Specimen 231

Janus hadn't detanked her for this either, or so he's told himself. He hadn't expected this situation to even occur. If he never brings it up, she will never know that he's been watching her and pleasuring himself to the sight of her. Slowly his head leans back against the wall, the tubes running back from the faceplate deforming just slightly with the weight of his head. Thoughts enter his mind - daring, inappropriate concepts. Offering himself to her to use as she likes. Seducing her. Forcing her to submit to him. But each scenario is discarded before it has time to really take root in his intentions.

With a sigh he pushes the console screen back into the wall and shuts it off, wipes himself clean, and gets dressed again. If nothing else, a long, tiring stroll down the corridors of the ship will help. They have always helped before.

Chapter 4

Her season has persisted for two long weeks, and after today's third session Nalatine is tired. She's aroused, still. That never abates. But her flesh is exhausted well enough to keep more inappropriate urges at bay. Another shower is taken, cleaning off the glistening remnants of her private tryst as well as the scent of it, though even as she towels off, the pheromones that waft from the little pale speckles on her arms, cheeks, and now hips and thighs spice the air pleasantly, half-lidding her eyes all over again.

Just before she braces her hand on the wall to begin a fourth session, she growls and stops herself. Her body ripples with frustration, but if she begins all over again, she'll never leave her quarters. She tugs on her pants and shirt, then quickly exits her room. Jogging down the corridors helps at first, her body exerting in a rhythm that is close enough to sex to be satisfying. Yet after half an hour, the very action of running reminds her of hunting. Flashes of her early life, when she was made to hunt for her food, flare back into her mind's eye. Her muscles quiver and tense, and finally she gives in, leaping up to grasp the grating on the ceiling with her fingers, tail, and dewclaws before she slips a panel aside and slithers up into the crawl space.

On all fours up, within the ceiling's space, the light from the walkway checkers over her black skin from beneath, sliding over her as she crouches on all fours. She quickly stalks down the various walkways, scenting the air now and again. Janus's smell is all over the ship, but it's fresher in this direction. There is no conscious decision to hunt him, she simply does so, abandoning all thought towards the consequences of her actions.

As quietly and quickly as she can, she tracks the aroma of his skin, growling with pleasure as she knows that she's growing close. The sound of his footsteps ahead, turning a corner, draw her attention sharply, and she follows him quietly throughout the ship. He turns down this corridor and that one, until he unlocks a portal and proceeds down a long, dark, glistening subcorridor. The drip of water and the scent of musty air permeates the place, the environment humid and warm. It isn't the sewage system, it's the ship's reservoir systems. Huge tanks are filled with water, slowly cycling through hundreds of filters to clean it again for use, either as coolant in the engines or as water to bathe in, drink, or clean with.

She's so distracted by this new place and the groaning, echoing shifts of hundreds of tons of water in tanks, that when she turns back to her task she realizes that she's lost her quarry. Nalatine pants with stress, frowning as she swallows. Losing her reason won't help. "What have I told you about obeying?" Janus's synthetically filtered voice echoes down the tunnel.

Nalatine gasps, her orange eyes wide, claws gripping at the gridwork of the ceiling panels she rests on. She can't make out where he is, but he clearly knows that she's following him. She creeps along the grating above, until that comes to an end abruptly, forcing her to descend to the tunnel itself. Her feet land in a puddle with a warm splash, and her tail sways behind her. There is little insulation against the vibration of the ship's hull here, and she can feel the occasional rattle and buzz in her bare feet as they press to the metal. "You have given me no order not to follow you" she counters, scenting the air.

"Then I am commanding you to follow me, and to find me."

She snarls with excitement, descending to all fours as she tracks him at a run. The wetness of the environment traps his scent far better than the dry, filtered air on the main deck. Her speed is so great that to corner she must spend a few strides along the walls of the cylindrical tunnels. Minutes more of the chase pass, his swift pace echoing down the dark, wet tunnels, his boots splashing in the puddles as he sprints, exciting her further.

There is a moment at a T intersection when she cannot quite place just where he's gone, and she snorts and lifts up onto her feet, resting a hand on the wall as she looks around. Suddenly there's a small explosion, as if a compressed gas charge has gone off, and the tense, coated metal weave of a net wraps around her tightly. Nalatine cries out and falls heavily onto her side on the wet flooring, the fibers hugging at her body and cocooning her. The net fixes upon itself and keeps her arms trapped against her sides, and her legs and tail are all pressed firmly together.

A cable, connected to the net by her shoulders, pulls taut and slowly drags her further into the subsystem, her body writhing and trying to get free as she scrapes over the filthy, wet ground. There's not an inch of give in the mesh, the cording metal, but covered with a polymer to prevent cuts against flesh. The winch steadily pulling her grinds to a halt only when she's lying in the center of a perfectly dark, large room from hundred meters ahead of where she started.

At first all she can hear is her own labored, agitated breathing, and the crunching grate of her trapped body against the gritty flooring as she writhes, turning her head this way and that. The darkness is absolute, a solid black miasma that leaves no difference between open eyes and shut. Her throat tenses as she growls, the furious rumbling wavering towards a pathetic, frightened whine as the minutes pass on, her insecurity winning out over her other feelings.

The sound of Janus's boot steps suddenly emanate no more than a meter to her right, circling around her slowly. Nalatine startles and jerks, her teeth gritting as she comes down from her anxiety, which only leaves her angry all over again. She snarls, unable to see him, but she can smell and hear him.

"Were you hunting me?" he asks, crouching down by her hips.

"Yes" she hisses, trying to wriggle her arms away from her sides, but finding herself unable to get even that much freedom.

"Why were you hunting me?" His voice, peaceful and articulate, fills the abysmal space with menace.

A period of silence follows, then the quick sound of fingers typing. Nalatine whines as the feeling of invisible pins prick at the nape of her neck, not so painful as to make her suffer horribly, but enough to remind her to be obedient.

"Because I want you" she admits at long last.

"To use sexually?" comes his infuriatingly pleasant tone.

With a pained whimper, she admits "Yes." A few more keystrokes, and the feeling of pins leaves the nape of her neck, the pain completely gone.

Her skin prickles and she shivers, her thighs rubbing together at the subject matter. It comes as a great surprise when he says, "I am going to bring you relief," guiding her to roll onto her back.

She groans as she's moved, her back arching even as he reaches inside the wide weave of the mesh to unfasten the fly of her cargo pants. His fingers are cool and slender as they caress over her smooth, heated skin, and Nalatine swallows, unable to part her thighs because of the net. The feeling of being bound by his hand again makes her heart pound. Like when she had been strapped to the table in the medical bay, the restriction and bondage of her strength had burrowed into her mind, exciting the part of her that requires direction. Despite her independence and capability, Nalatine had been designed, as all drones are, to crave dominance, instruction, and discipline. Emotionally, yes, and especially during their season.

And so, being bound, overcome, and touched so brazenly only makes her desperate with desire. Despite the press of her legs, his slender fingers find her sex and stroke it, making her gasp and writhe. His digits are slightly larger than her own, and the confident touch, clearly not deterred by fear or propriety, attends to her. She quakes, trying to grind her hips slowly along his digits, begging him to deepen his touch until at last his middle finger slides inside of her, thrusting slowly.

"Yes, oh yes, please don't stop..." she cries desperately, not caring that she's trapped in a filthy, wet, dark room, being touched by a human who is, ostensibly, her captor. That doesn't matter. None of it matters. Only that blessed, rough touch in the dark, her hips grinding, her back flexibly and sinuously bending to demand every angle that can be achieved. Her pussy lips, flushed, smooth, and full, grip at the base of his middle finger, her tunnel squeezing it and shuddering with every undulating stroke to her G-spot.

The sounds of his molestation are soft in truth but seem loud to the ear, the rustle of fabric nearly subsumed by the heavy rasp of her heated breathing. From this hot tumult of sound, his filtered voice says, "I will not stop unless you tell me to." For a few more seconds he touches her deeply, until at last he pulls his hand away. She waits in silence, her heart pounding, and she hears the hiss of a seal being broken, and then the wet sound of a finger being sucked. Tasted. The seal is then rejoined, the whine of pressure being re-established, and he moves her onto her side, pressing her knees close to her flat chest.

The belt holding up her pants is unfastened and pulled out, and the pants themselves are pulled down carefully, the grip of the tight net making the passage of those slacks difficult. With determination he manages it, revealing her bare backside to the darkness. Janus pushes her knees up closer to her chest, exposing her swollen, needy slit through the broad weave of the net, and he touches it again, making her shiver and moan hotly. Her tail shifts and moves out of the way as well as it can, the creature desperate to offer herself.

And then the blessed, hot, smooth feel of his crown presses up against her sex. His knees grate on the flooring to give himself better leverage, and she's pushed and adjusted, until at last he looms over her on all fours. Again his cock presses against her, and she trembles. "Please...take me. Please have me. Please!"

His left hand braces on her shoulder as the other keeps her thigh pushed forward within the limit of her bondage, and he slowly sinks his cock into her, inch by tight, impossible inch.

"Is this what you wanted?" comes his serene voice, though she can hear the respirator working over time as he breathes hard within the mask.

"Yes, Janus, oh yes!" she cries, her stretching gates leaking with desire, lubricating his penetration. Her voice echoes against the hard walls all around them, a chorus of women singing out in need and the beginnings of satisfaction.

After several seconds of concerted effort, he finally presses his hips to hers, fully sheathed within her. Nalatine whines, her tunnel stretching slowly for him, accommodating him reluctantly, despite her arousal.

"You're so tight" he says quietly, his body tense. She doesn't realize why he isn't moving, until she notices how his cock is already pulsing, his fuse terribly, frustratingly short.

"No, Please!" she begs, trying to shift her hips back against his dick, but it only makes him shudder and pull away, leaving her to ache with unspent need. She can hear him get to his feet and fasten his pants, and she listens as he begins to walk away. "Janus, please!" she calls, writhing in the netting.

"I am sorry" he calls. "I should not have done that."

"Don't leave me here!" Nalatine cries, writhing harder in the wires until she starts to hear them snap. With a growl she wriggles harder, pushing or pulling at this spot or that one as it gives, until finally the fixtures lose their hold and snap entirely. She slips out of the net, angry, frustrated, her flesh on fire, and she can hear the sound of his boots running back the way they'd come.

It takes a second to pull off her clothing from her feverish body before she chases after him, her teeth gritted tightly as she charges ahead. He's fast, his use of her not having tired him appreciably, and his knowledge of the ship is greater than hers. Even so, she is able to follow him, simply running down the hallway behind him like a wild animal. There is no thought to outmaneuver him or out-think him. All she can do is outpace him, and then subdue him. It's all she wants to do.

He leads her on a chase throughout half that level of the ship, taking side corridors, service corridors, and slipping through rooms. She follows, hot on his heels, pausing only once or twice to study a wet footprint or to scent the air at an intersection. Her reason is nearly gone, her instincts swollen and forcing her to bring him down however she can.

She's close now, so close. Turning around a corner at long last, she turns her head and sees him. He's within reach. Feeling as if time is slowing down, she kicks off the wall and reaches for him, catching his vest with her talons. The momentum of her body is enough to slow him down, letting her grapple him around the middle and curl around his body, falling hard onto the floor with him and rolling to a stop. He appears dazed, the side of his head having struck the flooring, giving her time to move back over to him. In no time she has him pinned on his back, her teeth bared as she yells "You cannot do that to me during this time, Janus!", flecks of spittle landing on his faceplate, marring the reflection of her bared, bright fangs.

"I am sorry" comes his voice, though he doesn't try to push her away.

She notices that his fingers don't reach for the wrist pad, and even as her tail lashes, she realizes that he doesn't want her to stop. This entire time he has consented to her behavior. She doesn't know what this means, but it certainly doesn't mean that she's going to stop. Nalatine straddles his hips and leans over him, slowly unfastening the tunic to reveal his bare chest. Janus tenses and arches his back as she licks along his sternum, suckling on each of his nipples. Her inky black lips purse around each little bud, cheeks hollowing, until at last her light pink tongue slides out to roughly taste it. The scars, looking to her eyes like a splatter pattern long healed, are noted but ignored, especially when she crawls down lower, tasting at his stomach even as her fingers unfasten his pants.

Surprisingly he's hard again, her mouth watering at the sight of his cock. She'd only felt it, unable to do anything other than accept it into her body. Now, of course, she scents at it and tastes it, noting that her own flavor still coats it deliciously. Holding his cock upright and still at the base, she tilts her head, her heavy fall of black, wavy hair draping over his right thigh as she dips her head and suckles on the tip to enjoy the salty, musky flavor of his pre. Her orange eyes flick to his hands, but they still haven't moved to his keypad, his silent consent still given.

Once more her mouth sinks down upon the dusky, dark pink shaft, black lips wrapping around it as her cheeks hollow. If he's of such a short fuse that he barely withstood one thrust into her, she knows that she can't rely on him to satisfy her. Not yet, anyway. She must do that herself. As she starts to slowly bob her head, her free hand slides in between her thighs, caressing at her flesh and feeling the remnants of his seed. With every excited clench of her inner muscles, another thick, opalescent dose of his cum dribbles out over her black fingers like icing on bands of black licorice. Her hips grind and writhe slowly against her own touch, and at long last two of her fingers curl and slip inside her, making her tense and shiver.

Her orange eyes flutter closed and she breathes in hotly through her nose. Every slow, thick thrust up into her molten, used core is matched by a slow, tight suck. The crown of his cock rubs back farther and farther along her tongue as she pushes downwards with slow determination, until at last she is swallowing at his head. Her nose nuzzles into his pubic hair as her own fingers bury themselves up to the knuckles and curl, undulating and petting at her G-spot.

The wet, quick sounds of her own fingering are easy to hear in the quiet hallway, and the odd, synthesized moaning coming from Janus's mask rests atop all of it. The sound comes into her awareness slowly, and her fiery eyes slowly open and roll upwards, half-lidded. With a purr, Nalatine lifts her mouth from his cock, the click and pop from his cap leaving her throat making her swallow one last time. Her light pink tongue slides slowly over her lower lip, collecting a sheen of saliva and pre, which a swallow guides down her throat. "This is what you detanked me for..." she purrs, dipping her head to lick at the underside of his crown once again.

"No, no that is not true" Janus protests, his hands still resting at his sides, but now balling into fists.

"Isn't it?" The woman crawls forward, leaving her sex neglected as she looms over him. The passage of her body rubs the underside of his cock along her throat and chest and stomach, until at last she is straddling him again, rubbing at his shaft with her spread, wanton lips while offering no chance to enter her. Her mouth descends to his neck, licking and sucking at the delicate, scarred skin there, dotted much in the same fashion as his chest.

"No..." his voice is soft, his cock grinding up against her, trying to join with her but unable to, held at bay by the angle of her hips and slit.

"Then why did you lure me down to the tunnels, capture me, and fuck me?" she hisses into his ear, sliding her tongue along the edge of the mask. Her hips move more quickly, painting his shaft thickly with her hot nectar and his seed, even as she uses him like a toy to pleasure herself.

He groans in desperation, squirming beneath her, trying without success to shift that last little inch and get inside her. Finally realizing that she won't let him unless he tells the truth, he says "Because... I wanted companionship."

Her purring is deep, and her mouth leaves kisses on his throat as she tilts her hips, slowly rubbing his cap along her slit before slowly, hotly sinking down onto it. He groans into the mask, his voice buzzing up into her mouth through his throat, and at last his hands move to her hips, guiding her to ride him. This time he lasts longer, and with her hands free, she slips her fingertips down between them to rub at her clit. It doesn't take her long to finish, her tunnel rippling, clamping, and milking at his cock. Her head dips, the tips of her fangs gleaming past tense lips. Thick, wavy hair, half sodden from being bound by the water tanks, shivers and trembles as she grinds against his rod, buried deep inside of her.

Janus's fingers dimple into her dark skin as he pulls her down hard onto his cock, sheathing himself into her vice-like, exquisite, quivering embrace. His shaft throbs once more as he spills himself into her a second time, only a few seconds after her own climax. Her body shudders and she gasps as her pussy suckles him successfully, her hips rolling slowly of their own accord. Seconds feel sluggish, and with a wince she moves her fingers away from her clit, a nail catching by accident to send one last electric shock up her spine, stiffening her with a soft snarl. The two of them remain tense, even as she eventually climbs off of him and gets to her feet. Janus only sits up slowly, tucking himself awkwardly back into his pants and fastening them again.