Some of the themes are similar across the whole series, as I tend to like a bit of pain with my pleasure, but they span a wide variety of categories. I hope you’ll let me know if you’re enjoying them.
I’m putting this story in Anal but considered putting it in SF/Fantasy, Fetish, BDSM, or even Reluctant.
****
“Red, I got it! I got the internship! I get to spend the next year on Hedony working at the Cirque! And they’re going to let me do my own work once a month, a showcase one off each time. They like to keep it fresh so that people can come back more than once during a trip and always see something new.” Malcom entered my room like a hurricane.
“I’m so excited for you! It’s everything you worked for.” It was true, he’d worked so hard for this. I was disappointed we’d be apart for so long just when he’d finally started to see me as more than a friend but I was genuinely thrilled for him.
“Come with me! They’re giving me a one bedroom apartment in the staff housing and it says right here I can bring a partner. Come! You were planning to do your independent study remote anyway, living on the Serenity with the folks to save credits. Live with me and you’ll have better Lens access to the library and I’ll make you breakfast in bed once a week.”
“Is that all I’ll get in bed? Or does your offer come with other perks?”
He pulled me close and tipped my chin up. His mouth captured mine in a kiss that was at once familiar and achingly new, a warm soft eternity that turned hot and demanding, lips and tongues and Malcom, ending with a nip on my bottom lip. “Come and I’ll tie you the damn bed then fuck you so hard you’d fall out without the support.”
I laughed breathlessly. “With an offer like that how could I say no?”
****
It worked out well. We were both used to sharing tight quarters on the Serenity, the long-haul space trawler our parents worked on, spacer kids who never got used to all the room you found in most dirt side accommodations. Even with Malcom’s gadgets and fabrics taking up every surface and hidy-hole in the apartment, it was still plenty of space for us. He loved his work and I was delighted to discover I had access to the trans-Lens library hub for Hedony U thanks to a reciprocal arrangement with our university.
He came into the kitchen area looking harried. “Red, do you remember the last time I asked for a favor?”
I did. Vividly. The last time he’d asked for a favor had been when he’d desperately needed a partner for his internship tryout at the Cirque. I’d ended up bound, transformed into a werewolf, with a lifelike tail sprouting from my ass, and Malcom fucking me for the first time – in front of a crowd. I got wet just thinking about it.
“They give us a budget for our showcases, but it’s not very much, considering some of the tech I’m working with. I get to keep the patents on anything I develop, I just have to make sure I fill my monthly slot with something worthy of the Cirque, or I could lose the internship altogether.”
“Not to mention how it would look for your future employment. Ok, what’s the problem? I know you don’t lack for ideas.” I gestured at our living area, every wall covered in designs, sketches, and blueprints, every nook and cranny stuffed with fabric, circuitry, and models.
“Red, you were so amazing at my tryout. Would you be willing to model for me again? If I don’t have to pay models I’ll have a bigger budget for my effects.”
I stared at him. The last time had been so intense. He’d told me almost nothing about what would happen and my reactions weren’t acting so much as they were reacting. “Can you tell me more about what you have in mind or do you need me in the dark again?” I shivered at the thought.
He pulled me to my feet and held me close, so I was enveloped by the smell of him. “I can tell you Red, but if you trust me I think I can create the effect I’m after more completely.”
Thinking about how helpless I’d been, how fully I’d been consumed by the scene he created, I nodded against his chest. “I trust you. Let’s show them how incredible an artist you are.”
****
I woke in darkness. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t so much as open my eyes. I wasn’t sure how I was breathing. I seemed to be fully encased in something. It was smooth, and cold, and slightly powdery against my skin. I was upright but I wasn’t standing so much as I was supported by whatever was imprisoning me.
I had no memory of how I’d gotten here. If I’d fully understood what I was agreeing to I might not have said yes so readily. But I wasn’t lying when I said I trusted Malcom. We’d grown up together on the Serenity, and been inseparable ever since.
Earlier in the day he’d prepped me in our apartment. He’d had me shower one last time and clean myself inside and out. He’d laid me on our bed on top of a towel and had me spread my legs, revealing my most intimate self to his assessing eyes. He’d massaged cream into the crisp curls I kept in a neat triangle above my sex, then had passed a temporary lase over them, sheering off curls and cream in a single pass, the heat a fast prickle against my skin. He hadn’t touched my lower lips, no matter how temptingly they pouted at him. Last time he’d said their tendency to stay neatly closed until disturbed, no matter my level of arousal, was perfect for the visual he wanted to create. Apparently, that was true this time as well. I fought the urge to rub my thighs together in frustration as he helped me up, unwilling to disturb his work.
Malcolm had dried and styled my hair with my back to the mirror, so I couldn’t see it. He’d posed me just so and given me a soft kiss. “Trust me. This will be amazing.” He’d put something on the back of my neck, under the edge of my hair and given it a tap. It had to have been an inhibitor chip, one of those ones they use when they’re putting someone into cryo for a Lens-less deep space mission, so they won’t move or freak out while they freeze solid. I couldn’t move, could barely feel. He gently closed my eyes. I stayed in whatever position he maneuvered me into. He sprayed me with something, it was cool and I cooled with it. I could feel him meticulously covering every inch of me, but it felt distant, my body disconnected from my mind, like that moment before slumber where your mind floats separate from your sleep paralyzed form. In the instant before I would have panicked, my mind winked off.
He’d put an inhibitor chip on me! I couldn’t move, couldn’t see, wasn’t sure I breathed. But I could hear. I could hear music and a rhythmic scraping sound. Gradually I could feel first something skitter, scrape against my skin, followed by a breath of air. It repeated again and again, so that I was unearthed and exposed, naked and still motionless. I realized distantly I was rigid, even without my tomb encasing me. I dully felt hands caressing me, hips and breasts, sides and ass, lips pressing against my lips, but there was no give to my body. My skin felt stiff and unnatural, blunted and unyielding. I was petrified, imprisoned in my own body. I felt the weight of something settle on my neck, across my breasts.
The music swelled, a bright light flashed, and my eyelids opened wide without my volition. I could see my own right arm stretched out before me, positioned as though beseeching a stone statue of an impassive Greecian goddess that stood opposite me, on the other side of a marble-floored space with slender pillars surrounding it, the sky above full of Maxwell Parrish clouds. The goddess had one breast bare of her flowing stone draperies and in her right hand was a golden apple. Her hair was an elaborate arrangement of deep drilled curls. My own arm and hand matched hers, an unnatural, uniform, ivory white. A dark-haired, togaed man knelt with his back to me at an altar below the goddess’ feet, incense curling up from his offering. The altar was lit by two more bright flashes of dancing flame, silhouetting the man against them. I still had no power to speak or to move anything but my eyes. But even that felt almost orgasmic after my total lack of control.
The man, my Malcom, turned to me and crossed the space in five long strides. He didn’t seem to see my living eyes. His own eyes traced his hands’ path on my stony curves, the feeling for me still blunted and distant. He pivoted all of me slightly to the left, turning the dais I stood on so easily it must be some kind of turntable. Out of the corners of my eyes, I could now see around us, beyond the pillars, a familiar crowd of masked faces, interspersed with thin saplings, blank faces of white, pink, red, and black. All the spectators at the Cirque wore masks. Hungry eyes devoured my strange, rigid nudity. My wild-eyed helplessness.
The two fingers of Malcom’s right hand came to the junction of my legs, found my slit and pushed fully and ostentatiously in, filling me overfull, finding me yielding flesh in that one place. I would have gasped had I been able to, the invasion so quick and thorough. I’m sure my eyes reflected my shock, but my body was already wet and somehow wanting the rough intrusion. He threw a look of disbelief back at the goddess, then a smile of wild, savage delight crossed his face.
He threw off his toga, standing a moment tall and proud, his heavy cock jutting in front of him. Then he mounted the dais and bending his knees, positioned himself to my one unpetrified orifice and surged against me, blunt and feeling even wider than usual. He had to ram himself in, short, sharp thrusts, as though conquering my stony body, as though chiseling through my resistance until he was fully seated in me, against my quivering womb. Then he started to fuck me, power strokes, his strong legs and hips thrusting against the column of my unmoving body, as though I were an extension of the dais below me, as unmovable as a stone. I’m sure the hungry audience was treated to a mesmerizing contrast, his warm honey skin, clenching buttocks, and ragged breathing, against my immovable, immaculate ivory stillness, only my eyes animated in my statue body.