Plausible Deniability Ch. 01

He traced the curve of her bare breast with tip of the knife. It wasn't meant to cut, but rather to scrape it's way along.

Her breath caught for a moment and then a small moan escaped her lips.

"Good. You are learning. This doesn't have to be completely unpleasant for you. Channel the pain the way I told you."

Even in the lamplight she was a vision. The shadows and light seemed like a garment draped over her giving a dramatic effect. Teasing, tantalizing, showing some pleasant features while wholly hiding others, much like the slinky red dress she had been wearing earlier. The 1500$ piece of clothing lay in tatters on the floor around her, having been removed with the knife the man still held.

The man walked into the light and then into shadow. His dress shoes clapped on the concrete floor with each step as he paced in circles around her. Into the light and then into the shadow again. Always a shadow across his face when he was in front of her.

"I'm not exactly sure what to do with you. I was hoping you were wearing undergarments of some sort. I do so enjoy cutting, as you know. But you have deprived me of that pleasure."

He was wearing slacks and a button up dress shirt, his jacket draped over a chair sitting on the other side of the worn wooden desk that the lamp sat upon. The man pulled at the sleeves of his shirt and tossed the cuff links onto the desk and began to roll the sleeves up each arm.

"Not that finding you naked underneath that fabulous dress wasn't a pleasure all its own, of course. This would be the first time I found a lady such as yourself in such a manner. Not even a gun."

He shook his head and tisked.

She shifted her naked body against the rough, thick rope that held her in place. Testing it she could find no weak points in the man's knot work. Each movement caused the rope to drag and score her skin.

The woman couldn't deny that the man's unique "pain management technique" was effective. She accepted the pain of the knife, felt each bite of it and then, at his suggestion, channeled it to her cunt. The moisture between her pussy lips and the wooden chair was undeniable. The rope chaffing her was making those lips engorge with warmth. A part of her knew she shouldn't be feeling like this, that it was against her training, but she wasn't sure how she would make it through this ordeal without making some concession to pleasure.

Gregor Ivanovich. On paper the man seemed like a monster. Twelve women in the last year, one a month she noted in the file, had appeared wandering the forest beyond his estate naked, bruised, cut, and obviously sexually assaulted. Whenever they were found they were sobbing and broken as a result of the ordeal but never pressed charges. One spent months in the ICU but even then wouldn't press charges. When he had a girl brought across State lines, the last girl a month ago to the day, Gregor made his first mistake. He made his hobby a federal crime and the FBI no longer needed anyone to press charges to act.

"Ciarra. Agent Ciarra......if that is actually your first name." He didn't seem to care to speak her last name.

It was hard to reconcile the thick file of abuses to the man in front of her; the monster to the charming man named Greg who had brought her champagne at the Gala, who danced with her and actually made her feel as lovely as he thought she looked.

She could still feel his warm hand at the small of her back. The dress had dipped almost inappropriately low to maybe an inch or less about the cleft of her ass. She relished the warmth of his hand, the strength in his dancing embrace, the firmness with which he led.

So many men these days didn't lead dancing well enough, so caught up in not being too overbearing that they were almost wimpy. Greg, rather, knew who he was, knew where he was heading with the next step and you either followed or quit dancing. Ciarra followed.

The agent kept telling herself that it was only because of the job that she agreed to go home with him after an hour of dancing, conversation, and hors devours. She kept telling herself that it was only because of the four glasses of champagne that she felt butterflies in her stomach at the prospect of him touching her again.

"You are beautiful."

She could hear the hunger in his voice, and for a reason she couldn't explain, it thrilled her. Maybe it was the timbre of his voice, or just his seductively charismatic nature, but her body began to betray her. Her nipples stiffened. She hoped he wouldn't notice.

Greg stepped closer, each step on the concrete rang against the walls.

He leaned in and she could smell him; sandalwood, clove cigarettes and the same champagne that she could smell on her own breath.

Greg traced the outline of her face with a finger.

She felt the urge to bite at it, which would make sense in a situation where she was captured. The part that didn't make sense was that it was an urge to gnaw not draw blood.

He traced his finger over her bare shoulders admiringly. Ciarra noticed. Where some women had great hips, legs, or breasts she thought her shoulders were her best feature. The red dress had accentuated them in a lovely fashion, being bare entirely. The dress had held together around her neck in a collar-like fashion she had hoped would lure Gregor in, given his apparent fetish proclivities.

His finger caused tingles as he ran the same route as his knife tip. The sensation went straight to her cunt without her having to purposely channel it.

He brought his head up and if the lamp wasn't shading his face she was sure they would be locking eyes. She found it hard to breathe. No matter how deeply she took in air it all seemed too dense or too lacking in oxygen. The ropes around her chest, one above her breasts, the other just below, hadn't been too tight a moment before.

Greg stepped away quickly, his appraisal finished, and it was like someone had turned on the air conditioning. She felt cold and shivering.

"Let me tell you how this is going to be Agent Ciarra. All you need to do is sit there and receive what I am going to do to you. You could struggle and fight every step of the way, and on some level that might please me but you...." He paused to pace back and forth into light into shadow.

"You would end up exhausted, worse for wear, and not having enjoyed a single moment."

He made his way back into the darkness and came up right behind her. Greg placed his hands on her shoulders and gently caressed them.

"Or, you can decide to enjoy it. You can decide right here and now to accept what is going to be done to you regardless, and get a good amount of orgasms out of it and when we're done you'll have had a sexual experience second to none. Something you will remember at home, in your bed, between the sheets, vibrator in hand, for decades. Now,"

His left hand slid down from shoulder to breast. He cupped the entire breast, placing the nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

"What do you say to that."

He lightly pinched and twisted her nipple.

She moaned and arched into his hand.

"Very good, Agent Ciarra."

Greg removed his hand and stepped away towards the table.

"I know you may not believe this, certainly they don't put it in whatever report they've given you to read about me, but your reaction there, your all but silent consent, is the same reaction all twenty four girls have given me."

A change came over him. He still was firm and in control of the situation but now each step had new energy. He was gleeful, she realized. He had caused her to want him.

She looked at the floor with a whine.

How had it happened, she wondered. How was it that now her training had flown out the window, her mission was all but forgotten, the chair under her warmer and more moist, and all she wanted now was him to touch her again. She didn't much care whether it was a stroke, a pinch, or a savage fucking without any lube it all. She wanted his touch, his physical attention and, suddenly she realized, she didn't care what she had to do to get it. Any humiliaiton, any act, she was game.

Ciarra wondered if she was having any physical effect on him and looked to the crotch of his slacks. She smiled and bit her lower lip as she could make out, in the shifting light and shadow, the outline of his large cock straining against the black fabric. The hunger inside her became more intense and she began to move her hips in the same grinding motion she would have used if she were on top of him at that moment.

"My, my, we are a hungry little girl aren't we."

She found a spot were if she squeezed her thighs tight together it massaged her clitoris in just the right way. Ciarra squeezed and ground and bucked craving release. She wasn't yet completely lost in her release. As her panting increased she knew she was only moments away from an orgasm. Still panting she looked up at her captor surprised that he was letting her get away with this. Greg stood there with his arms crossed unmoving, face unreadable in the shadow.

Ciarra closed her eyes involuntarily, giving herself over to the waves of pleasure.

She heard the smack before she felt the sting of it on her cheek.

Instantly the build up to orgasm faded as if he'd dumped a bucket of cold water on her. She let the pain wash through her but didn't, wouldn't, channel it to her cunt. Her breathing passed from sex panting to angry exhales. Straining again at the ropes all she wanted was to rip his face off from shame. He'd turned her body, her hormones and everything against her. Her mind had checked out and her body wanted him deep inside her. The agent had never experienced such a split between body and mind. The wetness under her pussy seemed suddenly foreign and disgusting.

Gregor reached down and grabbed her face forcefully.

She reacted by trying to bite his hand off. It would have been a love bite just moments earlier, but after the slap she was going for blood. The DNA she could grab between her teeth would be conviction enough after his acknowledgment that she was an agent.

He was expecting the reaction and raised his hand to slap again. She winced and pulled back like a whipped puppy. He re-established his grip on her face.

Raising her eyes to meet his, he stared for a moment, so deep and piercing a gaze that she felt even more naked than when he had shredded her dress.

"Ah ah ah ah", he scolded.

"Remember what I said to you agent Ciarra. You will have your desires satisfied, even the ones you deny you have and feel guilty after masturbating to. This night will become the only thing you pleasure yourself to for years to come, but it is in MY timing. I will decide what filthy little desire will be satisfied in you at any given moment. Do you understand me?"

A look of defiance filled her eyes as she reared back to spit in his face. Anticipating the move, he shifted his hand to cover her mouth and pinch her nose. In seconds she began to struggle bodily for air.

"Swallow it" Gregor commanded.

She struggled against the bonds, the look in her eyes desperate but committed.

"I want to see you swallow it. The notion of breathing is going to be a lot sweeter in a few moments and all I want is to see you swallow what you were going spit at me."

Ciarra began to slip into tunnel vision before she submitted herself into complying.

She would have complied seconds earlier but she had become distracted by the look on Gregor's face and he watched her neck, to see if she had swallowed. His face was so serene. The man she had assumed was just a sex crazed, psycho, brute looked at her neck so admiringly. Not leering, like some men might while staring at a girl's breasts, but as if he'd never seen anything more beautiful in all his life. Much like the way a groom looks at his bride on their wedding day when she is first seen coming through the doors.

Ciarra swallowed and Greg released his grip on her face.

"Shhh, slowly Agent Ciarra. Deep but controlled breaths. If you continue this way you'll be unconscious from hyperventilation. And I don't care what the reports say, I have no desire to play with women who aren't awake for it."

Gregor two steps back, towards the table, while she was busy about the business of calming her breathing.

"I did that only once and it felt wrong. So very wrong, like I had violated both my soul and hers" he explained with a shiver.

He unbuckled his belt and began pulling it through the loops ever so casually, as if he hadn't nearly just suffocated another human being, let alone a federal agent.

"And this, what you do to women" Ciarra began breathing laboriously, "you don't think it violates their soul or yours?"

Gregor set the leather belt on the table. The metal belt hit the wood tabletop with a slight smack that reverberated through the room.

He moved to a crouch in front of her naked bound body. Leaning toward her knee he took in a deep breath. She was sure he could smell the shaving gel she had used and perhaps the scent of her faded arousal. He kissed her naked knee and then began to lightly stroke one of her feet moving to gentle spirals over her ankle and then that same on the other side.

Again she couldn't deny that the he was having an effect. Tingling sensations continued up her legs and, without her consent, traveled up into her cunt. She couldn't help but wonder if she'd gotten laid in the past three months, or had a boyfriend or regular fuck buddy, whether or not she would be reacting like this.

"Ciarra," he said so sweetly "I've told you already, this is something that we do together."

The cords binding her ankles together snapped apart followed by the ones at her knees.

Gregor leaned in close, so close she could feel his breath on her skin. The room seemed to go warm and her head began to feel cloudy.

"What....what if I say no and refuse to do this...with you?"

Within moments she realized she couldn't tell the difference between the warmth of his breath and the warmth of her skin. The cord binding her thighs snapped and fell away. She kept her eyes closed and looking away, struggling with the emotions of it all.

His lips fluttered over the top of her thighs and his tongue darted lightly at the exposed skin between her knees.

Her breath quickened. She started squirming in her chair caught between not wanting intellectually and wanting ever so badly with her animal nature.

Two scenarios played out in her head. In the first she opened her legs, wrapped them around his neck, and twisted with all the strength she had severing his spinal column. There would be an eventual rescue, publicity, paperwork, maybe a pay raise, recognition and the like, but always the nagging wonder if this man on his knees in front of her could have delivered on his promise.

The second scenario just involved her opening her legs.

"There is a reason none of them have pressed charges. There is a reason you only know of the second set of twelve."

He breathed deeply through his nose.

"And there is a reason you are again smelling so sweet. Don't you want to know the reason? Do you want to understand, to feel what they have all felt?"

She couldn't deny the curiosity, of course, any more than she could deny the knot in her stomach, the inflaming of her cunt, and stiffening of her clit. Ciarra pressed her thighs together out of sheer determination. She was an agent for fuck's sake. She had a job to do. But his touches, his kisses, her curiosity why twenty four women allowed him to do as he pleased with them, all burned in her mind against the iron wall of her intellect until she made a decision.

It was a decision she wasn't even sure she consciously made until she heard the drag of her high heels on the concrete floor as she parted her thighs as widely as she could and tilted her hips so that she was straining to make contact between her cunt and his mouth.

He chuckled in satisfaction and she felt the grip of his hands, strong, powerful hands, on her legs as he leaned in to devour her.