:: She Whispered Lightly

She whispered lightly into his ear. The soft brushing of her thin pale lips sent the cackles of his neck to attention. Who he was didn't hold much importance to her, it rarely did. Her only drive was what she could get from him; the quicker the better.
"Please tell me again in full detail. I want the when's, who's, and where's. The less fabrication, the better..." She played gingerly with the remaining fingers of his left hand as a reminder of the price he paid for his previous transgressions. "I'm only thinking of you."
She hated this part of her work. She despised the way she so easily fell into the role of "Femme Fatale", the pain giver. Why couldn't they just cooperate for once the first time around? She knew it was a pointless question. Its human nature to try to preserve one's health. Little do they realize that in the one question she poses they hold that very preservation in the balance. She wondered if her small frame, the fragility of her appearance was an unfair hazard. A trap that was always sprung when she would corner her next lead. Requiring her to don the mask of the maiden of pain.
She was always impressed at how long they maintained their obfuscations, at how well trained they were at keeping his secrets. But eventually they all cracked, giving up the smallest of details which she fed back to her benefactor.
Another part of her work that she regretted. Trapped in a warped Pavlovian game of cat and mouse. Salivating for her prize whether she was successful with the retrieval or not as she rarely failed at attaining what her benefactor bid her for. All so she could get what she wanted, her prize. It was something so small and insignificant that most people take it for granted, but to her it was her life's blood. Silence is all she ever wanted. Silence from the faceless victims that had suffered at her hands much like the man that sat before her.
A mad paradox, she would jest, to be driven so deeply by the promise of silence that to achieve it she had to partake in the very act that was the source of the need of it.
The faint rasp of his voice brought her back to focus. The bloodied spittle hanging from his split lip, the glazed look in his eyes, the near fingerless maw strapped to the chair. This one is about ready she thinks.