#the instructor

[astralbondpro]

Oh shit! Vinegar Syndrome has The Instructor remastered! Unfortunately it's $42.

[offarworlds]

The Driving Instructor: IN COLOR

[onnie-giri]

best bros here to save the world (through volleyball <3)

[gradexmovies]

[hairmetal666]

The worst thing that ever happened to Eddie Munson is a spinning studio opening in the building next to the neighborhood store he runs with his uncle.

"That's the third one today," Eddie whines as soon as the door snicks shut behind a woman with a glossy high ponytail and electric pink polka dot Lululemon sports bra and bicycle short set.

"You see her ponytail?" Nancy asks. She's flipping through a stack of flashcards. "Never seen a twenty-five year old look fresh off a facelift."

"I hate them so much. What kind of job is 'cycling instructor' anyway?"

"I'm concerned about the amount of makeup they wear to workout. That's gotta be bad for the pores."

"I'm concerned about the collective IQ holding that operation together. Like, do they know how to get out if there's a fire alarm?"

Nancy shoves him, but snickers too. It's not like he really has anything against the instructors. They're fine. Polite and usually harmless. It's the principle of it. It's not fair, that they get to continue into an adulthood that's still all about them being pretty and popular, without any substance.

"You've done college bio," he says. He notices a couple of cereal boxes have fallen over, hops off the counter to push them back in place. "What are the chances their muscles are so big it's cutting off the blood flow to their brains? Is that a thing that can happen?"

There's no response from the front of the store, which isn't unusual. Mostly, she lets him talk and chimes in when the mood strikes. Since she seems uninterested in offering her input, he straightens the cereal and keeps gabbing.

"The other day, one of the guys came in, and his shorts were so tight, I could see his balls. Not just the outline, but the wrinkles. I could almost make out individual pubes. Is that one of those things where they pretend they're limiting drag, or whatever, to improve their speed? Even though it's a stationary bike--"

He turns, the shelves straightened, and literally only three feet from him is one of the aforementioned cycling instructors. Unfortunately, he's the most beautiful man Eddie has ever seen. Even more unfortunately, he definitely heard Eddie making fun of them.

"Uhh," Eddie says.

The guy smiles. "Sorry, my giant muscles make it hard to get around sometimes."

And Eddie just. Like. What the fuck. "That must make it difficult to cycle." God, god but this guy is so fucking, devastatingly hot and all Eddie has done is antagonize him. And not even intentionally!

"I get by," he smiles and Eddie almost swoons. "Hey, when I bend down, can you let me know about the ball sitch? I have a wholesome image to maintain."

Is he flirting? It seems like he's flirting? But that's weird, right? He caught Eddie talking shit, why would he--

"It would be my pleasure to look at your balls," his mouth says before his brain can catch up.

The guy snorts, smile getting bigger. "I don't know, now I might be self-conscious. Might have a wayward pube."

"How will you know if someone doesn't take a look?"

The guy steps closer, cocks his head to the side. He's got this impressive sweep of hair that barely tumbles, his throat dotted with cute little moles and freckles. Eddie's mouth is watering, why is his mouth watering? "I usually get to know someone a little bit better before they get that privilege."

For once, he's speechless and now he's blushing, can feel it up to his ears and down to his nipples.

The guy leans even closer, breath ghosting against Eddie's skin. "Too bad you hate exercise instructors."

This social interaction has already been a disaster, but he makes it even worse by responding with an indignant squeak.

The guy winks, can't hide his genuine amusement at Eddie's expense. "You ever want to make it up to me, you can come to one of my classes."

With that, he walks up to Nancy at the counter, and Eddie gets his first look at the single most glorious ass he's ever seen. His mouth literally drops open as he watches how it jiggles, perfect and round, and he wonders if it would be too much to fall to his knees and worship it right then and there.

Eddie's dumbstruck for a little too long, almost misses as the cycling instructor heads for the door. "How can I take your class if I don't know your name?" He shouts.

The instructor half turns, the sexiest, smuggest smile on his pretty face. "It's Steve!" He yells back.

"I'm Eddie!"

"I know!"

The door closes and he turns to Nancy. "How--how did he know my name?"

Nancy rolls her eyes, goes back to her flashcards. "You're wearing a name tag, you absolute dork."

Eddie knows he's a man of weak will. Is not completely surprised when, after a month of meanly flirtatious interactions, Steve leans across the counter to taunt, "you do one cycling class with me and I'll take you out to dinner."

He's fresh from a workout, hair still damp and messy from the shower. Eddie thinks he's about to lose his mind, desire a clawing beast gnawing on his bones.

"Oh, so I might finally get the opportunity to check out your balls?"

Steve's cheeks go very pink, and something tight and hot tugs in Eddie's abdomen. "If you play your cards right."

[sillyrabbit81]

Thank you ❤️

The Instructor

Summary: Agent August Walker is your instructor at CIA training. (Sorry I know thats a sucky summary!)

Pairing: August Walker x Female reader

Word Count: approx 2.5k

Warnings: Dubious Consent, unprotected P in V sex, masturbation

Authors Note: My first attempt at an August Walker fic. Also my first smutty one-shot. Please note the warnings. If I'm missing any let me know. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy it. Not Beta read, there will be errors!

Edit: There is now a part 2 (linked below) and maybe more to come in the future

Master List

Part 2

The Instructor

You knew training at The Farm would be hard, it had to be. The CIA didn’t take shrinking violets. Your international relations degree and army reserve training seemed almost useless when confronted with the level of work ahead of you. Nothing you had previously done prepared you for the rigorous routine of theory, practical application and physical testing you were put under. And none of the instructors worked you as hard as Agent August Walker.

You knew he had an issue with you on your first day. His arrogant smirk as he entered the room made you do a double take. You had not expected to see a man like him in this academic sphere, he was obviously a field agent and you had no idea what he could have done to end up at The Farm. Handsome, confident and arrogant, he wore a moustache that would make lesser men cringe, yet you couldn’t imagine his face without it.

You weren’t the only one who noticed his swagger. A lot of the women had visible blushes or squirmed in their seats, a few of the men did do. Agent Walker surveyed the group, staring down each of you, taking our measure, judging you. When his blue piercing eyes met yours, you dropped them immediately. You recognised the Dominant in his look and your submissive self acted on instinct. You cursed yourself, you knew you had given away too much in that brief exchange and you knew he would exploit it. That was his job.

Swallowing hard, you raised your eyes. He was still looking at you, his head tilted to the side, as if in deep thought. His tongue flicked between his lips, before his top lip lifted in what could have been a sneer.

You made a noise in your throat, the tiniest moan that no one could have heard, yet Agent Walker did. For a moment the tight, considered squint around his eyes fell away to a look of surprise before he quickly schooled his features. With a grunt he moved on, inspecting the next student and you exhaled with relief.

You were furious with yourself that you had let your instructor see that hidden side of you. The side you had only ever explored in the darkest reaches of your mind, the darkest parts where you wanted to be owned, controlled and possessed. You had known since you were a teen you wanted to be in the CIA, like your aunt had been and so led a life without stain to make it so. You knew what dirt they could dig up on a recruit, so you never read the stories, watched the videos or dated the men who could satisfy the urges in you. As far as you could tell, not a single soul knew about your proclivities. Until that day.

He didn’t look at you again that session, perhaps he was disgusted in you or perhaps you had made the whole exchange up in your head. But that night as you laid in bed and touched yourself the only thing you could think about was Agent Walker’s eyes and his voice in your ear, calling you his pet, his toy, his slut.

You imagined his voice, instructing you to follow his orders as he forced you to do the acts you secretly desired but feared so much. His imagined explicit words, brought you close to the edge, but your fingers curled deep within you weren’t enough. You pinched at your nipples, harder than you had ever before, your nails digging into the soft skin. You broke out in sweat as you reached the summit and you imagined it would be all worth it when Agent Walker would whisper a soft, “good girl” into your ear.

When it was over, you started to cry. You got out of bed to shower off the sweat and purify your thoughts. You were confused once the urge was sated, ashamed of what you had done. He was an instructor at the CIA, not some random guy from a bar. You had no right to think of him that way. And worse, now that you had, how could you face him again?

You resolved that you would never do it again. Tomorrow, he would know you weren’t what he thought you were, you were not a willing sub, you were an Agent in training, one day you would be his equal. Hell, you were smart enough and disciplined enough to be his boss one day. Even as you got into bed, you knew it was a lie. You had never fell so quickly under a man’s spell before, and you knew you would never be able to close your eyes without his demanding azure ones gazing back at you.

You feared seeing him the next day, but were surprised to find he paid next to no attention to you. He gave you the bare minimum of his time and did not make eye contact with you again. But sometimes, when he did have to get close, you noticed a strain in his voice unlike when he spoke to the others. When he said your name, there was always a slight hesitation before speaking. He must hate you, think you’re weak, but that didn’t stop you from treasuring every interaction, sealing them away in your memory to be brought out like old vinyl’s and played when you laid in bed at night.

You reached the end of your training and your cohort had planned a celebration in town the night before you left ‘The Farm’. Tomorrow, you would all be sent off to different sections of the agency, overseas or to more advanced training. You were rarely able to leave the base and drinking in particular was frowned upon. However, traditionally the last day was one to cut loose, exchange new contact details and say goodbye.

You all met in the afternoon, having an early dinner, or late lunch before starting the drinking in earnest. Our group had bonded well, the urge to fraternise between ourselves had been discouraged and many who had waited for training to be over, sought each other for a night of passion before leaving, perhaps never to meet again.

You had no such urges with any members of the group, and never made any indication you were interested, but that didn’t stop some awkward overtures from a few of the group. Most took it well, and moved onto another target or decided that they would be just as satisfied by the warmth of alcohol. However, one classmate was insistent, repeatedly flirting, touching your arm or knee. For a moment you considered relenting, allowing him to take you to his room, you had so much sexual frustration built up that you could power New York for a month. But the thought of anyone’s hands but Agent Walker’s touching you made your stomach churn.

You were annoyed with yourself for having fallen so completely for a man who didn’t even care enough to show up to the celebration, despite invitations to and tradition allowing him to. You said goodbye to the group, and started to walk back to the base, the fresh air no doubt sobering you up. You didn’t want to drink anymore, you had had enough of training and were eager to start the next stage of your career and put Agent Walker in the past.

The early evening chill started to invade your bones as darkness began to fall. You hadn’t thought to bring a jacket, thinking by the time you left you would have been drunk enough not to care if it snowed. But you had left early, not drunk enough by half for the northern wind not to slice through your light knitted sweater. You crossed your arms about yourself, tucked your hands under your arms and increased your pace.

That’s when you heard it. The sound of two sets of footfalls. Someone was following you, had been following you for quite some time, but had hidden their pursuit by masking their steps with the sound of yours. Your sudden change in pace had revealed their presence. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end as you contemplated your next move.

You were past the town, in the forest now, no buildings to hide behind, nothing to give you cover. You didn’t have your gun on you either, you knew firearms and alcohol didn’t mix and you weren’t required to carry your gun with you at this stage. You decide to cross the street, looking both ways would allow you to see who was behind you without making them think you had heard them.

Looking left and looking right, you catch a glimpse of Agent Walker. You freeze while paranoid thoughts run through your mind. You must be hallucinating, maybe you were drunker than you…

You couldn’t finish the thought as rough hands covered your mouth and snaked their way around your waist. You were picked up and taken into the forest. Warm breaths panted in your ear as your abductor restrained your clawing, kicking body. You tried to bit at the hand holding your mouth when a voice calmly whispered in your ear, “Why do you fight so hard, pet? I know you want this.”

There was no denying it, it was Agent Walker. For some reason that only made you fight harder. No, not now, not when you had finally been able to put him behind you, accept that it would never happen.

Walker chuckled at your neck, you felt his course hair and soft warm lips on your neck, “It doesn’t matter, if you want it or not, I will have you now.”

Your body slumps at his words and the moan that had you had suppressed since the first time you met fell out of your mouth into his suffocating hand.

“That’s what I thought, pet.” Walker cooed, “I knew you could be a good girl.”

A throbbing heat blossomed between your legs at his words. Those words he said in your nightly fantasies were now said out loud and your body responded in the way you had trained it to all those lonely nights.

Walker took you to the ground, his heavy body pressed against you, pushing you into the fallen autumn leaves and damp soil. In the closest thing Walker ever made to an apology he said, “This is not the ideal place, or time, but I’m leaving tonight and I needed to know.”

You wanted to ask what he needed to know, but he still covered your mouth. His free hand worked your pants down your thighs and you felt your underwear pull away wet from your sodden core. Walker wasted no time and thrust his large fingers between your legs.

With a satisfied growl he said, “I thought so.”

His fingers searched, finding your core he thrust two fingers in roughly. The force is unexpected and your first instinct is to run and crawl away. Walker’s weight held you down and despite all your training, all your hand to hand combat knowledge, you know there is no way out.

“Stop fighting me,” he grunted as he starts to pump his thick fingers, and the squelching sounds of your wetness hits your ear. You’re confused, you wanted him so long, but not now, not like this. Tears welled in your eyes and you start to cry, frustrated and desperate you realise you’re crying because you know once he takes you, you will never want another. He was close to destroying you before this, now you don’t think you could ever recover.

His teeth are at your ear neck, biting you, marking you, “You’re so wet for me,” Walker says as he removes his fingers and you hear his belt come undone. His knee is between yours forcing your legs apart. “You should be able to take me, pet.”

You feel his cock rub against your slick slit and you begin to fight anew. Please, not like this, not in the dirt, not quick. If it had to be like this you wanted it to be bad, awkward forgettable sex. But it’s not, not with him, one look at him and you knew you wanted him and yet, now that it was happening you wanted it to stop.

When he entered you, a guttural scream came from you as he tore into you. It had been so long, you were so tight, you felt your walls clamp tighter around him, your body instinctively trying to expel his rough intrusion. “Oh Fuck, your cunt is as tight as virgins, but we both know you’re anything but.”

You moan at gravelly voice and your hips start to move, meeting his with each thrust. Your movements encouraged him, and he pumped harder. Panting into your ear he grunted with the effort.

Walker moved his hand from your mouth to your throat, possessively applying pressure, building you to a crescendo as your moans became shouts and you chanted his name. The heat that bloomed became a fire through your whole being, and you trembled with its heat.

“Call me August when I make you cum, pet,” he snarled, his voice almost animalistic, primal and dominant.

And you did, the months of desire, frustration, unfulfilled fantasies and loneliness all exploded from you as you screamed, “August!” Over and over your whole body contracted with pleasure and you felt your tight core milk around him, and the pressure built again as waves of little aftershocks rippled through you and you thought your climax would never end.

August pumped you through it and he bit into your shoulder as his already too big cock started thickening and pulse as he filled you with his seed.

You both laid, panting and spent. It had been over quickly, but the foreplay had been months in the making, you were both on a knife’s edge before it had begun. You could see his face for the first time and his eyes searched yours. You don’t know what he was looking for, but he seemed to find it and pulled your head to his and laid a kiss on your forehead.

He stood up, fixed his clothes before pulling you up and fixing your pants. He went to your bag and pulled out some tissues. Like a mother would for a child, he spat on them and wiped the dirt off your face while picking leaves out of your hair.

When he was satisfied August said, “I’ll be out of country for about a month, I’ll come to you.” He took your throat in his hand and kissed your lips with a bruising force. “You’re mine now, don’t forget it.” Then he walked away.

Too stunned to move you stood there a few minutes before continuing the walk back to the base. The tension you had felt before was gone, but the ache between your legs was new and not altogether unwelcome. You thought about what he had said to you and despite not asking you, you wanted to be his. It was too late for you now, he was in you and you would never be the same.

Part 2

Tag List:

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi

[isjasz]

[Day 317]

It is that time of the year im suffering with essay writing. Then i remembered i can also put them through the suffering. Then I remembered this conversation happened yesterday in @hotguycomiczine LMAOSDOAJWEHIAWH

[synesthete-sylke]

just let them rest in the third life afterlife

[leqclerc]

Charles Leclerc in Top Gun Canal+ Supersonique

[uncanny-tranny]

Diversity win! All the male mannequins in the nursing class I was in had vaginas (literally all)!

Diversity loss! Everyone was Weird about it

[rafey-baby]

c/w: yoga instructor!rafe being touchy and suggestive (is he even talking about yoga atp?)

wc: 890

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Thinking thoughts about yoga instructor!rafe who’s always correcting clumsy!reader’s posture with a warm palm on her waist. Pushing her forward with a soft press of his big hand against her back; tapping her thigh to get her to switch into a better position.

Heady breaths tickling her ear when he mumbles out advice on how to get the stretch to feel deeper, murmuring soft words of encouragement in a certain cadence that makes her tingle, something profound in her tummy flutter.  

He’d mumble out insane things that never fail to make her brain short-circuit.  

“This one’s a bit of a harder one but I know you can take it, yeah?”  

“Shit, you’re getting so good at this.”  

“You feel that?” 

She signed up for the yoga class in order to help her achy muscles relax a bit, not expecting the instructor to be so…hot (for the lack of better words). Therefore, she can’t possibly focus her attention on his directions since all she can concentrate on is the way his muscles ripple under his shirt and his beefy forearms flex whenever he’d demonstrate a new pose with sweat glittering on his forehead.  

He’d make rounds around class and help everyone get their form right and whenever he’d get to her his hands would always linger for longer than necessary, making her assume she simply needed more assistance since she hadn’t really been paying attention when he was explaining it at the front.  

“Clumsy little thing, huh?” He’d playfully mock her when the minute his hands weren’t supporting her, she’d stumble on her feet.  

Then one day after class when nearly everyone’s left and there’s only a few people loitering around, gathering their things, Rafe pads over to her. 

She’s in the midst of taking a sip from her water bottle and his tall frame approaching her makes her look up; he’s clad in a black pair of workout shorts and a dark grey t shirt. Her gaze stalls on the way his tongue pokes out to lick over his pillowy lips.  

“Hey, so I thought I could go over that one pose with you one more time. Just so you really get it for next time, yeah?” He suggests, merely wanting to help out the poor girl who’s always struggling in the back of his class.  

“Oh, um— sure,” she answers, embarrassment painting over her features because she knows exactly what he’s referring to; a specific position where she had toppled over and hit the floor, making Rafe’s eyes widen in concern and the other people around her gasp and ask if she was okay.  

It didn’t really even hurt that much, she thinks. At least not as much as her flimsy ego that got bruised up in the midst of it all, trying to cover up how humiliated she had felt with a small laugh, climbing back up to stand on wobbly legs accompanied by a flushed face.   

At this point they’re the only people left and she suddenly feels all too nervous because she’s never been alone with him before. Her inhales and exhales are turning labored, intractable. And she’s not sure whether her clamorous respiration is echoing in the empty room or in the empty halls of her mind. She mentally crosses her fingers and wishes it’s the latter, stepping on top of her shamrock-colored yoga mat.  

“So, what you wanna do is concentrate your weight on this leg, so you don’t lose your balance,” he taps her right thigh and she nearly stumbles on her feet once again; the corners of his mouth tugging up. “And then bend the other one right here, you think you can do that?”  

“Mhm,” she hums as she moves her limbs in the way he’s patiently instructing her to.  

“Just like that,” blue hydrangea eyes are glued to her, making her think he can read right through her as she swallows at the praise.  

“Then, you gotta lean your weight here,” he settles a hearty hand on her right upper arm, thumb mindlessly skating over her burning skin as she does just that.  

“There you go, Bambi,” he murmurs and a pomegranate tinge blushes over her cheeks at the nickname, rounded eyes trying to blink away the haze that clouds over them.  

“You feel it here?” His fingertips graze over her inner thigh and she manages a nod, limbs feeling mellow and spongy all of a sudden. 

“Good, good,” he breathes out and her brain turns into a knotted ball of wool at his intoxicating proximity.  

“And if you ever feel like you’re gonna fall, just focus on a specific spot on the floor or the wall or anything, it’ll help, alright?” The words sound almost gravelly when he rasps them out as his palms rest on her waist, strong arms steadying her.  

“Okay…thanks,” she manages out, sucking in some air her lungs are screaming for since apparently, she’s forgotten how important breathing is.  

He then pushes her forward a little, making her let out a small noise from the back of her throat in surprise. The sudden stretch of the position she’s now in making her gasp.  

“I know, feels good, huh?”  

“Uh— yeah,” she squeaks out, feeling the cotton material of her panties dampening at the way he’s speaking to her; her thoughts turning into something indecent, muddy...

[astralbondpro]

The Instructor (1981) // Dir. Don Bendell

[karizipan]

Ig the context for that Enki post. Modern gym au 🫶🫶🫶

[kaijutegu]

Something I've noticed, and I want to write this up more formally at some point, is that a lot of the students I teach- mostly college freshmen, but some upperclassmen taking anthropology classes as a gen ed requirement- are far more interested in human evolution when it's framed as a story. Specifically, they don't care about Australopithecus afarenesis, they care about Lucy and Selam. They don't care about Homo ergaster/erectus, they care about Nariokotome Boy. They don't care about the Laetoli footprints- they care about the anonymous Australopithecus adult and child who made them.

I've noticed this take a sharp uptick since the pandemic. The students are so much better at learning when the thing they're learning about is couched in empathy. They're far more interested in narrative and emotion than they are in basic scientific fact, and that's what leads them to further inquiry. They don't care about when Neanderthals lived, but they care about their funeral practices, about how they appreciated beauty, how they took care of each other. They want something to care for, not just about.

I wonder- are other social sciences taking this approach? Could this approach be taken in harder sciences like chemistry and physics? Certainly biology could easily be framed with empathy.

More and more I'm seeing posts about how students are resistant to learning, and I have to wonder how much of that is information overload and how much of that is an inability to understand (on the professor side) how kids want to take in information. We're competing with TikTok and Youtube and all of these other platforms that give them chunks of info with catchy hooks and sounds. How can boring old facts compete? They can't. The old way of lecturing is dead at the undergrad level, quite frankly.

But that doesn't mean students won't learn or that they don't want to learn. It just means you have to tell them a better story. Students crave connection. They want to make sense of a world that... doesn't make a lot of sense sometimes. If we want them to think and write and engage, we need to give them the tools they need to connect with the world on a deeper level.

I think we'd all be better off if we took the time to introduce a little wonder and a little empathy into each of our lectures.

[sillyrabbit81]

I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! Thank you so much for reading and reblogging ❤️

The Instructor - Part 5

Summary: Augusts confronts your betrayal.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 4k

Warnings: Dark, violence, abuse, choking, hitting, punching, orgasm denial, orgasm control, sex (p in v), mdom/fsub, switch, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, dubious consent. I tried to mention everything if I missed something I sincerely apologise.

Authors Note: FINAL PART. There are probably going to be massive plot holes, sorry about that, this was never meant to be a series, so I didn’t do anywhere near the set up needed. However, I’m glad I did do a series because I enjoyed playing around with some of the darker aspects of the story. If it sucks, I'm sorry, I just went for it and this is what came out! It probably also isn't strictly cannon, but I made use of some aspects of the MI cannon.

Unbeta'd and unedited, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Part 4

The Instructor Part 5

You thought you had felt true fear before this moment, but you were wrong. Confronted with the unyielding stare of August, your stomach twists and your mouth goes dry. You’re completely and utterly fucked.

You try to answer August, make up a believable lie, beg forgiveness, say anything. But you can’t, it’s like he can see into your soul and you know that any lie you tell him will only make him angrier.

Quicker than lightning, August’s hands grip your throat. He pushes you to the wall, uncaring as your head hits it so hard your vision swims. Both his hands push into your neck, compressing your arteries and you feel the blood pooling, building pressure behind your eyes. This wasn’t the subtle choking he engaged in when you played. No, this was Special Agent August Walker trying to kill you.

You are stretched against the wall, your toes barely touch the ground. You are a trained soldier, but August is a trained assassin, you know you won’t last long in a situation like this, you will pass out in less than a minute. Then all August had to do was keep squeezing and you would be dust.

“Why, pet?” August asks through clenched teeth.

You can’t speak, you have no air. You plead to August with your eyes, silently begging him to stop. His hands press harder and you feel him crushing your trachea with his leathal hands. You scratch at his hands, his face, his eyes. You kick with your feet, frantic, feeling yourself get weaker by the second. You get one lucky shot in and for a moment August’s grip falters as he doubles over retching in pain.

You slam the palm of your hand into his forearms and he lets you go. You run for the door, your nudity the last of your concerns. Your throat hurts as you run, bruised and raw, you gulp breath in, coughing you try and fill your lungs again. You reach the door, pull the handle. It stops, not making a full rotation.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration. You turn the lock and try to open in again. It does and for a brief moment you taste freedom.

A foot kicks the door closed and August is in front of you. You back away from him as he locks it again. In the unlikely event you live through this night, you will never forget the snarl on his face. You look into his eyes, expecting to see the eyes of a killer and August doesn’t disappoint. His azure eyes burn with such murderous intent, for a moment you think you are going to lose control of your bladder.

But there is something else there, something he tries to hide behind his fury. You search his face, trying to see past the mask and find what he is concealing. You wince when you see it. August was hurt. Your betrayal had hurt him.

“This is even more fun than the first time we fucked, Pet,” he says, mockingly. August advances on you with a bullish intent. He is magnificent as he stalks you, his loose pyjama pants hang low on his hips, his chest is taut and his thick ropey arms flex as he readies them for a fight.

You try and think clearly, maybe you should confess everything. He’s going to kill you if you don’t. If only you had long enough to check his records, but you couldn’t put your associates at risk if you weren’t sure.

Lifting your chin, you accept your fate. You ready a fighting stance, and August does too. You understand you can’t beat him, but you won’t die without a fight.

You dodge his first attack, and you’re not surprised that he led with his fists. He only needs one to land and he would break your bones. You retreat to the kitchen, praying its laid out the same as yours. Opening the draw with the knives, you pull one out. It’s not ideal, its weight wasn’t distributed well for fighting, but it was better than nothing. Your gun is in your room and you have no idea where August keeps his.

Turning the tables and going on the offensive, you make August back up and you move to the door. You hold the knife expertly, and as long as you keep August from getting his own weapon, the fight might be a fair one. You have so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you start to shake. The blade accentuates the tremors and August see’s, of course he would find your weakness.

“Put the knife down, Pet,” August orders, his voice was smooth, calm and commanding. You nearly stumble, his words sent shivers down your spine. How can he still have an effect on you? “You know I can’t let you out of here.”

You gage the distance to the door, it was still so far away. Your fear made you want to run to it again, but you knew it would be a mistake. Better to keep advancing slowly, forcing August back.

But August stops retreating and plants himself in front of the door. He stretches his neck, rolls his shoulders, his naked torso hides nothing and you see his muscles ripple under his skin. Your body and mind are in conflict, confused by the stimulus. You’re terrified of August, but fear of him and what he is capable of was part of his appeal, part of his savage, dominant sexuality. Your body can’t tell the difference and you feel it responding, your centre grows warm, throbbing and your arousal moistens the apex of your thighs.

“Please,” you murmur. Confronted with August’s obstruction and his dismissiveness of your threat, you lose hope. You feel weak and exhausted. Again, you contemplate confessing everything, but you aren’t a coward, you were realistic.

The cruel snarl on August’s face becomes a smirk as you plead. “I love hearing you beg, Pet,” he taunts.

He attacks again, this time grabbing a chair from the dining table. You try and duck but he is too fast for you and the solid wood chair cracks you over your head and shoulders. You stumble to the ground; your vision wavers and you nearly pass out. You try and get to your knees, but your arms won’t cooperate and you fall to the floor, no doubt you have a concussion. You look for the knife, see it about a metre away. With your head thumping and your heart racing, you scramble for it, but August reaches you first.

Gripping both your ankles, August uses your legs and body weight against you, flipping you onto your back. He pulls you to him, your skin rubs against the carpet and you howl with pain as you feel the fibres burn your ass and back. August climbs on top of you, his hands are at your throat again, squeezing the life from you.

“You’re killing me, August,” you try and say, but all you hear is your pathetic whimpers. You feebly punch and slap at August, but you are spent. You give up, you tried. You get angry at yourself for even thinking of giving up, but you didn’t know what else to do. You can’t win. Tears well in your eyes and start to roll down your cheeks. You squeeze them shut, ashamed that you cried in your last moments, that you gave up, that you didn’t fight.

The pressure on your throat relaxes, and you gulp in air, coughing and retching as your inflamed throat protests. You try to roll to your side to breath easier, but August doesn’t allow it, his body still traps yours and one hand still grips your throat. You feel his whiskered lips on your cheeks, kissing away your tears. You open your eyes and are consumed by his and the fire that burns within them. You wonder what your eyes are saying to his.

August shifts his hips and you feel him, hard under his thin pants. Your eyes widen, he really had been enjoying the fight. It scares you, feeling how hard and fully erect he his, aroused by trying to kill you. But you knew how hypocritical that was, because even now, terrified, a moment from death, you ache for him.

You roll your hips, sliding your bare, slick slit against August, the fabric of his pants harsh against your clit, but you feel him beneath it, and you can’t stop. You don’t want to but your craving for him was too strong.

If you didn’t know August as well as you did, you may have missed the surprise in his eyes. It came and went so quickly. His lip curled, triumphant, he had you where he wanted you, desperate, without fight left and completely his.

August’s arrogant look, his smug sneer, his complete domination of you made you lose the last shred of dignity you had and you beg for him.

“Please, please,” you whimper.

“You’re such a little whore,” August scolds you. “Do you think you can fuck your way out of this?”

You shake your head, “No.” You cry again, fat tears rolling down your cheeks in a constant stream, but you don’t stop your wanton grinding. You need to feel him inside you.

“Why are you so fucking wet, Pet?” August asks, his jeering tone warmed your face with shame.

“I don’t know!” you cry.

“Yes, you do, Pet.”

You try to turn away and hide from his knowing eyes. August won’t let you, griping your cheeks with his fingers, digging deep, the soft flesh pressing painfully against your teeth. Through your sobs you say, “Because I want you.”

“Beg me,” August’s voice changed, becoming low and hoarse. He starts to move with you, teasing you. “Beg for my cock.”

You don’t try to hold back, the words fall freely, “Please August, please.”

August tuts, “You can do better than that, Pet. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me, August,” you sob. You’re ashamed of yourself, of how wet you are, how badly you want him, how easily you submit. But it feels too good, playing on the edge as you were, where fear and arousal become interchangeable, you had never felt such bliss.

Taking his pants off, August fists his cock as he takes you in, his gaze rakes over you, lingering on your desperate cunt. Lining himself up, he teases your entrance. When he slides himself over you, he groans as his eyes close and he throws his head back. You realise, you’re not as powerless as you thought, he wants you too and just as badly.

Bringing his head down next to yours, he growls in your ear, “Keep going, Pet. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck your hot little cunt.”

You start mumbling, “Please August, please. I need you.” You throw your arms around him, grip his ass and pull him closer. Your nails dig into his skin as you urge him into you.

With a violent thrust, August enters you. Both of you cry out, your twin shouts echo in each other’s ears. “You feel so good, pet. So wet and so fucking tight.” You mewl under him. He is stretching you, painfully. He offered your core no preparation and it protested his invasion, clamping down hard. August wasn’t fucking around, if he had taken any pity on you in the past, he wasn’t this time. He pumps into you, his pelvis making long driving strokes, your walls straining against the force of his cock, unready for his intrusion.

August hooks your knees over his arms and forcing your legs wider, he is finally sheathed. Increasing his pace, he uses you, furious, punishing and without pity. He offers you no pleasure, he takes what he wants. His face above you is twisted, angry, and hateful. This is payback, revenge, hurt me and I’ll destroy you. But despite that, or maybe because you feel you deserve it, a familiar pressure starts to build between your legs.

“August,” you beg. “I need to cum, please.”

Leaning down, pushing his weight onto your already strained legs, he brings his face to yours. His eyes are dark and sadistic as he says vindictively, “No.”

You groan. You were so close, you don’t know if you can stop it. “Please!” you howl. Fresh tears fill your eyes and you implore him.

“No.” August says, his voice cruel and merciless. “You cum and I’ll fuck your ass raw.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You try and think of all the parts of your body that hurt. Your head, shoulders, legs, the skin on your back rubbing against the carpet. But it doesn’t work. Your body is so warm, tingling, your skin feels alive and the pain is dull compared to the rapture you feel.

Your body is suddenly wrest from the floor. August withdraws from you and flips you onto your knees and violates you again. You feel August’s hand in your hair and he forces your face into the floor. You heard a thud next to your head, his foot is there, and he continues his assault, kneeling on one leg anchoring himself with the other.

You bite your hand to muffle your shouts, you don’t want to give August the satisfaction of hearing your pain or pleasure. You thought he was deep before, but now you feel every impact in your gut, your core uncomfortably full from his brutal jabs. You can’t stay on your knees, your legs too weak to withstand his punitive thrusts. August doesn’t care. He digs his fingers into your hips, holding you in place as he continues his ruthless assault.

Unable to stop it, you feel your release approach again. You try to deny it, but the savagery of August is too much. The feel of your bodies slaming together, the slapping of his balls against your clit, the sound of his grunts of exertion overwhelm you and you can’t stop yourself from whining, “Please, August. Please. I’m fucking begging you.”

You hear August’s malicious chuckle. “No, Pet.”

August seizes you by the nape, pulling you up to your knees and your back presses against his chest. Wrapping his hand around your neck, he holds you against his shoulder. His other hand moves over your breasts, kneading into them, squeezing them. His face is close to yours, you feel his ragged breath tickle your cheeks.

He starts whispering in your ear and he presses his rough hairy lip into you. “You fucking little bitch,” his voice was low, harsh and dripping with venom, but August can’t stop his desire from seeping through. “Who sent you to me? Who told you to whore yourself for me?” He pinches at your nipples, and you shudder against him writhing. His insults pushing you towards your climax as much as his touch.

“Was it the CIA?” he asks, sliding his hand down your belly to between your legs. Fear makes your heart skip, if he touched you there you would not be able to stop your orgasm. You try and pull away, but he is too strong.

“Did those useless government hacks, turn you into a fucking whore, or did you volunteer, Pet?” He slid his fingers over your slit, and one grazed your clit sending your core pulsing around his cock. You want to tell him he has it all wrong, backwards. He thinks he’s been caught, he doesn’t know he’s being recruited.

He slaps your clit with his palm, a quick flick of his wrists that shocks you and if August wasn’t holding you up, you would have doubled over in pain and ecstasy.

“Don’t fucking cum.” August orders, rubbing a calloused finger over your oversensitive clit. Then, he says, sadly and with regret, “You could have come to me, Pet. Told me. I would have protected you. I could have gotten you out.” His voice almost cracks as he adds, “We could have gotten out together. BE together.”

You want to tell him, you want that too. You didn’t mean to fall for him either, none of this was planned. His fingers dance over your hard nub, coaxing from you the orgasm he forbids. Frustration suddenly pours out of you. You fight him again, punching the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and between your legs.

“Why do you fight so hard, Pet?” he asks. Those simple words he said to you all those months ago rock you. It was his invitation to submit willingly rather than be pulled under by the force of his will. But it was different this time, it wasn’t just you at stake.

You beg again, “August…” It’s all you can say through your short gasping cries. You break out in sweat, the need in you was so strong it took everything you had to fight it.

“Answer my question and you can cum,” He says. You nod, vigorously, you don’t even feel shame at giving in so easily, you’re too far gone. He brings his face in front of yours. Your whole body is shaking under his touch as he draws your orgasm and confession out of you.

“Were you sent by the CIA?”

You shake your head, and whimper, “No.”

August looks into your eyes for a hint of a lie. When he can’t find one, he coos, “Good girl,” and you wriggle at his praise. He kisses you roughly, lips hard against yours. “You can cum now, Pet.”

With unrestrained cries, you finally allow the pressure in your core to grow. You feel your release roll over your contorting body. Your guttural shout signals you’re the arrival of your long denied ecstasy and tears streamed from your eyes as you succumb with immense relief.

August watched every second of your orgasm, his face studying yours as if to memorise every expression, until you were done and can’t hold yourself up anymore. He removes himself with a gentleness that was unexpected and he tenderly carries you to his room. Cradling your head against his chest, he kisses your forehead, muttering something you can’t catch and were too far gone to ask.

He lays you on your side, and you are so malleable and weak, you let him curl you into a ball before he leans over you. He lifts your chin and turns your head so you are looking at him. You give him a half smile, which he returns with a soft hum. His eyes go to your collar and a look of sadness crosses his face, a grief so intense you feel it too.

You don’t know what to say and neither does August. He does the only thing he knows how to do when he feels what some people call love. He fucks.

When August enters you this time it’s different. Although his thrusts are brutal and powerful, it’s not punishment. He is trying to make a connection, to see if there is something salvageable between you. He needs to know if he means anything to you. He drops his forehead onto yours, resting there while his eyes met yours. He holds your throat and his thumb plays with your thin golden collar.

“You’re still mine, Pet,” August says, firmly.

“Always yours,” you reply with certainty. And you were. But by the end of this night he would know he was yours too.

As if to seal the promise you made, August kisses you. His lips pry yours open and his gentle explorative tongue massages yours. When you kiss him back, you are surprised by the growl he makes in his throat. Feeling bold, you place a hand on his cheek as you kiss. He doesn’t pull away so you slide your other hand into his hair and you expect him to shake you off, like he did before. He allows it, and he slides his free arm around you, pulling your bodies together. The rhythm you find together is nothing like the primal fucking you two are used to. It seemed as though he was making love to you, as much as someone like August could.

You feel the warmth grow again and radiate from your core. August instinctively knows your close again and stops your kisses watch you again. “Come for me, my sweet girl,” he utters.

You fall apart. Your fist tightens in his hair, you tremble beneath him, while you call his name.

“Fuck,” he grunts while you fall over the edges, and he forces himself deep within you, splitting you, owning you as you feel him thicken and pulse, releasing his seed into your milking core. Then he breaks you by growling your name as he makes his final throes.

You’re both slick with sweat, but August doesn’t care and he brushes your face with kisses. He looks like he wants to say something, opening his mouth and closing it again without saying a word. He helps you get up and he walks you to his bathroom.

August runs you a bath, and he sits on the edge for a while, watches you while you bathe. He showers quickly before returning to his spot.

Finally, he speaks, but he looks away as he says it, and for the first time you see August doubt himself, “If not the Agency, then who?” He asks.

“We have no government affiliation,” you say.

He nods, “Why did they send you, was the plan always to use sex?”

“No, August,” you say honestly. “This was not part of the plan. I was only supposed to be assigned to you while I did my training. This assignment was last minute, I don’t even know how it happened.”

He turns his attention back to you and looks for the lie he believes he will find. When he doesn’t find it he asks, “Your aunt, was that a lie?”

“She’s officially missing,” you say. “Unofficially, she brought me into group.”

“Something doesn’t add up, Pet,” August says. “I’m don’t know anything that a hundred other agents don’t also know. What did they send you to find out?”

“You don’t get it. We don’t want to bring you down, we want to recruit you. I had to make sure you are who we think you are.”

You see a glimpse of understanding in August’s eyes. “Go on,” he prompts.

You watch him carefully as you explain, “My assignment was to find out if you were the one who wrote a certain manifesto making the rounds in certain circles.” He doesn’t blink. You smirk, realising he’s trying too hard to keep his face smooth. He is the one.

“And, am I?” he asks.

“You are,” you say moving down the bath. Unbelievably, knowing he wrote that poetic and chaotic brilliance made you hot again. “This operation is all wrong, too big for simple arms traders. You’re using the CIA to get the connections and resources you need.” You run your finger down August’s bare arm, tracing the ridges of his muscles and the slight protruding veins on his forearms. August watches you intently, trying to appear cold, but you see his breaths grow shallow and his jaw clench. “We have the resources to help a man like you,” You reach his hand, turn it palm up, and lay a kiss into it before holding it to your cheek. “’A man with vision’ Lane calls you.”

“Lane?” August says, he seems confused, and he should be.

“Yes, meet with Solomon Lane and you will get your new world August.” You take his hand off your cheek and fold down his fingers except for the middle one. You take him in your mouth curling your tongue around him, and sucking.

August can’t look away. Already thrown by being discovered, he is completely transfixed by your sudden seduction.

“How?” he breathes.

You open your mouth and show August his finger sliding down your tongue. You get out of the bath and stand in front of August. You move his finger down your body, between your breasts, over your belly and between your thighs. You slide his finger between your warm folds and you hear August groan as you rest him against your entrance.

You ask him, “Have you, ever heard of the Syndicate, Pet?”

End

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