There’s More Than One Way to Skin a Traitor – Chapter Two (Captive)
Samantha was wrapped in darkness, unable to move. The horror of that initial attack had been bad enough, but this was somehow worse. The terrible black liquid had flowed over her and into her in an instant. Blotting out her sight, filling her ears and then pouring into her mouth. It forced its way between her teeth, solidifying just as she was sure that it intended to drown her. More of the liquid had oozed into her body, penetrating any orifice that it came across.
The most damnable thing about it though was how good it felt. She couldn’t help herself, despite the danger, the fear, everything, it was arousing as hell. Her other senses seemed to have become more acute. Every touch on her skin was blissful, the twin projections on which she was impaled throbbed delightfully and even the air seemed scented and wonderful. In some ways being held motionless seemed to heighten the experience. She could do nothing to speed or slow the process, all she could do was to lie there and let it happen.
Samantha tried to understand what had happened. Everything had passed in a blur after the machines attacked. At first she thought that she had been the only one to escape, but someone had sabotaged the self-destruct and even trapped the escape tunnel. It was only later, when she found Emma’s tracks, that she admitted that one of their own was a turncoat. Silently she cursed herself for not making her first shot count, in the end her mercy had cost her dearly.
“Just relax little soldier”, a voice suddenly suggested, “Lie back and let me soothe you”.
She tried to shout out, but her mouth was stuffed too tightly. Desperately she willed whoever had spoken to help her. As if in response, tiny ripples of pleasure began to expand slowly across her body. A faint, spicy scent began to fill her nostrils and somewhere in the distance she could hear soft humming. Coloured lights seemed to dance across her vision, faint and ghostlike.
“That’s good”, encouraged the voice, “Nothing to worry about, everything will soon be okay”.
Samantha noticed that the ripples seemed to pulse in time with the voice. Each new sensation of pleasure seemed to punctuation what was being said. The feelings seemed to flit from place to place, never lingering long. But despite their fleeting nature, the captive woman could feel herself being lifted gently towards climax.
“You are a Good Girl”, the voice announced.
The sensation built up around her toes, before slowly climbing her muscular legs and playing gently over her groin and buttocks. At first it was gentle, but it grew with each passing moment until it threatened to overwhelm her.
“You love being a Good Girl”, it continued once the wave had receded.
Pleasure rippled up through her body, it trickled over her stomach, up across her chest and over her collarbones. She fought to move, but could only tighten her muscles against the rigid skin.
“Good Girls are easy to program”
This time the feelings seemed to continue their upward progress, tingling over her throat and into her head. Pleasure seemed to wash through her brain, making her cum while leaving her thoughts foggy and disjointed.
“You are a Good Girl” and the cycle began again.
“You are easy to program”.
“You love being easily programmed”.
“Good Girl”, the voice encouraged.
This time the sensations rolled into one another, a surge of raw sexual heat, which tore through her body from toe to crown in an instant. The resultant orgasm as powerful as any she had ever experienced but which then continued forcing climax after climax until she thought she could feel no more.
“Good Girls are weak”, the voice continued, starting the whole process once more.
“You are a Good Girl”.
She tried to fight it, tried to concentrate her thoughts on something else. Something benign but enough to distract her from the voice. The pleasure made it so hard, she kept losing her focus and she knew that she couldn’t allow that to happen.
“You are weak”.
“You love to be weak”.
“Good Girl”.
She couldn’t decide whether it was her response to the ripples that was becoming more intense or whether the ripples were just increasing in strength. Either way, each new wave seemed to leave her weaker than the last. The realisation came, the voice was at least partly right.
“Good Girls are helpless”.
Samantha could see where this was going. The voice seemed so reasonable, and she had to admit that what it was saying was true. Except that wasn’t entirely right was it? Some of it might be, but not all.
“You are a Good Girl”.
For a moment her thoughts were washed away by another wave of pleasure.
“You are helpless”.
She couldn’t deny it, even though she tried. Her mind rebelled, reminding her that she was trapped motionless inside this cocoon.
“You love to be helpless”.
She knew that the voice was wrong, but a tiny part of her recognised just how good she was being made to feel and wondered.
“Good Girl”.
Again the intensity seemed to increase, she yearned to thrash and arch but her prison continued to hold fast. Aftershocks rocked her, leaving her dazed and befuddled.
“Good Girls are bound”.
The captive girl tried to marshal her strength, but each climax seemed to drain her more. She couldn’t help it, the thought that Good Girls were weak popped unbidden into her mind.
“You are a Good Girl”.
But she wasn’t, was she? She was a soldier, fighting the machines.
“You are bound”.
That much was true, she couldn’t deny that the strange liquid had wrapped her inescapably.
“You love to be bound”.
Samantha tried to stay focussed, but the ripples made it so difficult to concentrate. She felt so good, in any other circumstances she would have agreed. But not here, not when she was trapped, waiting who knows what fate.
“Good Girl”.
Samantha tried to fight it, but the sensations were too potent. Despite her best efforts she felt her body respond. More and more pleasure flooded through her, dulling her other perceptions still further.
“Good Girls are gagged”, the voice continued once her climaxes began to slow.
She knew immediately that it would be foolish to refute the fact. It was only when the second statement, familiar and somehow comforting came, that she realised what the voice had said. She might agree that she had been gagged, but surely not that this was the fate of all good girls?
“You are a Good Girl”.
The captive struggled again, trying to clear her thoughts enough to concentrate. Something important and dangerous was happening, and she needed to be sharper. The relentless pleasure was too much, she realised and she was beginning to make mistakes.
“You are gagged”.
Still reeling for her earlier error, Samantha was happy to let the comment pass. Her body tingled delightfully as the litany continued.
“You love to be gagged”.
For a moment she found herself wanting to admit it. She did feel wonderful, and somehow being bound and gagged was only adding to her enjoyment. Samantha understood that she was being manipulated, but for that brief moment she found that she was unable to care.
“Good Girl”.
The phrase bludgeoned her, forcing yet more orgasms from her already exhausted body. By now she had lost count of the number of orgasms. Each seemed to roll into the next, never quite pausing long enough for her to recover. Worst still, she found that she loved it.
“Good Girls do whatever they are told”.
She baulked at that, finding extra strength from somewhere. She wasn’t going to be anybody’s servant, no matter how good they made her feel.
“You are a Good Girl”.
But the voice just continued and the pleasure filled her with each new statement. Building and building in strength while her own ebbed and waned.
“You will do whatever you’re told”.
Her denials were getting less forceful, and even though she knew it was folly, Samantha found herself wanting to just let go.
“You love being told what to do”.
She was sure that she didn’t want anyone to tell her what to do. But almost as soon as she had the thought, Samantha realised that as a soldier it was part of who she was. Of course, this was different though, wasn’t it? The voice wasn’t talking about obeying orders.
“You love doing as you’re told”.
Her thoughts were becoming more and more tangled. She was fighting to understand while at the same time debating exactly what the voice really meant. As a result, each new statement was being analysed and considered. Whereas before she had tried to distract herself from the voice, now she was giving it her full attention.
“Good Girl”.
The feelings descended like a torrent, submerging her and dragging her deeper into darkness. The coloured lights, flashing in front of her, even when she closed her eyes (or at least she thought that they were closed, it was so hard to tell anymore).
“Good Girls are submissive”.
Samantha found that the words just drifted past, she understood them, but it was so hard to fathom their meaning.
“You are a Good Girl”.
The young soldier had to agree. She was certainly a girl and at the moment she felt pretty damn good. She found the thought amusing, but quickly quashed the emotion when she remembered the seriousness of her situation.
“You are submissive”.
No, she was pretty sure that wasn’t right. But then she had agreed that she was a Good Girl before and weren’t Good Girls submissive?
“You love to be submissive”.
Where before there had been clarity, now everything was confused. She was sure (or at least pretty sure) that she wasn’t submissive. But that didn’t seem so cut and dried anymore. She knew that she didn’t love feeling like that though.
“Good Girl”.
But as the next series of orgasms exploded within her, Samantha found herself accepting that she really loved feeling like a Good Girl.
“Good Girls are obedient”.
The suggestion seemed to catch her by surprise, sinking into her mind while she was still reeling. It seemed so reasonable, so right. The girl found herself agreeing and waiting to enjoy the thrill of reward.
“You are a Good Girl”.
Samantha found that she could happily accept that fact now. It was just so nice being called that, feeling like that. How could she think otherwise?
“You are obedient”.
It was a stretch, she felt fairly sure that she wasn’t obedient. But then she did obey orders didn’t she? She was a Good Girl and she had already agreed that Good Girls were obedient. Samantha was still puzzling it out when the voice spoke again.
“You love to be obedient”.
This time there was only a flicker of resistance before she conceded that the voice might be correct.
“Good Girl”.
Again and again she came, her body held secure as her mind sank deeper and deeper into its own bondage. Ideas and thoughts, which would have been totally alien only minutes before, wrapped themselves carefully around her mind, binding and trapping it.
“Good Girls obey”.
If they were obedient, then of course they would have to obey. It only made sense really.
“You are a Good Girl”.
She exalted in the knowledge that she was such a Good Girl.
“You obey”.
Well yes, she was a Good Girl and they obeyed.
“You love to obey”.
Of course, she loved being a Good Girl and all that it entailed.
“Good Girl”.
The reward drove her mind into the darkness of oblivion, dashing away her last remaining thoughts. Then, just as it seemed that the woman’s ordeal had ended, the voice began again, soft urging her into new and better ways of thinking.
“You are a Good Girl”.