Red X: Captives

She felt the head of his cock smudge between her lips. Ohh, she thought, not long now, till he starts to -

She jolted, as if electrocuted. His complete length piled into her with a single thrust. It was like she'd eaten an entire turkey dinner in one bite.

Only, it was sex. It was her vagina, and it ate a mass of cock.

He immediately plunged her with long slides. Her inner flesh was riding on so, so much. She felt like her body was a syringe, and he kept shooting and drawing, shooting and drawing...

All this time, he held her wrists high. He made a bridge with his own taut muscle, and she watched it pulling... wrenching with every shove. It spanned wide, like a drum skin, then clinched tight to spear her again.

He lifted his arm, crossed her wrists, and clasped them again with one hand. Now she watched that arm - one brawny, knotted trunk strong enough to restrain her whole body. She watched it curl. She watched it bend, like a tree in a storm. He had a power like wind.

That arm smoothly lowered him onto her body.

"Hey, Selene?" he teased her ear.

"Unh," she groaned, weakly.

"Your secret's safe with me." He trailed his smiling lips over her earlobe, and left a touch of saliva on her neck.

Oh, SHIT, she thought.

"Wh-... huh?" She stalled, because she was startled. She began to worry.

Shit - what does he know? How much does he know?

"It's okay," he whispered against her throat. "It's okay with me. I understand, and I'm okay with it."

"What? Wh-" she huffed. "What?" She twitched nervously.

His stiff humping slowed, and he looked in her eyes. He was leading to something.

"I'm fine with it."

He kissed wetly.

"You're such a SLUT," he grinned, joking, "and it's fine. I won't tell anyone."

Teasing. That's all it was. She looked back at him and chuckled.

His one arm pinned her wrists - they were prisoners, there, held in that grip. His free arm slid over her body. His hand was like a warm cloth over her shoulder, breast and belly. He palmed the entire length of her. He rubbed it affectionately - his pretty, lovely little slut.

His palm clapped her ass. Her thigh jerked in response, but was pummelled down again under his thrusts.

Her hips squirmed while Pryce collided with her... into her. Selene's whole lower body jolted, every time she received him. Thud... THUD... His cock was dark, and rigid, and unforgiving. She could only lie there like a gooey, creamy dessert. She dripped like a sundae. She was messy, and his lust devoured her.

He grabbed her around the ribs. He flipped her easily, face-down into the bed. He straddled her, and jammed himself back inside. His cock drove fully into her body, like it would shove her up the bed. She moaned pitifully. She felt his dick basting her on the inside, smearing her G-spot. It slimed her, and nudged her insides.

It was the beautiful, rare warmth of sex, but taken to the highest peak. Every thrust felt shockingly new - she was never ready for it. It was like meeting someone incredibly beautiful, and seeing their sweet face over and over again.

His iron arms held her down. He worked her using the strength of his body. When she noticed his balls tickling the back of her thigh, her nerves rattled loose. Her limbs squeezed, and euphoria rushed through her.

He gave mocking comfort.

"Aww. It's alright, y'know. Sex is healthy." He kept provoking her, carrying his silly act.

"I don't mind if you're really, really healthy. It's human appetite. I like it. My sweet, needy little slut. My hungry, hungry girl."

One of his arms swam beneath her hips, and the other scooped her breasts. He lay on her fully, and reamed with all his crushing weight. She strained, and tried to move, but couldn't get anywhere. She struggled uselessly. He allowed her just enough space to breathe. He claimed the rest of her, and hammered her.

Fuck, she thought. I'm just a warm sock for his dick. I'm his fucking dinner... and he's eating me! His cock is just going to ram me down to nothing. He's just going to slam my body, and fuck me till he's done...

Pryce felt that sweet, slimy nub between her pussy lips. With two fingers, he made a groove to trap it, and he slid it up and down. Her pussy was like a dinner roll with far too much melted butter - so much grease, it drooped out freely. He used that slick cum, and fucked her clit with his hand.

His other hand kneaded her wobbling tits. She tried to hold herself up, bracing on her elbows. Her breasts dangled and boggled like pretty bells. They were so tender - so young. Her nipples were adorably pink. His palm lifted beneath them, and they padded onto his hand while they danced. Her sweet breasts were flailing from the savagery down below.

She came again. It was a quivering, stiff-limbed orgasm. Her cream slid along his shaft.

"Yeahhh," he joked, "I have to be sure you're fed. I just have to screw your little body, and fuck you full of cock. I'll have to suck your tits, and pin you, and just..."

He shook his head.

"...just fuck you nasty.

"Mmm-hmm... my sweet little fuckling," he mocked, "it's okay. You need it. You need lots of hard, sweaty sex. You're a natural. You are - you're just GOOD at it, Selene."

She came again. It was a squeaking, straining climax, almost like a seizure. It felt like her brain was peeling away, and insane light shone through. She worried she'd have an aneurysm. Her skin trailed with sweat. Her wet lips smacked, where he penetrated her. Her pussy frothed like it was rabid.

"I knew it," he smiled, "I knew you were gifted. That you were BUILT for sex."

He leaned in close, and gave a lick to the back of her neck. She felt his breath beside her ear.

"My hungry... wet... lovely little slut."

She chuckled feebly between breaths.

He kept poling into her, as if testing his hardness against her love-cushions. Her body stretched like orgasmic hot yoga. Her supple, pink flesh screamed ecstasy.

He was bolt-hard, and she was a sloppy mess. When he thrust in, her little pale lips bunched, and drew... bunched, and drew... His cock speared her, and dragged her wet skin with it.

"Okay," he growled to her, "now it's me."

His thrusts became sharper, and more pronounced.

At one point, he dragged his penis out of her, like drawing from a sheath. She felt that long, curving bar slipping down between her labia, like a waterslide. It smeared through her cum-slime... grooving her... prodding her pink nub... screwing her across the clit.

And slowly, he eased it in again. Slick like a greased rail. He let loose with a few hard bumps, then he accelerated to mad lurching. The bed crunched and pounded loudly. Selene thought she might bruise. She tried to relax, and failed. She tensed. She staggered.

She'd suggested this, first. She tried fucking, to break the ice. In reality, she wanted to get inside his brain, to find his personal switches. But he seized her, and she couldn't keep up. Her little pussy got more than it asked for. It won the lottery, for Christmas.

Everything heaved upward, and the bedframe surged. Something wooden snapped. She heard Pryce breathing through his nose. She felt hot spilling in her womb. His hand sponged her boobs, like a threesome kissing slowly.

The pole inside her bulged. Hard meat, constricting. The rest of his consciousness was gliding elsewhere.

He tensed, then exhaled long and cool. His hand rested between her shoulder-blades.

He moved off her. His arms carried him steadily.

"So. Anything you want to know about me?" Pryce added. He understood what she was after, and he called her on it: she'd tried to hack him. Hack his mind. Sex was a truth-serum. Sex was the cheapest and most traditional truth-serum in world history.

"Wh- what?"

She was playing stupid again. It was his least favourite game.

"Yeah. I know. 'What.' I heard that part already. I gotta go to work."

He towelled himself off, slapped cologne over his neck, and slipped into his jeans and shirt. He was out the door before Selene could react.

Later, Ginny laughed so hard she flushed red. She and Pryce were having a few drinks.

"Aww, you didn't want to cuddle? No snuggles for that venomous little bitch?"

"No, Ginny," Pryce took another pull from his drink - it was stiff enough to get through this conversation.

"No. The thought didn't occur to me at the time." Pryce wore his weakest poker face. The one with the confident smile.

Ginny looked at him affectionately. She whined like a puppy, and patted him on the arm.

"Aww. Poor thing."

Pryce rolled his eyes.

"Excuse me - are you, in fact, defending her?" Pryce reeled back his head, and set down his glass.

"No. Hell no. I feel bad for you. Don't you ever... feel kinda lonely?"

Ginny asked the question. It took all of Pryce's strength to answer:

"Sometimes."

Tiny, tiny nods. Tense, rapid nods.

His smile was there, and Ginny knew what it was. It wasn't "You're Funny" or "I'm Having A Good Time." It was the smile that said "This Is Me; This Is The Truth - Welcome To My Home."

Pryce was damned lonely.

"I'm really sorry, man." She gave him complete eye contact. It was strong, like lifting him off the ground.

"Things always work out," he replied, tasting his drink again. He was being sarcastic, and a little dark.

"Yeah," she concluded, "Well, I'm just happy you got clear of that twisted, neurotic fuck-muppet before she drove you nuts..."

Chapter Three: The Dark Side Of Night

Pryce stalked out of the safe-house, and left Selene behind. He just left her there to recover. He might've physically incapacitated her another way. Maybe an easier way, like accidentally beating her head against something. Instead, he settled with fucking her silly. She wanted sex? Well, now she wouldn't be walking for a while. Win-win.

There was no room for Selene in this op.

He flicked his phone.

"Central? Pryce. Why the hell am I out here with Selene? Is this op worth it, or what?"

"Play it out, agent. We're counting on you."

Click.

Fuck me, Pryce thought to himself. Fucking Central, and their games...

It was late - 2:30am. It was primetime for party animals, shady businessmen, and those lowlife assholes who only come out at night. Especially the kind of lowlife assholes who basically hide under rocks, by day. Things that slither.

Pryce's target was one of these. The definition of total asshole. He was believed to be responsible for several hundred abductions over the last five years. Washed-up prizefighters, has-been stage actresses, and sometimes every member of an impoverished family... if it included daughters. The Agency wouldn't have sent Pryce, if this wasn't serious.

He went to the clubs, finagling his way into the richer, nastier hotspots. In these places, the air stank with vodka and had a pulse of its own. The music was like 'digital caveman.' It was primal techno. Girls wore miniskirts, guys wore chains and athletic fashion. It was like the '80s, if the '80s were tripping on acid and having a wet dream at the same time. Pryce was living "One Night In Bangkok" in the postmodern era. The night was muggy, and fragrant, and all-too-real. It was a neon wilderness.

At one club, he was approached in under forty-five seconds.

"Hey, man - 'you American?"

Another classic nocturnal salesman.

Pryce looked down at this dusky, young businessman. The man's shirt was a unlikely hybrid of dressy class and pimp-sized lapels. Somehow, he made the whole street look like his boardroom.

Pryce spoke in a convincing New York accent. This moment was an invisible handshake.

"American? Yeah. I'm the one speaking English, here, right?"

"You want, I can hook you up! You want good shit? They know me around here. You the kind of guy who deserves the best, right? You? You get the best. We don't serve no bullshit to the American money."

"I appreciate that," Pryce answered, to his friend's delight. "So where do I find action?"

"Docks got it, business quarter, west streets... Best bet is the docks, my friend. What you looking for?"

"I fuckin' told you."

The drums were relentless, but Pryce's glare was far worse. His eyes were much harder than those digital pounding drums. Action, he'd said. Pryce turned this social handshake into a fist. It was either a fistful of bribery, or a threat to this hustler's face.

"Action..." Pryce said coolly. "Some real fights. Sure, MMA, Muay Thai, whatever... but none of this three-round bullshit. Fuckin' real life, man. I want what you can offer. I want my American-money's worth.

"And real girls. Good ones. Girls you take with you. You know, girls nobody asks about, later."

The businessman paused. He knew what Pryce was talking about.

"You fuckin' serious, man. You want the-"

"Damned-straight I'm serious. They know you around here? You must know them. And damned-straight, I'm American money. I'm here, because I'm American money. Don't you got the goods?"

Pryce had multiple citizenships. To him, nationality was like his mother's maiden name. He wasn't really American. He wasn't Australian. He wasn't British, either. Spoken accents were a habit, or a suit to be worn for the occasion. He'd worked in The Agency long enough, he belonged to the world.

"Ya... uhh... No probl'm, no probl'm... Try at east docks."

"Here. Twenty for your trouble. Have a nice night." Pryce passed him a discreetly marked twenty-dollar bill, and walked away.

"You, uhh... You want a guide? You want good knowledge of east docks?" He gestured with his free hand.

"TWENTY... and no fucking trouble. It's better for YOU that way, my friend. 'Kay? G'night." Pryce warned him with a glare. There was still respect, here - professional courtesy. Pryce got his information and left. The salesman knew he'd just dodged some of the worst scum in the city.

"Okay, okay, no probl'm..." The man dropped his hands, and disappeared into the teeming dark.

Chapter Four: Crashing Parties, Taking Names

"Central? I might have our target. Pleasure yacht, eastern docks. Larger scale. 'Gotta be over 180 metres long. Helipad up top. It suits his description, and..."

Pryce winced.

"...and I'd say it fits his economic profile. 'Might be him. Proceeding with prelim' recon."

His comm squawked back.

"Pryce? Additional intel. There's underground bareknuckle fighting, and human trade involved. Lives are on wagers, and lives are sold. This is confirmed.

"Local police investigated thirty-one deaths late last year. Of course, findings were inconclusive. Consistently inconclusive. We just got some more intel, a few minutes ago.

"Evidence-gathering would be appreciated, but otherwise - it's your show. Copy that?"

"Copy," he sighed. "On it."

Damn. It could've been simple. A British accent, a touch of Cockney... good suit... He could've made it work. He could've posed as a wealthy banker. He could've lied his way through security. Simple, safe, easy.

That ship, though... was departing. So much for two days' grace. And he was ordered to approach the target "his way." A simple charade would take too long.

Li-Tien Hu was the target. In the underworld, he governed this part of the Pacific. This was one of his ships, for sure... no-one else had that kind of money.

When Pryce saw a familiar face, he was convinced. It was his friend Carly. Carly Sonnen was a boxer, back in the Royal Australian Navy. That's where Pryce first met him. Now Carly was waiting by the on-ramp, beside the yacht. He was a fighter, but he looked ready to die.

Pryce waited till Carly was alone, and approached him. It was a strange moment of warmth.

"Carly?" It was quite rare to hear English spoken, in this place.

Carly turned to see Pryce. He looked like he'd hit rock-bottom, and broken his neck.

"P-Pryce? Th'fuck, mannn?"

The two embraced. They shared a brotherhood, in the military. Military life is like a crucible - a test of true gold. A man's purity is what shines through.

"Carly, what the hell?" Pryce looked at him, and saw Carly's broken heart. And his broken spirit. He was a man without hope.

"I can't..." He looked at Pryce, like he was ashamed to speak another word. Life had torn him apart, and now he wagered his last shred of it.

"I can't..." he said again. Tears struggled in his eyes. Pryce relaxed, and nodded.

Carly Sonnen flicked his eyes to a nearby shipping container. Pryce knew what he was saying. They talked in their secretive manner, where words were unspoken:

"It'd be nice to see you again, Carly." This meant, 'how can I get you out' in military shorthand.

Carly replied:

"Break out a crate of whiskey, like old times. Good times." This was, 'Get them out of the crate. It's what matters most.'

"Nah, we'll both have a good drink, Carly. On the house, man..." Pryce looked at him keenly.

"On the fucking house."

Pryce's eyes shone. They were harder than steel. They were cold like the moon.

They both knew he was going to crash this party. Fuck the crate, he'd take the entire ship. Carly shook his head. He was afraid to even look at Pryce. Pryce sneered like an animal, with hell burning in his grin. He thumped his fist on Carly's chest.

Brotherhood, Carly - I'm here, man. Here till the end.

Carly struggled to believe in hope. Or anything.

"Relax, Carly." Pryce saw guards nearby, and slinked back to hiding. From the shadows, he gave Carly a few parting words:

"I'll get my limo to come pick you up." Another time, they both would've laughed.

Pryce did what Pryce does - he befriended the darkness, climbed underneath the ramp to the hull, crawled around to the far side of the ship, and hitched himself there. He waited, hanging by his belt and pants, till the ship cast off. When they were far enough from shore, Pryce started the climb up.

He saw the wealthiest men in the hemisphere. They walked the decks of this luxury yacht, drinks in their hands and cigars in their fat teeth. They were here for the crème-de-la-crème. The best girls that money could buy.

Young, trained women approached these men. There were dozens of them. The all had practised smiles. They glided around the deck like fireflies. Every one of them was purely beautiful, like a model. Every one of them wore a simple kimono or robe. Every robe was waved open to reveal her breasts, slim belly, hips, and femininity. Often, she would slip the kimono past her waist, and display her thighs and ass.

They were young women, all with smooth, untouched skin, and they were for sale. They walked, and showed their naked bodies, and displayed themselves. They were the new stock, from Li-Tien Hu. And either they sold themselves well tonight, or...

...or they weren't useful. That was the word from Mr Hu, himself. His method was to hoard vulnerable people, and market whoever survived his 'screening.'

Pryce waited, watching from his hiding place. These women were trapped in this role. It burned in his guts. His scowl was fearsome.

Some chunky old man with silver stubble stood close by. He chomped on a rich, pungent cigar. Whatever the cigar was, it was exorbitantly expensive and smelled like cat piss.

A brunette woman walked up to him. She had subtle, pink lipstick and calm, hazel-green eyes.

She looked at the chunky old man, smiling confidently. She was confident that he wasn't the worst buyer. He didn't seem cruel. She hoped her training and body would attract him, and she'd be safe with him. Perhaps he'd treat her better than the others would. Perhaps he'd... perhaps he'd even treat her well.

She settled her eyes on him, and kept him in a warm gaze. She turned her body for him, for his inspection.

Then she took hold of her collar, opened her robe, and dangled her naked breasts for him. She leaned her head back, with her eyes closed, and bared her pale skin. She leaned to one side, then the other. She gently shook her shoulders to make her tits jiggle. They were pear-shaped, with the tips of her nipples making cute points. Their undersides were smooth and creamy white. They were entirely kissable. Her belly button was a thin line, waving back and forth. Somehow, her hips and smooth pussy looked warm. Warm like a bed.