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Slave to Love
by Mairead Devereux
It always happened by the silvery light of the slow moon. First, Catriona felt the tug in her womb. The calling, as she’d come to understand it, was the trigger. A herald of all that was to follow. She ran from her cottage and into the yard, carelessly tossing aside her shift. There she waited anxiously for her lover to arrive, her sage-green eyes focused intently on the starry sky above.
Her mountain of a man materialized on a beam of moonlight. Draped in a robe of midnight black, he loomed so closely over her she felt his scorching heat. His eyes were hidden behind a dark mask, his face obscured. She’d never been granted her dearest wish: to look upon him in the flesh. Nonetheless, she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him. Catriona dropped to her knees on the damp cool of the grass, bowing her head in supplication. With all her heart and soul she knew he was her destiny.
“I’ve missed you, pet,” he rumbled.
“I’m honoured, Master.” She swayed, woozy at the thought of what was to come.
He lowered himself to wrap her in his powerful arms and, in a flash of magic, they were transported to his dungeon, one she revisited longingly in her dreams. There, every imaginable torture and pleasure device ever created awaited her Master’s practiced hands. She shivered in expectation as he carried her to the far corner of the den. Surrounded by smoky mirrors, lit by flickering low torches, his favourite disciplinary tool was kept.
“Glory be,” she sighed.
Mercifully, he did not make her wait for her punishment. “Spread your legs.”
She quickly complied, opening wide to give him easy access. He ran his leather glove over the soft swell of her labia before – SNAP - spanking her clit. She jumped, barely holding in a squeal. Again, he slid his fingers over her pussy lips. He held the glove up to her, presenting indisputable evidence of her arousal. Oh, how well he understood what she craved. The Fucking Machine before them, a silver-plated work of art, was one of her favourites too. Nothing had ever made her feel more used, more splendidly invaded. Her body would feel its effects for weeks afterwards. A welcome, constant reminder of his inimitable power.
He took his sweet time readying her, roughly manipulating each limb into a restrictive body suit. Clinging tighter than a second skin, it felt to her like the death grip of a tortured lover. Her breathing quickened as her excitement increased. He pinched lush handfuls of her tender flesh, leaving her skin mottled with red blotches. Tears pricked her eyes as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in one bronzed mirror. She looked beautiful. Every curve of her body was highlighted, her torso squeezed as if in a corset. Her pale pink asshole and waxed pussy were on flagrant display through the designated slit. Horny and trapped, she squirmed helplessly, quite maddened with lust. She knew he was equally affected. His massive erection was obvious through the silky fabric covering his body.
She felt a gush of fluid from her willing cunt with some relief. He was a rigorous taskmaster and, Lord knew, he was big. He didn’t give her further time to think before she found herself fully enclosed in the restrictive latex. He maneuvered her into position, doggy-style, then buckled her ankles, calves, elbows and wrists with metals cuffs to the base of the machine. Her neck was immobilized, clamped into place by a silver collar, her chin cupped securely. There was no longer any hope of escape. Not that she felt the desire to do so, oh no. Nonetheless, her heart began jumping in her chest, sending longed-for adrenaline rushing through her petite frame.
“Open for me,” he instructed curtly, holding up the thick straps of the head harness. Once she was gagged, her lips stretched tightly around a hard rubber ball, he pulled the covering mask over her eyes. She was blind, in total darkness. This part always made her panic a little. Trying in vain to quiet herself, she sucked air noisily through her nostrils.
“Be calm,” he ordered.
His surety soothed her and soon she was moaning, softly but with increasing volume, as he applied cold lube to her tightly puckered asshole. He was so good to her. Once his thick, sheathed fingers had forced in copious amounts of gel, it was followed by the hefty end of an anal hook. She was totally exposed to his mercy, drooling with anticipation. He parted her pussy lips before inserting a chrome-plated steel dildo so deeply it pressed on her cervix. Her whimpers became a constant hum once he activated the magnificent mechanical beast on which she was impaled. The giant phallus thrust repeatedly, and none too gently, into her slippery wet cunt. In, out, deeper, harder, faster; he kept it pounding into her while she, helpless to resist, felt herself soaring into subspace.
Then his rough voice was at her ear, promising, “I will stretch and tenderize your holes before I fuck you. You will accept everything I give you and thank me for using your body. This will bring me pleasure.”
Joy, oh joy, he always did as he vowed. This time would prove no different.
With undisguised interest, Zerwk watched the scene in the dungeon hologram from his control pod behind the mirrored glass. “Glerbzlorg, you have singlehandedly changed the path of our research here. This form of implantation is truly revolutionary.”
“Thank you, Commander. The problem in the past has been the severe discomfort of the initial cell grafting process. These pathetic creatures are notoriously delicate. But so-called ‘pain sluts’ derive enjoyment from our testing procedures. The humans got one thing right: internet porn. It gave us the tools necessary to look for willing prey. With such eager, well-trained slaves, we’re closer to reaching our goal than ever before.”
As Catriona’s muffled cries intensified, their slitted yellow eyes returned to the scene behind the glass. Xeptril was nude, having discarded his covering robe. The robotic limbs he used in his role as decoy were piled against the corner wall and one of his monstrous tentacles was as far up her ass as he dared. He had a look of intense satisfaction on his grey-scaled face. He was one happy Qrtlerian.
Zerwk chuckled. “Good work. The Assembly is delighted and has many plans for these ‘slaves’; first for our use and pleasure, then as incubators for our spawn. Once we’ve exhausted their bodies, they’ll make an excellent food source.”
Glerbzlorg, blandly, “The humans have a saying, ‘Life yields only to the conqueror’.”
“Then may our lucky compatriot conquer away…”
© 2017 Mairead Devereux.
All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.
Author Bio: Mairead Devereux lives in Toronto, ON. with her three fur-kids. Long walks with the dogs allow for the imagining of sexy flights of fancy, as her four-legged companions are somewhat lacking in conversational skill. She is currently working on her first novels of erotic fantasy, The Archetype Trilogy.
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