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Adjusting his hat and collar self-consciously, Steve knocks on the door.

"Come in," Agent Carter's voice carries easily through the flimsy barrier.

He takes a deep breath and walks into the office.

Agent Carter is leaning against her desk, one leg drawn up as if to sit, going through a file folder. The position hikes her skirt up slightly, not enough to be indecorous but enough that, if Steve were to look, he'd see more of her leg than he's used to seeing.

He meets her eyes instead, and sees that she's watching him knowingly. There's a little smile on her face.

"I see that you got my message, Private Rogers," she says. Steve nods.

"Yes, ma'am. I came as soon as I got it."

She pulls her leg down off the desk and puts down the folder; crossing her ankles and folding her arms, she leans back against it again.

"At ease," she says. "This is not an official conversation."

Steve drops reflexively into parade rest and nods his understanding, though he's not sure what she means by that exactly.

The way her smile turns up a little higher at his quick response makes him feel good, but nervous, too, with his stomach tied up in knots.

"Private Rogers, bring me that clipboard." She gestures with her chin at the table in the far corner. Without thinking about it, Steve gets it for her, then falls back into parade rest.

"Very good," she says, as if he's done something special.

"Uh, thank you, ma'am," Steve says, feeling confused and strange at the praise for the simple task.

"I've noticed that you're quite good at following my orders," Agent Carter says. She doesn't even look at the clipboard. She throws it down on the desk. "Compared to some of the other men, I mean."

"I want to do well in this program, Agent Carter."

She nods. "I've also noticed the way you look at me."

Steve blushes, half embarrassed and half angry. "Ma'am, I would never – "

"Which is to say," she goes on, talking over him in that calm, steady tone, "I've noticed you meeting my eyes. Not staring at my legs. And I thought, what a respectful young man. A rare commodity in the Army these days."

"I – thank you, ma'am," Steve says, unsure how else to respond. How could anyone not meet Agent Carter's eyes, when her gaze is so sharp and penetrating, when she can see through a fella the way she does? He couldn't take his eyes away from hers if he wanted to.

She holds his gaze for a long time, and Steve doesn't look away. When she speaks again, her voice is soft and confident, like she's come to a decision.

"I wonder if you know, Private Rogers, what happens to lady officers who are caught fucking the men. Who are even accused of fucking the men."

Steve blinks, taken aback; he's never heard a lady use that word before. The way it sounds in Agent Carter's crisp English accent is strange and beautiful. His heart races as he searches for a way to answer; he settles on the truth. "I – I imagine the lady gets discharged, ma'am," he says.

"Dishonorably so," Agent Carter agrees, nodding. "Her reputation ruined, her chances of further respectable employment very low. Which is why one really cannot be too discreet. Why one has to find oneself – " she pauses, and looks Steve up and down, her eyes taking in every part of him – "a respectful young man. Who would follow one's instructions carefully. Who would not be tempted to brag to his peers."

Steve swallows hard. "That makes pretty good sense to me, Agent Carter," he says, managing to keep his voice steady and his eyes front. She laughs softly.

"Brave, too. I like you, Steve."

The sound of his first name in her mouth is shocking and pleasing all at once, an electric tingle up his spine.

She pushes away from the desk, taking one more step toward him. It's not enough to bring her into his personal space; anyone walking in on them now would see nothing out of order. But the way she looks at him, and the hot anticipation of the moment, make Steve feel anything but orderly.

It's the most intense, most erotic feeling Steve's ever known, but she's still standing six feet away.

"But are you brave enough to say no to a superior officer when she asks you what I'm about to ask you?"

Head spinning, Steve tries to puzzle this through, to understand what she wants of him. "I'll say whatever you want me to say, Agent Carter," he manages, eventually. His heartbeat is in his throat, and his breath is coming fast, and it's torture to have to stand so still.

She shakes her head, picking up a silver lighter and a package of cigarettes from the desk. "That's not quite what I want, Steve," she says. "Remember, I told you that this is not an official conversation. At this moment, I have no authority over what you say, or what you choose. Choosing to say yes to what I ask of you will grant you no special privileges, nor can it; I am here as an observer, and have no say in Doctor Erskine and Colonel Phillips' final decision about the program."

"I understand, ma'am," Steve says, working hard to keep his voice steady. Agent Carter lights her cigarette and takes a deep drag of it, the ember glowing as red as her lipstick.

A plume of smoke escapes her lips as she continues. "Choosing to say no will, likewise, have no consequence for you, other than denying you the pleasure of my company."

Steve nods.

"Say if you understand," Agent Carter says, pulling again at her cigarette.

"I understand, ma'am," Steve says again. It feels good to say the words at her command, the way that going to parade rest had felt good, too, when she gave him the order. He tries to ignore the way his throat is clenching at the smell of the cigarette smoke, but he can't help it; he starts to cough a little.

"Sorry, is it the cig?" She puts it out immediately, but Steve can't answer, still coughing. Coming closer, she pats him gently on the shoulder.

The sensation of her body touching his, even through layers of fabric, is surprising, in spite of all her talk about fucking and discretion; it's surprising that a gal like her could even be capable of touching him.

"If I'm doing something you don't want, Steve," she says slowly, when Steve's regained his breath, "something that makes you uncomfortable or might put you in pain, I need you to tell me."

He gets the feeling she's not just talking about cigarette smoke. "Okay," he says, slowly. "Thank you, ma'am."

Her hand travels from his shoulder up to cup his jaw; he can't help it, he closes his eyes and shudders at the touch. Her skin is against his skin, and he can feel her heat.

Before he can relax into it, though, she's pulling back, walking over to her desk again, putting space between them. Steve aches to follow her, but he stays where she's put him.

He wants, very badly, to be her respectful young man.

"Now, Steve," she says, leaning again on her desk. "Do you remember that I said I would ask you a question?"

"Y-yes, ma'am," Steve says, embarrassed by the way his voice catches and he stutters.

"And do you remember your responses?"

"I can say yes or no, whichever I like."

But Steve's body is already filled up with the yes that he wants to give, full and brimming with yes, yes glowing at his fingertips and yes sweet in his mouth, yes on every exhalation of breath and yes deep in his gut. He only waits for the question.

In the quiet space before Agent Carter speaks, he imagines what it could be: Would you like to kiss me, maybe, or even – he nearly blushes to think it – Would you like to fuck me.

"Would you like to obey more of my orders? In private?"

It's more than he could've dreamed of, and he can't help the way his mouth drops open in shock.

"Yes," he says, breathing hard again, releasing the word he's been holding inside. "Yes, please, yes."

He's proud of the fond smile that plays at the corners of her mouth.

"That's good to hear," she says. She scribbles something on a piece of paper and hands it over to him. "Meet me at this building tomorrow night, if your answer remains the same. Several of the men have day passes, so your absence from barracks will not be marked. If your answer changes, and you decide to simply not attend our meeting, no advance notice is necessary and we need never mention it again."

Steve takes the piece of paper.

"I'll be there, ma'am," he says, because he wants her to know it, to feel how little hesitation is in his heart.

"As you like, Steve," she says. Her eyes range over him again, and Steve feels a pleased flush travel over his cheeks. "If you do attend, however, please do wear your dress uniform. It's quite becoming on you."

"Yes. Yes, ma'am," he says.

"Dismissed, Private Rogers."

Steve turns as sharp and as neat as he knows how and manages to get out of her office before stumbling.

It's nearly lights out, so Steve gets into his bunk and curls up on his side. His cock is half-hard between his legs, and his mind is swimming, and the voices of the men around him, boisterous and loud, intrude on his consciousness. He can feel the pounding of his blood in his temples and in his throat.

It takes a very long time for sleep to find him.

*

He doesn't see Agent Carter much the next day; in the morning she seems to confine her attentions to some of the other men, mostly on the other side of the compound, and in the afternoon she's shut up in a meeting all day with Phillips and Erskine and a few of the other higher-ups.

Steve wonders if she's doing it on purpose, to give him space to think.

Steve does think, a lot, but not about saying no: instead he thinks about how he had felt the first time she praised him for a strong push-up, how he had felt when she punched Hodges and put him in his place, how he had feared and longed for her attention on him during every run, every class, every training exercise.

He dresses himself carefully, paying careful attention to each tiny fold and crease of his uniform.

Becoming, Agent Carter had called it, as if she saw him and didn't think he was a joke, a kid playing dress up, as if the pride he feels every time he adjusts his tie or puts on his cap were tangible to her, too.

As he polishes his shoes, he thinks, this is for her. He does a very thorough job.

When he gets to the building she specified, on the opposite side of the compound from the men's barracks, he's surprised to find no MPs standing guard or patrolling.

Inside, there's a short hallway with multiple branching rooms, just like the officer's quarters on the men's side.

"They built it for the women scientists and politicians who were supposed to consult on this project," comes Agent Carter's voice from behind him, "but I suppose all the invitations got lost in the mail. It's only me now, in this big drafty building."

Steve turns and salutes. It feels wrong to do that, after she'd been so careful to say this is unofficial, but it feels right, too. He gets the feeling that it's the most important thing, right now, to show his respect.

"At ease," she says softly. Steve obeys.

She's in her uniform, as usual, and as she strides toward him her heels click sharply against the floor: loud and echoing in the quiet hallway.

"Follow me."

They move into one of the rooms, which is empty except for the furniture: there are no pictures, no gear, no toilet kit. The closet stands open and empty. It's one of the unused rooms, he figures, not Agent Carter's own. The bed takes up most of the space, and is neatly made according to regulation.

When the door closes behind them, Steve turns around to face her.

"I see you decided to keep saying yes," she says, softly. She unpins her hat and places it carefully on the small table next to the bed.

"Yes," Steve says. He does his best to meet her gaze, clear-eyed and cool.

"And that you didn't tell any of the other men about our discussion." It's not a question; somehow, she knows for a fact that he didn't talk to anyone, despite being nowhere near him all day. He supposes it shouldn't surprise him that she takes her safety seriously, and has her own methods of maintaining it.

"I'd never breathe a word, ma'am. I swear it."

She smiles, and Steve gets the feeling he's passed some kind of test.

"If you want to stop saying yes, you can. Whenever you like."

"Thank you," Steve says softly. He can't imagine why he ever would, not if this is going to be the way it was in her office yesterday.

"Do you like taking orders, Steve?"

Back to his first name again. He takes a breath. He doesn't like being told what to do, but a good order, a real order . . . "I – sometimes. Yes. I do."

"My orders in this room aren't like in the Army. If you don't want to follow one, you can say don't, or stop."

"All right." He shifts slightly from foot to foot.

"Say it. Don't. Stop."

"Don't," Steve breathes. "Stop."

"Very good." She takes a step closer to him and runs a finger along his collar. He'd stared at it in the mirror for a long time, wanting to look perfect for her. He shivers. "I like that you wore what I told you to," she says. "I like seeing you do what I say. You're a good boy."

He knows he should feel angry at the condescending phrase – good boy, like a kid or a dog – but the way she says it, it doesn't feel condescending at all. Instead, it feels good on his skin, like the shock of cold water from a fire hydrant after a long hot summer afternoon. Like being brought back to himself.

"Thank you, Agent Carter," Steve manages, as her fingers slip down to wrap around his tie.

"You can call me Peggy, if you prefer, while we're in here," she says. With her free hand, she takes off Steve's cap and tosses it onto the table. "Though I do like it when you call me ma'am."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve says fervently, and goes with her when she pulls, when she brings his mouth up to meet hers and kisses him, soft and full. Her tongue presses slowly in against his lips, and he opens for her.

When she pulls away again, it takes Steve a moment to open his eyes. Once he does, he sees that Agent Carter – Peggy – is moving over to the bed, sitting down and crossing her legs.

He stands awkwardly, waiting to know what to do.

"Undo your trousers," she says, looking up at him steadily.

Steve licks his lips, hesitating.

"You can say don't, or stop," Peggy reminds him, softly, a moment later. "We can do it differently."

"I, uh, no, it's fine," Steve babbles. He gets his hands on his buttons. "I've just never – this is a bit new."

She nods. "Should we go slower, Steve?"

As he undoes the buttons, he starts to feel more confident. The matter-of-fact way she asks it, like she's only looking for the best way to do things right, makes him feel reassured. And he wants to see what else she has planned.

He really, really wants to see what else she has planned. It's like a feeling of hunger he never knew he had, deep down. That, and he's never been able to turn down a challenge.

"I like going fast," he says. "Ma'am."

The grin that spreads over her face then is slow and wicked, and makes Steve tingle all the way down to his toes. "I rather thought you might," she says. "Too brave by half, Steve."

He undoes the last button and drops his hands to his sides.

"Have you ever been with a woman?" she asks. The way she says it, with a strange little emphasis on woman, gives Steve pause, but he shakes his head.

"No, ma'am." It should be shameful, he guesses, but he doesn't feel that way. He feels glad that Peggy might be the first, if he can be worthy of her.

She smiles. "Get your cock out, darling. Let me see you."

Blushing furiously, he reaches into his shorts and pulls himself out, pushing his clothes down his hips a little ways to make it easier. He wonders, for a moment, if he should take them off, but she hasn't told him to do that, so he figures he'd better not.

Peggy's eyes go to his cock, watching him carefully, and Steve can't help the way the blush spreads, then, crawling from his cheeks down to his neck and chest. No one's ever looked at him this way before, not from a distance like this, not so knowingly and coldly.

She stands again and comes over to him, her hand covering his on his prick. He's not hard; he's always been slow to start, and he's more than a little nervous right now.

Peggy's free hand runs through his hair, and he leans up into the touch.

"Oh, darling, this won't do," she says, softly, and there's a joke in her voice that makes Steve want to laugh, too, embarrassed. "Get yourself hard for me."

"Yes, ma'am," Steve breathes, already feeling his prick start to fill. She takes her hand away from his cock, but keeps her other hand in his hair, petting him gently, pulling occasionally at the short hairs at the back of his neck.

Steve looks up into her eyes and strokes himself.

"That's it, Steve, very nice," she says.

Steve smiles, giddy at the praise. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Have you ever taken your cock out with a woman?" she asks. "Ever had a woman touch you here?" Her fingertips flutter over his length, lightly, teasingly.

"No, ma'am." His eyes slip closed again as he loses himself to the pleasure of his own hand, of her fingernails against his scalp, of her voice soothing over him. If this is all they do, if she lets him come like this, it will be more than he could ever have hoped for, and he'll treasure it forever.

"What about a man?"

Steve's eyes snap open in alarm.

"Shhh, Steve," Peggy says, and bends to kiss him again, their second kiss, soft and wet and so shockingly intimate. "I won't tell," she breathes into his mouth.

Steve's body should be ready with a no: by now, it should be instinctual. The Army shrink asked him this, too, and he said no. He said no loudly and clearly and without a single hesitation and they gave him a 1A in return. No should be what he says now, no matter what Peggy might be promising him, no matter why she wants to know.

"I – yes," Steve stutters, and feels a surge of pleasure race through his body, as if the admission were another kind of touch.

"Yes, what?" she says it quietly, but there's power behind it. Steve blushes again, but meets her eyes.

"Yes, I've had a man touch me."

She bends to kiss his throat. "Good, my darling. And what about inside you? Have you ever let a man put his cock in your mouth?"

"Yes," he says, and it feels like Confession, like his words have some strange, supernatural power to heal, or change, or make him a better man. "Lots of times." Just saying it out loud makes him feel lightheaded, as if he's out of breath, even though he's not.

Letting go of him for a moment, she takes a few steps to Steve's right, trailing her hands over his shoulder and neck before wrapping her arms around him from behind, cradling him against her. Her breasts push up against his back, and her thighs press against his ass. Steve leans back against her eagerly. She runs her hands down his sides and pinches his ass lightly.

"Ever had a man fuck you in the arse, Steve?" she asks, and kisses his throat.

"Yes," he says, and it's getting easier to say with each question. She's tunneling into him, exposing him to the air, and he finds he likes it.

"Why?"

He knows the right answers, the answers that can sometimes get you out of trouble: He made me, though that had never happened. I didn't understand what was happening, as if he hasn't instigated it half the time. I did it for money, which wasn't even untrue, sometimes, but –

"Because I wanted it," Steve groans, his prick hard and leaking in his fist as he pumps himself. "Because I liked it."

"Yes," Peggy says. Her breath is hot against his ear. "Yes, that's right, that's why. Good boy, Steve."

He shudders in her arms.

Her hand comes in between them, then, snaking down her body, and he can feel her lift her skirt right before she starts rubbing at herself. It's shocking: he didn't know girls did it that way, like boys.

"What did you like about it?"

The memories come rushing back to him, all the big burly sailors down by the docks and the handsome fellas who'd looked him over at street corners, the men who'd fucked him and made him feel good.

"I – they would hold me down. Their strength. The way they h-handled me."

"I see." Peggy's tone is soft as silk.

Licking his lips, Steve dares to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. "Why – why do you ask, ma'am?" It seems strange that a lady would want to know if the guy she's with is a fairy.

"I wanted to know if anyone's ever had their way with you," Peggy replies, calmly. "I want to have my way with you, you see. It's lovely to hear you've had practice."

Steve bites back a groan. His hand speeds up on his prick, but Peggy reaches around his body again and puts her hand overtop, stilling his motion. He breathes hard, leaning back against her, letting his head fall onto her shoulder.

"Stop," she says. "I don't want you to come quite yet, darling."

"Yes," he says, and takes his hand away from his cock. "Yes, ma'am."

"You don't want to get yourself off?" She's teasing him, now, and he huffs a laugh in spite of himself.

"I want to do what you say. Ma'am," he says, daring to talk back a little. To his delight, she laughs and kisses his throat again. Her lips send sparks racing all down his skin.

"Excellent," she says. "Then take off all your clothes. And get down on your knees for me."

He always thought it would be hard to do, getting naked with a dame; he knew that Bucky did it, but of course girls would want to see Bucky's big, broad chest and strong legs. The guys he'd done it with liked their queers small and soft, but he's never heard of a girl who did.

He strips, thinking maybe that Peggy does. She wants to have her way with him. Maybe she wants to be able to manhandle him and hold him down just like the fellas do.

"Very nice," she says, when he's down to nothing.

Steve's made a career of standing up, standing his ground, standing when everyone said he ought to give in; maybe that's why, right now, with Peggy Carter's eyes on him, he wants nothing more than to kneel down.

She puts a hand on his shoulder to encourage him, pressing him down to the floor. He goes willingly.

It's rough concrete, though, and it hurts his knees, making him wince. He knows he should do whatever she wants, should follow her orders, but he doesn't think he'll be able to run a single step tomorrow if he spends any length of time down here.

"I – stop," he says, feeling shame creep down his spine. "I can't."

She takes her hand off of his shoulder. "What is it?"

"Um, it's hard to kneel like this," he mutters, not meeting her eyes. She crouches down next to him, still entirely clothed next to his nakedness, and takes his chin in her hands.

"You're a good boy for telling me," she says, and kisses him. He surges up against her mouth eagerly, drinking in her approval. Naked and kneeling and caught by her kiss, Steve is starting to lose track of the world outside this room: his focus is narrowing down to Peggy, to her body and her orders and his own ability to follow them.

It's a good feeling.

She pulls away from the kiss after a long moment, leaving Steve panting. "Would a cushion help? We don't really have a cushion, do we." The pillow on the bed looks like the regulation issue ones, which might as well be sheets of cardboard. "Or – how about if we put you on your back instead?"

"Okay," he says, hesitantly. She takes his elbows in her palms as they stand together.

Peggy gestures at the bed. "Lay down."

He does, the air cold against his skin, the harsh barracks light in his eyes. His cock is still hard, but he doesn't feel all riled up and anxious like before; instead he feels calm, sure down to his core that Peggy's going to take him someplace good.

As he watches, she gets undressed: first her tie and jacket, then her blouse, so that she's down to her brassiere; then she shimmies out of her stockings and skirt. She pauses, then, and looks back at Steve.

"You're so beautiful," Steve says, forgetting himself for a moment before he blushes and adds, "ma'am."

She looks surprised by the compliment, pink and pleased. "Thank you," she says. She appears to consider something. "Do you want to help, or would you prefer to watch?"

"Help," he says, squirming against the bed. His cock is still hard, but he wants to touch her even more than he wants to be allowed to touch himself. "Please."

She smiles shyly, her eyes softening, and she nods. "Very well." She walks over to the edge of the bed and sits down, facing away from him. "Unpin my hair."

He takes his time doing it, careful not to pull or yank at the pins. He focuses on the task, and finds that his own body becomes less and less important, his own arousal less desperate than it was. He sets each pin on the bedside table, until he has a small collection of them, until Peggy's hair is tumbling down over her shoulders, soft and thick.

On a whim, he runs his hands through it on the pretense of rearranging it. When he works his hands up to her scalp, Peggy sighs.

"That's very nice, darling, but not what I asked you to do, is it?"

"Sorry," Steve says, ducking his head. "I guess I got carried away. I just thought it might feel nice."

She turns around to face him, smiling. "It did. Maybe I'll have to teach you how to braid it for me."

The idea of doing that, of getting Peggy ready for the day, of – of serving her that way, runs a thrill through Steve's body.

"I'd like that," he says, and she twists a little further to give him a quick kiss.

"Undress me the rest of the way," she says. With shaking hands, he unhooks her brassiere and slips it forward, baring her wide, smooth back. Then, forcing himself not to hesitate, he slips his fingers past the hem of her panties and pushes them down; Peggy leans back and arches against him so that they can slide off her hips.

She turns around and pets his hair again, urging him to lie back. Her breasts are bare above him, brown nipples tight, her belly rounded above her hips.

Steve licks his lips and waits.

"I want you to use your mouth on me," she says, "just like you did for the men. Can you do that?"

He nods silently, swallowing. Her knees land on either side of his shoulders, holding him in, and her sex comes down to meet his lips. He's bracketed by her and surrounded by her, by her weight and smell and taste, perfectly lost in her. He opens his mouth and licks up tentatively, not at all sure of what he's doing.

"Here, darling," Peggy says, holding his face and guiding his mouth. "Up a bit. Just there. Do you feel it?"

He does, a little nub that's soft and slick and hooded like a cock. He uses his lips against it, tentatively, and then his tongue.

"Good, good, oh," she says, her thighs flexing around him. "That's so nice. Keep going. Make your lips a little firmer."

He blushes at the straightfoward instruction, but he loves it, too, being told exactly how to please her. She squirms over a bit so he can bring his hand up, and she shows him how to caress her folds and rub up against her hole.

"Oh, I do hope you're still hard," she breathes, rocking herself slowly against Steve's willing mouth. "I hope your prick is still hard for me, Steve, because when you finish this little task I'm going to put it inside of me and ride you."

Steve rubs his free hand against his thigh, scratches with his fingernails, keeps himself from touching his prick. He works her harder with his lips and tongue, taking pride in every soft moan and every sudden intake of breath. It's not so different from giving a guy a blowjob, really, the heat and smell and intimacy of it. He wishes it could go on forever.

"Oh, oh, good boy," Peggy groans, falling down and bracing herself over Steve with her hands against the bed. Her thighs are trembling. "That's good, that's good, just like that – "

She lets out a long, low groan, and her wetness spills down Steve's chin. He stops rubbing with his fingers, unsure, and a moment later she draws back.

"Quite a good job, for your first try," Peggy says, kissing his mouth, smearing her liquid between them. "Maybe over the next few weeks we'll have time for me to train you up properly."

Smiling up at her, lost in her eyes, Steve says, "I'm a good student, but I might need a lot of practice, ma'am."

Her laugh, up close, is beautiful, making lines around her eyes and vibrating against her throat. Steve, daring, leans up to kiss her there, just below her chin.

"Oh, I'm sure," she says. "And you may require a lot of discipline, too, to keep your smart talk in line."

"I'll be good," Steve promises fervently. "I'll be good for you, ma'am."

"We'll see," Peggy says, and Steve feels himself surge with eagerness to meet her challenge. He wants to prove to her how good he can be, how obedient. How useful.

Her hand slips down his body and she wraps long fingers around his prick; Steve gasps at the sensation.

"This is a good start," she says. "Good boy, waiting so long for his turn."

"Yes, ma'am," he says, because it feels good to say the words.

She reaches over to the bedside table and picks something up that Steve didn't see before: a pro, still in the wrapper.

"Put this on," she says, and backs off enough to let Steve do it. He's never done it before – it's not really necessary, with guys – but he thinks he manages to do it right. Peggy watches him the whole time.

"Now I'm going to take you," she says, crawling back up the bed. "Will you be good and let me do it?"

"Yes," Steve says. "Yes, please, ma'am, I want to – "

"I know," she says, and uses her hand to guide his cock into her body. She's soft and hot inside, and the feeling is so intense, so good, that Steve wants to sob. "I know, darling. You're so eager to please. It's why I picked you."

As Steve watches in awe, she begins to roll her hips, sliding up and down on him, her breasts bouncing. He wants to thrust up to meet her.

"Please, ma'am," he begs. "Please, can I – can I move – "

Her hands come down on his shoulders, pressing him down into the mattress. "Shhh," she says. "Don't move, darling. Let me take you. Can you do that for me?"

Steve groans, loving the feeling of her body, heavy against his, holding him down, lost and desperate. "I don't – I don't know – "

"I think you can, my darling," she says, soothingly, into his ear. "I think you can be so still, and so patient, and let me fuck you."

Shuddering, Steve presses his burning cheek to the bedclothes, his skin hot and his whole body turned around as Peggy fucks him, riding him up and down like she's his to use.

"F-fuck me," Steve whimpers, desperate for more, "please, please ma'am, please fuck me – "

"Oh, good boy," Peggy exclaims, delighted, and pistons her hips faster, shoving down and up and down and up, giving him the friction he wants. He gasps and blinks up at her, and she leans back again, until she's sitting straight up with Steve's cock between her legs, taking him into her over and over, working him hard. The muscles in her thighs strain and release, and her messy hair falls back over her shoulders, and there's a sheen of sweat below her breasts and in the dip of her collarbones. Steve's never seen anyone more beautiful.

He tilts his head back and closes his eyes, fucked and taken and loving every moment of it.

A couple of minutes later her fingernails dig into Steve's hips and her thighs clench hard against him. Steve's gasps and squirms desperately as she comes around him, holding him tight inside her body.

"Mmm, lovely," she groans, a moment later, as her eyes come open again. Steve shakes beneath her, waiting, waiting.

"Please," he manages. "Please, ma'am, can I – " he wants to ask, but he can't quite bring himself to say the word.

"Say what you want," Peggy says, still holding him inside of her, still rocking gently against him.

"Can I come, ma'am," Steve says, "please, can I, please – "

"You've been so good, Steve. Do you want to come inside of me?"

"Yes," he breathes, and feels his control slipping, his whole body tingling and ready to release.

"Say please again," Peggy says softly. "Oh, you were so pretty when you said it, Steve, say please again and I'll make you come."

"Please," Steve groans, but he's already coming when Peggy squeezes herself around him and drags herself up and down once more, already coming up into her and losing himself in her body.

When he comes back to himself after, she's pulling off and collapsing beside him on the bed, propped on her side so she doesn't fall off. Steve looks over at her, and she smiles hesitantly. She reaches up to touch his hair again.

Her touch is so light and tentative that he almost doesn't believe they just did what they did.

"Is this all right?" she asks. He nods.

"I like it," he says, crooking a smile.

Her hand travels slowly down from his hair, over his jawline and his neck, until her palm is resting on his chest, rubbing slow circles.

"You should get rid of the condom," she says. He sits up and manages, though he doesn't do a very neat job of it, and has to wipe his hands on the sheets afterwards.

"Should I – should I leave now?" he asks. He's naked, and he feels more exposed now than he did during the sex.

"Soon," she says. "But I'd like you to stop a moment first, if you want to." She pats the bed next to her. She's naked too, and glorious, breasts belly and hips all soft and inviting.

He lays back down. Peggy wraps an arm around him to pull him up against her naked body, her skin warm against his from neck to knees.

Steve can't help but say what he says next; in the heat of the moment, it'd seemed all right, but now it's worrying at him. He doesn't want to lose his chance in the program.

"You won't – you won't tell anyone what I said. About, uh. The men."

Peggy draws him a little closer. "No, I won't," she says simply. "I swear it."

He smiles to hear his own promise echoed back at him. "Thank you," he says, softly. Peggy's arms squeeze him tight for a moment and then release.

"You're not the first man of your type I've . . . had an arrangement with, Steve."

Steve is astonished to hear that there are other men of his type, who like strong men and strong women both. Or maybe she means . . . men who like to obey orders.

"Is that what we have?" he asks. "An arrangement?"

"If you like," she murmurs, into his ear. "You don't have to keep saying yes if you don't want to."

Rolling over within her arms, he looks up into her eyes. She keeps him close, her body wrapped around his and protecting him, like she wants to be his shield against the world.

It's a nice feeling.

"Yes," he says, searching her face. "I want to say yes." Some complicated mix of emotions passes across her features, trepidation and joy and wonder and caution.

She takes his mouth, kissing him fiercely.

"You're quite sweet really, Steve," she says softly, after. "I don't think I saw just how sweet."

"You too," he says, kissing her neck gently, daringly. "You're sweet too." Maybe it's an odd thing to say to a gal who's just ordered you around and held you down and used you like she had, but it's what Steve feels, that she's sweet, that this might be how they're sweet on each other.

"Tomorrow night, I'll bring some padding so you can kneel for me," she says, petting his face. "Does that sound good?"

He smiles, resting his forehead against her collarbone and closing his eyes.

"Yes, ma'am."