Going Down

You find and follow the high volume pipes that deliver coolant to and from the laser cannons' heat sinks. Eventually a wider tunnel allows you to take the lead. As you pass Melodia, you cup then squeeze her swaying tit, much to her pleasure. The pipes lead you to an unoccupied engineering nook.

The two of you quietly exit. Hopefully, the ship's security **** has lost your tail, and you want to keep it that way. "Look around for a console" you whisper sharply while setting your remote to periodically ping for access points. Climbing over a valve infested pipe, you glance around the room you ended up in. There are a few circuit breaker boxes and some fire suppression controls but nothing with ship-wide access. You find the door and exit into a hallway.

Though you're still on this unknown ship, there are no pressing threats and you feel yourself relaxing a bit. The next room you enter seems to be a janitor's storage room, but it could still have a physical map. Keeping an eye on the door, you gesture towards the tool lockers and quietly order Melodia to search them.

The click of a cabinet opening is immediately followed by a scream. You whip your head around, mind working at lightspeed to assess the situation. It wasn't the scream of an innocent maiden about to be kidnapped (you are very familiar with that). Could it have been the scream of a woman drawing attention to herself hoping the surprise visitors would be her rescuers?

For the first seconds you laid eyes on her, it did seem the case. The bronze-skinned beauty was twisted up in a tool cabinet. Held by tape and chains, she was being tormented by a mop drone spinning between her legs. Perhaps a perverted janitor kidnapped someone, or it was "take your sex **** to work" day. But a second later, you piece together the entire picture. The neatly folded pile of clothes, the timed release mechanism, the blush on her face, the overpowering smell of female arousal, it all makes sense. You have caught someone masturbating; it appears this flexible deviant has found a quiet place for a little self-bondage session.

She might still be able to raise an alarm, so you instantly leap into action.. A dildo is crammed into her mouth before she can close it. The fake-veined, rubber rod had a slight sheen to it; the woman likely used it to warm herself up. However, you like to think it is a remnant of numerous people's excursions to the masturbation alcove, and the tip tickling her throat bares the flavored wetness of several women. A few handy strips of sealant tape prove ample to hold the mouth filler in place

Once your victim is properly gagged, your eyes wander her exposed skin. It's warm-brown in color and glistening with slight perspiration. Her left leg is frogtied with its knee anchored to a tool rack to her right, while the other has its ankle cuffed to the floor. They face sideways, so in a way, the flexible fuck-toy looks like she is trying to prance up the wall of her cramped cabinet.

Time-release handcuffs secure her wrists to the back of her cabinet-prison and **** her to present her torso to you no matter how much she twists. Her soft breasts heave and sway. Round against her slender form, they are far too tantalizingly not to torment. You pinch one hard nipple between your fingers and twist it viciously (purely to test the effectiveness of her gag). Her muffled scream is music to your ears. When you release the pleasure nub, she tries to speak, begging for mercy most likely, but her mewling is thoroughly incoherent.

"Would you like to be released?" you ask, fiddling with the timed restraints pinning her arms behind her back. Thrashing, she attempts to yell something through her gag. You're actually increasing the time of her predicament but she doesn't need to know that. "I guess I could use another ****, for a time." Pausing, you leer at her struggling form. "This position you **** yourself into reminds me of how the Turnk strap down the fuckmeat they give to their factory workers. You can satisfy an assembly line of the double-dicked aliens in an hour with a slut trussed up like this. For some reason they always need new slaves, so I should be able to sell you easily."

Terrified as she is, the tight cunt looks away from you. Her eyes stare blankly upward and her shoulders bang against the back of the cabinet as she spasms. She squeals desperately around her dildo gag and is left panting. Her dangling toes twitch as she gets over the euphoria. The little bitch just came. Without permission.

You grab a clamp rack (two parallel bars that can be tightened together) and squish the disobedient slut's tits. Once the woman's ta tas are suitably squeezed, you give them three hard slaps each. You hear the pained whimpering the gagged woman but also some from behind you. As you turn, you see Melodia has collapsed to her knees. She is nibbling on her lip and frantically clawing at her thighs. Given the extensive orgasm denial she's endured, watching your newest toy cum would have been pure **** for her, especially now that the cunt pleaser between her legs is near the crescendo of its tease cycle. You step towards her and ask "you're not thinking of having an orgasm without permission too?"

She shakes her head and manages to murmur "No ma'am, I know better."

"Good. This whore is going to be severely punished for her disobedience." You return to the terrified woman secured to the wall. Still floundering in her overindulgence, her squeezed breasts heave; occasionally she will twist her torso in a subconscious attempt to shake the cruel crusher of her tits. You savor the twinkle of fear in her eyes and quickening breath as she struggles to look you in the eye.

When she gets enough courage to mumble a question around her gag, you answer by tampering with the drone snuggled up to her most sensitive parts. If your prey is going to enjoy an orgasm, why not give her a few more? Her eyes grow wide as the mop spins faster, spraying slut juice everywhere. Her impassioned gasps become more panicked when the spinning robot reaches top speed, humming with the ferocity of an approaching speeder squadron. The overwhelming pleasure slapping into the slender beauty's pussy makes her hips buck and twitch. You close the tool cabinet and return your plaything to darkness.

Melodia let's out a pained whimper. You turn to see her stare mornfully at the silent vibrator in her pussy. Pitifully, your **** whimpers "that doesn't seem like a punishment."

In response, you ruffle her orange hair. "Does this mean you haven't suffered over-stimulation before?" The submissive pixie had tried some BDSM before you captured her, but her experience was shamefully limited. "When this is over," you add while stroking her cheek, "I'll have to finger you until you beg me to stop."

Melodia doesn't know what she's in for and eagerly kisses your hand. With the promise of an orgasm dangling in front of her like a carrot, your **** obediently follows you out. Unfortunately, after a few steps down the hall, the **** moaning and aroused mumbling of your poor cabinet slut can't be heard over the hum and drum of the active ship.