The Ox Who Got the Cream Ch. 02

"Why not?" Truce slurred, afraid there was so little blood in his upper body he might pass out. "Would you prefer something else?"

The bottle pushed in slightly, Truce thumbed her clit, and Layla fought the restraints, crying out through her orgasm, her nipples hard and buzzing, Truce's mouth moved across her chest.

"Oh God," she panted, her head falling back as Truce removed the bottle, chuckling. Despite the heavy climax, feeling heavily stimulated on the exterior, there was still something lacking that she'd never admit aloud.

"Want me to fuck you, kitty?" Truce growled, up against her, his hands gripping where her wrists were restrained. "Want my hard cock to fill you up while you can't budge an inch?"

Inch immediately reminded Layla of Truce's thick member. When she looked away, still panting, still squirming, Truce's eyes darkened with a better idea.

Layla sighed with deep relief when he walked away. When he stood between her legs again, her ankles jerked to close them, though it was useless.

"Aw, don't pretend you don't want this," Truce grinned, his eyes alight with excitement. In his hand was a little fox tail. Soft brown, cute and all, but the gleaming black rubber end meant trouble for Layla.

"I don't!" she insisted, straining away in the chair, recoiling when Truce tongued the smallish plug, his eyes dancing with glee. "No! Go away! No! I never-!"

Truce's bark of laughter interrupted her, and he was already on his knees, gently twisting the lubricated end against her butthole. "You forget who you're talking to. I know everything, Layla."

Layla was so surprised she was temporarily distracted, a moment later the little tail pressed through the barrier and was snugly settled inside her. She struggled, remembered it was useless, and let her body adjust to the little toy stretching her.

"When we first met, you were such a brat," Truce murmured, giving the tail a little flick. "Full of anger. At first, I presumed it was just jealousy."

Layla's mouth fell ajar, and her thighs quivered as the silky end of the tail brushed her aching pussy.

"But I couldn't get you out of my mind," he admitted. "After a while watching you, I began to suspect something else," he sighed, kissing her inner thigh, watching her eyes fill with furious denial as she sensed what was coming. He laughed.

"You think I only hack villain databases?" he smirked, tickling her pussy with his tongue, tasting her sweet scent, smacking his lips in an obscene way that made her cringe.

He straightened to look her in the eye and Layla froze as her entire world stopped; the simmering moment between them was that intense.

A lazy, arrogant smile spread across Truce's handsome face. "Imagine my surprise, when I watched you google me before pleasuring yourself."

Layla recoiled with shame. No, no, no, no, NO!

Truce chuckled at her silent dismay. "I couldn't believe it, either."

Layla quickly looked away, wishing the floor would open wide enough to swallow the whole chair with her in it.

Truce leaned closer. "The game is up. I know you fancy me, and I know you love a little anal play. The number of times I've cum to the memory of you rolling about the bed like a little slut, moaning 'fuck my ass'...Jesus Christ," he shook his head, and quickly reached down his suit. "I've ruined everything. I wanted to play some more, but I can't hold out. Ready to cum again, kitty?"

Wholly mortified, Layla's mouth hung open. Truce took the opportunity to kiss her roughly, growling when she whimpered. His cock probed her slick entrance and pushed inside, the little plug stimulating them both.

"Oh!" Layla's green eyes were so beautifully wide Truce almost spurted early.

"Oh, God, yes," he muttered, slowly withdrawing to thrust again, savouring that tight, wonderful sensation and knowing she felt it too. "I'm fucking you, and there's a tail in your ass, naughty girl," he purred, biting her neck.

Layla was trembling, overwhelmed by the restraints and bundle of conflicting feelings. The man using her body; a calculating superhero reduced to a groaning, passionate male. Her hatred and her desire. The horrible truth that he was right about everything. She gasped when he pulled her hair and gazed into her eyes.

"Say it," he demanded breathlessly, his hips jerking into her. "Say 'there's a tail up my ass, and I love it!'"

"Please..." Layla's eyes rolled back and closed. The fist in her hair tightened painfully and her eyes fluttered open.

"Say it," he grunted, his mouth falling ajar with lust as his climax approached. "Cum with me, Layla. Fucking say it!"

Layla felt a strange twinge, like a small weight shifting, alleviating her resistance to the circumstances and permitting her to release her hang-ups and just be. A reckless enjoyment washed over her, relaxing and thrilling. Unable to move her limbs, she arched in the chair, her thighs tightening with an urge to wrap about him.

When she opened her eyes, Truce saw they were dark green and sultry, desperate, surprised; the way he always wanted, the way he loved. Her lashes dark and heavy, forcing her to blink, batting at him like feminine encouragement.

"Say it," he warned, noting the break in her resolve, recognising her surrender. "Say it because I told you to. Because it's true. Tell me!"

"T-There's a tail in my ass," she moaned, entirely dazed, hungry. "And I love it...I...I...Ohh!"

"You're my naughty girl, aren't you?"

"I...Yes...Yes..." she gasped. "Fuck! Fuck me!"

Truce stilled his thrusting, his eyes fierce, glaring into hers. "Say you're my naughty girl," he demanded.

"I'm your naughty girl!" Layla cried, frantically bucking against him.

"Mine!" Truce grunted, his chest and arms seemed enormous, every muscle flexed as he strained against her. Then he fucked both of them toward the edge, burying himself forcefully, over and over. He saw Layla's hands balled to white fists; her eyes rolled back.

When the shattering moment hit, they both stiffened for a few heartbeats then continued writhing, but Truce had better command of his movements. When the hard pleasure subsided, he slumped against her as she relaxed in the chair, utterly exhausted.

Finally, he detached the little nibs that were still making her squirm, and reached under to slowly pull on the plug, grinning at her soft squeak when it popped out of her tight hole. Lastly, he let his cock slide out, a new load following to drip down the seat.

Layla was still limp and fatigued in the chair, quietly watching him. Not afraid, not angry, just quiet. Observant. He'd pay a fortune to know her thoughts.

"Ready for bed, kitty?" he smiled lazily, affectionately smoothing his hands down her spread thighs to the ankle restraints, questioningly tapping the metal.

Resentful acknowledgement flickered in the emerald depths of Layla's eyes, and she nodded.

***

Truce was kind in the aftermath, merciful in his victory. He didn't taunt her about her masturbation habits; didn't mention it at all, and she was very grateful. The humiliating fact that he knew about it really stung.

Layla towel-dried her hair after a hot shower, staring at her reflection, hardly recognising the change in her. It was a lot to take in. She looked tired, relaxed, still flushed. The happiness lingered, her senses buzzing with that weird post-release freedom. Submitting to Oxman's whim.

Layla shook her head, marvelling at how their interactions evolved over a matter of hours. She was in a perfect position to fuck up Oxman's operation, but that wasn't what she was about. Though she certainly wanted to hurt him, Oxman was still a valuable crime fighter, even if he was an arrogant rapist. Her conscience couldn't let her get in the way of the good work he carried out ceaselessly.

But now the sex battling was over, she was reluctant to recognise how exciting it was to be in the dark wing of Oxman's property, separate from the main mansion where Truce conducted business, hosted and pretended to live. She was thrilled.

It was like another world; a world she dreamed for herself. The secure, sealed off section had a different décor; darker, classier in its simplicity, more mysterious. Loaded with weapons, the Oxmobile, Truce's office filled with monitors, his luxurious living quarters, all decadent charm. No one besides Ralphred ever saw it. There was no denying that she was privileged to be there. She'd be a fool to throw the opportunity away.

"Hey, sexy."

Layla yelped and clutched the towel to her breasts, though there was little point. Truce leaned in the doorway; his eyes glued to the mirror where her pert ass was on full display by reflection.

"You might have knocked!" she protested, cheeks red and feeling suddenly shy. She hated him, didn't she?

"You left the door open," he remarked, dragging his gaze to her flustered face. His lips quirked with humour. "Come to my office, I want to show you something."

Then he was gone, and Layla had time to wrap a white guest robe about herself, obviously arranged by Ralphred, and quickly pad out of the bathroom.

Cautiously tailing him from a distance, she followed Truce down various corridors, through strange rooms leading to a vast office the size of a small gym. In it she found Truce in a chair that looked like it belonged on a UFO, his eyes raking three large monitors on an enormous desk. The wall behind was covered in too many screens to count. Various parts of the city. Empty offices, some occupied. Prison security footage. Inmate cells.

Truce continued to type, not acknowledging her presence until he was ready.

"How did you like sub space?" he asked softly.

Irked by his wickedly curious, intimate tone, Layla pretended not to hear him. "What..." she swallowed, hovering uncertainly behind him. "What do you want to show me?"

Truce typed rapidly, and the third monitor sprung up a blinking, multi-coloured list. "See this?"

"Yeaah?" Layla slowly answered, still in the dark.

"This is my 'to-do' list," he pointed to the top; the first ten items were in the red. "If one of these were scheduled tonight, or even in the next week, I couldn't have ambushed you at the store." He gently linked his fingers across his hard stomach and spun in the chair to face her. "It had to be tonight, so I could work on you uninterrupted."

"W-Work on me?" Layla spluttered.

Truce grinned slyly; his ruffed dark hair deceptively charming. "Trap you, catch you, fuck you, kidnap you. I went fucking easy on you in the dungeon. There was no punishment, I hope you're aware of that. I am going to fuck your sexy mouth, at some point. Tonight was about us connecting."

Layla's eyelids flickered, but she suppressed the instinct to roll her eyes. Though she wanted to be aggressive, she was far too curious. "So, what is this about?"

"You can have all this," Truce silkily waved one hand to the monitor. "I meant what I said at the jewellers."

Layla pulled a face. He'd said 'jewellers' as though he were there for a respectable reason. She pulled herself together. "Wait, you mean..." she held her breath for a moment. "I can fight crime, too? No strings?"

Truce impatiently arched an eyebrow.

Layla felt suddenly wary as she perceived Truce's 'business face'. She'd seen it through glass walls when he met with her father, or those times she pinpointed him at parties just to make sure he never got near her; often he was sombrely chatting with investors or off-duty sergeants, his serious expression disconcertingly sexy. But that expression was never directed at her, intent and outcome focused. This wasn't play for him, it was a business transaction. She nervously shivered.

"Well?" Truce prompted. "It's not a light decision. Would you like the night to think about it?"

"No! I want to..." Layla trailed off, not wanting to say, 'fight bad guys', like an excitable child.

"I'm sure you do," Truce frankly finished her sentence, glancing back to the list that occasionally flickered with an update. "I will train you, take you with me, protect you. Let you use some of my weaponry and access most of my intel."

"Okay," she said hesitantly, dread and desire coiling in her belly. "And in return you want something? What?"

Of course, it was sexual. But now he'd had his way with her, won the war, he'd back off from boredom. The chase was over. Maybe she'd only have to fuck him once a month. Or let him take some lewd photos to beat off to. That seemed fair enough.

Truce looked surprised she asked the question. "I want you, Layla. For me to let you into my world, you have to be mine. And you must abide my rules where your safety is concerned."

"Your rules?" Layla repeated blankly, feeling overwhelmed.

Truce nodded. "If you break them, Layla, you will upset me. And I will punish you for it," he finished softly.

Layla slightly edged back when he leaned forward, staring with hard eyes, the soft brown colour now carrying a steely glint, holding her attention. "Before the end of this year you'll be wearing a wedding ring and your surname will change from Brandles to Cain."

Layla's jaw dropped. "Is this a joke? I have to fucking marry you?!"

"Yes." Truce didn't blink. "Those are my terms. And I'd never demand it if I wasn't sure it'd work for both of us. It'll be much easier to maintain my civilian image. There's a lot of effort and little fun involved convincing the public I'm a playboy. It's fucking tiring, actually."

"I'm not Stepford Wife material," Layla said resentfully. "And I hate you."

"You're still pretending you're not fixated on me?" Truce asked cynically. "Your father has known for months. He's mentioned it a few times."

"Bullshit!"

"Parents sometimes notice things that their children don't realise immediately," Truce shrugged. "An objective perception." He shifted in the chair, angling his head at her stormy expression.

"Layla, sooner or later my interest in you was going to become dangerous," he quietly reasoned. "Once apparent to others, you would be targeted. I need you to be with me, so I can protect you."

Scheming, Layla dropped her gaze, unable to maintain the staring contest. If she was with Truce, her father would let her do anything. Her eyes slid back to the tempting list on the screen.

"So, if I accept, I can come to The Poker assignment?" she said craftily.

Truce twisted to glare at the monitor, then turned back to her, looking pissed off. "Absolutely not, Layla. Not him."

"They're all bad!" she argued, pleased to have a struck a nerve. "You said I could have it all!"

"There's always an exception, Layla. He's it."

"Why?" she challenged, indignant anger bubbling inside her. "Too high profile for me?"

Truce hesitated, contemplating the wisdom of telling her. "He's too lethal."

"And the others are harmless?" Layla countered incredulously.

Truce laughed bitterly, rolling an ornament across the desk and standing to follow it to the other side, catching it as it went over the edge. He stared at the ball in his hands, then looked up. "I know I gamble with life and danger, but some things are off limits. You're one of them."

Layla pouted. "I know he's one of the more dangerous villains, but..."

"He is the most dangerous, Layla," Truce said harshly; tension visible in his broad shoulders. Layla shifted to a different approach.

"So, I'm one of your few limits? Who else is off limits? Ralphred?" she asked with a coy smile, flirting with him.

Truce's severe expression cracked, and he laughed. "Sure." He reached for her; eyes warm with playful affection. "It's almost sunrise. Let's go to bed. We'll discuss the details later."

Layla accepted his hand and let him lead her from the office, mentally revising what she'd seen in the Poker's mission description, taking the intel to memory.

Truce wasted little time stripping the white robe from Layla and pushing her into an enormous bed. He clearly had a 'sleep naked' policy which would be enforced.

It wasn't until they were entwined under black silk sheets that Layla's curiosity spiked again.

"So... why can't I fight the Poker? What makes him more dangerous than the others?" she asked.

"Urgh, Layla!" Truce growled and gave her a warning squeeze. "Don't talk about him in bed!"

"Then just tell me!" she insisted.

Truce sighed deeply in the dark, his fingers idly tracing soft strands of her hair. Half a minute passed, and Layla waited, knowing Truce was still awake. Obviously thinking about it.

"I've fought The Poker for a number of years," Truce said eventually, still trying to explain. "We know each other quite well. He's like me in some ways."

"But he's a villain!"

"I don't mean we share the same values," Truce said shortly. He turned Layla onto her back, crawling on top, burying his face in her neck. "Mmm."

"Oh," Layla gasped, feeling something hot and hard rubbing up her inner thigh, nudging, searching, squeezing into her pussy. "T-Truce..." she faintly protested, though angled her pelvis to better accept his slow thrusts.

"You think I waited this long, worked this hard to get into my bed, and wouldn't take advantage?" he said thickly against her ear. "I'm fucking starving for you, Layla."

Truce's hand crept through her hair, fingers pressing her scalp, his mouth on her ear, panting. His frame covering her was large, the heat of his skin surrounded her like an intimate cocoon, his cock thick and pulsing inside her.

It went on forever, they became lost in the slow, rhythmic grind, the soft sheets cooling luxury against their building heat. When Layla came, she arched into the bed, bucking against Truce while he sucked her breasts.

Truce's wet mouth left her nipples, his hands clawed through her hair as they locked lips. He fucked harder, faster, growling through his release, sucking her tongue. Layla was weak under him, fairly certain she'd leave a bodily imprint in the mattress, like those old-fashioned crime scene chalk outlines.

Still catching her breath, she drew a deep, shaky sigh, never feeling so fucked in her life. Truce pulled out of her and flopped to his back, drawing her against his chest.

"I need to make sure you're too fucked to run out on me," he panted, his fingers possessively massaging her scalp.

"Hm," Layla drowsily replied, still unable to form articulate thoughts.

Truce chuckled indulgently. "I've partially won you over. But I haven't tamed you, yet."

Though ridiculously comfortable against the heat of his skin, Layla dimly conceded his assessment was correct. But she could enjoy herself in the moment. And take advantage of certain benefits that came with bedding Oxman.

"So...about The Poker," she breathed, drawing an invisible line down his pec.

"Oh, my God. You're not going to let me sleep, are you?" Truce sourly complained, his chest steadily rising under her from the sexual exertion.

Layla giggled and continued to draw circles on his chest. Though he didn't show it, she sensed he was ecstatic to have her in his bed at last, and willingly. That had to put him in a generous mood.

"In some ways The Poker is like me," Truce said heavily, trailing his fingertips up her silky arm. "If you go up against him, you'll catch his attention and..."

"And?" Layla pried with rapt attention. "He'll want to kill me?"

"Worse."

As Layla's eyes adjusted, she could see his frowning profile in the dark as he stared at the ceiling. "What's worse?" she persisted.

Pulled from his dark musings, Truce grunted irritably. "Layla, if you get on his radar, he'll want you. The same way that I do."