The Return of the Confectioner – Part 9 (Asymmetric Hugs)
His breathing ragged, the villain clutched the processing couch in an attempt to keep his knees from buckling. Slave slumped forward, still gasping as her aftershocks finally began to lessen. She wrapped his slackening member in her breast’s sticky embrace and with growing surprise the Confectioner realised that she still wasn’t sated.
Carefully he extricated himself from her grip, gently easing free and placating her needy complaints with soft words and silken touches.
“You cannot be so greedy,” he told her with mock graveness. “Poor Geist has still to complete her journey, and even your sluttish needs must wait until your slavesister is properly prepared.”
“Yes, master,” slave answered, eyes downcast while her cheeks burnt with shame.
“Good girl,” the Confectioner enthused.
He rose slowly, tousling her stiff, tangled hair. Then the villain began to free Geist from her bonds. He moved confidently, every gesture swift and controlled. In moments she was free, though the melting candy gag was still bright behind the muzzling mask.
Tenderly, he lifted her from the couch, letting the dark liquids drip from her naked body. Then, he lowered her into the waiting chair, taking his time to position her, just so. Twin spouts slid effortlessly into the unconscious heroine’s body. They were already slick with gel, and Geist’s twin channels gave no resistance.
The Confectioner glanced at his slave, enjoying the look of adoration she gave him, while staring at the process in wrapt attention. Ever the showman, he made sure to fasten every strap to aching tightness, imprisoning the young woman so completely she had barely enough room to think, let alone move.
Only then, when he had eked out every sensuous moment, did he finally activate the machinery.
Slave stared, as master’s chair forced its coercive gel into her friend’s body. The memory of her own transformation was too vague, but watching stirred her in ways she found hard to understand. The cylinders had been her chrysalis, from which she emerged as the master’s perfect butterfly. But here, in the chair, was where it had all started.
Unconsciously her body moved into the correct posture. Back ramrod straight, head held high, legs spread. Slave’s hands rested lightly on her thighs, far enough from her cunt’s melting heat not to touch and yet close enough for it to remain a constant temptation.
She quivered in place, as Geist’s moaning began to climb once more, knowing, somehow, that her friend would find many false summits before her arousal finally peaked.
Hopelessly lost, for Geist there was nothing but light and fire. The gel swamped everything. It was remorseless and utterly inescapable. Wherever the foul mixture touched, pleasure took root. Building in intensity, growing sharper and more vivid with every passing moment.
It took what the heroine thought she knew and twisted it savagely. Smothering any half-hearted attempt at denial, the seeping corruption simply stole her thoughts and made them its own. A lifetime of servitude flashed through her mind in an instant and she accepted it all.
Obedience lit up her synapses, burning through every memory and leaving its impression scorched into the surface of her brain. She was branded with the truth of her slavery, an undeniable mark that added the certainty of proof to remodelled convictions.
The new slave came, as if for the first time. Finding an epiphany in the heat of that enforced surrender.
Finally, the seated woman’s eyes took on the same glow as her kneeling friend’s. Once again, the villain took his time releasing the straps. Then, he pulled her from the chair’s clutches, dragging her free amidst trailing strands of emerald slime. Gently, almost reverently, he laid her on the floor and turned his attention to slave.
“Climb on,” he instructed her.
Slave rose elegantly, and hoisted herself onto the gel-spattered chair. Gingerly she lowered her body onto the waiting devices. But they slipped home without effort, leaving her squirming in obvious delight.
“Master?” She wondered, but only once she was properly in place.
“Hush now,” he told her, smiling at how instinctively she obeyed. “You are my good girl and you deserve a reward. But first, you must ride the chair.”
“Yes, master,” she nodded meekly. “Thank you.”
The Confectioner’s reply was lost as the chair once again came alive. He rested one hand upon slave’s shoulder, holding her down against the building pressure. Slave, for her part, arched against the confining metal, grinding herself down onto the paired spigots.
He found himself in awe of her endurance. Even though he could see how each climax left slave a little more drained, still she kept going and, what’s more, she showed no sign of slowing.
In the end, he let her cum twice before lifting her from the chair and from her squeals it was obvious that hadn’t remotely satisfied her.
“Lie down beside your friend,” the villain told slave.
Eagerly she did so, letting their bodies meet in deliciously intimate collision. But, as she pressed her sugar-crusted breasts into the other girl’s spine, the villain sighed dramatically and corrected her.
“No,” he explained, shaking his head. “The other way round.”
Eventually, he arranged the former heroines to his satisfaction. Facing each other, but with slave’s head resting next to her friend’s feet and vice versa. They lay there, perfectly still and then slave felt the first strand bite into her heavily glazed flesh.
The Confectioner bound the pair together, drawing each binding strand almost painfully tight. Slowly, slave found herself becoming one half of a tangled sculpture of helpless girlflesh. Only when another strand was looped through her collar, did she understand master’s plan. He had promised her a reward and, as her face was pulled down into the waiting heat of her friend’s drooling cuntlips, slave gave him her muffled thanks.
With slave secured, the villain moved onto Geist. At some point he was going to have to decide on some slavenames for them both, but right now he had more pressing matters to attend to. First he unhooked the sleep mask and then he unbuckled the last remnants of the gobstopper gag. A thin plastic collar fitted neatly around the sleeping woman’s throat, and his final strand of trick liquorice tethered her face to slave’s oozing pussy.
Their mouths and noses pressed into each other, minds already filled with the jelly’s suffocating essence. Slave’s tongue was already lapping, eager to taste her friend’s musky flavours. Lime and spice mixed together, biting acid sweetness that left her wanting so much more.
Her lips closed around soft flesh, teeth teasing and biting. She nibbled, while more gel dribbled from her mouth.
Half conscious, mind still fogged with drugs and need, Geist’s tongue lolled randomly, sweeping over skin caked with salty sweetness. Jelly tingled against her lips, while slave’s perfume filled her nostrils and seeped upwards into her dazed slutbrain.
She was clumsy at first, but that didn’t matter. Every caress filled her mouth with swirling colours and all the while that impossibly agile tongue simply rolled over every fold and urged her on to even greater efforts.
The villain smiled as his slaves attacked each other with gusto. The jelly would keep them both docile and give him some much needed time to rest and recuperate. If he was lucky, they might even exhaust themselves, given time.
He paused at the door, blowing them one last kiss and then strolled to his control room. Breaking Ampere and her beautiful friend had left him feeling disgustingly pleased with himself. But there was still the small matter of his stolen toys and the villains who had tried to muscle in on his action.
Tempting though it was to retire and spend the rest of his days playing with his new supersluts, he simply had to teach these amateurs a lesson.
Meanwhile, the newborn slaves continued to lick and gnaw at each other. Each was consumed with need for the other. Master was first and always would be. But, in his absence, the slaves became one another’s world.
So lost in pleasure were they, that neither noticed as the air around them began to flicker. Lightning crackled silently, leaping from place to place in jerky flashes. Energy jumped in glowing lines and painted a webwork around them.
The display faded slowly, leaving nothing but the barest hint of ozone.