[A4M] No, Mister Bond, I Expect You To Cum

The performer is a villain who has captured James Bond and is now monologuing, in total power. I'd recommend a soft tone or whisper to highlight the intimacy and the absolute power over the listener. The villain is typically smug, intellectual and with a sense of superiority, but presents a courteous manner to Bond, as though they are colleagues of a sort. They believe they understand James Bond completely and have discovered his weakness, and are at the threshold of their ultimate triumph. It's up to you whether this is truly sexual for them, or if they only receive psychological gratification. Feel free to expand upon the sex acts if you'd like to make this more sexual and less psychological. You could also easily add in physical tortures if you so desire, though this has been written of the view that they are unnecessary.

[A4M] No, Mister Bond, I Expect You To Cum (or alternatively, Our Little Game)
[RAPE][hatefucking][dominance][D/s][psychological torture][mindgames][mindfuck][megalomaniac][villain][bondage][scar play][scars][nipple play][handjob] possible [orientation play][mdom] or [fdom][cmnm] or [cfnm]
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(sarcastic gloating, an air of superiority)
Are you *comfortable* Mr. Bond? Your restraints nice and *tight*? I think you will find escape is quite impossible, despite your proficiency for it. You perhaps wondered why I dispensed with the usual steel table, the laser pointed threateningly at your crotch. Why instead you find yourself stripped, helpless, held up by ropes, laid bare before me. I have created the ultimate trap from which you can never escape. Hmph. So arrogant, so sure of himself. We shall see.

(conversational)
I have read your files, Mr. Bond. All of them, even the classified ones. You have an impressive record, so many successful missions. You always *get* your *man*, it would seem. Except when it comes to me, Mr. Bond. I seem to be the lone exception. So many times we have sparred with each other, and yet you have never managed to kill me. I wondered to myself why this is, Mr. Bond. You have a license to kill, clearly there is no moral obstacle. You are an impressive shot, having outperformed world-class assassins. Numerous times you have had the opportunity to dispatch me and yet still I live. Oh, you've stopped me many times, but never killed me. So why am I the sole blemish on an otherwise spotless record?

(explaining a reached epiphany, more superiority)
Then it occurred to me, Mr. Bond. You do not *want* to kill me. You enjoy this, our little game. Capture, escape, defeat and repeat. *This* is my trap, Mr. Bond. You are a rat who does not wish to leave his maze. All of the others with their ridiculous machines, torture devices, elaborate plans. They did not understand you. But I do, Mr. Bond. In order to destroy you, I must do so from the *inside*. I must get inside you, your head. I know what *drives* you now, Mr. Bond. *I* am your *weakness*.

(observational, complementary)
You have an impressive physique, Mr. Bond. So many scars, the signs of past battle I presume? This one on your shoulder is particularly large. Was this one mine, I wonder? A little keepsake, perhaps? A gift from me?

(building in intensity and cold rage)
But then we have left our marks on each other in more ways than one, Mr. Bond. Every humiliating defeat, snatching victory from my grasp, thwarting my plans. I remember them all, Mr. Bond.

(pensive)
Do you think of me when you see this scar, I wonder? When you bed a woman, does she kiss it? And perhaps a thought of me emerges. Do you find that distracting, Mr. Bond? Or perhaps it excites you, thinking of me. Of our game. What would happen if *I* kiss it, I wonder? *kiss*

Does that repulse you, Mr. Bond? Your arch-enemy kissing the scar he left you? Or does it perhaps excite you?

(nonchalant, sympathetic and understanding)
Protest if you wish, I understand. Egos are fragile things, ours in particular, Mr. Bond. The lies we must tell ourselves to prevent everything from crumbling down around us. Even now, I suspect you are planning, telling yourself what you will do when you are able to seize the opportunity to escape. Hm? Identifying weapons to use against me, methods of escape. But what would you *really* do if your freedom were granted? Do you truly wish to be untied?

I think this is a question we both wish to be answered. Or is it perhaps the suspense, the tension, that we truly enjoy? I see you shudder at my breath on your ear. But why is it you shudder? What is it that you feel, Mister Bond? What is it that you are telling yourself under your breath, with such intense concentration? If you truly do not want this, you would not need to fight it. I have seen you tortured a great many times. Pain inflicted upon you. You understand what it is, to endure, to withstand. This is different, is it not? I see such conflict in you.

(slightly playful)
Perhaps I can tip the scales. A little...physical incentive, hm? It has not escaped my notice that your nipples have hardened. Mm. Yes, so sensitive. You shiver. Is it the cold, perhaps? I think not, Mr. Bond. I can see that something else has begun to harden also. How does *this* feel, I wonder? Ahh, you swell in my hand. The gasp of breath as I break this barrier, this unspoken taboo. Do you like it as much as I do, Mr. Bond? The wrongness of this. But so right, is it not? You've stopped resisting. Could it be that the great James Bond is defeated? Or are you merely biding your time? Have you spotted some...*opening*? Some opportunity for..*release*?

(rapturous in victory)
I can feel you *surging* in my hand with every word. You *hate* me, Mr. Bond. But this excites you. You are at my mercy and you know it. But more than that, you do not wish it to stop. You fear the unasked question and yet you crave its answer. Like a deer in the headlights, you cannot look away. You were unclothed before, Mr. Bond, but it is only now that you are naked. I see you. At last, exposed. All pretense stripped away. *This* is what you want, Mr. Bond. I could untie you right now and yet in my possession you would remain.

(aroused, complementary)
I'm impressed, I must confess. I have heard rumours of your prowess, your..endowment. You do not disappoint. Though I wonder, are you *always* this hard, Mr. Bond? The litany of women you bed, do they see you this way? Or is this state of sheer arousal reserved only for me? You strain against my grip, and yet when I soften it, you begin thrusting at me, mindlessly. You buck your hips wildly, but are you fighting my hand, or trying to fuck it? Do you even know? Stop fighting your thoughts, Mr. Bond. Let them go. All these years you have been a prisoner. Let me give you your *release*.

This scar on your neck, Mr. Bond. I recognise this one in particular. How does it feel? *kiss, suck*
Your cock, pulsing in my hand while I kiss at the scars I have inflicted. So many of them. Your skin is more mine than yours, at this point. The same could be said for your mind, I think. Is there any resistance left in there? Any thought of loyalty? Of Queen and country? Or have I taken over everything? Is all you want pleasure now? Release? Then you will have it.

(dominant, intense)
Come for me, Mister Bond. Give in. You need this as much as I do, Mister Bond. The time for fighting is over. Come. For. Me. Mister. Bond. Now! Yesss.

(coming down from a psychological climax)
At last. Doesn't that feel good, Mr. Bond? So much better. We are so much more than enemies now. Finally we have tossed aside those ill-fitting costumes. Now we know who we truly are.

I am a (wo)man of my word, Mr. Bond. I shall cut these ropes. You are free to go. Kill me, if you wish, Mr. Bond. But I do not think you will.

(smug, having their hunch confirmed)
Hmph. We will meet again soon, Mr. Bond. Of that, I am certain...