A/N Short update here. I'm still working on the fun bits. This story will be three chapters long. Enjoy!
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As soon as Root's footsteps faded away down the hall, I began to struggle in earnest against my bindings, rocking back and forth in the chair in a vain attempt to dislodge the ropes. Unfortunately for me, Root had done a really good job with the knots, and the chair was too sturdy to move much. No matter how I squirmed and fought, my hands remained bound tightly behind me, my body tied down to the chair, and my legs spread open, all while the wand continued to buzz between my thighs despite my best efforts to buck the damn thing away from me.
And even though I tried to pretend it didn't exist, the toy was doing its job well, buzzing away at my intimates and evoking insistent sensations that couldn't be denied. A deep feeling of warmth was spreading inexorably out from my core, pleasure tingling throughout my body. I was helpless to stop it, but I tried anyway, tried ignoring it, tried delaying the inevitable, because I knew that as soon as I came for the first time, my "comfortable" stay in this chair would quickly become anything but.
Grunting with effort, I attempted one last time to dislodge the toy and then collapsed in frustration, clenching my fists.
Without warning, the vibrations lessened, the sound lowering in pitch to a gentle purr. I breathed a sigh of relief, but at the same time, I was wondering what was going on. Had I bumped the controls somehow? Or had Root engaged some kind of randomized intensity setting on the toy? The latter definitely seemed like something she'd do. I glanced down to see if I'd jostled something, but Root had smoothed my skirt back down over my legs, and the only indication that the vibrator was underneath my clothing was a faint hum.
Regardless of why the vibrator had slowed, the reprieve was welcome, even if a tiny part of me was disappointed. I tried to distract myself from the stimulation by looking around the office, hoping to spot a pair of scissors or something that I could use to escape. There was nothing, naturally, and even if there had been a letter opener on the desk or something, the carpet and the heavy chair made it almost impossible to move.
There was, however, a digital clock on the wall next to the door, and it read 12:14 PM. So now at least I knew about how long I'd have to suffer before Shaw showed up.
Assuming she showed up on time.
Assuming she showed up at all.
...Root would tell Shaw where I was...right?
(No! Don't even think about that.)
Before I could think too much about that disturbing possibility, the toy sped up again, eliciting a startled huff and more squirming from me.
Oh, but it felt amazing. If the situation had been a little different, I would've been enjoying myself. But I couldn't let myself go, not with almost an hour to go before Shaw showed up (hopefully).
I clenched my fists again—about the only freedom of movement I had below my neck aside from wiggling my feet—and tried to focus on literally anything but the pleasure building between my legs.
Fifty-five minutes to go...
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"No," Shaw said. She'd been getting an awful lot of mileage out of that word lately.
"But I just want to check Reddit!"
"And by check Reddit, you really mean: post all about the 'bitchy midget' that has you holed up in this well-furnished and comfortable safehouse while 'George Clooney with a rocket launcher' takes care of the goons that were hired to put you six feet under, right?" She inserted the air quotes at all the right places. The young man deflated like a balloon under Shaw's calm gaze.
"I thought so," Shaw said. "No. No phone for you. Go back to your book."
"There's nothing to read!" he said, gesturing to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf that must've held several hundred books at least from sci-fi and fantasy adventure authors.
"Tough shit," Shaw said. "Dude, how the fuck are you a programmer? Programmers are supposed to be smart. There's a guy out there who paid good money for someone to kill you, and all you're concerned about is when can I go home? and why can't I post a bunch of revealing information online? Do I really need to put the pieces together for you? Just chillax and pick up a book before I finish the hitman's job for him."
Sulking, the man went over to the shelf, picked a book at random, and practically threw himself down into the plush armchair next to the shelf.
Finch isn't paying me enough for this, Shaw thought as she went back to watching the latest conspiracy theory on the History channel, keeping the programmer in her peripheral vision. I should just let this guy eat it.
A few minutes later, right when it was looking like the History channel was about to reveal that the mysterious crop circles were, in fact, not caused by aliens (and instead were probably caused by drunken teens joyriding in a tractor), Shaw's cell phone rang. She checked the screen and sighed, disappointed, when saw that the caller wasn't Elizabeth.
"Yeah, Finch?" she said.
"Miss Shaw, we have a problem," came Finch's tinny voice. "We just got a new number."
"Wonderful," Shaw said. "Does this mean I'm off babysitting duty?"
"Yes, because the number we just received is Miss Ruben's."
Shaw muted the TV and slowly stood up.
"Is she still at her apartment?" Shaw asked, her voice cool and professional, but inwardly, an unfamiliar something clenched in her chest.
"I don't know; she didn't answer her landline," Finch said. "And her burner phone is turned off. I'm pulling up the tracking data for her personal cell through her carrier. In the meantime, I suggest you head over to her apartment ASAP. Mr. Reese is currently in a precarious situation and is unavailable."
"Call me as soon as you get anything." She hung up and rounded on the brogrammer, who quickly pretended he hadn't been listening in on the conversation. "You. Don't you move a muscle from that chair."
"But—"
"Do the words 'armed hitmen' mean anything to you?" The man gulped and nodded. "That's what I thought," Shaw said. "Stay here and don't answer the phone." She paused and then added, "I'll give you your cell when I come back—if you behave. Got it?"
She didn't even wait for him to finish nodding before she left, slamming the door behind her.
Shortly after, the Machine observed eighteen separate speeding violations against Shaw's driver's license between the safehouse and Elizabeth's apartment.
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"Fuck," I swore into the gag as the vibrator slowed yet again. I whined in frustration and balled my hands into fists as I tried to push my hips forward, hoping to get a little more stimulation from the dastardly device. This was the sixth time in the past twenty-five minutes (I'd counted) that it'd turned itself down to the point of being completely ineffectual. Over and over again, it would run on high for a minute or two, building me up, and then turn itself back down. Faster, slower. Faster. Slower.
Mostly slower.
By now, as much as I tried to deny it, I was craving release. Arousal burned between my legs, the desire growing by the minute, my body unsatisfied by the meager vibrations. My breath came in short pants. My body tingled with warmth, my skin hyper-sensitive to the tickling caress of my own clothing as I trembled and struggled.
Fuck Root, I thought in a daze. Fuck that fucking lunatic for tying me up and leaving me like this. She could've at least turned it up a little higher. I need more! (I tried to censor that thought even as it formed in my mind, but it was too late—and it was true.)
My eyes flickered to the clock.
Another half hour of this? I thought, groaning. But that thought was washed away a second later by the toy turning itself up again, which got a startled squeak out of me. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sweet sensations building between my legs. I hoped like hell that the vibrator would stay turned up long enough for me to get off properly. I needed it.
When it turned itself down again, mere seconds before I felt like my body was going to finally get its release, I flat-out howled into the gag out of frustration, swearing and cursing and calling Root every bad name I could think of. I looked to the clock in desperation, and started swearing again when I saw I still had a half hour of this madness to endure.
Not that I had any choice in the matter...
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Shaw forced herself to slow down and drive carefully as she arrived at Elizabeth's parking complex, her eyes scanning the two-story white-and-green buildings for any signs of a threat. Seeing none apparent, she parked and walked as casually as she could up the front walk to Elizabeth's door.
The shades were drawn. No noise came from within the apartment. Shaw withdrew her spare key (okay, a copy of Elizabeth's spare key, which she had made back when Elizabeth had still held funny notions like "Shaw and John shouldn't be able to barge into my apartment whenever they wanted") and unlocked the door, pushing it open softly. Double-checking over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she hitched up her jacket, withdrew the pistol from her waistband, and made her way into the apartment.
"Dammit, she's not here, Finch," Shaw said once she had cleared all the rooms. "I don't see her wallet or phone. You hacked her carrier yet?"
"Not yet; they recently updated their database, and is proving difficult to-"
"What are you, some script kiddie? I thought you were the world's best hacker or some shit."
"Ms. Shaw-"
"Elizabeth might be fucking dying here," Shaw growled. She paced back and forth in front of Elizabeth's dusty television. "What's taking so long?"
"I will have the data for you within five minutes," Finch said stiffly.
Shaw continued to pace. Although she was sorely tempted, she withheld from asking Finch for updates, knowing he would let her know the moment he found any info.
As it turned out, Finch made good on his promise, coming back on the line two minutes later to give an address. Shaw was back behind the wheel within moments, burning rubber as the car screeched out of the parking lot and zoomed down the road.
"Is Reese free yet?" she asked Finch, calmly swerving around a Prius that had no business being in the fast lane.
"I'm afraid not, Ms. Shaw. You're on your own for the time being."
"That's just great." Shaw hung up and focused on the road, darting in and out of traffic and generally driving like a menace as she shaved precious seconds off the navigation ETA. She could feel the front wheels reaching the limits of their traction as she made a hard left across two lanes of oncoming traffic, swerving around a truck whose driver honked angrily and in vain.
When she reached the office complex, she once again forced herself to slow down, driving as casually as possible while simultaneously scanning the surrounding buildings for threats as she parked. She was out of the car, her hand on the butt of her pistol, almost before the vehicle had come to a stop.
She was alone.
Shaw gazed around the lot, taking in every detail, looking for any sign of Elizabeth. Her concentration was broken when her phone began to ring—with a familiar ring tone.
"Elizabeth?" Shaw said quickly. "Are you OK? Where are you?"
"Sorry," came a familiar and entirely unwelcome voice. "Elizabeth can't come to the phone right now."
Her mouth tightening to a thin line, Shaw began walking towards the building.
"Root," she said, "why are you calling from Elizabeth's number?"
"Well, sweetie," Root said easily, "that would probably be because I have Elizabeth's phone."
"And why do you have Elizabeth's phone?" Shaw said, her voice dangerously low. She looked over her shoulder. "I told you to stay the fuck away from her."
"Technically, I am away from her. At the moment, I mean. I wasn't earlier. In fact, we were getting very...up close and personal."
"Root, you have five seconds to tell me what's going on before I—"
"Relax," Root drawled. "Ellie's safe. Maybe not exactly happy though. She's a little tied up at the moment."
Shaw's jaw muscle clenched. "Where's Elizabeth? What did you do to her?"
"Why don't you come find out for yourself?" Root purred. "I'm sure she'll be very happy to see you. Don't leave her waiting too long."
"Root, what the fuck did you do to her?"
"I just stashed her somewhere out of the way for you to find," Root said. "Room 204. By the way, don't worry about rushing back to your favorite Redditor at the safe house. I'll take good care of him. You should focus on your girlfriend."
Shaw closed her eyes and sighed as she realized what had happened.
"Don't worry," Root continued. "Elizabeth is upstairs. Perfectly safe. If I'd wanted to hurt either of you, I would've done it by now. Go on. Step inside. You've got the place to yourselves."
"Root, I will find you, and—"
"Blah blah blah something something wish I'd never been born, got it. Look, I gotta go bag up your brogrammer. You should really be thanking me. I'm doing you a favor. Anyway—bye now."
There was a click, and the line went dead.
The front door of the office was unlocked. Shaw swept through the lobby, a silent shadow, and made her way upstairs. Stalking down the hallway, her pistol held firmly in front of her with both hands, she stopped at the door marked 204. She put her ear to the wood, but could only hear soft, indistinct sounds. Steeling herself, she put one hand on the door handle, counted to three, and shoved the door open.
And stared.
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