Nikita fic: Cold Comfort (Alex/Amanda)
Nov. 9th, 2011 02:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Cold comfort
Fandom: Nikita
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,829
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Amanda, Alex/Nikita
Spoilers: 2x07
Warning: Dub-con.
Summary: Amanda knows Alex is feeling lonely. Vulnerable. Needy. Just the way she likes her.
Alex was going stir-crazy. Four days in the same white room. Never leaving, never talking to anyone, just staying nice and safe like a doll in a box. Nothing to do but beat her head against the wall, sometimes literally. She exercised herself until she dropped to sleep, but that just made things worse. When she woke up, there was no way of telling how much time had passed. She could've been in there two days, or forty. Every hour had the same bland flavor.
She touched herself, even, not her usual vice, but it just brought up thoughts of Nikita and she couldn't deal with that. She tried picturing herself whipping Nikita, punishing her just enough for Nikita to barely enjoy it, but always Nikita looked back at her with the same smile, like a safe word. It was all too messy. She thought of Nikita brutalizing her, dildo shoved deep inside, nails scratching down her back, and felt a misfire of an orgasm suddenly leech away her desire. There. Done.
She folded herself up in bed and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, it was a new room. Or rather, the old one under a layer of glitz. There was a TV, a bookcase, carpets, furniture, even posters of the few movies she'd managed to enjoy while on the run. Amanda sat in the middle of it, perched with legs crossed on a futon, looking absurdly poised on furniture designed to be sprawled on. "I was wondering when you'd wake up."
Alex got up, absently covering herself with her bedsheets. She wore the tanktop and sweatpants of a raw recruit—the only laundry she was allowed, maybe so she couldn't kill herself with it—but still felt naked under Amanda's stare. "What are you doing here? What is all this?"
"Creature comforts," Amanda explained, picking up a snow globe, the onion-topped towers of Moscow inside. She gave it a shake, subjecting the tiny people to a blizzard. "We're giving you protection, not a prison. I apologize for the time it took me to see to your room. Things are busy, as you can imagine. I wanted you to have all the comforts of home."
Alex knew it was a ploy—it smelled like a ploy, walked like a ploy, talked like a ploy—but her hindbrain was far more thankful than her frontal lobe was suspicious. "Thank you."
"No need." Amanda stood, leaving the snow globe on a coffee table. Smoothing out her daringly short skirt—it came down to mid-thigh, the single excess of her otherwise corporate ensemble—she roamed to Alex's bedside. "Of course, the real problem isn't stimulation. You've been through a lot the past few weeks. Confronting Nikita. Your first assassination, not counting poor Thom of course. And then, the childhood friend. Hardened agents would have trouble coping with all that. So please don't say you're fine. I know you do need help."
"From you?" Alex scoffed.
Amanda sat down beside Alex. "In light of my new responsibilities, I suppose it's easy to forget that I'm a trained psychologist. But I have sworn an oath to help people. I would be remiss to sit back and let you suffer. But the choice is yours, as always. Should I leave?"
Alex didn't know what it was, but being with Amanda was like a drug high, the woman flooding her with emotions after so many dry oatmeal days. She didn't want it to end. "No!" she said, too vehemently to play off.
Amanda smiled at her. "That's good, Alex. You should always admit when you need help. Now, by isolating you, we are keeping you safe from any agents Gogol may have in Division, but humans are social creatures." Amanda took Alex's hand, Alex almost protesting, and stroked it gently, her long fingers tapering from the back of Alex's wrist to the end of her knuckles. "They require touch. Warmth. Of course, I don't have all day to… snuggle. But there is a quick fix." Letting Alex's hand drop on her thigh, Amanda unbuttoned her blouse. Underneath, she wore a chemise top, modest but a little scandalous in context.
"What are you doing?" Alex asked, meaning for it to be a demand, ending up with a nervous query.
"Did you know studies have shown breast-feeding is equally relaxing to both the mother and child? It's not just being fed that soothes a colicky child. It's something about the breast itself. I'd go further and say that it applies to adults as well. Haven't you noticed men hold a certain interest in your cleavage?"
"You want me to--?"
"It's not about what I want. It's about what will help you feel your best." Neatly folding her blouse to the side, Amanda slipped one strap away from her pale shoulder, letting her chemise fall away from the curve of an equally porcelain breast. The nipple, a soft pink like a dab of paint, was almost tempting in its petiteness. Alex wondered if it would get bigger, if it stood up like a top hat when Amanda was getting fucked.
"I don't… I mean…" Alex forced her eyes off Amanda's nipples. In the white room, even with all its new decoration, the nipple drew her vision like a lure. "I'm not like that," she said firmly.
"Oh?" Amanda scooted closer, the nipple getting closer. It was getting harder, Alex's panicked glimpses saw. "Nikita hasn't kissed you? She hasn't slept beside you, in the same bed, under the same sheets, her arms around you… and you, wanting more than that, wanting to slip your hand between her legs but not having the strength…"
How do you know that? "That's not true."
Amanda just smiled. "Then should I leave? If you trust your own diagnosis so much more than mine, then surely there's no need of me."
Again, the sudden sensation like coming down off a high. Alex did feel lust, a complicated knot of it deep at her core, and as messy as it was she didn't want it to go away. "No. Stay. I'll… if you think it's best…"
"I do, Alex. Now, take all the time you need—kiss it first, if you need to—but I'd like for you to suck on my nipple."
With one last look at Amanda's eyes—predatory, but reassuring in their hunger, their firmness—Alex bent her head to Amanda's chest. Her breast filled Alex's senses, the lightly perfumed scent of it, the almost tactile warmth, the unblemished skin that was like a balm to her eyes. Gingerly, she licked Amanda's nipple. Wet and engorged, it seemed to take on a vivid color. Amanda chuckled under her breath.
"It's alright," she said. "It really is alright. Take your time."
That infuriated Alex, Amanda's understanding, her coolly maternal act. She bit down on Amanda, hard, and the brunette threw her head back. Alex thought it was in pain, and that tugged at the lust in her belly, uncoiling it a little, but when Amanda lowered her eyes it was to stare at Alex with heady desire.
"Are you sure you want to play that game?" Amanda asked, and something in Alex must've given her an answer, because she continued in a dark, voluptuous voice "Suck."
Alex did, hollowing her cheeks, working her lungs, as if there were some elixir she could draw from Amanda that could save her. It was overwhelming: the soft sound of her own puckered lips filled her ears, then an airy moan from Amanda… the sensation was too narcotic to last. Soon, Alex fell into a rhythm, her lust tamping down, her lips closing around Amanda's nipple to dreamily suckle at it. Amanda's hands flitting through her hair only relaxed her further, making her sink down, down, down until Amanda's soft ivory flesh was her whole world.
"That's it," Amanda breathed, her praise making Alex's lethargic mind twinge pleasurably. "Good girl. Let go. Float. Think of nothing else but how good this feels… and how good you're making me feel."
"This one now," Amanda added, minutes, hours later. She was naked from the waist up, offering her other nipple to Alex's slack mouth. Alex took it with the languid eagerness of an opium addict getting more. Amanda's head tilted to the side; she absorbed the pleasure like a jellyfish, floating through the sea, taking what drifted into her sting. "You really are very good at this. Try going harder now. Harder."
Amanda's words didn't quite penetrate the haze that had covered Alex, but her little hum of excitement, the way her hands ran over Alex's back hard enough to tug her shoulder straps out of place and pressed them harder together, made Alex as voracious as an animal with a feast in front of it. She stuffed as much as Amanda's breast into her mouth as she could
"Alex, when was the last time you had sex?"
Alex didn't hear. It took Amanda dragging her off by the hair, a slightly annoyed but supremely satisfied grin on her face, to bring Alex to her senses. "What?"
Amanda pressed Alex back down to her breast, the girl's cheek feeling the wet, hot hardness that she had left behind. "Sex is an important part of any agent's life. Not just for personal reasons, or professional ones. Sex calms us. Disposes of our tension in a way that other methods just can't match. So when was the last time you lost your tension?"
"It's… I can't remember. The boy, at the apartment…" She couldn't even think of his name.
"Far too long," Amanda cooed, bestowing a kiss on Alex's head. "Lie back, Alex. Be a good girl."
Alex felt herself smoothly manipulated into position, like a painting being left to dry. She was laid down on her side, Amanda behind her, facing a dresser mirror. Amanda's reflection leered over hers, looking so knowing while Alex looked so lost. Then Alex's reflection seemed to shift—as Amanda drew closer to her, arms wrapping around her midsection like restraints, her reflection held a danger in its eyes, a death wish—a lust. Alex remembered old Russian folklore about magical chickens that wished more than anything to be consumed, because they knew how very good they tasted.
"Did Nikita ever do this to you?" Amanda asked, tugging down Alex's pants to reveal a swath of flat stomach, already going pale in captivity.
Alex watched her reflection, as if for signs of betrayal.
"Did Nikita ever fuck you?" Amanda asked, firmly this time, right in Alex's ear.
"No," Alex admitted.
Amanda tugged once more on her pants, forcing them down to reveal white panties. Such a virginal color. It looked wrong, seeing it in the mirror.
"Why not?" Amanda asked. Her hand glided under Alex's panties and Alex saw more than felt the motion at her crotch, the almost intangible circling of Amanda's fingers.
"I don't… maybe she's straight?"
"I can assure you that's not the case." In the mirror, Amanda's tongue stuck out between her teeth. In Alex's panties, her fingers ran over Alex's sex briefly, just long enough to leave a blush of heat growing in Alex's lower body. "So why not then? Because she was trying to protect you?" Amanda asked in a mocking tone, her breath suddenly hot in Alex's ear.
"Nikita did protect me," Alex almost whimpered. No matter how lightly Amanda touched her, the sickly sweet dampness of her arousal wouldn't lessen. It just seemed to collapse in on itself, slick and hot and hungry.
"She cared for you? She loved you? Then why didn't she give you what you needed? Don't you need this? Doesn't this feel good?"
"Yes, but—I mean—her and Michael…"
"So she chose Michael over you? Why? Because he's not a prostitute? Not a drug addict?"
"I'm not—"
"You really think she'd just forget?" Amanda demanded, her fingers now in Alex, claws, hurting her, but too pleasurable for Alex to fight back against. "You were a whore and an addict, she wouldn't trust you. Not really. That's the thing about do-gooders. They have such high standards."
"Nikita trusted me." Alex's reflection was crying.
"Then why didn't she tell you the truth? If she'd trusted you—if she'd loved you—she would've admitted what she did to your father." Amanda laid her head down against Alex's, cheek to cheek, her fingers now soft and soothing inside Alex. Her tongue crawled out of her mouth to lick the tears from Alex's cheeks. "Shh. There, there. Division doesn't care where you've been, what you've done. Division offers a second chance. You've earned a second chance, Alex. You deserve to feel good."
One finger slipped in deeper, rubbing a spot Alex hadn't known existed—a pleasure she didn't know she could feel.
"You're a beautiful young woman," Amanda purred, "and a wonderful agent. You deserve this, and more. You deserve to rule Zetrov and have your revenge. And you deserve to feel pleasure. Say it."
"I deserve to feel good," Alex muttered, not sure where her voice was between the waves of pleasure lapping up her body and Amanda's words still ricocheting through her mind.
"Louder," Amanda insisted, another finger in Alex, another pleasure she'd never known.
"I deserve to feel good!" Said hoarsely, her eyes shut, the pleasure becoming all encompassing, finally eclipsing the harsh words and harsher truths.
"Scream for me," Amanda ordered, and a third finger was buried in Alex's cunt.
"I deserve this!" Alex said it so loud that her throat hurt, but only for a moment—then she lost that pain in her reward, the rush of pleasure that Amanda gave her with a fourth and final digit. The orgasm seemed to separate Alex from her body, send her flying away from it. She watched herself in the mirror, as if from a great distance, as her body groaned and shook, as her sticky pleasure dripped off Amanda's fingers and her own sodden panties, as she was left wrecked and enraptured by her climax. Face red. Eyes dilated. Hair a sweaty mess that Amanda pawed through with the consummate pleasure of a professional measuring her work.
Alex came back to herself, feeling Amanda's tongue idly lashing at her breast, describing it in spirals of saliva-slick torridness. Her body still felt not quite hers—there was a certain numbness, as pleasant and toxic as a good cigarette.
"Next time," Amanda said, pulling herself away from Alex's breasts ruefully, leaving her nipples torturously taut. She kissed Alex's lips dryly. "That was very therapeutic. For both of us, you understand. A woman in my position—you can imagine the pressure."
"Yes," Alex said dully.
"I'll be having some clothes delivered to you." Amanda stood, dressing crisply in her own neatly preserved clothes. "I'm sorry I can't be here to sort through them with you, but I trust you'll find most of them suitable. I would very much like to see you wear one the next time I visit."
"You're… coming back?" Alex asked, not sure which of the two conflicting emotions her voice carried: fear or arousal.
"Yes. Perhaps I could even find some work to bring you, to keep your mind occupied. Matters concerning Zetrov, of course. For when you take over."
"I'd like that," Alex replied uncertainly.
"Very good. There will also be some… objects delivered with the clothes. Ways to pass the time. I'd like for you to pick out one for me to use on you."
"Will they… hurt?"
"That depends on which one you pick."
***
Amanda walked away from Alex's securely-locked room with a very conscious wiggle in her step. As ridiculous as it seemed, most people preferred being playthings to prisoners. As long as they felt desired, they could weather a great deal of abuse—as Amanda planned for Alex to discover. She'd thought of just having the encounter be a one-time thing, to prove she could, but Alex had proven so delightfully malleable—Nikita had clearly broken her in for Amanda, knowingly or not. The half hour she'd spent with her wayward student had been as satisfactory on a personal level as it had been on a strategic one.
Slipping into her office and engaging the privacy-lock, Amanda checked her e-mail. The newest file was from the video camera she'd planted behind the mirror in Alex's room, capturing every moment of her sleeping with—surrendering to—Amanda.
Amanda wondered how Nikita would react to it, when the file made its way to her doorstep. The thought made her wiggle her panties out from under her skirt, clearing the way for her long-delayed gratification. She played the video, watching the last few traces of Alex's Nikita-esque defiance disappear under the force of her own craftsmanship. Fingers stroking herself softly—for now—she watched the seduction commence. It was a vice, she knew, but one she could afford.
Amanda just loved to watch herself work.
Fandom: Nikita
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,829
Characters/Pairings: Alex/Amanda, Alex/Nikita
Spoilers: 2x07
Warning: Dub-con.
Summary: Amanda knows Alex is feeling lonely. Vulnerable. Needy. Just the way she likes her.
Alex was going stir-crazy. Four days in the same white room. Never leaving, never talking to anyone, just staying nice and safe like a doll in a box. Nothing to do but beat her head against the wall, sometimes literally. She exercised herself until she dropped to sleep, but that just made things worse. When she woke up, there was no way of telling how much time had passed. She could've been in there two days, or forty. Every hour had the same bland flavor.
She touched herself, even, not her usual vice, but it just brought up thoughts of Nikita and she couldn't deal with that. She tried picturing herself whipping Nikita, punishing her just enough for Nikita to barely enjoy it, but always Nikita looked back at her with the same smile, like a safe word. It was all too messy. She thought of Nikita brutalizing her, dildo shoved deep inside, nails scratching down her back, and felt a misfire of an orgasm suddenly leech away her desire. There. Done.
She folded herself up in bed and cried herself to sleep. When she woke up, it was a new room. Or rather, the old one under a layer of glitz. There was a TV, a bookcase, carpets, furniture, even posters of the few movies she'd managed to enjoy while on the run. Amanda sat in the middle of it, perched with legs crossed on a futon, looking absurdly poised on furniture designed to be sprawled on. "I was wondering when you'd wake up."
Alex got up, absently covering herself with her bedsheets. She wore the tanktop and sweatpants of a raw recruit—the only laundry she was allowed, maybe so she couldn't kill herself with it—but still felt naked under Amanda's stare. "What are you doing here? What is all this?"
"Creature comforts," Amanda explained, picking up a snow globe, the onion-topped towers of Moscow inside. She gave it a shake, subjecting the tiny people to a blizzard. "We're giving you protection, not a prison. I apologize for the time it took me to see to your room. Things are busy, as you can imagine. I wanted you to have all the comforts of home."
Alex knew it was a ploy—it smelled like a ploy, walked like a ploy, talked like a ploy—but her hindbrain was far more thankful than her frontal lobe was suspicious. "Thank you."
"No need." Amanda stood, leaving the snow globe on a coffee table. Smoothing out her daringly short skirt—it came down to mid-thigh, the single excess of her otherwise corporate ensemble—she roamed to Alex's bedside. "Of course, the real problem isn't stimulation. You've been through a lot the past few weeks. Confronting Nikita. Your first assassination, not counting poor Thom of course. And then, the childhood friend. Hardened agents would have trouble coping with all that. So please don't say you're fine. I know you do need help."
"From you?" Alex scoffed.
Amanda sat down beside Alex. "In light of my new responsibilities, I suppose it's easy to forget that I'm a trained psychologist. But I have sworn an oath to help people. I would be remiss to sit back and let you suffer. But the choice is yours, as always. Should I leave?"
Alex didn't know what it was, but being with Amanda was like a drug high, the woman flooding her with emotions after so many dry oatmeal days. She didn't want it to end. "No!" she said, too vehemently to play off.
Amanda smiled at her. "That's good, Alex. You should always admit when you need help. Now, by isolating you, we are keeping you safe from any agents Gogol may have in Division, but humans are social creatures." Amanda took Alex's hand, Alex almost protesting, and stroked it gently, her long fingers tapering from the back of Alex's wrist to the end of her knuckles. "They require touch. Warmth. Of course, I don't have all day to… snuggle. But there is a quick fix." Letting Alex's hand drop on her thigh, Amanda unbuttoned her blouse. Underneath, she wore a chemise top, modest but a little scandalous in context.
"What are you doing?" Alex asked, meaning for it to be a demand, ending up with a nervous query.
"Did you know studies have shown breast-feeding is equally relaxing to both the mother and child? It's not just being fed that soothes a colicky child. It's something about the breast itself. I'd go further and say that it applies to adults as well. Haven't you noticed men hold a certain interest in your cleavage?"
"You want me to--?"
"It's not about what I want. It's about what will help you feel your best." Neatly folding her blouse to the side, Amanda slipped one strap away from her pale shoulder, letting her chemise fall away from the curve of an equally porcelain breast. The nipple, a soft pink like a dab of paint, was almost tempting in its petiteness. Alex wondered if it would get bigger, if it stood up like a top hat when Amanda was getting fucked.
"I don't… I mean…" Alex forced her eyes off Amanda's nipples. In the white room, even with all its new decoration, the nipple drew her vision like a lure. "I'm not like that," she said firmly.
"Oh?" Amanda scooted closer, the nipple getting closer. It was getting harder, Alex's panicked glimpses saw. "Nikita hasn't kissed you? She hasn't slept beside you, in the same bed, under the same sheets, her arms around you… and you, wanting more than that, wanting to slip your hand between her legs but not having the strength…"
How do you know that? "That's not true."
Amanda just smiled. "Then should I leave? If you trust your own diagnosis so much more than mine, then surely there's no need of me."
Again, the sudden sensation like coming down off a high. Alex did feel lust, a complicated knot of it deep at her core, and as messy as it was she didn't want it to go away. "No. Stay. I'll… if you think it's best…"
"I do, Alex. Now, take all the time you need—kiss it first, if you need to—but I'd like for you to suck on my nipple."
With one last look at Amanda's eyes—predatory, but reassuring in their hunger, their firmness—Alex bent her head to Amanda's chest. Her breast filled Alex's senses, the lightly perfumed scent of it, the almost tactile warmth, the unblemished skin that was like a balm to her eyes. Gingerly, she licked Amanda's nipple. Wet and engorged, it seemed to take on a vivid color. Amanda chuckled under her breath.
"It's alright," she said. "It really is alright. Take your time."
That infuriated Alex, Amanda's understanding, her coolly maternal act. She bit down on Amanda, hard, and the brunette threw her head back. Alex thought it was in pain, and that tugged at the lust in her belly, uncoiling it a little, but when Amanda lowered her eyes it was to stare at Alex with heady desire.
"Are you sure you want to play that game?" Amanda asked, and something in Alex must've given her an answer, because she continued in a dark, voluptuous voice "Suck."
Alex did, hollowing her cheeks, working her lungs, as if there were some elixir she could draw from Amanda that could save her. It was overwhelming: the soft sound of her own puckered lips filled her ears, then an airy moan from Amanda… the sensation was too narcotic to last. Soon, Alex fell into a rhythm, her lust tamping down, her lips closing around Amanda's nipple to dreamily suckle at it. Amanda's hands flitting through her hair only relaxed her further, making her sink down, down, down until Amanda's soft ivory flesh was her whole world.
"That's it," Amanda breathed, her praise making Alex's lethargic mind twinge pleasurably. "Good girl. Let go. Float. Think of nothing else but how good this feels… and how good you're making me feel."
"This one now," Amanda added, minutes, hours later. She was naked from the waist up, offering her other nipple to Alex's slack mouth. Alex took it with the languid eagerness of an opium addict getting more. Amanda's head tilted to the side; she absorbed the pleasure like a jellyfish, floating through the sea, taking what drifted into her sting. "You really are very good at this. Try going harder now. Harder."
Amanda's words didn't quite penetrate the haze that had covered Alex, but her little hum of excitement, the way her hands ran over Alex's back hard enough to tug her shoulder straps out of place and pressed them harder together, made Alex as voracious as an animal with a feast in front of it. She stuffed as much as Amanda's breast into her mouth as she could
"Alex, when was the last time you had sex?"
Alex didn't hear. It took Amanda dragging her off by the hair, a slightly annoyed but supremely satisfied grin on her face, to bring Alex to her senses. "What?"
Amanda pressed Alex back down to her breast, the girl's cheek feeling the wet, hot hardness that she had left behind. "Sex is an important part of any agent's life. Not just for personal reasons, or professional ones. Sex calms us. Disposes of our tension in a way that other methods just can't match. So when was the last time you lost your tension?"
"It's… I can't remember. The boy, at the apartment…" She couldn't even think of his name.
"Far too long," Amanda cooed, bestowing a kiss on Alex's head. "Lie back, Alex. Be a good girl."
Alex felt herself smoothly manipulated into position, like a painting being left to dry. She was laid down on her side, Amanda behind her, facing a dresser mirror. Amanda's reflection leered over hers, looking so knowing while Alex looked so lost. Then Alex's reflection seemed to shift—as Amanda drew closer to her, arms wrapping around her midsection like restraints, her reflection held a danger in its eyes, a death wish—a lust. Alex remembered old Russian folklore about magical chickens that wished more than anything to be consumed, because they knew how very good they tasted.
"Did Nikita ever do this to you?" Amanda asked, tugging down Alex's pants to reveal a swath of flat stomach, already going pale in captivity.
Alex watched her reflection, as if for signs of betrayal.
"Did Nikita ever fuck you?" Amanda asked, firmly this time, right in Alex's ear.
"No," Alex admitted.
Amanda tugged once more on her pants, forcing them down to reveal white panties. Such a virginal color. It looked wrong, seeing it in the mirror.
"Why not?" Amanda asked. Her hand glided under Alex's panties and Alex saw more than felt the motion at her crotch, the almost intangible circling of Amanda's fingers.
"I don't… maybe she's straight?"
"I can assure you that's not the case." In the mirror, Amanda's tongue stuck out between her teeth. In Alex's panties, her fingers ran over Alex's sex briefly, just long enough to leave a blush of heat growing in Alex's lower body. "So why not then? Because she was trying to protect you?" Amanda asked in a mocking tone, her breath suddenly hot in Alex's ear.
"Nikita did protect me," Alex almost whimpered. No matter how lightly Amanda touched her, the sickly sweet dampness of her arousal wouldn't lessen. It just seemed to collapse in on itself, slick and hot and hungry.
"She cared for you? She loved you? Then why didn't she give you what you needed? Don't you need this? Doesn't this feel good?"
"Yes, but—I mean—her and Michael…"
"So she chose Michael over you? Why? Because he's not a prostitute? Not a drug addict?"
"I'm not—"
"You really think she'd just forget?" Amanda demanded, her fingers now in Alex, claws, hurting her, but too pleasurable for Alex to fight back against. "You were a whore and an addict, she wouldn't trust you. Not really. That's the thing about do-gooders. They have such high standards."
"Nikita trusted me." Alex's reflection was crying.
"Then why didn't she tell you the truth? If she'd trusted you—if she'd loved you—she would've admitted what she did to your father." Amanda laid her head down against Alex's, cheek to cheek, her fingers now soft and soothing inside Alex. Her tongue crawled out of her mouth to lick the tears from Alex's cheeks. "Shh. There, there. Division doesn't care where you've been, what you've done. Division offers a second chance. You've earned a second chance, Alex. You deserve to feel good."
One finger slipped in deeper, rubbing a spot Alex hadn't known existed—a pleasure she didn't know she could feel.
"You're a beautiful young woman," Amanda purred, "and a wonderful agent. You deserve this, and more. You deserve to rule Zetrov and have your revenge. And you deserve to feel pleasure. Say it."
"I deserve to feel good," Alex muttered, not sure where her voice was between the waves of pleasure lapping up her body and Amanda's words still ricocheting through her mind.
"Louder," Amanda insisted, another finger in Alex, another pleasure she'd never known.
"I deserve to feel good!" Said hoarsely, her eyes shut, the pleasure becoming all encompassing, finally eclipsing the harsh words and harsher truths.
"Scream for me," Amanda ordered, and a third finger was buried in Alex's cunt.
"I deserve this!" Alex said it so loud that her throat hurt, but only for a moment—then she lost that pain in her reward, the rush of pleasure that Amanda gave her with a fourth and final digit. The orgasm seemed to separate Alex from her body, send her flying away from it. She watched herself in the mirror, as if from a great distance, as her body groaned and shook, as her sticky pleasure dripped off Amanda's fingers and her own sodden panties, as she was left wrecked and enraptured by her climax. Face red. Eyes dilated. Hair a sweaty mess that Amanda pawed through with the consummate pleasure of a professional measuring her work.
Alex came back to herself, feeling Amanda's tongue idly lashing at her breast, describing it in spirals of saliva-slick torridness. Her body still felt not quite hers—there was a certain numbness, as pleasant and toxic as a good cigarette.
"Next time," Amanda said, pulling herself away from Alex's breasts ruefully, leaving her nipples torturously taut. She kissed Alex's lips dryly. "That was very therapeutic. For both of us, you understand. A woman in my position—you can imagine the pressure."
"Yes," Alex said dully.
"I'll be having some clothes delivered to you." Amanda stood, dressing crisply in her own neatly preserved clothes. "I'm sorry I can't be here to sort through them with you, but I trust you'll find most of them suitable. I would very much like to see you wear one the next time I visit."
"You're… coming back?" Alex asked, not sure which of the two conflicting emotions her voice carried: fear or arousal.
"Yes. Perhaps I could even find some work to bring you, to keep your mind occupied. Matters concerning Zetrov, of course. For when you take over."
"I'd like that," Alex replied uncertainly.
"Very good. There will also be some… objects delivered with the clothes. Ways to pass the time. I'd like for you to pick out one for me to use on you."
"Will they… hurt?"
"That depends on which one you pick."
***
Amanda walked away from Alex's securely-locked room with a very conscious wiggle in her step. As ridiculous as it seemed, most people preferred being playthings to prisoners. As long as they felt desired, they could weather a great deal of abuse—as Amanda planned for Alex to discover. She'd thought of just having the encounter be a one-time thing, to prove she could, but Alex had proven so delightfully malleable—Nikita had clearly broken her in for Amanda, knowingly or not. The half hour she'd spent with her wayward student had been as satisfactory on a personal level as it had been on a strategic one.
Slipping into her office and engaging the privacy-lock, Amanda checked her e-mail. The newest file was from the video camera she'd planted behind the mirror in Alex's room, capturing every moment of her sleeping with—surrendering to—Amanda.
Amanda wondered how Nikita would react to it, when the file made its way to her doorstep. The thought made her wiggle her panties out from under her skirt, clearing the way for her long-delayed gratification. She played the video, watching the last few traces of Alex's Nikita-esque defiance disappear under the force of her own craftsmanship. Fingers stroking herself softly—for now—she watched the seduction commence. It was a vice, she knew, but one she could afford.
Amanda just loved to watch herself work.
