Whatever it Takes

Mistress Victoria is ready to train a disobedient sub. Den of Iniquity, Los Angeles..

Mistress Victoria is ready to train a disobedient sub. Den of Iniquity, Los Angeles..

Mike came to me, curious about an interrogation scene with no pain. I'm a crafty Mistress when I have to be, and I knew what to do. I'd given him instructions beforehand to make up a first and last name and keep them secret. My job was to get him to tell me what they were. He knocked at my door, and I answered it wearing a latex police uniform. I think his eyes bugged out a little bit. The latex accentuated my curves and contrasted brilliantly with my lipstick. My eyes, with perfect makeup, were even more striking than usual. After shaking hands, I dropped my friendly demeanor and asked him bluntly, "Have you completed your assignment?"

The sudden change was exciting for him. His face clouded but instantly lit up, and he nodded.

"Good," I said, smirking. "Are you ready to begin?"

He looked nervous, but he nodded. I led him to the dungeon, where I had set up the stereotypical interrogation scene: two chairs on opposite sides of a wooden table and a bright light. That was where the stereotype ended.

"Strip," I commanded. He looked at me, confused. "Do I need to ask twice?" I asked. Leaning over the table, I twisted my ruby lips into a sneer, pressing my cleavage into his face. After he found his tongue somewhere on the floor, he stripped.

"Good," I said, turning my back to him and looking over my shoulder with a sly expression. "Sit," I told him, turning my head away from him and deliberately accentuating the movement of my hips.

I took a few steps away, my back to the table, and then whirled and slammed my hands down on the table. "Wer ist euer Anführer?" I demanded. He looked at me, bewildered. "Wer?" I demanded again. He was tense, sweating. I pushed my face against his, glaring at him through fierce blue eyes, my white teeth bared into a snarl.

I took a step from the table, my back to it, and when I turned again, I had a hand on my forehead. "Go easy on him," I said, speaking as if to another person. I pulled up the seat across from him and sat backwards in it, my crotch facing him. I had on crotchless panties beneath the latex.

"Look," I said earnestly, putting a hand on his arm and leaning in close, "Things are pretty bad for you right now." I glanced down and then back up, licking my lips as I gazed into his eyes. "Spying is very serious offense," I continued, enhancing my accent. "If you work with us," I said, running my fingernails along his neck and under his chin, "we'll make it easy on you." I leaned forward, letting him get a good look at my breasts, held perfectly in place by my uniform. "Can you do that?" I asked, pushing my blonde hair behind my ear.

It took him a moment to get back into character. This was going to be easy. When he finally found his mouth, he spat, "I'm not telling you shit" with a sneer.

I sighed and stood coldly, turning my back on him and walking away purposefully. "Your funeral," I said, exaggerating my accent again.

"Er ist nicht zu sprechen!" I yelled, turning around and again slamming my hands on the table. I got right up in his face and snarled, "Sprechen Sie!" He leered back at me, a look of whatcha-gonna-do-about-it on his face. I pointed the bright light right into his eyes and shouted German obscenities at him. He recoiled, but I put a hand on his shoulder, preventing him from standing up.

Abruptly, I turned and stepped away. Turning back, the good cop was back.

"Come on," I said, giving him a wink and a smile as I leaned across the table. "You want to work with us, don't you?" I sat on the table in front of him, spreading my legs right in front of him. His eyes bulged again, and he stared at my pussy, framed by the fabric of my panties. After giving him a second to drool, I leaned forward to run my finger down his nose and chest. His jaw hung slack: this was interrogation he could go for!

"What do you want to know?" he asked, his eyes fixated on my crotch.

"I need to know who you're working for," I said, moving my hips towards him, my crotch but an inch from his face. I could see him leaning forward, trying to make contact, inhaling the scent of my sex. I pushed him back with my finger on his forehead and shook my head. "No. Not until you give me a name."

He moaned. The yelling German cop he could deal with; she couldn't hurt him, but he hadn't counted on this. "All right," he whispered, "His name is Frank."

"Frank?" I asked, writing the name down. "Frank what?" I urged. He shook his head and stared at my crotch. Fair's fair.

Pulling his head toward my mound, I let him taste my juices. The thrill of conquest and getting the first name from him had me horny. I stroked my clit as he lapped at me. Oh, it felt good.

"Mmm, yes. Eat my pussy like the spy-dog you are," I muttered to him, and he shuddered. Too easy. I pushed him off, gently but dismissively, and he gave me a desperate look. I glanced down. His cock was rock-hard. There'd be time for that when I had my information!

"I could use some coffee," I said, feigning indifference and lifting a leg over his head to dismount the table. "Would you like some?"

He only whimpered. I don't think he had coffee on his mind. I went to a darkened part of the dungeon and grabbed two pre-filled coffee cups, kept warm but not hot. I returned and handed him the coffee. He sipped it absent-mindedly. There was another flavor he wanted.

"So, Frank is who you're working for," I said, leaning on the table and giving him an intent stare, my cleavage easily visible under my chin. "Frank who?"

He just stared at my breasts.

I stood, turned, turned again, and shouted, "Beenden Sie herumalbern!”

He jumped back, shouting, "Oh, shit!" He forgot Bad Cop existed. He made a frustrated grunting noise, and his mask of indifference returned.

"I don't speak German," he said flatly. I picked up my cup of coffee and threw it on him. It wasn't even hot enough to be uncomfortable, but it was unexpected. As he rose up from his chair angrily, I turned and stormed off into the darkness.

I had a towel over my shoulder, and I ran it between my legs before looping it around the back of his neck and pulling him close. His anger disappeared instantly at my touch, replaced by lust. I ran the towel up between us, stroking over his nipples and again around his neck. His eyes half-closed, and I let the towel slink down his chest toward his crotch. The tip of the towel grazed his shaft, and he moaned. I ran the towel around his cock and under his balls. He let out a series of little gasps. Funny how you can turn something seemingly innocuous into a perfect information extraction tool.

"Who was it you worked for again?" I asked, running my red-polished fingernail down his chest.

"His name was..." I moved close to his ear and finished in a whisper, "Frank."

"Uhh." He shuddered, his dick hard. I reached down and took it into my hand, running my thumb over the head.

"Tell me his last name," I whispered, "and I'll let you cum."

He gasped, his eyes wide open. He caught his breath. "Jones," he whispered.

With only a few strokes, his prick spewed its creamy load onto the floor. "Good boy," I whispered.