It's not like you had an option. Besides, you're not complaining.

Boy howdy, had you not been a shinobi, you would not have lasted. More to the point, you would not have lasted neither physically nor sexually. However, the sheer determination coursing through you, every inherent need to survive the encounter and go on to regain the tools from which to pull your own life out of mediocrity, they all added up to something greater, it was as if coded into your very spine, and if left to fester there long enough, might change you on the whole. As your dick once more pierces her velvety folds, you can feel how she's recognized that the only way to get off your dick now, was by deflating it. Her calves, having pivoted her entire weight for the past minutes (you aren't entirely sure how long, as your focus has been on not dying), were now finally out of gas. One could only figure that if she was half the shinobi that you think she is, she wouldn't be able to stand if prompted.

The focus had now shifted, and she was once more in control, not in control of her own arms, as you still firmly held them away from any productive pushing, but in control of her own decisions all the same. Her goal was simple, if she could just make you ejaculate inside of her, she would be able to get off your fatigued penis and back into your lap. But as she ground her hips, her voice now moaning loudly, not wishing to conceal anything in an attempt to arouse you further, you wish to understand to what extent she's actually doing this for you. Pulling her hand towards her groin, her hand, as if by a magnetic **** joins along in the carnage of her pussy. Furthermore by moving her right arm...

You wonder if you can just...

Sort of reach over...

And...

The way her hand snaps out of yours and firmly grabs her own cheek almost jolts you enough to lose your mental posture. You follow along her hand, to make sure that it's not up to any sort of mischief but it turns out she's just more of a pervert than you had anticipated. While your right hand was still hovering hers as she violently gouged at her own pussy, her left hand, or more accurately, the middle finger of her left hand, was snaking its way inside her back door. The entire position making it seem as if she was riding you like a saddle. With your hands free, you rest them on the inner side of her thick thighs where her horniness has heated her loins to almost **** levels. You don't even think she's aware of you anymore.

As you fondle her, you can feel the billowing of her skin as she lurches over, clearly more intent on tensing her own body to reach orgasm than to motivate you any further, and why should she? You're the enemy, right? Lurching however, only helps you further, as her chest is now hanging within your reach again. As you strain the chains to their fullest, you can feel the tips of her tits reach down. The nipples are large enough that they don't naturally get enough blood flow to stay erect at their fullest capacity, so as you graze them impotently getting to do nothing more than nip at them with your fingers you can feel them ever so slightly elongate with every pinch. All the womanly moans filling the room have turned animalistic now. Your constant but lackluster stimulation of her nipples, making her show a side of her that she's never before been **** to show anyone, but that part doesn't last for long. Her nipples are now erect enough for you to latch on to, and the strain is enough to push her over the edge, the slight hook that you gain on her nipples creating spasms through her entire spine and lower body, as if her body's natural response was to milk you dry. You feel the **** of her cumming only in how she feels like she's whipping against you like a deflated balloon. Between her shriek you can hear that familiar voice coming from your spine again, the one urging you against cumming inside of her for all the glory that might come after, to make sure anything at all comes after. The almost systematic, all natural rhythm coming out of her, the one that squeezes as if she's on **** row, it's like a poison to that part of your spine. Your brain keeps on screaming that she wants it, she wants to be pregnant. A woman, as buxom as they come, with perfect skin and an an ass to die for, that dresses in clothes so tantalizingly bare, yet lets no man close, wants your cum inside of her. She probably can't even stop her body from craving it. But much like a paraplegic, your brain's signals do not get past your spine.

She's exhausted now, every muscle like noodles, if it wasn't for your hands pushing her upwards, she would most probably have fallen across your torso by now. There's an attempt to seize the moment to ask why you're not cumming, interrupting that however, you advise her that if she unties you, you could probably help her off and into your lap. With much destitution it doesn't take long before everything but your legs are untied. You can see her face again now, her plump lower lip is shuddering in the ventilated room and saliva that she has been unable to wipe away has ran down her chin in various cycles, leaving some of crusted in streaks and some of it liquid and still running. Her mascara is slightly smeared, but in the sort of way that happens when your hands aren't allowed to smudge it out across your face. You counter your own stunnedness by telling her that you can't get her off your dick from this position, that even if your hands were available, you couldn't possibly tell your body to leave such a beautiful woman. The gesture of course, does not go across well, but her generally exhausted demeanor doesn't have the time to bother with petty things such as rage. Instead she now fully unshackles you, as your gentle abs sweep across her back in one fell swoop, all very careful not to unsheathe yourself, you now stand on solid ground.

She's lifeless and limp under your grasp, she's worked her hardest to not embarrass herself for what must have been an hour by now. Every part of her body is sore and overworked, and your penis was starting to feel it too. You could, at this very moment pull out your dick and make a run for the earrings, her body would be too tired to resist. But that itch in your spine, like the double edged sword it is, is not letting you. The very inherent human need to dominate, to search for grandeur and meaning beyond the material is urging you now. Darwin is calling, and he wishes that the booty currently splayed across a doctors table, ready and willing to get some sweet love gets that sweet love immediately. You piston forward, as she gives out a sore moan. She's a shinobi and is clearly used to much worse pains than slight inconvenience, so most of the tone from her is indignation, the sort of indignation that you have when your entire identity is built around being a buxom dominatrix, yet your own body as well as your own sanity demands to be bred. The sort of one where every sensitive nub not only is squeezed against the table but your legs are now locked around your interlocutor as your body as reached a Pax Romana where not even your psyche cares to question your urges.

You're pistoning in and out now, in the natural way that people do it when prompted to. Not in the way where you awkwardly look for good angles or where you actually check for whether your partner is reciprocating. Your entire body is about as warmed up and mobile as it can get, your woman is placed in perfect pelvic height, and she's not making any resistance. To any outside viewer, it would look like two monkeys having at it, and with your limited knowledge of animal biology that might as well be the case. One of the parts being so out of it that she relies solely on her animal instincts to get herself through. The other, having just out-sustained a predator is now so jacked up on hormones that he couldn't stop himself from dominating the nearest ass. You grab her perfectly shaped hipbone and pound her deeper. Her body's response is pulling up her neck, as an impotent "ugh" is heard. Her hitched voice relays the same enjoyment as a rural housewife before the invention of contraception, she had gone through a tiresome day, and now her only duty left as a respectable housewife was bending over at the footboard of the bed. It was her choice whether or not to enjoy it, and estranging herself from the incidental net positives over her life seemed foolish. Most of the scientist's identity had taken the backseat at this point, she's been trained for this. When you're tortured or taunted on, or off, the battlefield, you put your honor and identity behind you. After all, it is the person that is left alive that gets the last laugh. So what's left of her identity are probably very few things. Human, Woman, and possibly, if you were to wager anyhow, Pervert. From what you wager, what was going through her head currently, was whether or not she as a person wanted this. The entire idea of her perversion by choice had always been just that, a choice. However when someone finally started a fire under her feet, was her perversion stoking that flame? Was she so entrenched and addicted to that part of her identity that she couldn't hide it away, even when she was ****, "for her own dignity" to have someone ejaculate inside of her? If you were to further wager, the way her hand gently traces the side of her head every time she winces, she sincerely wishes that your thrusts wouldn't **** that thought out of her head so consistently.

No quarter is given however, you go after booty. You instead help her down the path of conclusions. You slap her cheek, not the one in the front, but the one down below. The one that is jutting out like the right hand side of a neck pillow. You make a mental note to change the normality of interrogation methods for shinobi, not another time should you have to suffer through an stuffy neckbrace when this is readily available. Your hand lifts up her cheek, aggressively reconforming the swollen mass under your hand. As she bucks from under your thrusts you quickly jiggle the mass in your right hand possessively, grunting intentionally loud as to get the point across extra hard. You were ((technically no longer)) subtextually controlling the conversation. She can't recognize herself as a dominatrix, at least not while never planning on putting up resistance. Doing so would be putting into question her own identity even further than she already was. So consciously juggling both the idea that she wasn't a pervert, but was a dominatrix doesn't look to have very positive optics. As you squeeze both of her cheeks together you tweeze the sides of her anus with your thumbs. Her face, outside of your vision, contorts as a confused yelp sounding like the yelp you make when you're naked after a shower and accidentally walk in on someone. Whatever conclusion she drew, her body grows limp. She's taking it with some more enthusiasm now as she's risen onto her knees, assisting you in the pistoning.

"I'm sorry to say, but I think I need roleplay to get off." You tell her, pushing your nigh-indefinite luck. You can barely stop yourself from chuckling as you know you will get away with it. You were never much of a dirty talker, because you never got the practice, but it doesn't matter much, this was for yourself. "Yeah, you like that don't you? You're trying to have me killed yet here you are begging for my cock like the pervert you are." You can see her head jolt up in remembering what her actual mission was. You continue, "I bet you forgot didn't you? You got so sucked up in this current predicament that you actively gave up. You saw my dick once and your ass was dragged to it like a magnet." You slap her ass hard this time. You don't know the extent of her sexual capabilities, but you were going to punish her either way. "My ass does most of my thinking for me." You swiftly interrupt her, her acting having luckily made up for her weak dialogue. "Oh please, you think I'm just going to take your word for that then tell your ass to talk." It takes her a couple of split seconds to understand what you said, but she nonetheless continues. "This sultry whore doesn't even know what she wants anymore. Sometimes she feels too horny to be a shinobi. She avoids contraceptives because the risk of getting pregnant flicks *moan* a switch in her brain that makes her shinobi outfit difficult to wear, but she doesn't want to wear it anyhow. Sometimes she makes a bunch of mock medicines that would kill all her inhibitions, but she never touches them. She- Ahiiiiiii~ <3"

She falls to the table again, her inner harmony restored the second her pussy becomes filled. It's as if she can just ignore all the terrible things that are happening to her and just happily live with the fact that her body has some capacity for joy left. She moans, gently rubbing her stomach as a trickle comes from her pussy. The shape of her ass, winking at you, as if telling a whole 'nother story than whatever her face would want to be expressing. She quickly turns around, now with the dubious charade over she confidently looks at you, expecting you to get under her once more. But as you linger by her table, searching her coat pocket, reality dawns upon her face. She looks angry, as if she'd been cheated, but she knows full well that the implications were nothing but a farce. This was simply a falsified truth implanted in her brain.

As you start donning the earrings she attempts attacking you, only to have her attempt do nothing more than create a wet "plap" on the floor from her ass as her legs give in. As everything you did seemed normal now, your buxom vixen's face contorted in confusion as you stood on her chest, tweezing her nipple between your toes. You quickly retract the leg as she comes to her senses, ravenously lashing after it with a weapon she had gotten from god knows where. You must say, you're impressed that she managed to hide weapons on herself, even as she had an hour's worth of sex and cumming violently upon possible impregnation.

Taking a distance from the slow moving angry lady pulling herself across the floor you equip the second earring and declare...