The Eminent Sage and Junkie (theladyfeylene) wrote in censoredcontent,
The Eminent Sage and Junkie
theladyfeylene
censoredcontent

'To Bring a Bitch To Heel', Fullmetal Alchemist, NC-17, Non-con

This community was advertised on my Flist, and I realized I had a nice chunk of 'objectionable' fic to share! Hope you all enjoy.

Title: To Bring a Bitch To Heel
Author: theladyfeylene
Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist
Pairing: Sloth/Maria Ross
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2141
Warnings: Non-consensual sex, abuse of military authority, power-play, femslash.
Summary: There were a good many ways to deal with a snooping little bitch. Sloth preferred the fun way.





Juliet Douglas - Sloth to her more personal peers - sat behind her desk, casually flipping through a stack of files while the dark haired soldier sat across from her. It was a game of sorts, calling the woman in and making her wait. Sloth enjoyed games like these. A pity that the woman didn’t grow restless.

After what she deemed an appropriate time, Sloth set down her files and folded her hands on her desk. She was the one who held the power here, and they both knew it. Here, in this office, she called all of the shots.

“Lieutenant Ross,” Sloth said, her wide eyes showing no expression. “I’ve heard reports that you have been conducting yourself in ways not befitting an officer of the state.” She began vague, hinting at the complaints and accusations without addressing them directly. She wanted the woman to squirm.

“I understand, ma’am.”

The lieutenant only lowered her eyes in subservience, a good little soldier.

“These are some rather disturbing accusations, lieutenant,” Sloth went on. “From your file, we expected better of you.”

“I apologize for my conduct, ma’am.”

“That’s very good, but I’m afraid that once I make my report to the Fuhrer, disciplinary action must be taken.” Sloth concealed her smile as the woman flinched, the words ‘disciplinary action’ lashing across her like a whip. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

The Fuhrer was gone, leaving the office to Sloth. Of course he already knew of the vague reports about the woman and her loyalties, and they were nothing that warranted a personal hearing with the Fuhrer‘s secretary. Action would be taken, but not of the official kind. Still, Sloth enjoyed these games. And she wondered how far she could push this woman, what control she truly had over her.

"I can't address any complaints, ma'am, unless I know what they are."

"Do you think me a foolish woman?" Sloth arched an eyebrow. "What excuse do you have for your conduct?"

"I don't have an excuse. I apologize for any unbefitting behavior I may have engaged in. I will take whatever punishment is decided." The woman kept her head up and her back straight, even when admitting defeat. Sloth smiled a bit, twisting the game slightly.

“I have not yet made my report,” she went on, smoothly. “I wished to speak with you beforehand. I understand that soldiers have rivals, rumors are reported as truth, and gossip is a weighty tool in the race for promotion.”

“I understand, ma’am.” Was that a wave of relief that Sloth saw pass over the woman’s face?

“However, these reports come from trusted aides.” Sloth let the words drop like an axe, cool and emotionless and professional. It was so easy to toy with people, to pull them this way and that with words. They were weak and predictable things.

“If you could let me explain…”

“No explanation is needed.” Sloth smiled, a small little curving of her lips. What had happened to 'I have no excuse.'? “But perhaps, if you’re obedient, official disciplinary action can be avoided. Your record until now is spotless.”

“If there’s anything I can do, ma’am….”

“There is.” Sloth sat back in her chair now, relaxing as though this wasn’t a meeting between superior and subordinate. She reached for the cup of tea that sat on her desk, sipping it and allowing the woman to cling to her hope of avoiding a mark on her record. And hopefully taking the eyes of the Fuhrer off of her.

“Lock the door.”

“Ma’am?”

“Lock the door,” Sloth repeated. “You can follow orders, can’t you?”

The lieutenant nodded sharply and rose to lock the door. Good. Sloth had no desire to be interrupted during her little game. The woman moved to sit back down but Sloth stopped her.

“No. Remain standing. We’re going to see just how well you can follow orders, Lieutenant. You need to be reminded where your loyalties lie.” Sloth stood as well now, smoothing down her shirt and adjusting her jacket. “A good soldier follows whatever order she is given, without asking questions of her superiors.”

“Yes ma’am.” The dark haired woman snapped a smart salute and stood at attention. Very good. Sloth kept the desk between them, keeping herself in the position of power both verbally and physically.

“Remove your uniform.”

“Excuse me?”

“A good soldier follows whatever order she is given, without asking questions,” Sloth repeated. Her voice was still mild and without emotion, her expression still blank. She had given an order, and it would be followed. She saw the flush rise on the other woman’s cheeks, the indecision behind her eyes. Sloth only waited, saying nothing more.

Finally, the lieutenant unbuttoned her jacket and placed it on the back of her chair. Next she toed off her boots, setting them neatly beneath her jacket. The pants came last, also folded and set neatly over the back of the chair. She stood now in a black undershirt, white cotton underpants, and white socks. As soon as she was done, she snapped off another salute, looking absurd in her current state of undress.
“Very good,” Sloth said, inclining her head in a small nod. “Now remove the rest of your clothing.”

Accompanying the flush on the woman’s cheeks was a burn of embarrassment in her eyes. Good. She should be embarrassed, but she should do as she was told anyway. Sloth sipped her cooling tea as she waited, watching the indecision and indignation flicker across the lieutenant’s face. Slowly, as though in pain, the woman pulled off her undershirt, exposing her black brassier. The woman’s under things didn’t match. She paused, as though asking - hoping - that that was enough. It wasn’t, but Sloth took a moment to look at the woman, to run her eyes over her vulnerable body. She made no show to hide it, wanting Ross to be well aware.

The lieutenant was a well built woman, toned, firm, and without fat on her body. She had a young soldier’s body, shaped by hours of drills and exercise. Sloth took in the broad shoulders, the hard curves of shoulder and bicep, the gentle swell of firm and high breasts, the hard planes of tight abdomen, the flat spread of hips, the long lean legs. The lieutenant, with her small breasts and flat hips, had a strikingly boyish figure.

“And the rest,” Sloth reminded after she had finished her inspection. She kept her eyes on the lieutenant, pinning her with her currently aqua gaze. She didn’t want to have to repeat the order.

The socks went first. Sloth wasn’t surprised. The muscles in Ross’ shoulders and thighs flexed as she bent to remove them, offering Sloth a pleasant view of the woman’s upper back. The brassiere was unclipped next, Ross staring straight at the wall as she let the garment fall away from her breasts. Sloth mused that the woman didn’t particularly need the garment. Last, and removed with the most painful slowness, were the white cotton briefs.

“Very good,” Sloth said, giving her another approving nod. “Now turn.”

This order was followed immediately. Sloth wasn’t surprised. The woman didn’t want to see her, didn’t want to be reminded of what was happening. Sloth took in the lean lines of Ross’ back, and her flat, taut buttocks. A muscle was jumping in the woman’s thigh. A sign of nervousness?

“Bend.”

“Ma’am….”

“Bend,” Sloth repeated, a note of sharpness coming into her voice. Orders were to be followed without question, without hesitation. Ross bent, slowly, the muscles in her buttocks and thighs tightening as she did so. And then she was bent, her fingers touching the carpet, the dark shadow between her legs exposed. Ross was a study in angles. Her legs made a lank line up to the tense arch of her buttocks. The line continued on beyond view, to the narrow dip of the small of her back.

“Stand.” Only the orders were spoken. They were beyond the need for reminders. Ross stood, muscles sliding smoothly beneath her pale skin. She remained with her back to Sloth, her shoulders set firmly. Her fists were clenched tightly.

“About face, soldier.” Sloth’s words brought immediate reaction, Ross turning on her heel and jerking her hand up in a salute. Even now, stripped and humiliated, her face was stern and professional. But her eyes told Sloth all that she needed to know.

“Sit.” Sloth was still standing. Ross returned to her chair, sitting cautiously. Her eyes focused on the wall behind Sloth’s head. Keeping with her game, Sloth said nothing for a few moments and only looked at the woman. The reddened cheeks and angry eyes were of particular interest, more appealing than Ross’ bare body.

“Spread your legs.” The point of this game was humiliation. Ross was vulnerable, powerless, at Sloth’s mercy. Everything emphasized that. Ross’ undress, her low rank, her inability to do anything without being told. Sloth’s position behind the desk, her fully clothed state of dress, the tone of her voice as she issued her orders. It was a power game in which Sloth was the mistress. It felt good to be the one in charge.

Ross looked away finally as she was told to expose herself fully. Her head turned to the side, her narrow eyes shut in shame. She opened her legs on the chair, the hard lengths of her thighs drawing apart to expose the pink flesh at the junction of her thighs.

Only then did Sloth move from beyond the desk. She stood over Ross, looking down at the woman.

“Look at me,” she commanded. Ross didn’t move, her eyes squeezed shut. Sloth grabbed her chin and forced her head forward.

“Look at me.” Ross’ eyes finally opened, burning and angry and colored with shame. Sloth squeezed the woman’s chin, tipping her head up and bending to kiss her. Ross’ lips stayed closed under the assault, a narrow line that Sloth was unable to pry open. But it didn’t matter. She could order the woman to open her mouth, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Ross couldn’t turn away, couldn’t push Sloth away.

Time was running out. Sloth could only keep the door locked for so long. She had duties to attend to and meetings to conduct. Still forcing her lips against Ross’, she reached down, running her free hand over the woman’s body. She toyed with the lieutenant’s nipples, manipulating them to hardness with her slim fingers. Ross was stiff beneath her, her flat stomach tight as Sloth’s hand moved over it, moving further down to the lieutenant’s spread legs.

Ross gasped as Sloth touched her there, her lips opening to allow the sound to slip out. Sloth’s tongue slid into Ross’ mouth as one slim finger slid into the lieutenant’s body further below. Ross strained away, her body pressed against the back of the chair. Sloth plunged her finger deeper inside of the woman, her thumb stroking along the slick skin of Ross’ slit. She pulled her lips away, her eyes narrowed slightly as she watched the woman squirm in the chair. She worked her fingers with half-remembered precision, stroking and caressing and applying pressure to force pleasure onto Ross’ body. The lieutenant’s body twisted and writhed in the chair, her tight body bathed in a fine sheen of sweat. Her short dark hair was slick now, one lone strand clinging to her high forehead.

“Do not fight me,” Sloth said, twisting her finger inside of the other woman. Ross’ body trembled, her straining and angling backwards relaxing somewhat. She was twitching in something other than reluctance now, as Sloth’s fingers worked her over without mercy. And then she was arching, strangled noises escaping her throat against her will. Sloth felt her tighten, felt her hips twist and jerk as she climaxed.

Ross fell back into the chair, compact breasts heaving and eyes closed. Sloth straightened and reached for a handkerchief to clean her hand.

“You may get dressed,” she said, her voice as calm as though nothing had happened. She resumed her position behind her desk and turned her attention to paperwork as the lieutenant pulled on her uniform.

“And my record?” Ross’ voice was strained and tight, and Sloth flicked her eyes up to look at the dark haired woman.

“Will remain clean. Unless of course you do something foolish such as attempt to discredit the Fuhrer’s secretary.” Though her words were light, they carried a heavy threat. Ross was disposable. ‘Juliet’ wasn’t.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very good.” Sloth picked up her pen and looked back down at her paperwork. The little session had gone well, in her opinion. She doubted that the woman would forget who pulled the strings in the military anytime soon. And it had felt good to remind her. Sloth smiled softly as her pen scratched across the paper, the thrill of power warm and fresh within her. The woman was still standing, hands folded behind her back and shoulders rigid. Sloth looked up once more, pleased. Ross was waiting for further orders.

“You‘re dismissed,” she said, waving her hand in a distracted manner, as though she’d already put the incident out of her mind. But as Lieutenant Ross left, her gait flagging almost imperceptibly, Sloth hoped that she would have a chance to discipline the woman again.
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