Capture of an Immortal

Disclaimer: This story contains sex, violence, bondage, rape, and immortality. It follows the themes in 'Highlander' where immortals live among mortals. These immortals cannot die nor have children. When one immortal takes the head of another, they undergo a "quickening" which brings them one step closer to the final gift. The story includes the character Dominoe created by Trent Wolf.

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The 8th floor rooftop basked in the glow from a half moon and flickering neon signs. Natasha Irinov watched from a vantagepoint in the shadows, silently stretching a limber body clad in her usual "combat" gear - usual, that is, for the last 50 years. A thin black bodysuit hugged every curve; the millimeter of spandex simply emphasized the perfect anatomy. She had no qualms about using her incredible beauty as yet another weapon. Early in life, she'd found that male opponents were easily distracted by her body, so she dressed appropriately, choosing the most revealing yet unencumbering clothes of the time.

Natasha was a tall woman, a conspicuous trait a few centuries ago, less so in modern times. Her body was an amalgamation of understated strength and breathtaking sexuality. Strong sinewy legs flowed into prominent shapely buttocks. A washboard stomach, like all immortals unblemished by childbearing, made her large firm breasts even more pronounced. And of course, there were those arresting black eyes surrounded by luxurious raven hair, bound together in a ponytail. Her full lips and small delicate nose conveyed both debauchery and purity at once.

During swordplay, her breasts swayed, constrained only by the spandex, mesmerizing male and female opponents alike. Natasha simply exuded sex. And it had allowed her to stay alive through a dozen trials, when other immortals, mostly evil men, came to seek her head.

Today, Natasha would finish a contest started over 150 years ago with the destruction of Andre Mansarrat, the embodiment of evil on earth.

It was in France that she first encountered Andre. An aristocrat and notorious playboy, the "Bear of Sauvignon" did what he wanted, took what he desired. Despite stories of the abduction and sexual torture of beautiful young women, local authorities failed to act.

Natasha didn't care whether their inaction was due to laziness or bribery. She was never one to retreat from evil and finally met Andre at a ball. To her astonishment, she sensed Andre was an immortal and quickly challenged him to a duel.

Poor Andre never knew how pathetic his skills were next to Natasha's centuries of dueling experience. After just two minutes of swordplay, she nearly severed his head with a swipe from her rapier. Stumbling back, Andre dropped his foil, put one hand on his neck, and withdrew a small pouch with the other hand. Before Natasha could finish the job, a thick cloud of smoke erupted between them. When the smoke cleared, Andre had vanished.

Natasha searched his estate and known haunts, but he had escaped and apparently fled France entirely. She still remembered her shock on discovering the private torture chamber in Andre's chateau. Four women were in the stone room, naked, chained, and violated by grotesque devices. Others had been sent to new owners after being broken by the evil aristocrat.

Natasha remembered all of it. And she would enjoy taking his head. On cue, the door to the rooftop opened and a tall burly man in a trench coat crept into view. He was big, heavier than she remembered from her time in France.

"Do you plan on running away again, coward?" She shouted while stepping from the shadows of the chimney.

Andre Mansarrat turned and slowly backed away from the door towards the opposite side of the roof. She saw a wool scarf barely covering a long scar across his neck. A twisted smile formed across his hideous face.

"I've waited a long time to pay you back for this." He pointed to the scar while withdrawing an intimidating saber.

She moved towards him, the steady rapier pointing at his heart. "I hope then that you've practiced."

Andre kept moving backwards while Natasha advanced, scrutinizing his every move for an opening. Soon he was at the edge of the roof.

"Nice outfit, Natasha. I'm going to enjoy peeling it from your body before I take you." He brought his saber forward with both hands.

Natasha froze, puzzled by his comment. Andre knew this duel would end in destruction for one of them. She then heard the sound behind and realized what the bastard meant.

Before she could turn, Natasha felt all her muscles seize. She screamed and fell, writhing on the cement rooftop. Through the pain, she could barely see another man with an object in his hand. It was a taser. Gritting her teeth, she moved a hand down and found the electrodes embedded in her thigh. With superhuman resolve, she ripped the leads away, throwing them towards the attacker that had come from the rooftop door. It required a Herculian effort to simply breathe as the paralysis faded.

"Pretty good, bitch," murmured Andre.

Natasha turned to see Andre above just as the hilt of his saber smashed into the side of her head. An explosion of light joined the pain from a boot against her ribs. Then there was only darkness.

Andre looked down at the unconscious immortal and became aware of a growing erection. Natasha lay sprawled on the rooftop, an impressive bust stretching the black bodysuit. A nasty gash, already healing, marred the side of her lovelyface.

A century of planning was paying off. At their first duel, he'd been immature, unaccustomed to combat but still very driven by his carnal desires. Then came Natasha, the sexiest woman he had ever glimpsed and an immortal as well. The thought of having that curvaceous body to torment for centuries drove him mad with lust - the perfect outlet for his evil cravings. These thoughts had cost him a vicious scar, but now he would have payback.

"Bring her to the special room," said Andre to the henchman. "I've waited a long, long time for this."

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Natasha was stiff, head throbbing. Was it morning? The harsh light permeated her closed eyelids. Where was she? Then she remembered.

Slowly opening her eyes, she moaned from the tightness throughout her limbs. When her vision focused, it felt like some monstrous hand gripped her heart and squeezed. Directly in front was a mirrored wall showing a well-lit chamber.

Natasha's statuesque body hung vertically from an eight-foot high steel frame. She could see and feel the leather straps attached to each limb pulling her spread-eagle and suspended in mid-air. Her thin black catsuit was still there, but it only amplified her helplessness, highlighting every sensual curve like a magnificent second skin. Her ample breasts strained the fabric, thrust out by the tight suspension. The outline of her vaginal lips was visible through the black lycra. Her boots were gone and small amounts of the catsuit had been torn away to free skin for the straps. Natasha knew Andre had left the rest of the catsuit intact just to savor stripping it off her.

One look at the chamber made her involuntarily gasp. The chamber was rectangular, perhaps 200 feet long and 30 feet wide. Mirrors lined all of the side walls while large fluorescent panels in the ceiling kept the entire chamber bathed in warm light. As far as her eye could see, the chamber was filled with instruments of immobilization and sexual torture, spaced out along the length of this modern version of hell. A far cabinet, covered by glass doors, was stocked with obscene dildos, vibrators, plugs, and strange implements she could not fathom. And Natasha knew her body would have the grand tour of the equipment.

She strained against the bonds, trying to wrench herself up and extricate a wrist from the leather straps. After five minutes, she gave up with a deep cry, twisting as much as she could against the steel frame. She was sweating and the reflections of her outstretched form glistened. All she could do was hang there and anticipate the upcoming torture.

****

It took a lot of willpower for Andre to only watch Natasha after she regained consciousness. He sat for hours in the control room, consuming fine bottles of Beaujolais and viewing six monitors, each showing a different viewpoint of the spread-eagled sexual bombshell.

Andre had spent three years crafting the blueprints, gathering the devices, and overseeing construction of the dungeon. Hundreds of high-resolution video cameras lined the sides of the one-way mirrored walls and the ceilings, providing multiple viewing angles of each instrument of torture. He had visualized Natasha naked, moaning, sweating on each of the instruments as he laboriously worked out the details.

Now his time had come. Six views of the helpless immortal were being digitally stored for posterity. Andre planned on editing and compiling a "best of" Natasha torture sequences. A twisted smile worked across his face. There would always be a strong video market for the perversion of such a beautiful and durable victim.

She twisted and he focused on how her tits swayed slightly underneath the black skintight suit. The camera hidden in the rear wall showed shapely buttocks adorned by long athletic legs, spread and fastened to the bottom of the steel frame. Lustrous raven hair whipped about. Andre drank in the fear and anger evident in those expressive eyes. He imagined his use of that sensual mouth with gleaming teeth. Andre could barely contain himself. It was time to begin the retribution.

****

Natasha heard the steel door at the far end of the dungeon slide open. Andre stood in the doorway, wearing leather shorts, a large grin, and nothing else.

"Shall we begin?"

He strolled up to her, savoring the beautiful sight. Natasha had worked up a good sweat in the lights, rendering the catsuit nothing more than glossy ink on a magnificent figure. Andre moved behind her and positioned his hands just behind her backside, making sure not to make contact. He smiled. Because of immortal physiology, her hands and ankles didn't require oxygen, so she could hang indefinitely.

Truly this is the most sexually appealing woman in the history of the world, he thought.

Natasha had been preparing herself for the last few hours but when his hands finally touched, a wave of panic arose from deep within. His hands leisurely slid through her soft hair, the creamy expanse of skin, down to lovingly stroke her ass. She gasped when Andre's hands closed forcefully over buttocks and then shifted to briefly caress her mound. He took his time, stroking her taut legs, feeling the flat stomach, moving over straining arms. Then he began fondling her breasts, gently at first then quite harshly, kneading them through the thin black catsuit. All Natasha could do was grunt occasionally and sway in the frame.

Much to Natasha's chagrin, Andre was quite content to play with her large firm tits for almost an hour. She then knew her torture would be slow, systematic; her mind fought against the pleasureable sensations. Andre occasionally twisted a nipple through the fabric, eliciting another grunt. Sometimes he took her hair and pulled back with such ferocity that it forced her chest to jut forward. Then he would slowly caress the breasts, squeezing the firm globes, letting her nipple catch on each finger as it glided across the fabric that now seemed part of her skin.

After an eternity of molesting, Andre moved back and she felt cool steel touch her neck under the catsuit. In one smooth motion, the steel-perhaps a knife or surgical scissors-slid down her back and through her ass cheeks, leaving a growing feeling of air. He was slicing her catsuit off, cackling like a madman. She felt faint knowing that there would soon be nothing separating her lush athletic body from the madman behind her.

She could see him working in the mirror, slicing off section after section. Andre admired the flawless uniformly tanned skin underneath the fabric and occasionally sampled an area with the flat of his tongue. In a short time, he had reduced Natasha's catsuit to strategic coverings of her chest and vagina.

With great relish Andre moved in front of her, grabbed the chest piece, and ripped away the fabric. He gasped appreciatively at the shapely mounds capped by perfect areolas and long thin nipples.

"This is going to be a lot of fun," Andre chortled.

"Damn you, bastard. You broke the rules." Natasha summoned up her courage and spat on Andre's face. She knew she would suffer great amounts of torture regardless of what she did. But he wouldn't break her. Andre just continued smiling and snaked his tongue out, licking the spittle near his lips.

"You and I will be exchanging lots of fluids, my beauty," he cackled.

Andre quickly grabbed her chest, squeezing the firm fleshy mounds and flicking his thumbs over the nipples. He began licking the underside of one breast, then the other while using his hands to slowly rub each breast. He pushed her tits together and ran his tongue through the cleavage, then continued fondling them while enjoying her grimacing face. Natasha squirmed, her hands grabbing at the air just above the wrist straps holding her upright.

He snapped off the last remnant of the catsuit and slid two fingers through her slit. A thumb began rubbing her clit while his mouth and other hand attended to her chest. Natasha howled and shook in the steel frame, trying to whip her body back and forth to dislodge him, but Andre was latched firmly to her sex... roughly fondling, teasing, pinching, slobbering.

She was completely spread wide, helpless, while the madman took his pleasure, sending wave after wave of sensation throughout her body.

"Son of a bitch," she shouted between grunts of despair. Natasha fought against the stimulation, hated her betraying body.

"Quiet slut," Andre spat and moved behind her. She could see him withdraw items from a compartment in the floor, but couldn't make them out. Suddenly, Andre rammed several figures painfully into her cunt, making Natasha scream involuntarily. The cry was quickly muffled by an unbearably large red ball gag stuffed into her mouth.

Andre secured the gag then stepped back in front of her, unceremoniously dropping his shorts. "Just a little bit more although you are nicely wet," he said, putting a small amount of gel on his massive erect penis.

Natasha screamed into the gag. Her toned body quaked on the frame, the outline of her muscles highlighted as she fought the bonds that presented her to him. It was useless of course. He grabbed her breasts and with a cruel deliberate motion began impaling Natasha with his cock. It lurched in, inch by inch, grating against her cunt walls, extending them outward and fraying them despite the small amount of lubricant.

"NAARRRGGHHH," screamed Natasha into the disgusting red ball. She felt it all, the slow rhythm of the rape, unable to move more than a few inches, unable to buck him off. Then when it seemed like it would never end, he began fucking her in earnest, enjoying the look of outrage on her face as he rutted, mashing and twisting her tits while briskly ramming his huge dick into her cunt.

"UNNGH... UNNNGH... UNGGH," groaned Natasha, drool collecting behind the ball gag and moving to the edge of her distended perfect mouth.

As the assault continued, Andre became more violent, nibbling on her breasts, seizing and harshly pinching her ass. Natasha moaned into her gag. It seemed to last forever and she could barely hold off the rising orgasm. She resolved to end it and clenched her vaginal muscles, milking Andre as hard as possible. Andre shuttered and came, spewing his vile seed deep inside while nearly squeezing the life out of her with a brutal hug. Natasha had won the first battle in the war. She had not submitted to this depraved madman.

"My poor dear," he cooed. "I am in control. You can try to cut this little episode short, but we have all eternity."

He slid the palm of his hand across her flush cheeks. Natasha could only whimper, drool running down the sweaty canyon of breasts as her tightly stretched form swayed back and forth.

=====

Duncan Macleod woke up sweating. He knew unconsciously that something horrible had happened to his friend Natasha. She was last seen two days ago and had missed a lunch appointment with Macleod yesterday. Natasha was a force of nature and never late, certainly not prone to running off without telling anyone.

The Watchers had told Duncan that no atmospheric anomalies occurred over the last week, so she hadn't been killed by another immortal. So Duncan was left with only one possibility: she was being held against her will. Duncan threw himself off the bed just as the phone rang.

"Hello? Duncan here," he said in a hurried manner.

"Hi," came a sensual voice over the phone. There was an awkward pause. "My name is Dominoe. I'm a friend of Natasha and .. well I don't know how to put this..."

"Go ahead," Duncan prodded.

"I need your help," she said in a business-like tone. "I know what you and Natasha are."

"I'm sorry, I don't understand," stammered Duncan.

"Look, let's meet at M & 14th street. I can fill you in but time is short." Duncan realized there was a strength in this woman. "And Duncan.."

"Yes?"

"Bring your sword."

****

Natasha was humming through the bridle gag as her muscles strained against the solid bonds, hands and feet twitching as they could. Andre was standing a few feet away admiring the glistening naked beauty. She was rigidly fastened into a doggy position; steel poles, clamps, and pistons seemed everywhere. Her hands and knees were widely spread and anchored to a raised platform with custom-made steel bracelets encasing her wrists, ankles and calves. Her hair was braided into a ponytail and attached to a wire which ran to a column behind her completely exposed ass. The pull on her hair forced Natasha's head back, adding to the complete feeling of helplessness and vulnerability. She couldn't collapse on the platform since her washboard abs rested on a small steel plate supported by a pole from below. And she sorely wished she could escape, somehow, from the vicious probes that violated her.

The column behind her housed a sophisticated robot, programmed to inflict maximum sexual stimuli through the two orifices it had available. A large rubber dildo covered with small rotating metal knobs pistoned in and out of her vagina, occasionally cork-screwing to keep her attention. Most of Natasha's thoughts, though, were directed at the small nozzle-like device engulfing the stiff nub of her clit. The diabolical device would randomly buzz, pull, suck, and seemingly caress her clit. At the same time, a long solid string of ben-wa balls would slowly be inserted then removed from her anal canal. Her beautiful breasts hung down, sucked into two large rubber plungers that were more capable of fondling and pulling than many human hands. At the center of each plunger, a nozzle-like device, similar to the one tormenting her engorged clit, attacked her nipple, buzzing, pulling, sucking, caressing.

Worst of all, the machine knew how to keep her on edge. It sometimes paused for a minute, suckling the breasts a bit before exploding into a ferocious assault forcing her to a mind-blowing orgasm, only to fall dormant again for some random time. All she could do was feel and sweat, and it's what she'd been doing for the last 15 hours.

"It's wonderful how your body heals my dear," Andre stated gleefully. "Any human victim would have become desensitized to some degree."

Andre enjoyed watching Natasha's struggles, hands and feet gesticulating wildy. He wanted those lovely fingers free of confinement, at least initially, so he could see if the machine was performing at its very best. Judging by the countless orgasms and the way the raven-haired siren clenched and unclenched her fists, her nerves were intact during each sexual barrage.