Covert Directives

Sarah stuffed the bottom of her starched white shirt into the waist of her black pencil skirt as she wrestled her feet into her favorite red heels. She stopped for a split second to run her fingers through her messy, dark hair. Running late for work again. Restless nights and long work days would take it out of a person. Fighting a yawn, she snatched keys from the kitchen counter as she shoved into the brisk morning air. She'd grab some coffee at the office.

After a mad dash through traffic, her car rolled into the expansive, grey parking garage. She squeezed her SUV in one of the last spaces closest to the elevators, and darted through the doors. Her hand slapped the button marked "5" mechanically as she glanced at her phone. Not yet late.

Slumping against the wall, she released a heavy sigh. She couldn't afford to be late again. Her boss was already breathing down her neck. He had taken a chance when he had promoted her to the intelligence unit. She wanted to prove her worth. But she had gotten no where on the case. There was next to nothing in the file, aside from a few gruesome photos. Messy crime scenes. No bodies. No suspects. It had been apparent that they were connected. The same chains were found in each abandoned warehouse, with enough blood to indicate that someone didn't make it out alive. Aside from that, nothing.

Lack of sleep didn't help matters. When sleep would finally win, her mind would slip into such vivid dreams that she hardly felt rested. The man from the alleyway. Even now, he haunted her. Stealing quietly into her thoughts. His hands. His mouth. His...

"Ahem." The voice of her boss launched her back to the present. His chubby face wrinkled in admonition as his foot caught the elevator doors from sliding to a close. She could read the disgust in his smug face. Her face bloomed scarlet as she rushed into the cubicle filled room.

"Sorry, sorry. I was up late again. Working on the case." She dropped her purse on her desk and flopped into the chair. "I promise it won't happen again, Mr. Randall."

"I know it won't, Sarah. That's why I'm changing your objective. I want you to stake out this building tonight." He slid a glossy photo toward her. An old industrial building, crumbling and vacant. "Out in the North Hills. A tip came in this morning. Might be where our guy is hiding. Check it out. I'm sure you won't disappoint."

She stared at the photo with dread. She'd had her share of night watches, but alone? With the little sleep she'd gotten, she wondered how she'd make it through the day. She doubted she'd make it through the night.

The work day ticked on uneventfully, and she powered through with cups of stale coffee and tedious paperwork. Aside from the investigation, she had the added duty of entering case files into the national criminal database. She thrived on the tedious work. At least she had something accomplished at the end of the day.

The clock struck seven. Well past the administrative hours. Everyone was gone, and the lights were dim. She took the darkness as a herald to leave. Time for her evening directive.

She fumbled with her keys and made her way to the elevator. For once, her absent-mindedness was a blessing. She'd left her camera bag and binoculars in the car, so she could drive directly to the warehouse. The only thing for her to do was watch, and wait. And, if her current investigation was any indication, a long night of nothing.

The building was easy to find. Tucked along the river's edge, the red-brick monstrosity loomed vacantly between the dilapidated row houses. She steered her car down the old cobblestone lane and tucked her car inconspicuously in the side street that ran toward the building's front.

Slumping in her seat, she tucked her binoculars around her and stared absently out at the warehouse. The rusted sagging doors were the only entrance to the building. If someone came in or out, she'd see them. It was just a waiting game, now.

Her sight grew dim as the night wore on. Sleep threatened to take her. Of course. Now, of all times, sleep steals in. Her chin drooped into her chest as her breathing became shallow. Sandman tiptoed quietly in, weighing her lids to a close.

The vibration of her phone jarred her awake. A text message. She fumbled in her pocket and strained to focus on the bright screen. She didn't recognize the number.

Unknown: "Not a good place to nap."

Sarah: "Who is this?" She jerked herself upright in her seat as she typed her reply. Was this somebody playing a joke on her? Her team knew she was here. Maybe a rookie prank.

U: "You really should be more careful. Not getting enough sleep lately?"

Her heart pounded in her ears. If word got around that she'd been napping on her night watch, she'd never hear the end of it.

S: "Seriously, who is this? Is this Steve? Rebecca? Whatever. Working. Stop distracting me."

U: "Only fair. You're quite the distraction."

Her cheeks flushed. An office crush? But who? She looked at the text again. No. Too formal. She shifted uncomfortably, stretching her feet across the passenger seat. The screen illuminated, signalling another message.

U: "Wearing those heels again, I see. What became of that dress?"

Panic. Him. Was he near? Could he see her? She glanced quickly around her, searching for a new car, an unnoticed arrival. Instinctively, she grabbed the walkie from the dash. Her finger hesitated on the "panic" button as another message pinged.

U: "Now, now. Things are just getting interesting. Let's play, just you and me, shall we?"

Her hand went limp, and the walkie swung loose on its curled cord. He was watching her.

S: "What do you want?"

U: "Be a good girl, and say you'll play."

The phone trembled in her hand as her breath quickened. Fear ripped through her. Her throat constricted as her thumbs pressed a reply.

S: "Where are you?"

The phone shook again. A call was coming in. Unknown.

"Hello? Who is this?" Her voice shook with tension. She knew the answer.

"That's not the right answer." His voice was deep and resonant. Recognition slapped her, stamping any doubt. "Do you want to play?"

"Yes."

"That wasn't very polite. Try again."

"Yes." Eyes closed, she whispered quietly, "Sir."

"That's more like it. Now be a good girl and turn your dome light on, so I can better see you." His voice was steady, calm. Dangerously controlled. Her hand rolled the dome light on, and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably, pulling her wool coat tighter around her. She suddenly felt very exposed.

"Are you cold? We'll have to render that..." She could hear a hint of a smile in his voice, as his words trailed off.

"I'm fine. Thank you." She gritted her teeth as she threw her shoulders back defiantly. She wouldn't allow him to see her squirm.

"Are you, though? You look tired. Something on your mind lately?"

"Haven't been sleeping well." She clipped. Her heels dug into the passenger seat, knees pressed firmly together.

"And what has been torturing your dreams, Sarah? Am I haunting your dreams?"

Her chest tightened, and her thighs pressed tighter. She struggled to speak, the words choking in her throat.

"Speak. Tell me of your dreams. Did my hand around your throat excite you? Are you wet, right now, thinking of me?" Pause. Her breath jerked into shallow pants. His cool tone dropped into a whisper. "Speak, Sarah."

"Yes," she whispered. Then, quickly. "Yes, sir."

"Good girl." A smile curled in his voice. "Tell me...are you wet, now?"

"Wh-what?"

"Answer me. Is my good girl's pussy getting damp? Do I make your clit throb, when you think of me?" The smile slipped from his voice, replaced by a honeyed darkness. "Speak."

Her eyes squeezed shut, mind wrestling to focus. What was happening? Flashes from that night pinned her. His hands. Rough. Hard. Consuming. That same panic, tinged with delicious curiosity, gripped her. She breathed out a meek reply.

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." The phone grew quiet. A heavy tension crept in. "Your hands will act as my hands. I will direct you. Guide you, touch you. Your body will be my body. Responding to my voice. Do you understand, Sarah?"

She squirmed in her seat, pressing her hips deeper in the seat. Her hands shook as she struggled to speak.

"Yes...sir."

"Good girl." The smile thrummed through the speaker. "Now, Sarah. Take your hands...my hands...and move them between your thighs." He paused. Then, quietly, "Do you feel me? Dragging your middle over the gusset of your panties. Feel me, pressing harder, finger grazing over that wet hollow, dipping into your slit. Pressing on that swollen clit." His voice buzzed in her ear, slow and melodic.

Her knees parted and her hand crept beneath the hem of her skirt. Her finger dipped and pressed as she followed his voice, pelvis thrusting into her hand an a sudden jerk as it lingered over her aching nub.

"Stop." His voice jerked her eyes open. "How are we doing, Sarah? Are you okay?"

"Yes-yes, sir." Her hand yanked free of her skirt. She straightened in her seat, pressing her knees together again.

"You're my good girl, Sarah. My slut. How does that make you feel?" His voice seemed warm. Safe.

"I...I don't know. It-I feel..." Deep breath. "It excites me." Her cheeks burned at the admission.

"Good girl, Sarah. Does my slut like it when I touch you?"

She nodded.

"I can't hear you. Say it, Sarah. You can do better than that. Tell me. Does being my slut make you wet?"

"It-" She hesitated. Her eyes lowered, cheeks flaming brighter. "Yes, sir. It does. I-I want this." A heavy sigh of relief.

"Good girl. That's my good girl, Sarah. You're doing great. Now, how does your pussy feel? Slip your hand beneath your panties." Softer, "Let me feel how wet my slut is."

Her hand slipped again under her skirt and fumbled into the cotton prison of fabric.

"Now two fingers. Middle and index, outstretched. Just on your slick lips. Long and slow, on the outside. Don't touch. Just pulling. Teasing. Drag them over your pussy lips." His commands were steady. Controlled. Simple. "Tell me, Sarah. Is my slut soaking, now?"

Her lips parted to answer, but her dry tongue stumbled to croak out words. "Yes...Yes, sir." Swallowing hard, "I'm so...wet." Stronger, "I'm aching. I can't stop shaking. I need..." Hesitation choked her again.

"Good girl, Sarah." That approving smile. "What does my slut need? Do you need me to fuck you?" A husky tension crept in. "Rub your clit, Sarah. Slowly. Wet circles."

Deadened silence. Her finger slipped into her moist folds and trailed over her hard clit. Her body jerked as she pressed, tedious strokes, then rolling. Wet arousal lubricated the friction of her heavy fingertip, her breath ragged and syncing with the rhythm of her hand.

"Are you close, Sarah? Is my slut close to cumming? Faster, now. Harder."

Her knuckles tented her underwear, and her knees spread wider, as her finger stroked faster. Firm passes over her clit. Harder. Faster. Her head fell back into the seat, eyes screwed tight. She felt the heat building, steady and desperate, and a soft moan slipped from her slack lips as she pressed her hand harder against her pussy.

"Yes...yes, sir...I'm...ngh...so..."

"Stop."

She almost sobbed as her hand jerked from her panties.

"You don't cum unless I say you can cum. Your pussy is my pussy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," she gasped.

"Good girl." He was growling now. "Take your skirt off. Slip your panties to your ankles."

Her hands shook as she lifted from the seat, wriggling out of her skirt awkwardly. Her thumbs hooked in the band of her panties and slipped them down to her knees. Her legs shook them to her ankles as she drew her knees together again. Her heart beat in her ears. She was half nude, exposed in a public alleyway, the dome light illuminating her naked flesh.

"Are you afraid, Sarah? Afraid someone might see?" There was a playful edge in his words. "Don't worry, good girl. No one will dare set eyes on you, save me. You're my slut, and mine only." Firmer. "Mine. How does that make you feel?"

She shook with tension, thighs pressing harder to conceal her nakedness. The word, "mine." It frightened her, a confusing muddle of need to understand. The word ticked through her head again. A curious swell of courage, and even more, pride, surged through her.

"Speak, Sarah."

"I don't know." Her voice was timid. "I-I want to be yours." Then, quickly, "Sir."

"Perfect. Sarah. That's a good girl. And good girls get rewarded." A pleasing chuckle. "Now take your hand. Rub your clit. Again. Faster, now."

Her hand dipped between her bare thighs and parted her slick folds. Her middle finger fumbled in her wet hole, and slid quickly up to her throbbing clit. Her legs drew upward, heels pressed against the passenger door, and her hand pressed desperate strokes over her exposed pussy. Her back arched and legs parted wider as her hand worked a steady rhythm.

"Do you want to cum, Sarah? Does my slut want to come for sir?" The words were tight now.

Her fist clenched the phone as her left hand stroked faster. "Yes, sir. Oh...fuck, I want to cum."

"Put the phone on speaker. Set it down."

Her left hand continued to pet her clit as she fumbled with the phone, pressing the speaker and dropping it on the dash.

"Now, your other hand. One finger. Slip it into that wet hole. Don't stop rubbing."

Her right hand slid beneath her. Her middle finger probed at her entrance. Her hips thrust forward, the hollow need throbbing and pulsing through her pussy.

"Feel me fuck you. Push your finger inside yourself. Harder. Now two. Does your pussy want my cock? Do you feel it gripping? Let me fuck you, Sarah. Your hand is my hand. Feel me press into you. Feel me spreading your tight pussy."

Her hips jerked as she pumped her fingers into her tight hole. Both of her hands were rhythmically fucking her pussy now. Left hand rolling, firmer, faster. Her right shoving deeper, harder. Her legs shifted wider, her heels digging for balance on the passenger door, as her ass rocked into her hand.

"Oh, God...Fu-ck. I'm going to cum." Ragged, shallow breaths. "Please, sir. Please. Let me cum. Oh, God. I'm so close." Her hand pumped harder, building that dangerous fire closer to the edge.

"Cum for me, Sarah." A tight whisper. "Cum for me. That's a good girl."

Her hands pumped wildly in unison, fingers rubbing and fucking, until the hot tension burst into that delicious blaze. Her whole body clenched, pussy throbbing and gripping, as her shoulders tightened, her hands frozen in place.

"Fuck, I'm cumming...God...I'm...cumming," she trilled in breathless snaps. Her orgasm crashed and spread, then slowly ebbed into calm. Her chest heaved in deep breaths, her muscles loose and legs hanging limp.

"Good girl, Sarah. Thank your sir."

She reached a weak hand for the phone, and switched the receiver. She remained still, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Th-thank you...sir." With the last word, the phone went silent. She pulled it away. Gone. He was gone.

She still didn't know his name.