Say My Name
The seventh patient had been processed. If you could call them that. Sure, they all came here as patients, or under the false pretense of such. Mr. Smith lured them to our facility, or as I called it, a factory, with whimsical promises of cured cancer, power and new lives. I suppose the new life part wasn't exactly a lie. We all got new lives, just not the ones we bargained for.
Four years ago, I was brought to the factory under false promises. I had come back from war just a few months previous, to discover that my husband had been cheating on me the entire time. I killed him and his whore in brutal fashion, spectacularly so. Mr. Smith and Co. broke me out of jail and whisked me away.
I took a while to mutate. Much to Angel's amusement and much to my discomfort. I harbored a deep resentment towards her from the beginning. Something about her egotistical mannerisms. The way Mr. Smith and Francis favoured her. When I finally mutated, my abilities proved too valuable for them to sell me. I was all too willing to stay on. I wanted revenge on Angel and I was fascinated with Francis.
They called me Detail. I was, "gifted" with several mutations, one being a perfect photogenic memory. I could read a person's body language better than Sherlock Holmes. My senses were extraordinarily heightened. I could see a piece of paper all the way across a room and memorize everything on it. They used me to socialize with potential buyers, watch over patients for mutations and anything else they could come up with. I was, essentially, a spy.
Today, I watched a patient in an iron bull for signs of mutation, turning the torturous contraption on and off, not fully cooking the poor soul trapped inside, but bringing them to the brink of death over and over, keeping a hawke's eye out for any sign of mutation. Hawke. That's what Francis called me. Everyone else used Detail, which I hated. When Mr. Smith gave me my name, he said it was because I had a keen hawke's eye for details. I spat at the insulting name. Angel laughed. Francis smirked and said, "Hawke". Angel was most displeased that I was staying. During the entire ordeal of my torture, I fought her. No matter what she did to me, no matter how it hurt, I refused to allow her to break me. To win. With Francis, I complied. I did as he asked. I almost...tried to mutate for him. Maybe I did. It was at his hands, during some session or another that I finally mutated.
I was distracted today. Angel had been sent to collect an unruly patient. I was gifted the rare day at the factory, in the labs with Francis. I called him Ajax, of course, because to do otherwise would put me at peril. I would rather risk death than his displeasure. I longed to whisper his real name. I had heard Wade Wilson mock him with it and it stuck with me. We all left our former lives behind, but Francis flinched, as if he could indeed still feel, anytime someone said his name. I was, in fact, so distracted that I killed one patient and nearly missed another mutating before my very eyes. I wanted to watch Francis moving around the lab. He was so very tender with his cruelty. Almost lovingly so.
He didn't say anything when I had to jump and turn off the bull to retrieve my mutating patient, merely frowned at me. But when I lost the second, he lost his temper. Swearing roundly, I paged for someone to come collect the body. Mr. Smith would be displeased, but it was routine, after all. I washed my hands and was turning from the sink to go and find Francis to report when I realized he had been right behind me. "My little Hawke, ever so watchful and vigilant. Yet you allowed a patient to die from neglect and I snuck up behind you, rather noisily, I might add. What the fuck is your problem!?"
His voice, the use of a name no one but he used, undid me, as it always did. I caught my breath and stammered, trying to come up with an excuse, avoiding his eyes. If I looked into them I would be truly lost.
"Look at me when I'm fucking speaking to you," he growled. Swiftly and simultaneously, he reached one of his arms out and slammed me by my neck against the wall by the sink. He gripped my neck, his fingers flexing, jaw set and I had to meet his eyes then. I didn't struggle, I pressed the palms of my hands against the cool metal wall to try and stabilize myself. He had never touched me and my heightened senses were aflame now. The pressure on my windpipe was forgotten to the excitement of his fingers on my skin, his face inches from mine. I had goose bumps over my entire body and my already strained breath was further inhibited by my arousal and excitement. I could smell the sheer power in him, the adrenaline racing through the veins lying under his smooth skin. I looked up, into his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Francis," I whispered. I knew, then, my mistake. As they always did, his eyes dilated at the use of his true name. I bit my lip in humiliation. How could I allow myself such a grievous slip, and now of all times? I braced myself. It was not uncommon for mutated slaves to be put back to torture for misbehaving or refusing to do one's duties. I fully expected to be spending a weekend in an ice bath or even in the iron bull.
His grip tightened and he pressed forward, closing the distance between us. My senses were screaming. This was as much torture as it was pleasure and I didn't realize that he knew that until it was far too late. Realization had flickered across his face when I spoke his name, but I didn't catch it. I was distracted by his presence, his touch. He used it against me to push my extremely sensitive senses into an utter frenzy. I was fearful of punishment but everything in me was also fighting to take in his smell, the feel of him near me and his voice. My skin ached for his touch so much that I whimpered involuntarily. At the same time my brain was overloaded with fear, with his smells, the details of his visage. It was all painfully overwhelming and he was using that to his advantage.
Imagine being on every single LSD and ecstasy drug on the market. All at once. That's what my mutation feels like sometimes, with my senses. And Francis was pushing them all, all at once. He leaned forward, gripping my neck a little tighter. I was beginning to see spots but I struggled to focus, to see him. He turned my head and brought his lips near my chin. I could sense the moisture on his lips, the heat from his mouth. Everything was spinning so far out of control. I kept pressing my palms against the metal in a vain attempt at regaining composure but I was too far gone. A thousand sirens screamed in my head and everything was on fire. Francis chuckled. Low in his throat, it was almost a whisper. I could feel the vibrations from his throat; it was like a pulse straight to my core. He turned and drug his lips across my chin, from the tip, slowly up to the end of my jaw. I couldn't see, as soon as his lips met my skin. I tried but I couldn't hold on. By the time he reached the end of my jaw I had blacked out.
When I came to, my entire body was sore. Like I had run a marathon, but from my senses having been in overdrive for so long. I was in my room, naked under the covers of my bed. I jolted. I could hear voices at the end of the hall. My brain tried to instantly bring up the memory of his lips on my chin but I violently suppressed it. I had to listen.
"Just give her to me for a week," Angel growled. I hated her voice.
"No, this is not a reward for you. She needs to be punished, yes, but you've earned no particular reward," I heard Mr. Smith reply in his emotionless, matter-of-fact voice.
I could sense Francis before I heard him speak. Something about his mood was different, unusual. I hadn't felt it before, ever picked up on it. I was unsure if it was real or if my senses were damaged and/or comprised when it came to him.
"She did bring patient 746 out successfully and we already have a buyer for her. She mutated beautifully. But I agree; losing one out of mere irresponsibility deserves to be reprimanded."
"Well she is technically under your charge, what do you suggest? Simply knocking her out isn't going to teach her anything," Mr. Smith said coldly.
He hadn't told them. Or he had twisted the truth. Why? He had knocked me out, of sorts, but he didn't hit me. Surely Angel or someone would have noticed that I had no bruises, no lacerations from a fist.
"I'll take care of it. I'll send documentation of her reprimanding to your secretary, yes?" Francis asked, business-like. Only I could sense the different tone in his voice. Whether from hiding the truth of my blackout or more, I knew not.
"Yes. Do be sure she is not incapacitated long. I have buyers from China coming this week to bid on some of our wares and I want to make sure she gets the maximum price for each. I need her at her best, Ajax."
"Sir."
"Angel, do check on Detail and see that she reports for her afternoon duties, until Ajax has feted out some sort of punishment to bring her back in line," Mr. Smith said dismissively.
I braced myself, casting about for some clothing. I didn't want that bitch in my room with me naked and I only had about two minutes before she could traverse the long hallway. As I scrambled to throw on jeans and look for a bra, I could hear Mr. Smith and his bodyguards heading away from the dormitories and Francis stop Angel about halfway to my room.
"I'll look after this one, I want you to go check and see if we've heard anything on that fuck, Wade Wilson."
I paused, putting on my bra, my breath catching at the sound of his low, smooth voice. I struggled to control myself.
"Why are you all of a sudden so interested in the little bitch, huh?" Angel asked, the jealousy and aggravation in her voice loud to my senses. I chuckled under my breath, grabbing a shirt and creeping back to my bed.
"Because she is valuable and Mr. Smith wants her at her best, which is far away from you. You vex her. It bothers her senses."
"Her existence bothers me."
"Do as I ask, darling. I'll catch up with you soon. Off you go," Francis said gruffly. I felt him kiss her quickly before I heard it. My turn to be jealous. I glared at the walls. I could hear Angel assent and start down the hall, the same way that Mr. Smith and his entourage had gone. It was a few moments before Francis' footsteps started towards my room.
As quickly and quietly as I dared, I cast my clothing back off, under my bed and slipped under the sheets, naked. Now I had truly lost my most important sense, common, but I didn't give a damn. If I passed out again, at least I would hit my bed.
I heard the automatic 'whoosh' of the electronic door, after the pass code had been punched in. My room was partially lit from a lamp near the end of my bed. I could see his figure in the doorway, and I sat up, pretending to wake. I clutched the sheet to my chest, only so.
"Ajax?" I asked, careful to control both my voice and my senses.
Wrong answer. I could see and feel his smirk. He turned, put the pass code into my door to lock it from the inside and strode over to my bed. Crossing his arms, he stared down at me. I shook. I was excited, fearful and trying to be strong enough to control my senses.
"It seems you can't make up your mind what to call me, Detail."
My entire body jolted, as if he'd physically hit me. Tears stung my eyes. I knew that he knew it was an insult coming from him, that he was playing a game with me. But I didn't know how to control this one sense: emotion.
I wrapped my sheet around my body and turned my head from him. I refused to look at him or speak to him, knowing how dangerous my actions were but being completely incapable of any self control.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. You know better, darling," he said, reaching down to grab my chin and turn me towards him.
I jerked away and glared at him. "Don't call me that. You called her that", I spat venomously. I was digging my hole deeper but, yet again, unable to stop.
Francis laughed. A loud, clear sound. I'd never heard him laugh like that. It was always a deep chuckle, almost a low growl with him. I'd not heard this sort of sound from him. Shocked, I turned to him.
"Your jealousy is going to be your punishment, darling. I could beat you, torture you, but that would be paying attention to you and you like that, don't you sweetheart?" he asked, reaching out and taking a piece of my hair, flicking it.
Everyone knew that Francis and Angel were involved, even if mostly on orders. Francis couldn't feel anything, so the rumour was that sex for them was mostly a reward for Angel when she had done something that pleased Mr. Smith. Other than that, the two were a torturing duo that got on well. And I hated her for that.
"Do you really think that torture is only physical, my little Hawke? I know exactly how to use people's bodies, and minds. Even yours," he said, leaning down and putting one fist on either side of the edge of my bed, looking in my eyes.
My mouth dropped open a little and my sheet dropped from my hands without notice. He looked. I didn't notice his arousal because I was so intent on my own. His mutation had caused him not to be able to feel pain, or supposedly pleasure, but he was still a hot blooded male and he looked at women, regardless.
I finally reigned myself in enough to realize his eyes were grazing my body. I blushed fiercely but, realizing my slight advantage, kicked my sheet further away. Francis could see my large, soft breasts, my slim waist and full hips. The crest of my ass was visible as well.
"I'm much prettier than Angel; don't you think so, Francis?" I asked. My voice was husky, I was completely aroused and unable to control that but I managed to keep slight reign over my actions. I slipped my sheet the rest of the way off my body and turned my hips toward him, watching his face.
Francis cleared his throat. He was obviously plotting his next move but distracted. I swung one leg off the bed, in between his, so that the other was lying on the bed, both legs open. I propped myself up on my arms at either side of my waist and pushed my breasts up, watching his body, devouring the change in his senses. The smell of his adrenaline was intoxicating. I knew I was playing the most dangerous game of my life but I wanted this man more than I wanted anything, even my own life.
Francis was still leaning on the bed; his knuckles were white from gripping them. He picked one fist up, flexing his fingers out. He stretched his hand out, tracing my leg lightly with his fingertips, starting at my ankle and slowly working his way up my leg to my hips.
I was completely gone. I laid my head back and moaned softly, arching my back. I had forgotten in my hazy lust that Francis couldn't feel the skin he was tracing, that even then he was playing me for a fool. I was dripping wet though; I could feel it beginning to soak the sheet underneath me.
"Francis, please," I whispered, closing my eyes as he laid his whole hand on my leg, exploring my ass and thigh.
"You are very pretty, Hawke. Very pretty. A different man would be very excited to be able to fuck you senseless. I only have to touch you, to make you lose yours completely."
I noticed, vaguely, the dark amusement in his voice, as he slid his middle finger up my thigh, to the dripping wetness I was pushing towards him, begging for him to touch. I was dizzy as he touched my upper thigh, my juices having leaked down my legs. He lifted his finger from my leg to my mouth. I licked my own juices from his finger eagerly, spreading my legs open wider.
He reached back between my legs, bringing his face close to mine. He ghosted his fingertips up my thigh slowly, watching my face intently. When he finally reached my cunt, he slipped three fingers inside, roughly. I moaned. He lifted his other fist up, grabbing my hair by the nape of my neck and pushing my head back up.
"Look at me, Hawke," he said roughly, as he worked his fingers inside my aching cunt.
I was already too close. I pushed myself towards his probing fingers, begging for more. I reached out to grab at his shirt, to pull him down on to the bed with me. He released my hair and smacked my hand away. Whining, I lifted my hips again, trying to draw him closer. He pushed harder and faster, adding another finger. I struggled to keep my eyes locked with his as I was bid. I couldn't read him at all, I was so far gone. His thumb circled my clit, his fingers thrusting in and out of me.
As I came close to my climax, I found it excruciatingly hard to comply with keeping my eyes on his. I was almost there. Just as I was about to cum, I realized my folly. Francis grinned maliciously. He pulled his fingers from my wet cunt abruptly. At the same time, he reared his head back and head butted me. As I blacked out I could still see the smile on his face.
Naturally, Francis' game covered his own lie to Mr. Smith and Angel. My forehead was bruised for a week. When I came to, Angel came storming in to my room, ordering me to get dressed. She put me through a rigorous, exhausting workout by her side. Keeping up with her was impossible, as she well knew. Once she was finally through with me, I learned what my real punishment was.
Shoving me towards the showers, I grumbled under my breath. I noticed Francis waiting at the entrance to the women's locker room. I froze. I hadn't seen him since he had touched me, since he knocked me out. He grinned, turning and walked into the shower room. Perplexed, I stopped.
"Move, stupid little bitch," Angel said, shoving me roughly.
Too late, I realized what I was to endure. Set up beside one of the glass showers, was a standing gurney. Hesitantly, I shied away from it. Angel grabbed me, dragging me to it. I tried to turn and kick her, but Francis called out, "Hawke, do as you're told. This is your punishment."
She strapped me in to the gurney. I bit my tongue, refusing to allow her the enjoyment of seeing me struggle or so much as speak to her. The worst was yet to come. The gurney was equipped with clips to force my eyes open at all times. I'd only used those dozens of times. Had them used on me, as well. But I was distracted by Francis taking his clothes off, tossing them on a chair beside the shower. It finally dawned on me what he was doing.
He fucked her slow, watching me. It took him some time to stroke himself into an erection. Vaguely I wondered how he was capable of this, if he couldn't feel. I tried so hard not to cry, not to allow him or her that. He couldn't pick her up and fuck her against the shower, like he could have done with me. She was too loud, overdoing it. She was performing, to make it worse for me. I knew she'd enjoy it, regardless, as Francis had the body of an Adonis and he fucked like a god, too. It was the worst torture I had endured, of my entire time at the factory. And they both knew it. 20 minutes in, I finally managed to stymie my blubbering. I set my jaw and tried to focus on the shower wall and ignore the pig's guttural cries. Francis' naked body didn't even slightly arouse me, as it was touching hers. A few moments later, a though occurred to me.
"How can you fuck that pig in the shower, you can't even pick her up and slam her against the wall, she's so big!" I yelled.
For almost 45 more minutes, I called out random insults and taunts. It only made Francis grin. It hit the mark with Angel, however. She became self conscious for the first time that I had ever seen and almost completely quiet. By the time he'd finished, I could tell that she'd faked her orgasm and of course Francis didn't cum. Surely he couldn't feel his cock inside the big horse of a woman. I was smiling by then. My eyelids ached and I was furious but also slightly avenged. "You know I can sense your fake ass orgasm, bitch," I called as she left the showers. Francis rewarded me with a smile and a rare chuckle.
My revenge was short lived. I was given to Angel for a full week of torture. And she used every single minute of it. Francis was nowhere to be seen. By the time I was finally released to my rooms, I was covered in bruises, cuts and battered beyond relief. I didn't cry once. I didn't speak once, though she tried like hell to get me to. It made her furious and she only increased the pain. She nearly killed me twice. I'm not sure I would have minded at that point. But I prevailed in silence and strength. Although she'd won that battle, I won the week-long war.
Francis, however, had won the even bigger prize. He had finally broken me. I had watched him try to break Wade Wilson, had inwardly laughed at the man's enduring humour and several times helped him out when no one was watching. Francis never managed to break that one. And he really, hadn't broken me before. My wit, charm and stubbornness had survived my torture and mutation. But this, this broke what I had left. I let him win. I was given two days in my room to recover. I stayed in the dark the entire time. I cried the first day and built a mental wall around my emotions the second. When I was summoned for morning duties the third day, I felt as if I had mutated once more, in a horrifying way.
I went about my tasks in silence. I didn't smile. I didn't help patients or comfort them, I simply performed my duties. I spoke to no one, only answered questions when asked a direct question, and then only when it was a superior. Francis frowned at me quite a lot. I learned to look blankly at him. I felt dead inside.
Several weeks of this had gone by and I had become so cold and focused on my work that I was given a promotion. I had access to most secure systems and files. I was in charge of patient systems and came and went as I pleased for the most part. One afternoon I was processing some information on a potential buy. A slave that had been made essentially immortal, whom had been sold, used, escaped and recaptured after slaughtering his buyers. I needed his original mutation files to properly process him. He was a patient when Francis was originally brought in. I knew these files to be quite older than most and kept downstairs in the basement. Hours of searching finally led me to a secured storeroom of filing boxes and folders. It was something out of a crime show scene, but here I was. I quickly acquired Patient 109's file and was leaving when a thought occurred to me. I searched a few more boxes until I found it. Francis' mutation file.
I listened intently for anyone coming down the stairs or hall, though I knew I was likely not followed and certainly not to a dusty storeroom. I opened the folder. His story was heartbreaking, but the biggest piece of shocking news was not that. "Patient regained a very minute amount of touch sense in the nerves. Slight. Stimulated by..." and the print became unreadable. However, the information was invaluable. Francis could feel, if only so. Scientifically, it made sense. He would have to have some feeling to eat, piss, get hard to fuck, even if not to cum. It made me curious. He could never feel pain. I had seen him endure much, seen wounds sewn up, never with any pain meds or so much as a flinch. Now I was curious.
A week later, Angel was gone again, looking for a rogue slave on the loose. We had too many patients for Francis to go with her. It was the end of the day and we were finishing reports in the same office. I had been sneezing and shivering all day, but had tried to make it unnoticeable.
"Hawke, are you coming down with something? I don't want your bloody germs infecting my lab," he said as I passed by him to another computer.
I turned, irritated. "I don't know, I don't feel well. Do I feel warm to you?"
Without either of us thinking, he reached the back of his hand out to my cheek. Frowning, he said, "Yeah, you're hot. Go see the nurse before you get us all sick, or worse, infect a patient."
Further frowning, I turned to stomp off and dropped my folder in shock. When I turned to look at him, his face mirrored my own for a brief moment before he set his jaw. I ignored the folder and walked over to him.
"Ajax, did you...could you feel my face?" I asked, incredulously.
He reached his hand up to my face again, pressing his palm to my cheek. He had a look of mixed confusion and excitement. I could feel his pulse racing in his veins.
He set his jaw and snapped his hand back. "No, I was mistaken. But if you're fucking sick, by all means, go see the nurse. Now." He turned back to his computer.
I stood looking at him for a moment before retrieving my folder and heading to the nurse's office.
The factory, or facility, was set up almost like a college dormitory for the staff. There was a gym, showers, nurse, dormitories, kitchen, etc. While Mr. Smith didn't give a fuck if we were happy, he did like to keep his slaves complacent and occupied so that we would perform well and without questions.
It took me three days to get over the flu. I was irritated but I spent the time researching mutations and how it could be possible that Francis could feel something like body heat.
Mr. Smith was in a hallway drilling Angel for something she'd done while on a mission. As of late, her ego and bravado had been a problem to the company. I smirked at her as I passed by. In the kitchen, Francis was eating a salad at the table. I was in such a good mood from hearing Angel get lectured that I actually smiled at Francis. He looked at me curiously and went back to eating. I put in my ear buds and was soon lost, singing to myself and cooking chicken and brussel sprouts. When I'd finally plated my food, I turned and startled. Francis was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed laughing. I pulled out my ear buds, embarrassed.
"Prince?" he asked, reaching over and plucking a brussel sprout from my plate.
"Oh, those are hot!" I yelped, reaching out. He had already popped the whole thing in his mouth.
I had momentarily forgotten. "Sorry, I..." I stammered. Francis chuckled and reached over me to the skillet.
"You a chef, too, my little Hawke?" he asked, raiding the skillet.
Grinning, I picked up the wooden spatula and smacked his hand, playfully. "Go sit down, you rogue, I'll make you a plate," I said laughing.
Pulling one more green, he dodged my spatula and complied. I made him a plate and we sat companionably, eating and chit chatting about the day's work like we were two normal people in a normal facility.
"You're quite a cook, Hawke," Francis complimented me, kicking back the legs of his chair, flipping his fork around in circles. I had just finished washing the dishes and drying my hands on a towel; I turned and smiled at him. "Thank you, Francis."
He was obviously surprised at my use of his name. Since the incident, I'd only called him Ajax like everyone else.
Slamming the legs down on his chair, he bounced up and strode over to me. "Goodnight...Hawke," he whispered in my ear, leaning down and kissing my cheek.
The next day, the whole team was out, after a hit on Wade Wilson, or Deadpool, as he was calling himself. After what I gathered from various team members, it had been a particularly destructive battle. Francis was in quite a mood. I had saved him a plate of food I had made and told him I'd left it in the fridge. "Thanks," he said gruffly and stormed off to the men's showers.
I pried information out of some of Mr. Smith's minions. Deadpool had a habit of taunting Francis with his name and slipping out of our hands. Francis must have been very vexed to have lost him once again. As most of the facility was asleep, I ventured around to look for Francis. I finally found him; furiously looking for something on a computer, hunched over and unaware that I'd entered the room.
It took all of my control to quietly creep across the room without his notice. I watched him for a few moments. He was only in a black t-shirt and mesh shorts. His body was mesmerizing. Sighing heavily, he continued clicking. I reached out and grazed my fingertips on the back of his neck. He jumped.
That moment of realization snapped something in both of us. We crashed into each other with a force that would have been fatal for anyone else. He gripped the back of my head, pulling my hair, his nails in my scalp. His other hand was around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I had both hands framed against his face, holding it tight, terrified he wound break the kiss. I pulled and bit his lip with my teeth, ran my tongue along his and the inside of his cheek.
He raked his nails up and down my back as we kissed, the smell of my own blood excited me as much as his touch did. We pulled each other's shirts off and Francis picked me up deftly, walking with long strides over to the wall. I had wrapped my legs around his waist, more worried about keeping him as close to me as possible than I was falling. He didn't even bother to hold on to me. With both hands he pushed my hair away from my face and tilted my face back, exposing my throat. Running his tongue up my neck he stopped at my earlobe. "Is this what you want, Hawke, do you want me to fuck you against the wall?"
I covered his hands with my own, running my fingers down his arms to his chest. "Yes. Take me," I ordered, although he knew I was begging as much as I tried to bravado it.
Pulling away from the wall momentarily, he wrapped my long hair around his wrist, yanking my head sideways and gripped my ass. He slammed me against the wall, hard. I moaned again, pressing myself against him. He released my ass and slid his hand up my back, through spots of blood to unsnap my bra. He leaned his upper body away to pull the clothing off but pressed against me with his lower half, while still gripping my hair. He pulled it a bit and I breathed in, sharply. "Hawke," he growled, before releasing my hair to take one breast in his hand and the other in his mouth. His free arm was around my waist, holding me up. His tongue was warm and wet on my nipple, which was painfully hard. He bit and sucked on it, squeezing the other one hard. Pulling back for just a moment he flicked the wet nipple with his fingers. I shivered in delight. "More. Please," I begged. He chuckled as he pinched, bit, licked and teased both nipples and tender flesh on my breasts. He lovingly applied marks and a bruise or two as I ground against him, reveling in the attention. I could feel how hard he was through my jeans.
Eventually he dropped me to my feet so we could both remove our bottoms. I tried to drop to my knees in front of him but he grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulled me back up. "Did I say you could have that, Hawke? Hmm? Did you say please?"
I debated whether or not to beg or just allow him to do as he wanted. He didn't give me a chance to decide for myself. In one swift motion he picked me up, one hand firmly on each ass cheek, raising me up and against the wall. He didn't give any warning before he slid me down on top of him. It felt beyond glorious, the mixture of pleasure and pain as the full girth of him stretched and shoved inside me. As wet as I was it was easy for him to do. A low growl escaped Francis' throat and he leaned against me momentarily. He bit down on my neck and stood still for a moment, I could feel his body shaking, his cock pulsing inside me. I wanted more.
This time it was I who tilted his head back, looking in to his eyes. "Francis," I said clearly. It took only saying his name to undo him completely. Grinning broadly, he pulled back and began a relentless, vicious pace inside me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, grinning between moans. His body was covered in sweat, I licked it off his neck and shoulders. When I was just close to cumming he stopped, pulling out of me. He twisted my hair up again, pushing me down to my knees. "Spread your legs, darling, I want to see you." I obeyed all too gladly, I had been waiting for this. I gripped his hips as I took him into my mouth eagerly. Francis stumbled, moaning quite deeply and I chuckled. I traced my tongue over the head of his cock, teasing him. After a few moments he gripped my hair with both hands and thrust inside my mouth. I only gagged twice before I figured out how to control that reflex, allowing him to take his pleasure.
Abruptly he pulled out of my mouth and I whined, trying to pull his hips back to me. Roughly he grabbed my hair and pulled me up to stand, turning me around. "Put your hands against the wall, lean out," he commanded. He slid his hand over my soaked cunt, rubbing and circling it with every finger. I loved when he touched me, but from behind it felt even more amazing. I started to lose my grip on the wall as he worked on me and used his free hand to repeatedly spank me with force. When I stumbled and almost fell, he took his hand from my clit, running his fingers up my throat and into my mouth. I sucked and licked everything off them as he lined himself up and slid inside me slowly. He bent his fingers, pulling at my mouth and I whimpered in pleasure. He slapped my arse harder and harder and with each sting I came closer to climaxing. He pulled his fingers from my mouth, reaching his hand around my neck and pulled my head backwards. He began a brutal pace, slamming in to me as fast as he could. His balls slapped against my clit, the sound filling me with unimaginable pleasure. He dug his nails into my ass, I knew he was close. He still had a grip on my throat so I couldn't speak but I managed to whine, hoping he would know I was begging for him not to stop.
"Mmmm," he muttered, leaning down against me. He released his fingers from my ass and began lightly circling my clit as he fucked me. I pushed his hand down harder. It was some sort of insane explosion when we both came at the same time. I screamed as best I could with his hand pressing on my windpipe. Francis yelled loudly, biting down on the spot between my shoulder and neck. I could feel him twitching and releasing inside me. He pressed me against the cold wall but I refused to release his hand from my swollen and throbbing clit.
We stood like that for minutes on end, trying to catch our breath. When he pulled out of me and stood up, he was grinning. I dropped down to my knees and took him into my mouth, cleaning every last drop of cum off of him. He had both hands gripping my hair in shock and pleasure. Standing up, I wiped the corner of my mouth and smiled coyly. Francis tapped my chin and kissed me softly.
"My darling Hawke," he murmured in between kisses. I giggled and nipped at his lip. "What's my name?" he said, pulling away from me, as if he needed to be sure. "Francis," I said breathlessly. Grinning boyishly, he wrapped me back in his arms, where I belonged.