The Spy Rider Ch 02

I am naked. I am wandering through a maze of corridors in my Mistress' mansion. I see her down at the far end of a hall. She beckons me to catch up. I start to run.

The corridors twist and turn seemingly randomly. I'm not certain where I am, but I think that I am following my Mistress.

I stumble into the room with the large aquarium. Harper the mermaid is swimming near the glass wall. She opens her mouth and emits a sound similar to a dolphin. Her eyes are black.

My Mistress calls me from across the room and then slips through a door. I run to catch up, but when I pass through the door I run into Schultz. She has a gun and she is starting to point it at me.

I am Heartless. I am a trained killer. Schultz is no match for my reflexes. She is far too muscled, big-boned, to be a match for my speed. The gun gets knocked out of her hand and crashes across the room. My hands are wrapped around her neck before she realizes that she is in trouble.

I push my thumbs deeply into the base of her neck and pull out to the sides like I'm shucking the husks off an ear of corn. I feel her sinews and muscles snapping and her bones cracking in my hands. Her head pops off and rolls across the floor. I throw her body to the side and grab her head by the hair raising it up to sneer one last time into her dying eyes.

Oh, shit! It's not Schultz! It's my Mistress! What have I done?

"I'll never trust you again," her head says to me.

Okay... I'm dreaming...

I need to wake up. My heart is pounding. I'm lying on my back. I'm staring at the ceiling of my cell. I can't move. I feel a weight press down on me and I'm starting to have trouble breathing.

Move, Heartless! It's the hag. She's lying on top of my chest. She's suffocating me. No. Sleep paralysis. Concentrate on moving a finger, an arm.

I struggle to move with no results.

Where am I? What did I do yesterday? I'm in prison. I'm in my shell...

Fuck! It's that same dream again!

---

I'm not exactly sure how long my imposter has been locked in the dungeon in my Mistress' mansion. Maybe it has been two or three weeks? Her hair is growing back. It's my color. She has my callick. There is nothing to identify her as someone other than me.

They did not leave her wrapped in chains for too long. In fact, when she awoke after that first night, she had been released from the chains' cold grasp. However, when she awoke, there was a steel collar wrapped tightly around her neck. A chain hung from an o-ring on the front of the collar securing her to the ceiling high above. The chain prevented her from even reaching the door out of the small room. On the other hand, she had access to a sink and toilet.

Nothing ever happens in the cell. She is fed food that looks pretty good. I experience the things she sees, hears, and feels, but I cannot smell or taste. I can only imagine whatever pleasure she receives from eating as the food passes across the surface of her tongue or as her lips press and linger in the concavity of a spoon.

The food they give her must make her fall asleep. They always enter her cell when she is unconscious. I have heard someone moving around, clearing plates, restocking soap and wash cloths. My imposter sleeps with her eyes closed though. I never see the people who visit.

Even in my shell, I still have to sleep. More often than not, I wake up in terror until I can remind myself that I am in a government prison, stored in a shell that is monitoring my health, keeping me alive.

I thought that being locked in the government cell for two years was bad. This is by far worse. I have no say in how I will pass the long hours. My impostor seems to have the same coping mechanisms that I have, but that is no help. She stares at the ceiling for long periods of time. I believe that she is counting the black marks in the tile. She even said a number once that was about seven less than what I had counted. I screamed at her for a long time in my head. The fucking cunt can't even count. On the other hand, three days later, I got the same number that she had gotten.

I'm losing my edge. I'm only an observer.

My impostor masturbates like it's going out of style. At first I was excited when she started to slide her fingers across herself. This fucking shell, though! I don't think that I feel the things that my impostor feels with the same intensity. She always gets off before I have a chance to make it to an orgasm. And as her body twitches and relaxes in euphoria, I am screaming at her, lying teased but thoroughly unfulfilled.

I still hate her.

---

My impostor is washing her face when the locks on the door start to ring with the sound of tumblers aligning and keys sliding. The door opens and two figures enter. They are obviously female, taller than me. They are wearing tight fitting black spandex and heelless shoes, very sensible. Their heads are covered by well fitted hoods that are tight around the eyes and forehead, but drape around the neck and mouth. They look a bit like executioners. My reflexes spark. I make a plan to kill them quickly if I must. I prepare to jump if I have a chance. My impostor stands impassively.

Two more dressed the same follow sharing the burden of a heavy canvas bag, which they set down with an ominous thud on the floor after they enter the room. A fifth then enters bearing a long sword with a mirrored finish that flashes the overhead light into my eyes.

The five stare at my impostor, and we at them for a long moment. The two who had brought the bag each pull out long, black bullwhips and let their lengths uncoil across the floor. My impostor glances down at the knotted ends, but otherwise, does not move.

"Is it Halloween?" she asks. "I thought it was the spring time, but I've been so well stored, I suppose anything is possible."

The first two who arrived move up to my impostor. One places a gloved hand on her cheek while the second kneels at my impostor's side and places her hands gently on her hip bones. The hand I feel on my impostor's cheek slides down until it is cupping her chin and the thumb slowly passes across her lips. Down below the guard has slid one hand to cup my impostor's naked sex. The other hand slides around and down between my impostor's buttocks, a lone finger begins to press invasively.

"We request," the upper guard speaks firmly into my impostor's ear, "that you keep your fucking mouth shut in our presence."

I notice the two bullwhips flick a little about the floor. The message is fairly clear. I'm cursing them in my head, but, luckily, my impostor displays a greater degree of restraint than me.

The upper guard unlocks my neck chain while the second guard slowly slides her hand down the inside of my thigh until it rests on the back of my knee.

"Kneel," the talkative guard commands as she loops a finger through the o-ring on the collar. Before my impostor begins to move, both guards work quickly and forcefully to ensure that her command is followed. The sensation of my knees slapping painfully against the cold floor and my impostor's grunt make my blood pressure begin to rise.

A chain is pulled from the bag and locked to my impostor's collar's o-ring. One of the guards yanks on the chain and a large metal ball slides out of the bag. It sounds heavy as it slowly rolls toward my imposter.

"Come with us," the spokeswoman commands and the first two guards walk back out the door, leaving the remaining three who watch me closely.

My impostor attempts to stand, but the chain connecting her neck to the ball is shorter than the length of my body, and it snaps tautly when her back is still bent. She looks briefly at the sword and the pair of bullwhips dancing across the surface of the floor. Then she bends and picks the ball up. I can feel its weight in my hands. I can feel my arms shaking and my legs muscles growing tight. The ball is very heavy.

My impostor shuffles out of the cell and follows the first two guards down the corridor. The remaining three fall in closely behind.

We travel down a series of corridors and down some stairs. I can feel my arms start to shake violently. I'm not sure that my impostor will be able to carry the ball much longer. I pray that she doesn't drop it on our foot. I wonder what would happen to me inside my shell if she were to crush the bones in her toes.

She does pretty well. We are not weaklings. We have done exercises throughout the term of our imprisonment. We are walking along a dimly lit corridor in which the jingle of chains echo as we make our way. I realize that we are walking next to a large cage of some sort. I see movement inside the cage in the corner of my eye. My impostor startles a bit and drops the ball pulling her by her neck to her knees. Luckily, our toes remain intact.

The guards stop and wait patiently and silently. My impostor glances at the guards briefly and then looks to see the source of movement within the cage. A strange looking woman has moved up to the bars. The sides of her head are bald, but the hair down the middle is long and black. At first I think that she is wearing a shirt with wide dangling sleeves, but her breasts are uncovered.

My impostor falls back away from the cage a bit. I realize that she has suddenly also determined that the sleeves are not made of fabric, but rather are loose skin. This animal raises her arms and the skin stretches out like bat wings. A single sharp claw terminates each wing and they clack as they wrap around the bars. The woman sticks her head between the bars and opens a mouth filled with glistening pointed teeth. A forked tongue slips out of the woman's mouth followed by a guttural hissing sound.

My impostor glances again at the guards, and then gathers the ball back into her arms and slowly staggers back to her feet. The monster follows along inside the cage as we make our way down the corridor, scraping her claws along the bars as she moves.

Finally we make it to a room lit only by four large candles. There is a massive bed against one wall. A guard unlocks the ball and chain from the front of my impostor's collar, but then quickly reattaches it behind. They work together to throw the ball onto the bed and then push my impostor up as well. She is too tired to resist in any way. My arms and legs even feel wobbly even though I know that they have lifted nothing, trapped as they are in their confining tubes.

The guards pull my imposter across the bed until her head is centered near the headboard. The ball is arranged underneath the bed somehow, so that she is unable to raise herself up at all. Her arms are pulled towards the corners near the headboard and wrapped in forearm length, padded cuffs. Long cuffs are also wrapped around her ankles and lower calves. I see a guard lift a remote from a fireplace mantel across the room. She presses a button and the four restraints pull on my impostors limbs until she is spread evenly into a strict 'X'. I can feel the tightness in her chest as she struggles to breathe.

The five guards leave the room.

After I have been lying here for a half hour or more, my Mistress enters. My heart begins to beat with expectation as I see her and I can feel arousal radiate in a series of sparkles from my crotch. I feel my face smiling.

"My Mistress," my impostor whispers.

Mistress lets the silk robe she is wearing fall off her shoulders, revealing her firm breasts, the taut musculature of her abdomen, her well-trimmed crotch. She is now wearing only long silk gloves and silk stockings. She presses a button on the remote and my impostors legs begin to loosen until they are no longer burdened and then a little more.

Without saying a word, my Mistress crawls onto the bed on her knees and slides her arms under my thighs, I mean my impostor's thighs, lifting them from the bed and rolling my sex upwards as she lowers her mouth and begins to press her tongue along the length of my labia.

My impostor's eyes roll up towards the ceiling and I hear a moan slip from within her. Oh my god and her seven dwarves! The sensation is heavenly, divine. Even in my shell miles away, I can feel the shadow of my encasement pressing down against my heaving chest and the tightness of the tubes jammed in my throat as I struggle to get my breath.

Mistress continues to manipulate us. I can feel my impostor begin to jerk and twitch uncontrollably.

But Mistress stops before either I or my impostor go over the edge. She steps back off the bed and retightens the restraints pulling on my impostor's legs. Then she climbs up once again, letting a silky hand slide up my abdomen, briefly cupping a breast, teasing forth a nipple, and then arriving at my face just as her lips press against mine. Her lips open and our tongues twist together for a moment before she rises and allows me a breath.

"We never realize how well linked tastes and smells are to our memories," she says. "I have missed you so."

I feel a pang of sadness, for taste and smell are senses that I am denied. I am not with my Mistress. I am locked in a shell in a government prison, being tortured as she plays with my impostor possibly at the risk of her own doom. I'm starting to cry. They are tears of frustration, I think.

"I have dreamt of this moment for over two years, Mistress," my impostor whispers. Yes. Over two years.

"Your hair is growing back," Mistress says as she slides a smooth glove over my crotch. "I think that I will keep this off, though," she says with a playful tug at the short lengths there.

"As you wish, Mistress," my impostor whispers. "But, I will need a razor."

"Ah ah ah!" Mistress says waving a finger in my face. "I'll have the guards take it off when you are asleep. Don't worry! They won't cut you in any way. If there are any nicks, the guard knows she will become a Soft Inside."

I have no idea what my Mistress is talking about but by this time neither I nor my impostor, I suppose, care. She has slid a finger between my moist lips and begins to tease us from the inside.

"The corps of guards are all terribly afraid of you still," Mistress says. "Your legacy has held up quite well over the course of your absence. Perhaps you are even a living legend amongst them now."

"Hmmm," my impostor grunts dreamily.

"Have I changed?" Mistress asks.

"Yes," my impostor breathes. "You're bigger now."

"I don't understand," Mistress says, her fingers suddenly growing still.

"I mean," my imposter grunts. "Your presence is bigger now."

"Oh," Mistress giggles as her teasing resumes. "I guess that I have to be. Success brings riches, but it also brings expectations and challengers. I have to be on my toes at all times now. It's not as easy as it was when we were younger."

My impostor looks up to see Mistress' face. A thin skein of sadness hangs upon her for a moment. I feel a pang in my heart. I can see that her success has had its toll. Mistress does not let the sadness air for too long though.

"Remember how we would lay in bed together for long afternoons, sipping wine and reading erotica to each other," Mistress says with a smile, her fingers picking up the rhythm.

My impostor gasps out a quiet "Mm-hmm."

"What was the name of our favorite author?" Mistress asks.

"Um..." my impostor pauses.

Oh! This is it! This is the type of thing that there is no way that my impostor would know. How could she know about Glass? Mistress is going to get her!

"Olivia Glass," my impostor whispers suddenly between raspy breaths.

"Of course! That's her name," Mistress smiles. "You've always had the best memory."

"And you, too. You remembered Glass," my impostor breathes. "You are just testing me, aren't you?"

Mistress' smile widens. "Oh, Heartless! I love you so much." I feel moist fingers lie gently upon my cheek as Mistress kisses and nips my lips. My chest rises and I hear a gasp of ecstasy. Easy, Cunt! I'm not quite there yet!

"I want to trust you so badly, my love," Mistress admits. "And, I do! I do trust you, but... How do I know that they have not planted something inside you that will attack me? Something that is not you. I mean... Should I trust you?"

My impostor is pulling against her restraints, gasping for air. I can feel her stomach muscles fluttering. "No," she says in a raspy voice.

"Hm. Did you get a chance to see Laurel? Er... a.k.a. Batgirl."

"Uh... uh-huh," my impostor breathes. "Laurel?"

"Yeah, Laurel." Mistress is casually pushing two fingers into my impostor's sex. "I don't know if you ever ran into her. She caused me a bit of trouble about 18 months ago." Mistress giggles a little. "She's mine now, though. The good Doctor says that Laurel can even fly with those wings."

My imposter grunts.

"Well," Mistress continues. "More like, she could glide kind of like a flying squirrel. Laurel has been too afraid to actually try yet."

Mistress pulls her fingers from within me. She peels the silk glove off her right arm, then leans across my impostor's restrained body to dip her hand in a china bowl on the bedside table.

"By the way, don't ever stick an arm in her cage," Mistress warns as she begins to rub a handful of cool lubrication over my impostor's sex. "I'm pretty sure she would rip it off with her teeth. She's got anger issues."

"Maybe she doesn't like being a bat," my impostor whispers, causing my Mistress to giggle.

"Perhaps you are right. But, we never really get to choose our circumstances, do we? Whether we are smart or have access to resources which will make us strong. We are at the whim of the goddesses."

"And, in this case," my impostor grunts as Mistress slowly shoves three slick fingers into her sex. "You are the goddess."

"Yes, my love." Mistress begins to kiss my impostor passionately. A silken foot slides along the inside of my leg. Her hand pushes and pulls on my sex. She flexes her fingers to rub inside of me. A tortured moan rasps from my impostor's lips, but it is quickly tamped down by Mistress' mouth and tongue and covered by moans of her own.

"Sing for me, my love."

A tune pops into my head. A second later, I hear my impostor begin to sing between kisses.

"She's my fave. Undressing in the sun."

Mistress giggles again.

"Return to sea. Bye. Forgetting everyone."

I can feel fluids gushing from my sex as Mistress continues her assault. My impostor screams and begins to laugh.

"Eleven high. Ride a wave. Ohhh!"

Mistress squeezes her fingers together to make her hand as narrow as possible and shoves it into me. Pain and pleasure race for dominance inside my head. I scream as her knuckles slip between my lips and then I feel my sex gripping Mistress narrow wrist so tightly I imagine I can feel her heart beat. My impostor is screaming and pulling at the cuffs stretching her taut. The bed is shaking. I can feel Mistress hand inside me, twisting slowly back and forth and I am moving towards the crest over which my impostor has already fallen.

My impostor screams in pain and ecstasy again as Mistress pulls her hand out.

I am screaming in my head, "Don't stop! Don't stop! Not yet!" But Mistress cannot hear me above the rattle of chains and my impostor's thrashing.

"My lovely surfer. My Heartless. My true love has returned," Mistress whispers as she places her warm moist hand on my impostor's abdomen and kisses her softly on her cheek.

"No..." I whimper in my head as I slowly slide back from the brink. As I sink, I become overwhelmed by how much danger my Mistress is in.

---

The guards transport my impostor to the bed with chains two or three times each week. My Mistress makes love to my impostor and even though I can feel every kiss and caress, I also become filled with jealousy that I am not there to experience our time together completely.

For I have not been a romantic fool these past two years. My wait, my sacrifice has been worthwhile. Mistress is as beautiful as I remember. At times, I even step aside from the conversation that Mistress is having with my impostor and watch the arch of her eyebrows as Mistress laughs and the smooth dips and curves of her arms and her back. Or I feel the way that her hair slides across my skin and the warmth of her breath in my ear. I drown in the music of Mistress' voice as she reads "Tipping the Velvet" by Sarah Waters.