, but I don’t really understand, I just see that the girl has a small wire running from between her legs, leading to a control on the side of the X. Larissa notices my eyes, smiling. “You want to try?”

“She’s bound and gagged. How can she enjoy this?” I ask, disgusted, but my cock is rock hard in my pants. Of course it is, there’s a beautiful naked girl on the X shaped table in front of me, and the air reeks of sex. There’s probably enough pheromones in the air to wake up a dead man. “She’s only doing this for money.”

Larissa ignores me, leaning over and releasing the ball gag from the girl’s mouth. “Are you enjoying this, pet?”

The girl moans, nodding through heavy lidded eyes and gasping. Larissa leans into the girl and kisses her, my cock jumping in my pants as the bound girl and this new, darkly sensual woman I just met kiss deeply. When they part, the girl is panting, and I can smell her arousal in the air even over the musky odor of the rest of the club. When she speaks, she’s got a German accent, but still I can understand her. “Mistress… you give me attention. Thank you.”

“Mmm, you’ve been a very good pet for a while. I think I’ll show my friend here exactly how much you are enjoying this,” Larissa says, reaching down and hitting the control on the X. “You are under strict orders not to come until I command. Understand, pet?”

“Yes Mistress,” the girl immediately answers, but I can hear a faint humming from the table, and realize there’s some sort of sex toy inside her pussy. The girl moans again and takes a deep breath, then looks at me. “Master likes what he sees.”

“He’s no Master yet,” Larissa says, taking a light riding crop off the back of the X and showing it to the slave. “Let’s be nice, just a little play. Then we’ll see if my friend wants to join in. I’ll keep both of you safe.”

My eyes bulge along with my cock as I watch Larissa tease the girl’s body with the riding crop over her breasts which jut up proudly until they’re capped by bubblegum pink nipples that are stiff and hard. Larissa swings the crop, smacking the girl in her right nipple with just the tip, and the girl cries out. I want to stop her, but I heard something in the girl’s cry… she’s not in pain. Well, she is, but she’s feeling something more She wants this, she likes the pain that Larissa is inflicting.

Larissa, for her part, keeps a studious, watchful look on her face as she strikes the girl again and again, mostly on the legs and stomach, but sometimes on the breasts as well. “One of my rules is to never let a customer strike one of my girls in the face or in a vital area,” Larissa says almost as if she’s discussing any normal business. “These girls and boys are too precious to me to let them get hurt that way. Aren’t you, pet?”

“We love our Mistress,” the girl groans, and I hear total honesty in this girl’s voice. “All of us.”

Larissa smiles fondly and caresses the girl’s face before turning to me. “Your turn, my friend. Don’t worry, she can take whatever you want to dish out.”

“I... I shouldn’t,” I reply, but deep inside me another part of me says I very much should.

Larissa sees, and leans in, her voice soft and arousing in my ear. “Stephen, this girl wants this. And it’s vital to the mission that you understand what I'm trying to teach you here. I’ll keep her safe, don’t worry about that.”

I take the crop with numb fingers, my eyes staring at the writhing, squirming girl who must be tortured by now with the vibrator that’s in her body and the pain that Larissa’s inflicted. Still, I can see in her eyes she wants more, and there’s a voice in my head that’s whispering to give it to her. That this is what I want, this girl is hotter and sexier than any girlfriend I ever had back in America.

I swing the crop, taking the power off right at the end, the leather landing flat on the girl’s stomach and she jumps, moaning thickly and whispering in German ‘yes.’ I do it again, this time in the girl’s right thigh, and then her left, the new voice inside me laughing in glee as I do. I feel myself getting into it, a smile on my face as I look for where to use the crop on the girl next before relaxing and stroking the girl’s face with the side of it lightly.

“You’re a natural talent,” Larissa whispers as the girl moans. She moves behind me, and I can feel her voluptuous body pressed against my back before she moves to my free arm side. “Look at her, look at the desire in her eyes as she licks the crop. She’s so aroused right now. And you’re enjoying it too, aren’t you? I can see it on your face, and here, too.”

Educated, expert hands caress my cock through my pants as the girl on the table moans, and I reach out, squeezing her left tit before pinching her nipple, the girl gasping and her hips lifting as much as she can from her position on the X. “Yes, oh yes,” she moans. “Please sir… I need you.”

I groan myself as soft but strong fingers wrap around my cock which has somehow been freed from my pants and I hear the seductress’ voice softly next to me. “This is the pleasure that this girl wants, my friend. You’re a natural dominant, you’d make the girl very happy as her Master some day if you learn more. And think of her body. Think of how it’d feel to fuck this girl as hard as you want...”

The images in my mind are arousing, but then I see not the girl in front of me, but Larissa in my eyes, and I realize that I’m in a whore house, and the girl in front of me wouldn’t turn down anyone who wanted to fuck her. I drop the crop and push Larissa away, pissed off. “I’m not some fucking john. She’s a fucking whore, and I’m not...”

I turn, tucking my aching, throbbing cock back inside my pants and storm out of the club, heading off into the night. It isn’t until I’m a couple blocks away that I remember that I only had my hotel room for one night, and that my rental car is at Larissa’s warehouse over five miles away.

Fuck.

At least the shoes are comfortable, even if my balls are telling me that the last thing they want to do is walk for five miles.

Larissa

Stephen’s still walking when I pull up next to him in my car. He’s got good speed, he’s already over halfway back to the warehouse, and it did take me a minute or two to find someone willing to give poor Claudia the relief her body needed, and to reassure her that she isn’t a whore. That one hurt her a lot.

“Get in,” I command, pissed at Stephen but also turned on. I wasn’t lying when I told him he was a natural talent, there’s long term customers of my club that can’t get Claudia as turned on so quickly. Even I was turned on, I’ve been looking at his body for hours, and the feel of his thick cock in my hand as I pumped him sent a thrill through my body.

“Fuck off!” Stephen says, and I roll my eyes. Natural talent, but meters of bullshit to clear away still before we get to it. I really need to read his Agency profile, hopefully I can get my hands on it quickly before I kill this man.

“Stephen, get in,” I repeat. “There’s nowhere to sleep at the warehouse, and your car’s not there anyway. One of my people already brought it to my townhouse. You don’t know where that is.”

Stephen stops, his eyes blazing before he gets in the passenger side of my Mercedes and stares straight ahead, saying nothing until we get to my place and step off the elevator to the penthouse. Once inside, I lock the doors and arm the security system, turning to him. “Now, you have something to say?”

“What the fuck was that?!?” Stephen explodes, his chest heaving and his hands clenched in anger. “Trying to get me to fuck some whore?”

“Claudia is a highly trained professional who I trust to try and teach you!” I explode, stepping closer. “I told you, you need to get past your American Pollyanna bullshit and learn that this, all of this, is built on something you have no fucking understanding of!”

“She was a whore!” Stephen growls, grabbing me by the shoulders. “I’m better than a whore!”

“So who would you rather learn with?” I challenge him. Stephen stares into my eyes for a half second before he pulls me in, his lips seeking mine. I resist for a second, I don’t kiss normally when I fuck like this, but he’s unrelenting, not accepting anything but my total submission to his desire. It’s hot, and I relent, kissing him back hard. He picks me up in his arms and suddenly I’m on my small dining room table, Stephen sweeping the candlesticks off to clear space as we tear at each other’s clothes.

I hear a seam rip, but I don’t care as I moan, my body saying that this is what I want. He’s strong and powerful, pinning me to the table easily as he shrugs off his now ripped shirt and tears my blouse open. My breasts bounce free as he undoes my bra and he leans down, devouring them and sending electricity crackling through me. He’s rough, his tongue and teeth scraping over my skin and I gasp, my back arching.

“Oh fuck...,” I groan, my pussy getting soaked as I feel his demanding strength. He won’t take no for an answer from me, and as he kisses and nibbles on my breasts I don’t want him to. I just want to feel more of this man’s strength, to feel his massive cock slide inside me and I spread my legs, half begging.

Stephen pulls back and lifts my skirt, not even pulling my panties off but just sliding them to the side as he lines up his cock and pushes in. Big? He’s huge, stretching my pussy wonderfully, just the feeling of him inside me already making me liquid hot from the pleasure and the pain of how big he is. He pushes in, the glassy fire of his cock invading my body making me claw at the table, howling in ecstasy. “Fuck me!”

“Take... it... all!” Stephen rasps back, his cock driving into me with each short word. He groans when he bottoms out, staying still for a second as he relishes in the sensations his body must be feeling.

Normally, when I’m fucking for work, I use what I call the ‘sensual muscles’ to draw out the experience for a target. But Stephen’s having none of that, pulling back and thrusting hard and fast, overwhelming me with jolt after toe curling jolt of pleasure as his cock rubs over every deep place, every secret part of my body that feels so good I can’t stop, I reach up and pull him down into another animal kiss.

His hips are powerful and he’s a natural, built for fucking me hard and that’s what we do, his cock slamming into me over and over while we kiss and battle. Our tongues, teeth and lips are our weapons of choice as he bruises me with his strength and overwhelming desire. I fight him as hard as I can, I’ve never been out-fucked before in my entire life even when I’ve been submissive, but Stephen’s too much, his strength and domination utterly complete as the first tremors ripple through me and my body gives up, taking what he pounds into me with hard, fast strokes of his cocks in my pussy.

Suddenly, I give in totally, my kisses changing from hard and combative to soft, submissive, and I whine deep in my throat, my legs relaxing as I let him take me. I’ve never been driven this far before without coming, and the triumph in Stephen’s eyes as he smiles and his strokes change slightly send another warm ripple through my body. I cup his neck and cheek as we fuck, the moans and whines coming from me different than I’ve ever made before. I’m rising, building towards a strong and powerful orgasm, and Stephen’s right there with me, his strength and power undeniable and his self assured smile telling me that he feels it too, that we’re going to do this together. I feel…

My orgasm tears through me, my legs clamping around Stephen’s waist as my back arches so hard I lift off the table, Stephen’s arms coming around me to hold me secure and totally his as he thrusts into me one more time, his own groan of triumph and release adding to the heat inside me. I feel him spurt deep, his cock throbbing as he finds his release and he holds me tight, his lips buried against the curve of my neck and for an instant, just an instant for the first time in my life, I feel totally safe and secure in someone’s arms.

The feeling fills me with a deeper warmth than just from the sex, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him close for an instant while we recover, his chest heaving as my heart hammers in mine. “Oh my god,” he rasps, his voice still husky from what we just did. “Oh my god.”

I stroke his brown hair, humming with contentment. “You are certainly talented, Stephen Knightsbridge. Certainly talented indeed.”

He stays inside me until he softens and slips out and I unwrap my legs to stand on the kitchen tile. He watches me for a moment, then turns, his voice shaky for a moment. I don't think he's ever sport fucked before, I bet he's always gotten the girl to say some sort of words of endearment first, and he's not sure how to handle it all. “I... I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Wait,” I say, reaching out and taking his hand. “You don’t know where the guest bedroom is.”

Stephen nods, sighing. I take him to the bedroom, watching as he strips off his pants and underpants. Even though I’ve been freshly, completely and wonderfully fucked, looking at the curve of his bubble butt sends a fresh ripple of heat through me.

He feels my eyes, and glances back. He's still shaky, but he's trying to recover himself. “You know you don’t have to stare. It was just fucking. Right?”

I snort, leaning against the door frame. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. goodnight, Stephen.”

“goodnight, Larissa.”

* * *

He’s late getting up, which I can understand, he’s got to be jet lagged. Actually, as I thought about it over breakfast, the fucking he gave me last night is all the more impressive because of it. Exhausted, jet lagged, and giving me a totally satisfying climax and fuck? I’m impressed.

“How do you feel this morning?” I ask as he comes into the dining room, rubbing at his eyes. My staff has already done their cleaning, and I sent them away to minimize potential security issues. “By the way, your CIA personnel file was very interesting.”

“Where’d you get that?” Stephen snaps as he sits down on the other side of the table from me. “That’s confidential.”

“And you’re on the hunt for the people who killed the daughter of the Secretary of Defense,” I reply evenly, sipping at my mid-morning coffee. “Even then, if I wanted I could have gotten your file. As it was, it was forwarded to me by a connection as a courtesy.”

“So were you impressed?” he asks, recovering quickly. “I thought my work in Korea was my best.”

“Actually, I was more interested in what I read that echoes a lot of what I saw and felt last night. You’ve got an immense...” I tease, glancing down at his crotch before returning my look to my tablet, “talent. But you’re held back because you are too rule bound, too wrapped up in limitations given to you by others. You need to let go, go beyond that.”

“You mean like that girl?” Stephen asks, and I nod. “Why?”

I can’t help it, he’s so frustrating while at the same time that personal magnetism and charisma that I’ve felt off of him pull me in two directions at one time. “Lots of different reasons, Stephen. First off, to hunt men like this, you have to at least have a ghost of an understanding of them. All the work you’ve done since you joined the CIA has not prepared you for this! The only way that you’re going to even get within sniffing distance of the Circle is to embrace this side of you. If you were a natural submissive I’d say that side of you, there’s nothing wrong with a man being on his knees begging and serving… but you’re not. You’re dominant.”

“Whatever,” he grumbles, uncomfortable with what I’m saying. “I don’t have to beat a girl to get my rocks off, and I don’t need to understand that to hunt these people.”

“Bullshit!” I yell, angry. “You don’t know a single thing about what you’re looking for! They aren’t motivated by money, or power in the traditional sense, or any of that. They do not think like anyone you’ve ever known. You have to at least open your mind to that sort of thinking or else you could be sitting right next to the leader of the entire Circle on the bus and not even realize it. Sick fucks like this don’t go around in a goddamn t-shirt that says I’m a sick sexual psycho, watch your ass. You want to know what to look for, what to see, you need to be able to at least walk into some of these clubs without a big flashing sign on your forehead that says CIA Agent, run!”

Stephen closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, getting control of his emotions. “You said first off. What’s second?”

I shrug, suddenly uncomfortable myself as I’ve been ever since I started thinking about it myself this morning. “Secondly, and to me at least this is the more important reason, is for you. You’re an asshole, Stephen. Last night, you hurt Claudia deeply calling her a whore, and I expect you to fully apologize to her the next time you meet.”

“I… I’ll think about it,” he says, shaken slightly, the most I can hope for as I continue.

“More, I read between the lines on your evaluations, and what everyone says is the same. Brilliant, smart, capable, but is a totally rule bound jerk whose ass is watertight and so he doesn’t get along with other people. So you’ve been moved lower and lower down teams, when you should be looking at commanding your own team with the talent and brains you’ve got. Never mind about what a boring fucking mess your personal life is. One sister, no parents, and a pet turtle. Can’t keep a relationship going for more than two months because you keep breaking up with them. And I know why.”

“You have a lot of insight for someone who’s known me less than twenty four hours,” Stephen grumbles, but he’s still listening at least. “So why?”

“Because you date nothing but boring good girls,” I say with a laugh. “I was just trying to piss you off yesterday, but I was closer to the mark than I thought when I said you’ve never, ever walked on the wild side sexually, outside maybe a little clandestine Internet video porn. I’m guessing for you, most of the girls you’ve met have been at church or maybe in coffeehouses, drinking herbal tea at the most. Claudia was the freakiest thing you’ve ever done, isn’t it?”

He blushes, but nods. “I’ve gone out to regular places too. But… yes. She was the most extreme.”

“Then what’s wrong with it? That she gets money for it? First off, she’s on a generous salary, she’s not a trick. And I pay her because if I didn’t, she’d be right there on that St. Andrew’s Cross for free, and I’m more generous than that. She’s talented, she’s got nearly inhuman limits, and she loves her work. The woman's making money doing what she loves, what she was born to do. How can you fault her for it?”

Stephen looks up, taking a deep breath before answering. “Because it’s not natural. It’s strange and dirty. Only bad people are supposed to be into that sort of shit!”

I can see he thinks I’m going to get pissed at his answer, but I’m not. If anything, at least he’s being honest. “Bad people, huh? It’s a bit early in the morning for jokes, Stephen. Here’s the truth, at least from my perspective. That girl you cropped last night, she loved it. And if she ever stopped loving it, if she came to me and said ‘Mistress, I don’t want to work here any more, I want a white picket fence and two kids with a minivan,’ I’d give her a hundred thousand euro severance package and a doctored letter of recommendation that would let her get her dream job in her degree field, which by the way is archaeology.”

“You would?”

“Yes. But back to you. You loved it too, you were hard as a rock even before I started stroking you. And the way you took out all of that on me was a lot of fucking fun. I will never lie about that, you are one great fuck.”

Stephen chuckles, shaking his head. “And I was worried I popped too quickly last night. I read your file too, you know. I thought you’d want to go for a couple of hours. Uh… about that… we didn’t use a condom.”

“Don’t worry, I’m on the pill and I'm set up with an IUD, there’s no way I’d risk otherwise. And I’m clean, I get myself tested frequently. As for your endurance, there’s time for that, but also there’s time for quality over quantity,” I laugh. “Stephen, you’re not a bad person, at least compared to me. But let’s look at that. Bad people are into kink, huh? And who told you that?”

“Well, you know… TV, and classes growing up, and the minister at church, they always made it seem so wrong.”

“Did it feel wrong?” I ask, and Stephen shakes his head sullenly. “Stephen, I told you about the number of Network girls in and around places in the United States. Trust me, most of them are not getting it in any way your Sunday school minister would approve of. I’ve whipped men and women, powerful ones too. I’ve had millionaires and professional sports athletes on their knees, begging and crying for me to hit them harder, to make them bleed and to humiliate them. The fact is, sex and power and pleasure and pain are so tied together in our brains that just staying in that vanilla place you were until last night is like trying to live your life deaf and half blind. Never mind trying to hunt monsters that way.”

Stephen sits quietly for a moment, and then looks up at me with an almost shy smile. “It was pretty hot when you kissed that girl.”

I laugh, he’s cute. “Stephen, me and women is a professional thing only. I kissed Claudia because I knew you’d like it, and because I wanted to teach you to look outside your limits. I don’t do women for fun.”

“And what was I?” he asks hotly, angry suddenly. “Fun or work?”

“Why not both?” I tease, smirking. He shifts, and I can see that I’m under his skin. He’s never had a purely fun fuck before, or at least he’s never been on an equal level in that regard. He’s probably been the one to seduce the woman, grow bored of her, and leave her in tears wondering why the perfect man turned out to be an asshole. It pisses me off, and I needle him because of it. “You’re still so worried about what you might become that you don’t even recognize that you already are what you fear.”

Stephen gets up, and I see that he’s actually more shaken by our conversation than I originally thought. Still waters run very deep on him indeed. “You’ve been in the corruption game so long that you’ve become corrupt yourself!”

That one hurt, but I keep my smile enigmatic to cover up. “Stephen, we’re all corrupt at some level. I’m just honest about it.”

Stephen turns on his heel, storming out of the dining room, stopping to grab a key from the hook by the door. “I’m going out.”

“Give my regards to the Congressman from New York! Tell him his Mistress says hi!” I shoot back, pissed but hiding it with kindness. It isn’t until after the door’s closed that I slam my fist on the table, wondering why in the fuck I should be so upset that a stupid American should make me so angry.