Sable and the Supers Ch. 08

Siobhan, so aroused she was forgetting about how tightly her head was held in place by her hair, futilely tried to nod.

The Engineer reached down to run his fingers lightly through Catherine's short hair, making her purr. His pants, once past the bulge of his quads, fell to the ground by themselves. He stepped out of them.

He took hold of the waistband of his drawers and casually ripped them off. His cock sprang out so rapidly that Catherine, who had been rising towards it, was struck across the face with a sound like a slap. She swayed backwards, nearly falling, but the way her eyes crossed did not indicate concussion.

She snatched at it with both hands, catching it on the rebound.

"So I think we should enjoy ourselves while we can," the Engineer said, smiling fondly down at Catherine as she stretched her jaw open wide to slowly slide over him.

One of the rules of this world was that lubrication was never a problem. There was no friction at all as he moved to the back of her throat and she swallowed him deeper.

Catherine had been a committed fetishist when she was human. With her body in this world, the only reason she had to gag or struggle was roleplay. The Engineer much preferred his slaves to be doting and competent, than struggling. He always felt guilty about forcing them to do something they didn't want to. It wasn't a normal thought for someone who had dedicated himself to brain-washing women and whose very bodily fluids were hypnotic aphrodisiacs, but the Engineer had walked a narrow line of willing participants, informed participants, and firmly ignoring any unpleasant moral debates.

Siobhan's eyes rolled wildly down, but she couldn't lift her head at all to watch as Catherine took the Engineer's gigantic cock all the way until his balls pressed against her chin and her throat was stretched obscenely around his shaft, so she had to imagine the sight instead. She whimpered again.

Catherin pulled back slowly, holding her breath with practiced ease until the Engineer's flared head popped out of her mouth with a sound a little like a cork from a wine bottle.

The Engineer's gaze slid slowly down Siobhan's restrained body. Siobhan whimpered, feeling the heat in his eyes as a blowtorch on her skin. When his gaze reached the wet puffy folds between her legs, she almost came. She sounded as though she had.

Catherine took the Engineer into her mouth again, sliding him halfway down her throat, then bobbed along his length as the ridges of muscle in her oesophagus massaged his head. She had to sway back and forth a long way to make meaningful progress over his length.

The Engineer's gaze was locked on Siobhan's cunt, making her spill a continuous stream of wordless need from her mouth.

He reached down, seized Catherine's short hair in fingers as strong as iron clamps, and unceremoniously pulled her head backwards, away from his cock. She made a sound as though he had seized her breast, and kept her mouth obediently stretched open.

The Engineer could come—or not—at will. His first blast slammed into Catherine's mouth. She caught it easily without choking, and knew better than to swallow. As the Engineer roughly pushed her aside, the second blast slapped her cheek, smearing over her skin. The third slammed into Siobhan's cunt, making the restrained maid, finally, come with a shriek.

Catherine was already feeling the mind-melting, flesh-burning adoration and arousal induced by the Engineer's come, but she lurched to her feet, mouth still full, staggering only a little.

She reeled around the table to the end, leant over Siobhan, and poured half her mouthful between Siobhan's eagerly, desperately gaping lips.

Siobhan, already feeling her cunt burning like a star, swallowed with a desperate desire for the bliss of total, forced subservience as she felt the Engineer seize her legs to brace himself then begin stretching her to her limit.

She had come again by the time he was halfway inside her.

#

The ship chimed softly at Sable when they were still an hour out.

She stared at the image the ship's forward telescope had collected.

What was slowly growing larger looked like the home of gods on Olympus.

She thought that, then realised she had thought that, then wasn't sure whether to laugh or feel a grim shiver of foreboding.

She watched as it slowly grew nearer, taller, and brighter.

"Ship, alert me to absolutely anything you see. Any movement. Any detectable electromagnetic or otherwise signals. Any change in reflectivity or cloud cover. Let me know if we hit unusual turbulence. You got that?"

"Yes, Sable."

Sable stood, watched, drank coffee whenever she felt impatient, and saw a slender, tapering spire taller than any building on Earth grow on the monitors.

"Ship, are you sure you've seen nothing?"

"I can not even detect bird life, Sable."

That settled it. She felt a grim shiver of foreboding.

She had the ship slow down until it was barely cruising before the island was properly visible to the naked eye.

It was an island: Large enough for anybody living on it to not think about it as an island, but roughly circular. It looked like a gigantic and ancient extinct volcano, rising gently to a peak upon which stood the impossibly tall, impossibly delicate-seeming tower.

The tower should have reminded her of the Engineer's creations—it had that look of implausibility, of "comic-book physics" about it—but it didn't, because it clearly wasn't his design. As Sable examined it more closely, it dawned on her that it didn't even look faintly plausible. It didn't look like something that would ever be dreamed up by an engineer, even one given suddenly looser limits to play with. It looked like something imagined by someone with no knowledge of engineering at all. It looked impossible, not implausible.

That almost made her relieved. It suggested that the Engineer truly hadn't been lying to her.

"Still no signs of life?" she asked.

"No, Sable. I can detect no movement, no heat signatures that suggest living humans or animals, and nothing unusual across the entire electromagnetic spectrum."

Sable frowned. "Ship," she said in sudden decision, "I'm going to go in to explore the city, then the tower. I want you aloft, hovering, and monitoring everything. I'll take an earpiece. You are to alert me to any damn thing, even a branch falling off a tree. Clear?"

"Yes, Sable."

She stepped out of the airlock at 5,000 feet, flying slowly with every sense achingly alert. Neither she nor the ship saw anything as she approached a broad avenue.

The city at the base of the mountain, extending halfway up until there was a gap between city and tower, looked futuristic but as if it had been designed by someone with limited imagination. There was a lot of repetition. It looked nothing like a normal city, which is a thing that grows organically and with barely restrained chaos as competing designers hurl their ideas onto available land.

Sable flew down to step onto the middle of a road, to be between the buildings, not right next to one. She seamlessly stepped out of the air into a cautious walk.

There was nothing around her. No movement except a steady breeze amplified by the tunnel between buildings.

She cautiously approached a shop, a café. The sign on the door said open. She tried the door, heart in mouth, to find it opening to her touch.

She entered with a shield on the tip of her mind, fingers tingling on the verge of throwing up an impenetrable black wall.

There were dead bodies inside. That did not help her state of mind at all.

They were dessicated, as though the city was as sterile as it looked. They were sitting at the counter, slumped over it, or fallen off a chair. One body even still sat upright at a table. When Sable checked, half expecting them to suddenly awake, she saw the dried remains of coffee still sitting in cups, but absolutely no mould at all.

She got out quickly. Other shops held other dessicated bodies. But there was nothing in the streets.

"Any ideas, ship?" She asked quietly.

"None, Sable."

"Anything happening?"

"No, Sable."

Sable stood in the middle of the street and stared up towards the base of the fairy-tale tower piercing the sky at the top of the island. "Well, I'm going to knock on a more important door," she said.

She rose straight up into the sky before spearing towards the base of the tower, moving quickly now. If there had been no reaction yet, she would try to provoke one.

Still nothing happened as she landed in front of gates that not even the frilliest minds of Disney animators would have designed.

She looked in vain for any sort of bell, and wasn't sure which bit she should try knocking on. Feeling supremely silly, she cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted "HELLO!"

The echoes died away without being replaced by any other sound. She shook the frilly gates vigorously.

Nothing happened.

There were, she remembered, balconies.

She walked backwards until she was out of the entranceway, then went straight up.

There was, she discovered, one impressive balcony that eclipsed all others and made her mutter "Jackpot," to herself.

It was the size of a tennis court at least, and the doors into the inside of the tower stood open.

Her fingers tingled with an incipient shield as she took step by careful step towards them.

"Hello?"

She cursed herself for timidity, then raised her voice. "Hello!"

Still nothing.

"Ship? Anything?"

"Absolutely nothing, Sable."

She eased through the open doors.

"Hello!"

She stood very still, trying to calm even the pulse in her ears, but heard nothing.

The room around her looked like an extravagant princess bedroom. It fit exactly with the tower.

There was, she realised, no dust. She looked very carefully at surfaces, and saw no dust anywhere.

Doors leading from the room lead to a bathroom larger than her bedroom, a walk-in closet equally as large, and a vast hallway.

Something intruded on the very edge of her hearing.

Her head snapped to one side before she had processed the sound. She listened, but heard nothing more. She turned her head very slowly, then caught it again, just barely, definitely in that ear.

She eased herself along the corridor, floating just off the ground to avoid making any footfall at all.

Then she stopped while she thought about that. Should she announce herself, or sneak? Every indication so far said that life here was unlikely at best, and nobody had responded to her so far.

She continued her stealthy drift. She could see no obvious spy cameras, but that didn't give her any confidence. She had announced her presence and tried to attract attention, after all, so she couldn't be accused of being a simple thief. Even if she was wearing all black, and avoiding making any further noise, and had come in through the something-floor balcony, and looked like a dominatrix.

Why had she chosen that bloody costume? Oh, yes. Spite.

The corridor turned a corner. The noise came again, this time to both ears.

It went straight to Sable's groin, prompting an involuntary gasp.

She felt her nipples pucker. She practically felt her pupils dilate. She felt slick dampness inside her.

She went very still as she forced her discipline onto her body. When the sound came again, she was ready.

It was the sound of a woman, heavily muffled but clearly having an orgasm.

Well, wasn't that fucking predictable?

As she glided on, she conjured a shield ahead of her in the form of a fine mesh she could see through but which would catch most projectiles, and readied herself to make it rapidly more solid.

The sound came again. Whoever it was, was having a lot of fun about every two minutes.

Sable traced the sound to a set of double doors that practically screamed "tastefully-concealed dungeon".

She conjured a remote black hand to open the doors from several metres away, while she stood to one side.

The sound was much louder after the doors opened, and Sable's body reacted in a way which really pissed off Sable's brain. She was dizzy as well as horny, her dominant tendencies fighting with her desire to surrender and start vigorously jilling herself.

When nothing else happened, she gritted her teeth against the sound, poised herself to solidify her shield, and stepped through the door.

The room was a clinical stainless-steel-and-white-tiles chamber stocked with all the medical restraints and medical-style bondage gear Sable was used to. Her quick survey of the room found only one occupant—the source of the repeated orgasmic sounds.

She was small compared to Sable—not tiny but possibly below average height, not petite but slender, and, Sable noted sourly, a more modest bust than Sable or most other female Supers Sable had met. She looked like someone who used the suffix "girl" rather than "woman".

That was all Sable could see, however, because the girl was encased in some sort of white suit that Sable was entirely sure was a bondage device, not a uniform. It was snug, included gloves that were seamlessly joined to the ends of the arms, and its white, vinyl-like surface was covered in a fine tracery like circuitry. Piping along the outside of each limb and the torso glowed blue. There were boots to mid calf, snug fitting and with 5" stiletto heels.

The suit ended at the neck, where it was met by a helmet made from overlapping plates that made it look creepily like an alien hand wrapped around the girl's head. It was not thick and the seams were not sealed, so although there was no visor or other eyeholes, Sable could see flickering lights seeping out the edges.

A segmented, chromed pipe attached to the helmet's mouth. Sustenance, Sable assumed, and probably also drugs.

The girl quaked as another orgasm struck her.

She was in a kneeling position, but her weight was not taken by her knees. She was resting on a comfortable-looking but narrow saddle that cupped and hugged her pelvis front to back, giving her no choice but to take all her weight on the device delivering relentless stimulation.

The girl's arms were held behind her a bar across her back and before her elbows. The bar also served to pull her backwards slightly for that sense of having her breasts more vulnerable and on greater display, and each wrist was chained to the ankle on that side, which rotated her hips to place more weight upon her mons, not her pelvis.

It was simple but, as Sable well knew, it was a very effective position to trap someone if you intended to do sexual things to their body.

Here, at last, was something that had the Engineer's fingerprints on it.

She thought that, and struggled to get mad. Then she realised her thinking was sluggish, and she was halfway across the chamber, towards the girl. She didn't really wake up until her fingers pressed over her clitoris and the spike of pleasure was enough to shock her brain awake.

Part of Sable's mind belatedly suggested that the flashing lights seeping from the helmet's edges were not something she wanted to be exposing herself to.

She hurriedly threw up a black cocoon around the girl, sealing around the pipe and the sturdy strut that held the saddle and its attached bars off the floor. For a few seconds, until her head cleared, her control was very shaky indeed, and she had to clamp both hands over the opposite forearm and squeeze hard to stop them going for breasts or cunt.

Then she angrily stalked around the room looking for a control panel.

When she found it, it was extremely straightforward.

There were, as she had expected, separate controls for "Saddle stimulators," "Suit stimulators", "Hypnosis" and "Oral delivery", which was a phrase that turned Sable's stomach even as as it made her clench a little between her legs.

She dropped the cocoon, then turned off "Hypnosis." The lights instantly stopped.

The girl peaked again without them.

Sable turned the "Oral delivery" dial to "Recovery" then switched off the saddle and suit stimulators. As she disabled the last, the blue lights on the suit faded.

The girl peaked again before the last button clicked home, then twitched, a confused or interrogatory movement where before there had been only exhausted sexual responses.

Sable waited. The time for another orgasm came but the girl did not. Inside the suit, the girl twitched as though trying to fight her way out of enveloping blankets.

Sable pressed the button to remove the helmet. It opened, all its pieces ultimately hinged to the face plate (again, looking either like a hand or an Alien facehugger, and not at all like a flower), which swung away on the end of the articulated tube. Sable heard a wet, slobbery pop, then saw a pacifier-type gag on the inside of the helmet, which would stretch the wearer's lips while it pumped nutrients and narcotics into their mouth. She was surprised it wasn't a full penis gag.

The girl inside, a complex mix of ethnic influences that included a touch of Asian blood, possibly some African, and maybe even Arab, would be wildly pretty without the flushed skin, hair plastered to her face, wild post-orgy eyes and swollen, parted lips. With them, she was a pervert's wet dream and even Sable felt a twinge of predatory desire.

Those eyes, wide and staring but unable to quite coordinate, managed to focus on Sable just long enough to reveal a flash of recognition before exhaustion drowned them again.

But the girl was clearly recovering as quickly as Sable or any other Super could.

Sable had no desire to get any closer. She wasn't even comfortable being this close. So as she unlocked the girl's cuffs via the control panel, she conjured up black arms to gently lift her out of the saddle and carry her back along the corridor to the bedroom where Sable had first entered the tower.

The girl sagged, not trying to move at all until she was lying on the enormous, frilly bed. Then, she began scrabbling weakly at the sturdy collar around her neck, barely able to lift her arm to it but clearly getting stronger every second.

Sable conjured a finger to remotely flick the latch open. The collar fell off the girl's neck, and the suit split along each of the seams that had glowed blue while it had been active.

"You should be able to walk yourself to the bathroom in a minute," Sable said. "Ill be on the balcony until you're dressed."

She stalked out. The girl said nothing.

Most of the wall onto the balcony was glass. Sable moved to stand against a pillar that mostly blocked her from view from inside.

The world outside was still quiet and empty of all other signs of life.

Then her communicator chimed softly in her ear.

"Yes, ship?"

"Sable, the Engineer's craft is approaching rapidly. Its sensors are better than mine, so I have already been hailed."

"Tell him to keep his fucking distance," Sable snarled. "I'll call him when I know what's going on, unless he thinks he can explain things to me."

Silence stretched out until the ship spoke again.

"He says he is impatient, but will wait."

Sable snorted.

It seemed like only another minute before a tired but strengthening voice inside called "Sable?"

Sable's face hardened instantly. She wasn't surprised the girl knew her name, not with where she was standing, but it was still a little unsettling.

She moved to stand in the doorway, arms crossed, knowing exactly what dominatrix image she presented.

The girl was clean and neat (showers can be nearly as magical as the Wardrobes) and dressed. "Girl" was right. She looked like someone who had grown up with Supergirl and didn't have much of an imagination.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, wearing a long-sleeved dress that would almost be modest if it wasn't so skin-tight. It ended in a pleated mid-thigh skirt, which revealed bare legs to boots that came most of the way to her knees. The boots were, of course, high-heeled. Her blonde hair—no way had she been born a blonde, with that colouring—was unrestrained. Her knees were together, her hands clasped in her lap. If she was human, how old had she been when she died? Everything she wore was a shade of silver.