INTRODUCTION

 

We forget how often impossible becomes inevitable and vice versa.

 

The Islamic Caliphate seemed unstoppable, their movement was a super-storm, a mega-hurricane destroying everything in its path especially in the Pacific, the back-door to the Western Hemisphere. This all changed at the battle of Rapa Nui (Easter Island) with the defeat of their fleet. Very few people know that the battle was really won by a ninety-five pound Vietnamese engineering student named Trung Tan, who hacked into the Caliphate's systems to send the following email:

 

Dear Mr. Falconer,

 

My name is Trung Tan. I am the mother of Chào Dón Khách, the software program known to you as Black Mamba.

 

One month ago, agents of the Islamic Caliphate abducted me and my sister from our home and transported us to the Indonesian city of Bogor in the Province of West Java, where we are now being held.

 

This abduction was ordered by General Sunaryati Harahap, the security officer in charge of our confinement. Harahap is responsible for creating a software delivery system for the Black Mamba. I trust you understand the chaos that will result if he succeeds.

 

My proposal is simple. Save my life and that of my sister, Lei, and I will supply you with the anti-venom.

 

Sincerely,

 

Trung Tan,

Student of Software Engineering, Ho Chi Minh City College of Technology

 

Within hours, Gilbert Falconer, the Chairmen of Worldwide Information Partners, had contacted senior leaders of the SANE Coalition and convinced them that the Black Mamba represented the greatest threat to Western civilization since The Plague of 1350.

 

Chapter 1 - Special Agent Cate Fletcher

 

Cate watched as Phillip cut his steak and slowly placed the piece on his tongue. She began to salivate; she could taste the char, the blood in her mouth. He kept his eyes fixed on hers as he chewed with that manly kind of jaw-grinding motion. Women cut when they ate, she thought, men crushed.

The last three days had been...interesting. He had managed to push every one of her buttons, to overload her senses in ways she didn't think possible. She wasn't complaining; that's what she had asked for and that's what he had delivered. Phillip was clearly the best of the lot, so far.

She knew that she was being passed around within some kind of informal male cabal. She had been invited on several long weekends over the last year, all with high-ranking men from various security and law enforcement agencies. At first she had been concerned for her career--a young, 22-year-old FBI agent shouldn't have the reputation of being...loose--but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The FB I needed all kinds of people to succeed at its mission; being recognized as someone other than an uptight, buttoned-down clone from another generation might be just what she needed.

Anyway...she wasn't going to give up "her thing" for the FBI or anyone. This was who she was. If the FBI didn't want her in their ranks knowing who she was than...well, if they couldn't see her value than she didn't want to be part of the organization. It was as simple as that.

She twisted in her bondage feeling the ropes press into her skin. Phillip was no amateur with ropes, his ties were hard and inescapable. They were also painful. Her body was screaming for relief, but she had never felt alive, more vital. She was literally tingling with electric anticipation.

He smiled knowingly. She must have quite a reputation by now in his circles, she thought. "A beauty with an unstoppable addiction to pain," was the way she had overheard one man describe her. He thought she was unconscious as he gabbed on his cell phone...very unprofessional. He was right though.

For the last four years, she had been experimenting--cultivating experiences, comparing styles, techniques, tricks. While others of her age were hunting for a mate, she was evaluating Masters, building an image in her mind of the ultimate encounter between Master and...slave.

Slave...was that what she was? The truth was, she didn't feel submissive. It was the bondage that made her submit, it was the discipline and the pain that ultimately dominated. She felt strong, incredibly capable and powerful, a leader, which made the submission even more...delicious. Maybe it's a difference without a distinction? She wondered as the pain washed over her again.

Phillip was a senior Interpol operative, a Frenchman with amazing instincts. He had purposely left his rawhide flogger over the back of a chair where she could see it, for example. It was one of those delicate touches that made the difference between a dilettante and a devotee.

She had been staring at the whip's strands for almost an hour, wondering. She knew for certain that she would soon feel the terrible sting of those strands on her taut body. The knowledge of it, the inescapability of it made watching him eat an exercise in terror. He was drawing it out, terrorizing her. She studied her feelings, her emotions, turning the fear over and over.

Her body was already aching. He had put her in a leather arm sleeve with wide shoulder straps. The device pulled her bare shoulders back, pushing out her breasts, her nipples as if she was presenting them for his inspection. He had forced her to her knees. Slowly, with infinite sadistic pleasure, he had pulled the arm sleeve down so that her hands were on her bound ankles then tied it off. She was bent backwards in an agonizing arch that exposed her entire naked front. It was excruciating, the pain in her back had taken on a life of its own that seemed to be gnawing away at her spine.

But he wasn't finished. He pushed a rubber ball into her mouth that spread her jaw then held it in place with a head harness that went behind her neck and under her chin. The part of the harness that went over her nose and forehead he belted, but not tightly, leaving room to pass a rope inside. She knew that this looseness wasn't from neglect, he had something an even more hurtful in mind.

She was right. She watched helplessly as he tied a soft-leather strap around her waist, running it through her ass crack then between her legs and labia then to an overhead beam and finishing at the face strap. He stepped back then loosed the strap, pulling it man-hard before retying it to her head harness.

Every move she made could now be felt as pain in her arms, her ass, her cunt. She wondered what this extraordinary bondage would be like when he began to use the flogger. She would feel the pain in a dozen places at the same time. The thought was horrifying...exciting. This was what it took for someone to dominate her.

He stepped back to examine his handiwork. She was desperately trying to spread her knees, to somehow alleviate the terrible pressure of the strap on her middle. She could see his sharp eyes flying to the tiny movement. He disapproved! Immediately, he wrapped a leather belt around her upper thighs then stood back again. Everything was still, her suffering was ongoing with no relief possible, NOW he could eat.

With a genuinely warm smile, he had turned onto the balcony and cooked his meat, glancing inside every once in a while to assess the state of her growing agony.

A perfectionist...!

She knew this drill well. An experienced Master didn't tie a girl then hurry to whip her, especially someone like her. She needed to be marinated in his pain. A true devil waited until the sound of her moaning was at just the right pitch and frequency, waited until the desperation in her eyes was at just the right degree of intensity, until her muscles were vibrating, screaming with an urgency that pleaded for release...only then did such a man apply the whip.

"I wish you could taste this meat, Cate. I bought it at Murphy's in Manhattan just for this weekend. It's been aged a year. The aging keeps it firm but also makes it incredibly tender, sensitive to the touch...a little like you."

He took a long sip of his Merlot, a Chateau Petrus worth a thousand dollars a bottle, then tasted a mushroom, also imported from France. Phillip worked for Interpol, but not for the money. His eyes closed for a moment as he savored the incredible mix of flavors. She moaned softly, unable to reconcile her pain and his pleasure, unable to come to grips with the surreal image of such great pleasure and such great suffering coexisting in this small space in this instant of time.

She had never thought of herself as a masochist. That label was far too simplistic. She hated pain, feared it with the intensity that only one who has known real pain can have. She despised the idea of being dominated, rejected it as a philosophy. She enjoyed having power, being in charge, telling other people what to do, commanding the action. It was this aggressive personality that had made her an agent, driven her to the top of her class. She didn't feel inferior or submissive to anyone.

Yet here she was...bent over backwards in excruciating pain, waiting terrified for the touch of a man's cruel whip on her skin. She couldn't explain it. All she knew was that when the men called, she answered. It was as if something deep inside, something primitive was compelling her into these situations. She didn't know the answer; she only knew what she felt.

It was obvious that the men conspired with each other, that she was being "passed around." Her first "Master" had been one of her instructors at the Academy. It had grown from there. Surprisingly, no one ever called back; it was as if they were politely taking turns.

Fuck them; it didn't matter to her, she was just along for the ride, grateful for the attention.

But Phillip...now he was something special.

Their eyes met. He could see the profound pain in hers; she could see the exquisite pleasure in his, and they both knew what the other was thinking. It was one of those moments of incredible insight--a kind of mind-meld.

"You know that I'm going to whip you tonight," he said softly, "that I'm going to force you to have the most intense and incredible orgasm of your young life, maybe several. The pain will be unbearable. You will fade in and out." He took a sip of his wine. "Trust me though, Cate. I'm very patient. I'll wait until you are fully conscious, fully aware before continuing. I know it will be a challenge, but I intend to make this the most memorably painful and pleasurable evening of your young life."

She didn't doubt it for a moment. Their long weekend together had been intense--full of humiliation, tight bondage, exquisite pain, indescribable sex-- but she had always known that he was saving his best for last. He was that kind of man, a planner, patient always thinking about the finale, the crescendo, the end game.

"Perhaps...," he began cautiously, "perhaps, chéri, you would prefer something less intense tonight...? I've been told that I sometimes push women beyond their limits, beyond their endurance."

He lifted another piece of mushroomed meat to his mouth then washed it down with a gulp of wine.

"Blink your eyes now and you will save yourself the pain. I will cook you a steak, serve you a little wine, and we will retire to my bed for a little goodbye-sex. What do you say? Just blink your eyes and your pain will end. We can return to being two civilized people sharing a sophisticated evening in the woods."

He was truly a devil!

She wanted to blink, tried with all her might, but her eyelids wouldn't move. She tried again, but again they stayed firmly in place, staring at him with the unmoving intensity of a caged beast. Why can't I blink? She wondered. I want to...I want to be free of this pain, to avoid the pain to come. Any sane person would want to be free. Why...WHY can't I blink?

She didn't know the answer. She only knew it was the same reason that had kept her answering bootie-calls of the last year. There was something inside her; something powerful; something that controlled her in moments like this; something that just wasn't going to be denied this evening. She shook her head in frustration.

He smiled knowingly and wiped his mouth on the napkin then stood up and slowly retrieved the whip from the chair back. He moved the chair so that he was sitting directly in front of her amazing body, her wide eyes drilled into his.

Wh-tsh. Aaargh!

The whip struck her chest with modest force. Still, it felt as if an animal had raked its claws across her breasts, her nipples. She moaned in pain and terror then stared defiantly back at him, daring him to do it again. He struck again and again and again then moved down to her legs, her thighs, her calves, her protruding cunt. It felt as if her front was on fire, as if he was ripping off her skin with each stroke. And she knew that this was only the beginning. Phillip was cruel, merciless.

She shook her head to clear the pain then glared at him. She was beside herself with pain and murderous anger. He looked at her and tightened his lips. This was a question of wills now.

"Blink and your pain will end," he hissed.

She stared back with murderous intent but no surrender. He redoubled his efforts, whipping her with the force only found in a strong man's arm. She was nearly unconscious when she felt the endorphins beginning to dull the pain. At that exact moment, his hand went to her cunt, another to her nipple. He stared into her eyes as he massaged both. She couldn't resist. She surrendered and in surrendering, she came with a primal force--muscles tensed and hard as steel, her eyes rolling back into her head, her teeth bared.

For a few moments, they were both stunned by the orgasm then he returned to his meal, watching her shudder with aftershocks for another ten minutes.

People were right...he did push others too far. She was also right, he did have good timing and great instincts. She would appreciate both of those tonight. As he had said, this was going to be a night to remember...for both of them.