Wire-Pulling Pt. 03 (End)

"That's it, Mom. Be my sex toy!" I groaned in pleasure, throwing my head back as well to revel in the feeling.

I didn't give a rat's ass about her gagging, but it soon died off anyway, like it was just part of the show she put up for me in the first place. When I had pushed myself into her throat until her nose was nuzzled into my pubic bone, she stuck out her tongue and I felt it glide along the seam of my ball sack. I held myself there for a good fifteen seconds before she coughed, causing her throat to constrict around my shaft almost painfully. Only then did I pull out.

"Did you learn your lesson, Mom?"

"Y..." she coughed again and swallowed a few times. "Yes, Son! I will obey!"

"Tell me how much you like the taste."

"I... l-love the taste of your cock, Son! I love the taste of your cum!"

I shoved myself back into her mouth and let her suck it for a moment before pulling out again.

"Tell me where you want me to finish."

"In my mouth, Son. Please fill my mouth! Let me swallow your cum!"

"Good! Because I filled two of your three holes today, and I want to be thorough."

And with that, I shoved it back in, not waiting or giving her time to adjust before using her throat like a fleshlight. At some point, I leaned over her body and used my free hand to roughly slap her ass. This caused another moan to rumble through her throat, making me feel the ripples around my most sensitive organ.

I fucking loved it.

By the time my balls were pulled into my body and I felt my lower stomach muscles tense, I just pulled her face into my groin by her hair and screamed my orgasm out. With every spurt of cum I shot down her throat, I could hear her swallow loudly. Every time I heard that, I felt her throat muscles massage my shaft even more. I was lost in that pleasure. That is until I heard some kind of clapping sound, and realized she was using her bound hands to slap her thighs, attempting to get my attention.

I quickly let go of her hair and pulled back, removing the meat plug from her airways. She gasped and inhaled deeply, like she had been mere seconds away from suffocating. But, despite that, and despite her face being streaked with tears again, she had the brightest and widest smile on her lips I had ever seen her wear.

I went to my knees to level my face with hers and placed a hand on her cheek, lovingly caressing it. Once she had caught her breath, she closed her eyes again and hummed as she tilted her head to press her face into my hand. Again, I couldn't help but lean forward and kiss her forehead.

"Thank you, Paulie!" she sighed and I knew she was fucked out. We both were, actually.

So, I got back up, carefully turned her onto her side, and took off the handcuffs. If I ever needed any kind of assurance that she wasn't just doing any of this to satisfy her own need for submissive sex play, I got it that evening. Because, after all the affectionate gestures we had shared over the past hour in between the rough sessions, I lay down next to her in bed, and she couldn't wait to wrap her arms around my torso and pull herself tightly into my body.

She nuzzled her face into my chest, took a deep breath, and just lay there with a contented smile.

"I love you, Mom," I whispered. Her hold on me tightened as she squeezed my torso with her arms.

"I love you too, Paulie. Thank you so much for letting me be a part of your life again."

There was a distinct pause for maybe half a minute, while I tried to find the right words.

"Mom?" She hummed in response. "Can you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"I need you to promise that, when we do things like this,... you won't just go along with it because you think it's what I want."

"What do you mean?" She sounded genuinely confused. I sighed. It only caused the concern to find its way into her facial expression.

"All of this is new to me, Mom. I don't really know what I'm doing here. I do enjoy using you, and how you let me do whatever I want. I think that's evident. But what I enjoy in this is how eager you are. I enjoy that you want to please me unconditionally. And after what just happened... I'm afraid that, at some time, I might screw up and hurt you. So, I need you to promise that, if I ever do something you don't want, or try something you don't like, you straight up tell me."

There was another distinct pause. The longer it lasted, the more worried I became about what her reply would be.

"You can hurt me if you want, Paulie," she said, although there was a clear hint of insecurity in her voice. "If you lose yourself in the pleasure, it means I did good. I can..."

"Stop!" I said sternly, causing her to flinch. "Listen... For me, my partner's pleasure is half of my own pleasure. I like to feel like a stud, not like a sadistic asshole. If I wanted a toy, I'd buy one! So, in exchange for you promising to tell me off if I do something you're not into, I promise that I will not kick you out for refusing me. I... I really want my mother back in my life. The mother I knew before Dick showed up and ruined our lives. I want to have you close. And I want us to be happy again."

Once again, I felt her hold on my body increase in strength as she buried her face back into my chest. Though, from time to time, I felt her twitch as if she was trying to hold back sobs.

"You said you deserve to be used. That you deserve to be my toy." I continued. "But I meant it when I apologized for blaming you all these years. It was Dick who beat us, not you. You deserve more than Dick gave you. I need you to know that. Please, promise, Mom."

I felt her hesitantly nod before a soft pair of wet lips placed multiple kisses on my chest. It was enough. I wrapped my arms around her to return her hug and held her until we both fell asleep.

Interlude 05

September 30th, Early Morning hours, Austin, Texas

"I listened to your accusations long enough. You said he is just boy. No training, no danger, easy job," Kasparin said in his heavy Russian accent as the two men sat in Fairfield's office.

They had been in there for more than an hour already, discussing how to remedy the situation. After they had discovered young Paul's escape, they spent as much time as they could safely afford looking for him, but to no avail. He had simply vanished, and Fairfield blamed Kasparin for that blunder. He had thought the man would be capable of keeping an untrained youngster restrained. Instead, they had no choice but to throw the woman's body into Kasparin's trunk for later disposal and, in anticipation of Paul alerting the authorities, make sure there wouldn't be any evidence left behind.

But, as if that wasn't already enough to deal with, on his drive back to the office, he had tried to contact his protégé. Dallas had been assigned to lead the surveillance team tasked with keeping a careful eye on Ms. Anderson, and Fairfield had expected her to be the first person to hear from Paul after his escape. But Dallas was unreachable. So, instead, he called the team directly and learned that Dallas had now, apparently, completely abandoned his duties, and nobody was able to locate him.

"He is a boy!" Fairfield heatedly shot back. "He doesn't have any mentionable training or background, comrade! How could you let him escape that easily!?"

"Is no boy!" Kasparin scoffed. "Only way for him to escape that easy is if he was prepared! There was nothing in cabin he could use to break cuffs. Nothing on me or Jelena he could have stolen to break cuffs. Whatever he used was hidden on his body, in way we couldn't find when padding him down. This is your own fault for not giving correct information! Had I known he is professional, I would have used six-men-team for pick-up. It's surprising he even complied without resisting. We should have used tranquilizer."

"And why the hell didn't you!?" Fairfield could barely contain his rage by this point. "Can't I expect the minimum of professionalism for the thirty-five thousand I paid you for this job!?"

"I heard enough," the Russian interrupted when Fairfield had just taken another deep breath to continue his tirade. "Deal with this yourself. I will transfer money back!"

With that, Kasparin got up from his seat and simply walked out of the office. Fairfield spent the next few minutes fuming over how utterly this job had derailed and, quickly, reached the conclusion that, while he would have allowed young Paul to persist had the damage he caused not exceeded a certain level, by now, it was a matter of professional pride to dispose of the boy. He could not allow him to continue in his investigation. Even if the boy wouldn't uncover any more incriminating information, the mere fact that he would never stop searching presented an unnecessary risk for future operations.

Dealing with the lawyer would be a lot easier. They would need to let him continue Ms. Anderson's defense, to not cause any more suspicious developments the DA's office could take notice of, but he would need to be persuaded not to use any of the evidence he had received from Paul. That shouldn't be a problem, however, as the man had two daughters that could be used as an incentive. If the man had any backbone, he would have made a proper career out of his law degree instead of wasting away in the public defender's office for so many years. It would suffice to present the man with a few pictures of the girls' bedrooms, to let him know how easily it would be to take them away from him.

The last problem was Ms. Anderson herself. The senator would generally accept Fairfield's methods, but only as long as his interests were protected. Getting rid of a witness was fine, as long as it looked like an accident. Getting rid of his stepson would also be fine, as long as it looked like a work-related accident. The boy did, after all, work in a dangerous field, investigating dangerous people, making enemies of influential people, and, most important of all, refusing to use the senator's name.

But if the senator's ex-wife then perished as well, this would garner a whole new level of interest from the press. If only he knew for sure what Paul and the lawyer had already found out...

The ringing of his desk phone pulled him out of his musings and, after a quick glance at the display showing the number of the General, an annoyed groan escaped his throat.

"Of all the... Does he have to call now!?" Fairfield mumbled before reaching for the receiver. "General?" He said to greet the man calling him.

"Fairfield, what the hell is going on?" The General was clearly not amused. "I have received rather disturbing reports about the operation you're currently running in the Anderson case."

"Yes... The situation is concerning. As it turned out, we sadly underestimated the level of motivation the stepson would show when trying to counteract our efforts to bring the operation to an end. And, contrary to the information the client provided us with, the support network behind the stepson does include some quite well-trained and seasoned specialists. I'm afraid we can't really blame Dallas for his blunder anymore. I'm certain he did his best, but for an opponent like that, he's simply not experienced enough," Fairfield lamented, knowing from the tone of the General's voice that now was not the time to keep blaming his superior's son for his repeated attempts to drive this operation into a wall.

"Now isn't the time to assign blame, Fairfield," the General said in an exasperated sigh before continuing in a serious voice. "The report I received informs me that you launched a failed attempt to extract Anderson's stepson, the person who is still working directly with the DA's office's support after drawing their attention to your pansy witness' death, and thereby possibly exposed the entire Division South?"

Fairfield felt all blood draining from his face. How could the General possibly know about this!? It was only hours since Paul slipped through their fingers, and, so far, there was no word of any law enforcement looking in the organization's direction.

"We can't... eliminate that possibility for certain," Fairfield stuttered.

"In that case, Fairfield, you leave me no choice. The confidentiality and trust of our clients in the organization can not be jeopardized. You know that." If Fairfield hadn't been sitting already, he would have dropped into his chair at this point because his knees would have failed him. He knew what was coming next. "Make sure all active operations of Division South are brought to a close as soon as possible and try to eliminate our opponents. Non-essential personnel are to be called back to deliver their final reports, and then transferred to the main office in New York. Then... someone will have to take responsibility for this disaster. If you can close operations in a clean and satisfying manner, I will do what I can to minimize the severity of your sanctions. But, as the leader of Division South, your resignation will be necessary."

Fairfield was stunned. The General was shutting him down preemptively. It was the maximum penalty for any member in a leading position.

"General, I don't think that is necessary! The situation isn't nearly as dangerous as it may appear. I already made preparations to deal with Ms. Anderson's lawyer and, if we manage to dispose of the stepson within the next four days, nobody will ever learn about the blunders that appeared in this operation. I don't know what your sources reported, but..."

"Don't even try, Fairfield!" The General no longer sounded annoyed or exhausted. All of a sudden, he sounded angry. His voice was bordering on insulted. Something Fairfield took notice of. "My sources are reliable and their information has been verified! The orders you just received weren't suggestions, either! I'm offering you a resignation in honor of the twenty years you maintained an impeccable track record, and I don't want to make this harder for you than it needs to be. If you force my hand, however, I will terminate your employment like I would with any other leader who has proven his inability to deliver results."

Fairfield swallowed dry.

"Yes, General."

"I will give you the four days to dispose of the stepson. But I strongly suggest you do not disappoint me again."

And with that, the line simply went dead. Fairfield suddenly felt like a marathon runner who, after leading the race from the beginning, snapped his ankle fifty feet before passing the finish line. Now, all he could hope for was to crawl past the finish line while all the other runners passed him by.

Of course, he always knew that a situation like this could someday come to pass. When he took over as the leader of Division South, he was instructed accordingly. The leader was the last piece of deferment before law enforcement agencies or other hostile groups could come into direct contact with the organization as a whole. Fairfield himself had established a few businesses in the southern parts of the US, in which the members of the organization were officially employed as 'Corporate Consultants'.

The last time something like this had happened, it was the leader of Division East who had to take responsibility. He, too, had been a victim of someone else's incompetence, resulting in a failed operation, but he wasn't able to bring everything to a clean end. He actually had to go to prison for three years!

At least Fairfield was still in contact with the man and knew he was now working in one of the organization's training centers. So, he also knew, as long as he managed to successfully tie up all the loose ends, the organization wouldn't have any reason to dispose of him in a more permanent manner. The problem was, however, that he would need some of his people to successfully take care of those loose ends, and the General had just ordered him to send them all to New York.

His eyes moved to the wall safe that held his extraction papers, pondering if now was the time he would need to make use of them.

Nobody, not even the General, could be aware of the secret identity he had obtained in preparation for when things went totally south. When, back in the year 2000, it became clear that Romania would join the EU, Fairfield used this opportunity in his favor. He had learned that, by Romanian law, everyone who had Romanian ancestors could apply for a Romanian passport without the government looking at much more than the applicants' heritage.

Of course, Fairfield didn't have any Romanian ancestors, but he had also learned that the Republic of Moldova had been part of the Romanian territory for a long time. By now, Moldova was a separate country, but it was also a third-world country. Supposedly a democracy, but the true regent was corruption.

Fairfield could have just as easily gotten a new identity in Bucharest, where money made everything possible as well, but a seasoned investigator could have followed that trail. So, he had booked a flight into Romania's neighboring state and used a few hundred dollars to have a local goatherd accompany him to Chişinău to declare Fairfield his son. At this point, another hundred dollars changed hands to accelerate the procedure.

The result was a birth certificate, proving his father to be a Romanian citizen. Twenty-four hours later, the goatherd had been buried in a forest, and, another two weeks later, after enlisting the help of a Bucharest law firm as well as paying another "fee" of five hundred dollars to the Romanian government official, Fairfield's second persona had become a fully legal and official citizen of Romania.

Using that passport, he had opened an account with a regional bank, deposited his nest egg of almost a million dollars in there, and bought a luxurious Chacra in Uruguay. It was his worst-case exit strategy because he really had no wish to spend the rest of his life in Uruguay. But he needed to be that far away from the organization's headquarters if he wanted to be able to sleep at night.

As Fairfield had pondered on how to realize his retirement plan, he made sure nobody was still left in the building, especially in the advertising agency they shared the building with, since these guys were known to put in quite some crunch time when a big project was due.

For the last time, he drove the elevator down to the first floor, and here, too, he couldn't find a sign of life. After all, it was almost five in the morning by now, so it should be a few more hours before anyone would show up for work. So, he calmly made his way into the underground garage, sat in his car, and drove off.

About three minutes later, the fire alarm system, which had a direct line to the nearest fire station, sent its alarm signal as the whole building went up in flames.

Now, the question was: How likely was it for the organization to use him as a scapegoat and pin Carver's death on him, instead of trying to minimize the damage like the General had suggested? It was beyond question that Paul would try to add his botched-up abduction to the list of charges should he be made to surrender himself to the authorities.

It didn't matter. Paul had to die.

Chapter 10

September 30th, Houston, Texas

It was barely seven in the morning when the relentless ringing of my phone woke us up. I had serious trouble opening my eyes and found the task of forming a coherent thought to be even more challenging, but somehow managed to grab my phone and swipe the green button upwards.

"Yeah?" I heard my own tired voice say. For some reason, I was so out of it and my head was so foggy, I just acted without thought.

"Dude! Get up! We're standing in front of the building."