The lights in the ceiling buzzed at a low frequency, just above the base hearing level, their white light washing out much of the color in the room. In the center of the room, on a muted metallic bed, lay a magnificent specimen of the female species, her proportions taking on the curves, that sense of over ripeness that ancient cultures used to worship in goddess cultures. Her delicate skin bared to the room. Her more than ample breasts, large, ripe, and looking firm to the touch, moved radically, as she panted. Her long, slender arms were pulled wide to the side, and up, her wrists bound with a glowing rounded cuff of forcefield energy, emanating from extended arm rests on each side of the bed. A triangle shaped pillow lay underneath her lower back, raising her hips up of the bed slightly. Her knees were pulled up, close to her chest, but played sideways, wide, on each side of her body, exposing her sex to the room. As lovely, mesmerizing, and erotic as the figure on the table was, it was the second figure that dominated the enclosed space.
To the casual observer, he wouldn’t bring much comment, or even a second look. His build average, his coloring average, his demeanor average, even the small goatee caresing his chin, seemed to just scream nondescript. But only if you weren’t paying attention. It wasn’t in the way he looked, it was in something inefable, etheric, in nature. Maybe it was the way he moved, that fluid almost sensitive controlled manner. Each movement, precise, but graceful, seemingly practiced a thousand times, screaming a master of whatever he was doing. Maybe it was his body posture, that sense of aura some people give off, the way they position themselves, the way they stand, it spoke..no…screamed of a terrible, consuming power. And the scene in this room, would only reformforce that perception. Any normal creativity hackles, its instincts would be raised, the hairs on their arms prickling, a sense of dread overwhelm them, as a dichotomy between the figures would register.
Only once taking in both figures, would the attention be drawn, finally, inevitably to the face of the woman. There, on her face, an expression so primary, so intrinsic, so instantual, so shocking, as to give anyone pause. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing, her gaze flickering, moving, searching, occasional her eyes would flicker, pushing more tears down, and streaming on her already soaked face. Her lips, full, sensitive, and successful like the rest of her. Would be pulled tight against her teeth, her mouth open slightly, as she sucked in her breaths. Her cheeks, the skin of her face would be pulled tight, the muscles jumping twitching, as the pure, unadulterated terror, no…primal horror emanated from that increasingly haunting beautiful face.
The man’s hands, garnering attention, rose from their position of rest. Fingers played wide, pointing at the woman, seemingly reaching to touch her exposed sex. Then a pause, before a sickly off color bolts of lighting spewed from the ends of his fingers, arching, emrithing, and struggling her in her most delicate places. The sharp smell of ozone spiked in the air, and the rumble of sound too close thunder, immediately followed by the howling, ageing scream of pure, primary pain from the woman.
The man’s face didn’t even flicker, no pause, no blink, not even the tiniest of acknowledgment of the pain and suffering he was inflicting on her, would pass over his demeanor. Slowly, his hands would twist, turn, the fingers moving, guiding the lighting to cares her skin with its pain filled touch. Slowly each flickering tendril of lightning would gather, moving from its fan like emanation, before tightening down to a small, concentrated few inches of skin, right below the womens navel. Her head would start thrashing, shaking, a motion of panicked denial, as the gathered lightning slowly traveled down, further and further, but pausing a second before reaching her exposed cunt. Then with a slight flick of his hands, the concentrated flickering bolts jumped, and began lickin, struggling, struggling, blasting, the lips of her pussy. Seemingly an occasional bolt would pry itself between her lips, and slip down, touching her clip.
The woman’s howling cry of pain transformed, seemingly rising up into the almost inaudible levels, as her eyes seemed to bulge, her mouth gain open. Her former expression of terror, immediately transformed, translated into a shocked, stunned expression of pure ecstasy. Each time a bolt of lightning would flick against her clip, every muscle in her body would clnch, her breathing would freeze, and the muscles of her legs would twitch, her toes spasm, before releasing. Shock, after shock, after shock would striker through her until with one greater waken shriek, her eyes rolled back into her head, her mouth would fall open, and a pulsing, jetting stream of clear liquid would shoot from her pussy, her legs clenching one last moment, the ligaments standing out like iron bars, before her entire body collapsed into a weak, unresponsive state. For a few moments, the lightning would continue, then a frown would appear on the man’s face, and with a few tiny zaps, the lightning ceased.
A minute frown would appear on his face, and with a leader step he would move over to the twi’lek. One hand reaching out, he would lay it on her breast, palm wide, and hold it a moment. “Test 123-A5, Subject experienced extreme pain, followed by a moment of sexual ecstasy so great, subjects life functions ceased. Beginning resuscitation.”
Placing one hand on each side of the twi’leks chest, just above her massive breasts, he paused. Then the sound of zapping, the woman’s mouth would open, her body spasm, and her eyes would flutter open, eyes unfocusing.
“Resuscitation successful. Ending the day’s session, to allow the subject to recover.”
His hands would momentarily slide down, grasping one breast in eachhand, his fingers squeeze slightly, her flesh pressing between his fingers. The women eyes would fly to the face of the man, her eyes suddenly focusing, a lesser expression of fear on her face.
After a few moments of squeeze her breasts, and then tweaking her nipples. The man would release his grapsp, and take a step back, a contemplative look on his face. Taking the few necessary steps, he moved from the womens side, and around to her played pussy. Reaching down, he tugged on his clothes, releasing an unexpectedly thick, hard, and obviously throbbing cock. Moving forward, he rubbed the head of his cock against the twi’leks soaked cunt lips.
He paused, speaking to the room, “Researcher is initiated regular body stimulation, with the intent for fluid injection. Will report more upon completion.” Then with a sudden thrust, buried his cock into her sopping cunt.
Some time later…
The low hiss of the hydroulics seemed to echo down the long sterile white hallway. The slight figured man, standing with his back turned, before the now close door, waited a moment quietly. His hands moved over his opulent clothing, adjusting, pulling, tightening, re-buttoning various pieces, returning his image to that carefully crafted figure of power, precision, and control. Clearing his throat, he turned and walked down the hall way, his steps overly loud.
The hallway, turning gently to the right, opened up into a large irregularly shaped room. High received windows into the slanted room shed bright, almost blinding light onto the opposite wall, illuminating the room without artistic means. On one end of the room, opposite of the hall, was a large utility desk, and a green skinned woman sat behind it, casually typing into the computerized work reception, attached to the desk.
Moving confidently towards the desk, his eyes scanned the room a moment, running over the various comfortable waiting chairs, the lush area rugs, and the subtly opulent looking plants. His eyes paused on a large painting on the wall before moving back to the woman.
She jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, her head whipping up and her gaze locking onto his.
“Is that the sacking of the core worlds, the original?” He made a motion towards the painting.
She licked her lips, and nodded. “Yes, my lord. Your conservator sent it secured courier this morning.”
Turning, he took a few steps forward, and leaned in, examining the painting carefully, noting the whols of color, the precision of line, and the grand vista of it all. A small smile appeared on his face, and he barely nods. “Well done, well done indeed. Send a small bonus to him, and a personal message of my pleasure.”
“Yes, my lord.” She quickly looked down, and began typing swiftly.
Taking a step back, he turned, and walked towards the half hidden door behind the desk of the woman, as he started to pass her, he paused, placing a hand on her shoulder, hissmile widens as she freezes, and shivers. “Any messages?”
“N-n-no, my lord.”
He pats her shoulder, once, then twice, then turns and enters the door behind her.
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