Chapter Text
“Comfortable?”
“More comfortable than I ought to be, yes.”
“Good.”
There is a pause before that word that makes you want to swallow. Her eyes are sharp, and right now you feel as if she is carving a hole in your head with her gaze alone.
How ironic, the situation you find yourself in. You are not unfamiliar with this room. In fact, you have been here many times before. It is where you interrogate the sinners who are your charges. Questions. Evidence. Pressure, if necessary, but never without empathy. That is how you have had a success rate of nearly 100% so far, an achievement that you take great pride in. You are a skilled interrogator, and your results do not come from brute force and cruelty but understanding and insight.
But now, you find yourself in the other seat, and the interrogator is not you, but Langley, director of the 9th Agency and, up until now, somewhere between your boss, your charge, and something in the vague proximity of a kind of lover. The 9th Agency had instigated a coup and a takeover, and the people of the MBCC as well as your sinners are either neutralized, in hiding or turncoats. Perhaps you should have seen it coming. Perhaps the real hat trick of an Intelligence officer is in getting you to place a loaded gun in their hand against your better judgement. Either way, you have lost, and Langley holds the spoil in the palm of her hand.
Unlike you, who seeks to present yourself as a fellow human who the sinner may confide in, in time, Langley leads as the very picture of poise and implacability, and the only human quality in her is the glint in her eyes and the slight upward curve in the corner of her lips. Her legs are crossed, and the cane and pistol rest atop her lap without a care in the world. What is most disturbing to you is how there is no discrepancy between the cold and cruel interrogator before you and the beautiful and marvelous woman you have woken up next to many times before. Now, you wish you could turn those memories to ashes to spare yourself from the bitter sting of betrayal.
“Tell me something before we begin…” You glare at her. “… was it all a lie?”
Langley smiles, as if she had just seen a precocious child doing something adorable and silly. She had given you that smile many times before, each time causing your heart to flutter, each time giving you hope that she enjoys you for more than as a bedwarmer and a professional partnership. Perhaps that is all the answer you need.
As if you had asked no question at all, Langley speaks. “This building and all its personnel are now under the jurisdiction of the 9th Agency. As such, any action that prevents my access to the people and properties of this Bureau is to be considered a criminal offense, punishable as I see fit. Nightingale, Hella, Hecate, we shall find them in time. But you, my dear former Chief, you work for me now. Do I have the honour of your service, dove?”
You only glare at her defiantly in response.
“I shall take that as a no.” This rather pleases her. She stands, cane in her hand. It makes a clacking sound against the floor that makes you want to jump to your feet. In fact, you can. She had not restrained you in any manner with the exception of your hands, which are tied behind your back. But you do not wish to give Langley that satisfaction, that knowledge that she makes you incredibly on edge, that the mere sound of her cane now elicits a fight or flight response in you.
Langley casts a long shadow as she looms over you. Even standing, she is a full head taller. Seated, you are like a rabbit before her. You avert your gaze, lest they be drawn to her meticulously cut pencil skirt, and your thought be drawn to the things they conceal.
You can hear the smile in her voice without having to look. “Are you afraid of me, rookie?”
“I am not your rookie.” You try to inject as much venom into your voice as you can.
“You can be again.”
You grind your teeth together. The gall of this woman, to betray you like this and tell you it’s okay you can still work for her. You turn to her. Perhaps to spit at her offer. Perhaps to offer some harsh words of your own. Whatever it is you had for her, it stays in your throat, because Langley catches you under the chin, her hand squeezing your jaw shut, her thumb and fingers on your cheeks. You never noticed her bending down. Her face is now inches from yours, and no matter how desperately you want to look away, her hand keeps your gaze pinned on hers.
“Don’t you love me, rookie?”
You nearly gag. Neither you had spoken the word before. It is your understanding that the arrangement between the two of you had only been physical. Have you hoped for more? Yes. Perhaps. A little. But love? You had been under the assumption that that was off the menu considering… everything. And she dropped that on you? Now, of all times? What is she thinking!? Your brain is static, and you can only babble wordlessly in response.
She relaxes her grip on you. “Word.”
Safe word… That shakes you out of your daze. “Green. Um. Green.” You say dumbly, remembering character. Of course. Of course. It would have been foolish to assume… whatever.
She smiles, this time without malice. Then the malice returns in full force, and she squeezes harder than before. “Cat got your tongue, girl?”
“Ask me again after you untie these bonds.” You answer with a defiant smirk. “I am not keen on licking the boot of the director of the 9th Agency, nor be anyone’s ‘rookie’ for that matter.”
“No? Funny you should say that.”
“Are you going to lecture me about the ethics of using shackles as well? How what I do is no different from enslavement?”
She lets out an airy chuckle. “No. I would not deign to lecture you on the ethics of anything, except, perhaps, cuddle manners. I merely wish to express what a pity it is that I cleaned my boots for the occasion when you are so unwilling.”
Your smirk dies from your own incredulity. “You cannot be serious.”
“Have I been known to speak anything but the truth, rookie?” Sarcasm drips from her tongue like venom from the fangs of a spider.
Before you can tell her what you think of her offer, Langley pulls you toward her. Your eyes widen in shock, because her lips are upon yours. It is a kiss filled with passion and wants, which she had kept hidden up until now through smiles and obfuscation. The truth becomes plain in this moment. She does not want you for your authority or even your power. She wants your submission. All this conspiracy, all this betrayal, all these lies, all to make you subservient to her in the most complete way possible. Does she love you? Perhaps the same way one can love a dog. You will be adored. You will be treasured. You will never be equal.
You resist. You really do. You turn and you squirm and you squeeze your mouth shut. Unfortunately, Langley is strong and patient, and her grip on you tightens with every second of resistance. You really did think you’d never allow this woman to touch you this way again, not after everything she had done to you and your people, but knowing how badly she wants you and the lengths she would go to to claim you… it fills you with a shameful knowledge, that you never want her any less for her treachery, that your needs for her never came from a misplaced faith that she would redeem herself one day, but rather from a desire for this wicked woman who you had always known would one day stab you in the back and control everything you ever had. How can you resist her now when she finally shows her true colour. You show weakness for just a heartbeat, and her tongue is in you, finding your own, which responds in kind much to your shame.
Suddenly, it all comes flooding back, all those nights you spent together, all those mornings you share, all those indiscretions you indulged with the excitement of a first love, all those sweet words you exchange so guardedly. Her lips taste the same as they always have, and once your resistance falters, her aggressiveness follows suit. It is almost… tender. You return to the question you had in your mind since all this began, was any of it ever real? Perhaps some truths are not mutually exclusive. If you were never in love, you were surely in something by the end. Would it be so bad?
Yes. Yes it would. All the people who put their trust in you. All the friends who respect you. You cannot be so selfish as to give yourself over to this treacherous woman. You resist, turning your face away, or trying to. Langley is not displeased, matching your rebellion with renewed force. Where she once kissed you, she now plunders your lips. You try to turn, but her grip is too strong, too firm, and before her, you are helpless, a toy for Langley to fulfill her needs, until she decides she has her fill.
When she emerges, licking her lips, you are left teary-eyed, glaring at her, gritting your teeth. How dare she do this to you. How dare she continue after you resist. How dare she taint all those memories you didn’t know you still hold so close to your heart. How dare she make your heart flutter again, even just for one fleeting moment. How dare she. How dare she. How dare she. How dare she.
“Word.”
“Green.” You say impatiently before the mood is ruined. Damnit, you have a good thing going. And she tells you off for being meek.
Without missing a beat, she gets back in character. “Ah… look at you…” She wipes tears from the corner of your eyes. You hate it, feeling so weak and helpless, but is it any different from when you were together? Together… what a queer word it is. Langley’s lips, still wet from the kiss, curve into a knife-like smile. She steps back, and her cane whips upward so fast you think it might break your jaw, but the tip lightly touches your chin and lifts your head up. Your glare is defiant, even when your eyes are wet. She admires you like you are a sculpture, a painting, a thing of beauty and class, and not a pathetic woman who still longs for the touch of her betrayer. “Look, at, you. I really do adore you, rookie. Nightingale will never be this delectable, though I will sample her too. But you are special, my rookie, my dove. Be mine again.”
“How can you ask me this. How dare you.” You did not intend the quaver in your voice. You curse your own weakness, your own frailty.
Faster than you can react, the tip of her cane moves downward, cutting a clean line and separating your top. You gasp, blushing even as the cold air suddenly assaults your bare chest, trying futilely to move away, before her cane pins you in place with a sharp clank against the floor.
“Langley… Langley, please…”
“Hush…” She whispers into your ear, one hand leisurely unhooking your bra.
“Don’t do this, Langley… We can still work something out… I built some connections… I know people…”
Her hand cups your breasts, slowly massaging it, like she is touching a lover rather than a woman desperately begging her to stop. She is so gentle, despite everything. She knows how to do this to you, because she has done this dozens of times before. You make a queer little sound when she begins playing with your nipples, and you silently pray she does not notice the way you squeeze your legs together. She does. With a dark chuckle, her hand leisurely slides downward from your breasts to between your legs, slipping inside your panty.
She tuts. “Oh… look at you… my little whore…”
“P-Please… Please…” You can no longer hide the dread in your voice as your lips tremble and your eyes water. Whatever defiance you had in you is shattered. There is only desperation now. You can utter naught but the truth. “I liked you. I really did. I don’t want… I don’t want to lose it… Please… We can work something out… I want to go back to what we had… I don’t want to believe you are capable of… of…”
The glint in her eye fades. “Word.”
“Oh my g-… Green!” It was so good! Why is she such a fusspot now holy shit!
To her credit, she gets back in character so fast you think you might have imagined the request. “Hush” She draws out the breath in your ear, causing shivers up your spine. Her hand begins moving, slowly at first, but entirely indifferent to the fact that every part of your body is screaming at her to stop. “You don’t need to say a thing, my dove. Allow me…”
She begins by lightly rubbing her thumb against your clit, just for a moment, like a promise of things to come, if you submit. Then she moves back and begins rubbing you at a pace so slow you almost forget you want her to stop and not speed up already. And when her fingers enter you, you almost come, and you almost sob with equal part joy and despair. Despair because it is the realization that soon or late, your defeat is certain. Joy because… well… that is not great riddle.
You do not say a thing, because if you allow yourself to part your lips, you fear the noises you may utter. Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, grit your teeth and uselessly struggle against the bonds. But what can you do? Langley is, perhaps more so than any other person, familiar with your body. She knows how to wind you up, how to make you squeal, how to drag you kicking and screaming to the brink of release and shove you right over the edge or yank you back out of some sadistic thrill. It is as much experience on her part as conditioning on yours. You never trusted her with your heart (though some part of you had hoped the day would come when you could), but you had trusted her with your body, and it is that trust that now allows her to waltz right in and play with your body like it is her own.
You are left panting when she retracts her hand, a hair’s breadth from release. Desperately, you avert your gaze, only for Langley to catch you by the chin and force you to look at her. She tuts, tracing the corner of your lips with her thumb. “What do you say when you want something, rookie?”
“Fuck you.” You spit, right at her.
She does not flinch. After a second or two, she puts a hand in her shirt pocket. Taking a handkerchief, she leisurely wipes her face. You almost slink back in fear. There is something about her steadiness that fills you with apprehension. “No?”
“I…”
Smack.
You do not see her wind it up, but you sure feel the slap when it arrives. It knocks the air right out of you and leaves you reeling. You do not know why you had not expected her to do that. She once offered to teach you torture techniques when you had some trouble retrieving the necessary intel from your interrogation. Were you so naïve as to think she would not get physical with you? On what basis? Her feelings for you? Hers, or yours?
“Do not do that again.” She says, an easy smile still splattered on her face.
You physically wince when she strokes the side of your face, but the second slap never comes. Instead, she wipes the tears from your eyes, causing you to want to recoil with every second of contact. You fear her. You always have. But sometimes, your indignation outgrows that fear. That slap reasserts the dread you once felt for this woman.
“Are you going to behave now?”
A glare is all you can afford. If she had heard your voice, she would no doubt recognize how weak you feel right now.
It seems she gets the point anyway. “Lovely.”
She pulls you out of the chair by your hair, causing you to yelp in pain. Langley throws you against the floor, face-down, and straddles you. She has one hand upon yours, pinning it down, and the other on your head, holding you in place. Her knee is between your legs, reminding your body of its unfulfilled needs. You hear a low chuckle, her face right next to yours, her body pressing down upon you.
“I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! Please!” You do not know what you are begging of her. To let you go? To let you come? It hardly matters. What Langley wants, Langley claims. What you want is incidental, unless, of course, you do as she asks. Can you?
“I am a generous woman to work for, rookie, but I do not tolerate dissent.” She husks, knee rubbing between your legs, filling you with needs once more. “I shall have to remind you, no?” Her grip is firm, making any resistance on your part utterly useless. “You may be a slow learner, but I am patient.”
The position would be awkward for stimulation for anyone else, but under Langley’s administration, you come undone again. With no more than her knee, she works your body like a surgeon, with great precision and deliberateness and an unbearably slow, steady pace. You struggled, you really did, but your body is not yours, it is Langley’s. Perhaps it had been for a long time. Perhaps it had simply taken your mind some time to come to accept it.
Once more, she leaves you tittering on the edge, before yanking you back from that release. “Shhhhh… There, there…” She purrs into your ear. “You want it, dove?”
“Don’t… call me that…” You can barely squeeze the words out. It hurts so badly to come so close to orgasm and be pulled back when you’re so close to that euphoria.
Langley pays you no heed. Instead, she keeps you pinned by your head with one hand, while with the other she fully undresses your lower half, one layer at a time. When you try to rub your legs together, she gives you a harsh spank. “Not without my permission.”
When your lower half is finally as naked as the day you were born, Langley runs a gloved hand from your back down to your ass before running a finger against your slit. You let out a pathetic whine. Curse her. Curse her fingers. Curse these bonds. Curse your own treacherous body. You want it so badly.
As if she could read your mind… “You can have it, my dove. You need only ask.” Without waiting for a response, she moves a hand from your head to your mouth, inserting a finger between your teeth. “Gently.” She orders, and you obey. Langley ungloves a hand with your teeth, and the knowledge of what is to come fills you with fright.
Langley brunches up the glove between your teeth, gagging you with it. “Release if you want me to stop.” Langley whispers. God, this woman… Right before the main event… You bite down, hard.
She husks in your ear. “I adore you, rookie. I really do. The way you paint over your heart with confidence and professionalism… The way you conceal all that insecurity and doubt… Ah… What could I have done but want to shatter it and reveal what lies beneath and claim you for myself?” Her ungloved hand moves between your legs, and you cannot help but notice how warm they feel without the glove. “Just. Like. This.”
Her fingers enter you. She starts slow once more, then steadily builds speed. Precise. Deliberate. Merciless. Langley’s fingers pull you apart at the seam, just as they always have been able to. If not for the impromptu gag, you’d scream, for mercy perhaps, or simply to yield. You do not know. You are too scared to find out. So you bite down as hard as you can and do your best to take it. But Langley does not stop, except when you want her to stop least. She knows how far to push before she pulls, and every time you feel that maybe this time, just maybe this time she will misjudge and allow you to be plunged over the edge and squirt all over the floor, she withdraws, leaving your body screaming at you to surrender already, to give up your stupid pride, to imagine how good she’ll make you feel if you just let her have you. God you want to… but… but…
But what? Why are you even doing this? Don’t you love her? What about Nightingale? What about your people? What about them, she would say. Nightingale will be hers, because Langley takes what Langley wants. And your people? Won’t they be better off under someone with an actual spine? Who are you to decide you deserve them, when you are squirming and crying under the woman you know in your heart to be your better? You are weak. You are pathetic. You are nobody and nothing. What a joke, that you think you can be responsible for anyone. The only thing you can be responsible for is being a good fucktoy for your superior.
The fifth time she withdraws her hand, you shake your head furiously. “Hm?” Langley, in no great rush, removes her glove from your mouth, ungagging you. “Something you have to say, dove?”
“Please…” You beg, tears streaming down your face.
“M-hm?” She begins fingering you again, gently, allowing you just enough of your mental capacity to get the words out.
“Please let me come…” You whisper in-between moans, too embarrassed to raise your voice.
“And?”
“And… and…”
She notices your hesitation and begins to withdraw her hands.
“No!” You scream. “God no please please please don’t do it to me again Langley let me come I surrender I will do whatever you want I’m yours Langley I’m y-…”
And that is enough. With a dark, triumphant titter, Langley shoves her fingers back into you. She does not bother with buildup, just as you wish, and moves like a piston. Her thumb is upon your clit, making good on that promise. When release approaches, you fear she would betray you again just for the sheer sadistic thrill of it, but she doesn’t. Instead, she loops an arm around your neck and puts you in a chokehold. God… that’s… so… fucking hot. So, pinned, grasping for breath and bound by your arms, you squirt, messily, soaking the floor beneath you more than it already was. You would scream if you had the breath to, but the chokehold spares you that humiliation. Instead, you are left grasping futilely at her arms while your body falls apart from sweet release, toes curling and eyes rolling back in your head. Your mind goes white and your thoughts are wordless, deafening noises that betray the fact that there is nothing in your head now but pure pleasure and unconditional surrender to the woman who brought you so low.
You are hers, as completely and as intensely as anyone can be. You have debased yourself and betrayed everything you ever believed in, and the worst part is you cannot even bring yourself to regret it. You are a pet, a fucktoy, a slave to the euphoria of submission. You cannot help but think that you are now everything you were ever meant to be.
“My lovely dove… My insatiable pet… My submissive rookie…” She blows air into your ear, causing you to shake like a leaf, still sensitive from head to toe. “Mine… All mine…” The Director… your Director… She traces a finger down your spine idly, before returning her glove to her hand. Her lips are next to your ear, and her words are poisoned honey. “I promise you, my lovely, everything will be beautiful and marvellous. I am a generous boss. What my people want, my people shall have. And the only thing I ask of my subordinate in return, is their complete submission. Understood?”
“Y-Yes… ma’am… Anything ma’am…”
“Quite.”
She leaves you flat on the floor, heaving and twitching. For a time, you hear nothing but the clank of her heel and cane against metal.
“Dove?”
As if pulled by an invisible force, you get on your knees and turn. Langley is seated again, her legs crossed and her cane resting against the side of the chair. Her gloved fingers are laced, as if waiting. Her eyes are expectant, looking at you from under the brim of her hat. You know what is needed of you without another word from her. It is only a formality, but at the end of the day, you are both women who like to do things the proper way. No loose end. No uncertainty.
On all four, you crawl toward Langley, eyes downcast, as is proper for a pet like yourself. You only stop when you feel the tip of her cane pressing upon your back. Her heel clanks against the floor in front of you. You understand. With not a moment hesitation, your lips meet her foot, completing your utter submission.
You only dare to meet her gaze when the tip of her cane lifts you by the chin, and in her eyes you find yourself reflected. Your disheveled hair. Your empty gaze. Your adoration for your mistress. And hers for you, dare you hope?
“You are perfect, my pet.” She husks. “Beautiful. Loyal. Submissive. But it vexes me still… some of the sinners here, I have seen the way they look at you. I do not appreciate my things being coveted, even in their mind. Are you going to be taken from me, my pet?”
“Never, ma’am. I am yours. I have always been. I will always be.”
“Quite right. And what would you say, if I desire a leisure walk back to my office with you by my side, just as you are now? A simple demonstration of my ownership, to disabuse them of their fanciful notions regarding the nature of their chief?”
On all four and practically nude? “If it pleases my mistress.” You say without hesitation.
“And that Nightingale girl, what would you say if she begs you to run away with her, to be your own woman again and be with someone who is your equal?”
“That she should stop trying to inconvenience my mistress.” You answer without hesitation.
Instead of saying anything, she bites her lip a little. You remember that gesture. You arouse her. Langley looks at you with nakedly lascivious intent, barely contained by her need to feel control of all things, including her own lust. The knowledge that she craves you fills you with so much joy you think your heart might burst. Why did you ever think to reject this? You are adored. You are treasured. You are exactly where you should be, beneath her heel and free from doubts or self-delusion. You are a toy, a pet, a receptacle for her lust and a slave to her whims. All is right with the world. You are hers again.