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The battle is bloodier than anything Overwatch’s extensive training could have prepared for. Your eyes trace the battlefield, raising an emotional cocktail of distress and rage. Your team’s task is to defend a point outside of Volskaya Industries and its members are falling left and right; needless to say, the foe is showing no signs of slowing. Somehow, a sniper – Widowmaker, no doubt – has made her way to high ground behind the choke and is picking off members one by one in preparation for her own comrades to come and contest the point. You cannot let the enemy take the control for any reason. Against the pleas of the friends by your side, you branch away to pick off the sniper and keep her from wreaking more havoc.
Upon ascension, you see the sniper focusing completely on the agents struggling below. You approach the woman gradually, sneaking without detection, to take her down and save your team. When you’re close enough to see her heartless smirk, something blunt hits from behind and you thud quickly to the ground. Clouds form in the corner of your eyes and you’re unable to move, no matter how hard you try.
There’s a shuffling of feet – one pair belonging to the sniper and the other to your assailant. “Merci,” the woman says as she turns to her partner.
“Right,” a subtle voice growls, and your heart sinks. You’d been attacked by Reaper, the dark, brooding sociopath and Talon operative. You’d recognize his ominous voice anywhere; you’ve been subjected to his cruel tone many times before on the battlefield. There’s something about him that makes you uncomfortable, whether it be the malevolent way he fights or the fact that he always teases you before finishing you off. It’s difficult to explain how you feel about the sadistic man. You’re wise enough to fear for your life whenever he’s around, but for whatever unconscious reason you want to hold his attention, as if your life depended on it.
“I’ll be taking this one away for some time.” The cold edge to his voice sends a chill up your spine.
The woman scoffs above you, her heeled foot nudging against the side of your body to ensure you’re still breathing, “Bon Dieu, is now the best time for you to indulge yourself?”
“You’re one to talk,” the gravelly voice responds. “The ‘fly in a web,’ gambit is what you pull on our enemies. Don’t you love luring them in and spoiling yourself just before the kill.”
There’s a bite in her response, “Oui, but I don’t piège les filles mignonnes in the middle of a fight. And nor shall you.”
He growls. “I’m sure you’ll manage for half an hour.”
There’s a minute pause, during which you can only imaging the two are staring one another down. You have no way of knowing for sure, as your vision only sees blurred appendages. She finally sighs and throws back a curt response. “Twenty minutes. Don’t leave a mess.”
You don’t hear the man’s response. You want to stand and run back to the comfort of your squad, but you find that you cannot move, no matter how desperately you want to. A pair of strong hands lifts and slings you over a broad shoulder with no resistance. Your heavy eyes, unable to focus on the snowy pallet any longer, seal themselves and you’re surrounded by complete darkness.
You awake in a room you don’t recognize.
Breathing the cold in stirs your senses rapidly and you immediately recognize the situation you’re in. Tight ropes are bound around your wrists and wrapped beneath the table on which you’re lying. Your legs are tied to the desk’s supports so that your crotch is barely hanging off the edge of the cold platform. Your head is the only part of the body that isn’t against freezing metal, and it takes effort to lift it high enough to check your surroundings. You gaze down at your body, realizing with abhorrence that you’ve been stripped down to nothing but your undergarments.
“It’s about time,” a rough voice grumbles. A jolt pinches your nerves, but you do all you can hide your state of distress. “I don’t like having my way with sleeping slaves.”
Reaper spits the last word, and you’re not sure if the tone he takes with you strikes fear or arousal. Whatever the answer may be, you don’t want to spend the time figuring it out. “Let me go, Reaper,” the demand is firm and your expression is undaunted. “My team needs me; now isn’t the time for… Whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
He clicks his tongue, much like he would reprimand a misbehaving dog. “You’ve no place in telling your master what to do.”
There’s a short pause, followed by a quick, deep laugh erupting from your chest. You grant a piercing, disbelieving stare into his boney mask. “If you think you can lay claim to me, you’re sorely mistaken.”
The long, sharp talons of his gloves run up your sides, and you release a quick breath at the abrasive contact. It traces the curves of your hips and waist, the scraping firm enough to cause discomfort though not strong enough to break skin. “You’d be surprised by how easy it is for me to get what I want.”
Reaper’s left hand reaches to pull the menacing mask from his face and you meet his narrow, black eyes. His chiseled features are littered with healed scars and his sunken eyes, weary and lined with dark circles, burn with craving. You detest that you find his full lips and strong jaw gorgeous by any means.
He leans over the desk and leaves a chaste kiss on your raging pulse. He bites gently against your neck, and you sense his lips tug into a leer. “There’s no use in denying me. I can feel your heart racing, so I know you want this.”
His lips move leisurely against the skin and you hold your breath. You refuse to speak up or provide proof of your craving for Reaper’s affection. Being placed in this position has forced the realization that you find the shadow attractive, especially now, but there’s no way you’d admit this out loud.
Reaper isn’t patient enough to wait for a response. He walks around to the opposite side and stops beside your right shoulder. His claws lace through your long, black hair and carefully pull so that your head hangs off the edge. “Open your mouth,” he commands in a low tone. You refuse, opting instead to clamp your mouth shut and breathing heavily through your nose. An annoyed growl emerges from his chest. “Be a good girl for me or else I’ll have to punish you,” he gives the fair warning. His voice is even despite his apparent irritation, but they do not will you to heed his demand.
Suddenly, there’s pressure around your neck as long, gloved fingers wrap around the skin. You realize immediately that you can’t breathe, and your survival instincts kick in. You try your best to thrash on the table to release from the vice grip, but you’re so tightly bound that the movements are useless. You hear his ragged breathing above you as clouds bubble in your eyesight. The damn masochist is enjoying watching you struggle for air, and you know it’s true by the way he stares ravenously back at you.
It becomes all too apparent that Reaper’s prepared to take your life if that’s what it takes to get what he wants. ‘God, is he so much of a freak that he’d fuck a dead body?’ you painfully think as your thoughts begin to blur together. You’re trained well enough as a soldier to understand the appropriate time to stop fighting. As much as you’d like to deny him pleasure of any sort, you know that you cannot keep fighting in this position; you need to submit if you want to live.
With reluctant resolve, you open your mouth wide in hopes of appealing to the shadow. Your actions are well received, as he pulls his hand away again, allowing air to quickly fill your lungs. Even as you hack and choke to clear your head, you dare not close your mouth once more; you will prevent him from providing the same abrasive mistreatment.
“Good girl,” Reaper practically purrs as the talon of his thumb smoothly runs down your cheek. Saliva pools and drips from your wide lips, jaw sore from hanging open for what seems like eternity.
From your angle, you watch as the man unzips his pants and pull the waistband down. He unsheathes the erection, long and thick and slightly curved upward. It’s a sight you never once thought you’d see in your lifetime and it’s one worth marveling. It looks perfect, a stark contrast to the awful man.
You don’t have long to admire it, however. As soon it’s released, the salty member is immediately pressed past your lips. Your eyes widen and you reflexively latch around the skin hoping to clench it and prevent it from moving further, resulting instead in providing friction that Reaper enjoys. The man provides a grunt of approval before wrapping his hands around the back of your head and deliberately bucking his hips into your mouth. “That’s right,” he says, pushing deeper and deeper at the back of your throat with every thrust. “Relax around your master’s cock.”
In your head, you refuse to acknowledge him as a partner, no matter how attractive he may be. Still, you value your life and decide to let him treat you this way, if only to survive the night. You will have to turn the other cheek and find a way to provide retribution in the future.
You do as you’re told and relax your throat and the long member pushes further back into the warmth. He responds with a rumbling moan when his dick is completely sheathed in your throat. You hum quietly against his base, and he exhales loudly in response to the vibrations. “Hmm, your tight little mouth feels so fucking good,” he offers the praise as he pulls out again. You take your opportunity to breathe before he sheathes himself once more.
He jerks his hips quickly, his scrotum slapping against the bridge of your nose with each shove. Even though you haven’t been stimulated at all, the mere knowledge that Reaper was using your mouth to get himself off makes you dripping wet. You hate that this is the truth, but you accept the state of affairs as they are: Reaper’s actions awaken within you a want you never thought to have retained.
The shadow curses under his breath and pulls out completely, leaving you to gasp for air. You realize the reason immediately; Reaper shuts his eyes and moans loudly as he unapologetically ejaculates warm semen onto your face and chest. The smell of his fluids sours the air and the tacky substance is unpleasant against your skin.
“There!” you shout as Reaper breathes to calm himself. While you’re unsatisfied with not having your own release, you refuse to give in to your dark desire. “You got what you wanted, now let me go!”
His gaze meets yours, and a cruel, toothy smile graces his lips. “You think that’s enough to sate me? Oh, you naïve thing, I’m just getting started.”
He moves back to the opposite side of the table adjacent to your bound legs, removing his leather gloves as he glides. “It’s cute that your panties match your bra,” his gravelly voice indicates intrigue by the fact. “Do you do that every day, or were you just hoping I’d get to see it?”
You raise your head to glower into his dark eyes. You refuse to respond to his question, but you feel your resolve steadily slipping. The smell of sex is infectious, and you’re caught up in the emotional turmoil that is feral need. You want to feel pleasure, even if it’s by the hands of a ruthless man. You detest the concept of stooping to the dynamics he’s enforcing, but you know you’ll have to play along if you want to receive the pleasure you seek.
His large hands tear at the sheer fabric and your panties are ripped from your body and thrown to the floor. The same is done to your bra, its shredded fabric thrown beside the corresponding cloth. “Those weren’t exactly cheap, asshole,” you growl, not really caring if your annoyed tone turns him away.
He responds with a sinister chuckle. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll replace it.” He leans and releases a warm breath onto one of your perked nipples. “There’s more than one way to reward an obedient slave.”
His hands hastily wrap around each breast, index fingers flicking against the teats. The contact is rough and warm, forcing you to drop your head and yell out in begrudging pleasure offered by the rough stimulus.
“Do you like when I play with you?” he asks in a taunting voice.
You can’t hold back your honest, needy response. “Yes.”
“I can make you feel even better,” the seductive tone promises. “All you have to do is admit that you’re mine.” There’s a sharp hiss to his voice that you can’t stand, though you’ve already come to find it just as provocative as the rest of his body.
Reaper’s head lowers and he leaves warm, plush kisses on each breast as his hands knead the skin. His movements slow to the point where his hands are gently moving against your skin. He’s teasing you and moving moderately enough to relax you. You know his plan is to force you to feeling dull pleasure that softens your thoughts and tricks you into saying what he wants to hear. Because you’re aware of this, you can’t take his actions as demonstrative in any way; that doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy the soothing contact.
His body drops and his lips hover just above the folds of wet skin between your thighs. “Do you want me to touch you here,” the mocking voice asks. The air that escapes his mouth tingles at the dampening skin, and you can’t help but crave the contact that only Reaper can provide. You refuse to speak. Rather you nod quickly half hoping he cannot see your actions from where his head is resting.
You can practically feel the taunting smile on his lips. “If you ask me nicely, I will.”
After a short pause, you speak again: “Please.” The voice that escapes is quiet and mousy. You feel yourself on the verge of tears all because you want to feel his touch and you are progressively losing hold of your strong demeanor.
“What is it that you want?” he rumbles. His ungloved hands tightly grasp each thigh.
You’re yearning to feel his warmth and at this point you cannot think thoroughly enough to hold yourself back. “Please, touch me.”
“You need to be more specific. Do you want me to lick your slutty cunt?”
“Yes,” you moan quietly. “Please, lick my slutty cunt.”
“What do good girls call their master?”
You pause and raise your head to stare into his glance. You know he’s issuing a challenge but at this point you don’t care. You’ve already given up; the only way to receive the pleasure you crave is to play by his rules. “Please, Master, lick my slutty cunt.”
His grin is wide and malicious. “Good girl,” he praises just before his lips touch the tingling area. Your head shoots back and you moan loudly. The warm movement of plush skin against your own sends muffled jolts through every nerve in your body, and you embrace the euphoria you’ve been denying yourself.
You moan as his lips move carefully against your clitoris. Occasionally, his tongue travels lazily across the entire length to lick up all of your secretion before moving back to focus on the nub. You rock your hips against his mouth, an action to which he graciously accepts.
He smiles against your crotch. “Do you like riding my face, pet?” the warm voice vibrates against the sensitive skin
“Yes, master,” you moan quietly. There’s a fire in your pelvis that his lips and tongue sate. He simply growls in approbation and continues to move.
After some time a thick finger is inserted and you gasp. He pulls in and out at the same pace as his lips against your bud, curving inside to rub against your sweet spot with each gentile thrust. Your moans grow louder once another finger is added, then a third. Although you’ve been completely filled by the man’s wide digits, the movement is relaxing. “Master, that feels so good,” you moan out, and you feel a smirk against your crotch.
The build is slow and luxurious. You’ve never received such exceptional treatment during intercourse, and you love every second. After having those lips rubbing against your clit and the fingers pumping, your body aches and racks, preparing for the release you’ve been craving and repressing from the moment you first saw the man.
“Oh, god,” you moan loudly, your voice echoing off of bare walls. “I’m going to cum.”
The man doesn’t say anything in response. Reaper increases the speed, timing each thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue with the breaths that escape your mouth. Your toes curl and you scream out just as-
Reaper, without any warning, removes his lips and his fingers from you completely. You yell out urgently, in hopes of receiving his touch again, but he does not speak. Rather, he dons his mask and gloves, turns to mist, and disappears.
You’re alone, covered in the enemy’s cum in a cold room. You’re so wound up from the contact and so close to reaching orgasm, but unable to stimulate yourself; the feeling is near torture. You realize his calm behavior was not for your pleasure, but for his own amusement. Reaper wanted to make you relax so that when he denies you of your release it’s all the more frustrating for you.
Your high depletes and the calming back down is almost painful. You hate Reaper. You hate that he’s used your body, strung you along, forcing you to feel amazing only to leave you without the finish that you deserve. You already know that he will pay for his actions today.
Quite some time passes before the man reappears in the room with a thick cloud of smoke circling his body. “Good, you’re still here,” his voice feigns surprise, though he knows fully well there’s nowhere you could have gone.
“Fuck you,” you sneer at the man.
He circles around to the side of the table where your legs are securely tied. Sharp claws dig into your thighs, laying claim to the skin. His voice emerges, calm and mellow, “That’s not how good slaves act towards their master. Don’t you want to be treated well?”
A lump catches in your throat. You want to kick and scream, and you refuse to be tricked by the man again. Nevertheless, the desire for Reaper to make you cum remains and you’ll do whatever it takes to get the orgasm you rightfully deserve. Against your better thoughts you decide to continue playing his game, if only for the moment. With a defeated tone, you answer. “Yes, Master.”
The sharp talons release their grip; one delicately runs along your skin and the other reaches to unzip his pants. “You don’t sound like you mean it,” he taunts.
You moan from the rough contact. The endorphins rushing through your body and making every nerve scream for pleasure force you from thinking over your response. “I’m your slave, Master,” you scream. “Please, Master, fuck me!”
You hear the snarl from behind his mask. “Is that what the little slave wants? To be fucked while tied to a table?”
“Yes! Please, Master, use my body.” Tears bud in the corners of your eyes, but you could not care if you tried. You needed his dick and you needed it now.
He shoves his shaft into your folds in one quick thrust. You shriek at the sudden pressure of your walls stretching around the member and it’s every bit as wonderful as you could have hoped.
The man shifts his body to feel every inch of warm skin inside of you. “You’re so wet,” His voice rumbles. His gloved hand admires the curves of your petite frame. He stares at your chest, marveling the way it expands and deflates evenly. “Do you know why I didn’t let you cum?”
“No,” you answer, though you’re sure you already know. He wanted to prove that he was in control of you. “Why, Master?”
He exhales as his member continues to stretch the warmth. “You were being disobedient,” he explains casually, trying to hold in his jagged moans. “A good servant always asks to cum.”
You’d hit the nail right on the head with your assumption, but you’d be damned if you let that bullshit get in the way of reaping indulgence. “My apologies, Master,” you offer sincerely. “It won’t happen again.”
The deep voice chuckles as its owner pulls out and thrusts back in. Reaper doesn’t stagger when he does it once more, equally as powerful as the first thrust. You moan loudly in response to the rocking. “Good.”
The shadow then fucks into your warm folds at breakneck speed, causing you to feel phenomenal friction and heat. Your passionate cries fall out of your mouth and serve as proof of your longing to be filled completely by Reaper.
“You know where I went?” He questions breathy as the movements continue without any signs of reducing speed. “I went to stand victorious with my agents. Your team lost,” he taunts. You can’t see his eyes, but you feel the ferocity that bores into your skull. “While your teammates were being killed off, you were sucking the enemy’s throbbing cock and riding his fucking face.” He spits onto your face, still covered in evidence of the earlier evening. “You’re a filthy fucking slut! I can’t believe you’re enjoying being used by your enemy.”
You moan loudly, unable to offer a legitimate response with cloudy thoughts. You know it’s wrong to be engaging with the enemy in this way, but you’ve long since come to terms the treatment you’ve been dealt.
He growls as a sharp pain digs into your hips and holds you steady against his thrusts. “You’re such a good little servant,” he coos, “I can’t blame you for betraying your team.”
Your insides burn with every rock and the friction pulls from you a delicate whine you didn’t know you possessed. “Thank you, Master,” you whimper quickly between cries. “Master, your cock feels so good inside of my filthy cunt!”
You don’t know why you said it so simply, but the growl he releases and the new savagery behind his pushes informs you that you were right to say it. The flames in your stomach continue to burn and throb and each growl he releases fuels the fire. “Master,” you yell when you can no longer stand the burning, “Please may I cum?”
He doesn’t speak up, just continues to grunt and ram into your hips. You dig your nails into your palms to distract yourself from the approaching euphoria – anything to keep from cumming against Reaper’s will. If nothing else, you must be his obedient servant.
“Master!” you call out again, hoping he’ll answer you this time. You’re body screams for the release and you can’t hold it in for much longer. “Please-!”
His face flawlessly drops to the side of your head as he continues fucking your accepting womb. A raspy voice whispers into your ear: “Yes, cariño, cum for me.”
You can’t ignore his lovely request. Floaters fill your field of vision as the warmth that was contained in your chest explodes and licks every nerve in your body. You yell loudly and cum against his thick cock, a feeling so incredible after being denied until this point.
The tingling you feel as he continues to do as he pleases with your sensitive body is the most wonderful feeling in the world. Without asking, he releases himself all the way inside of your warmth. A snarl erupts from his chest as his thrusts become measured and deep, ensuring to fill you entirely with his seed. His breath mingles with your own as the cold air touches your delicate skin. This moment of intimacy, post-orgasm, is the most elated you’ve felt in a very long time.
Reaper sucks in a long breath before pulling out of your warmth completely. He reaches to untie the rope holding your legs, followed by the one binding your hands. Once you’re freed, he turns to mist and floats out of the room without offering another word.
You’re alone, sweaty, covered in semen, and exhausted. Worst of all, you’re conflicted about your emotions. You know fully well that what you’ve done was wrong, not to mention against everything you stand for, but you’re not filled with regret. You’re actually extremely satisfied that you’ve been used and pleasured, especially because it had been by Reaper’s will.
You sigh out lout. You need a long shower.
You find an unmarked parcel on your bed that evening. Though you’re confused by where it came from, you laugh almost humorlessly when you discover its contents. Inside the brown paper are a black lace bra and a pair of matching panties. Reaper had been true to his word.
Though you still aren’t sure how you feel now that the intimacy has passed, you can only accept the gift as it is and feel grateful. You know you’ll wear it to the battlefield tomorrow. Perhaps you’ll catch the attention of the shadow yet again; you certainly wouldn’t object to that.