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Pride and Politics	By : HunterOpera Category: +M through R > Metroid Views: 31560 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Samus Aran or Metroid and am making no money from this.

Chapter List
- 9
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- 11
She'd forgotten what time was. Forgotten what self was. Isolation will do that to anyone, and anyone can break. The violations and enemas she suffered were her only comforts, and they irregular joltings from the dull monotony of her existence. She no longer even tried to scream when the static in her ears whispered. The images that danced in front of her were blinding, savage, but she longed for the break of the void she suffered in that they offered, almost as much as she longed for the day when she could meet one of her owners.
We know what she's thinking, friends, because Salis had made a study of it. The warden had time to interview people at different stages of isolation, wanting to understand the detail and nuance of what she inflicted on others.
You might call her a student of the game.
Still, she noted the former Hunter's reaction when a strange brush of air moved across her skin. The hanging woman twitched in her straitjacket, her toes curling. Salis walked around the room and took stills to go along with the video she'd recorded.
Samus simpered, senseless, helpless, losing everything she had been.
The warden smiled and bit her lip.
A few buttons pressed accomplished what the Hunter had failed to do over such a long time: lower her to the floor. It was the first time her bare feet had touched the cool ground in ages and Salis could see that Samus no longer remembered how her feet worked. She dangled still, toes and heels on the ground but useless, not moving as the warden moved closer and circled the woman she had turned into prey.
She reached out, tracing patterns along the Hunter's thighs, dancing fingers working their way up around Samus' shoulders. She disconnected the hoses from Samus' ass and cunt and mouth but left the dildos locked in place. Small quiverings working their way up the Hunter's long legs as she tried to make sense of the floor under her feet, the sudden lack of pull at her lips and lower holes.
Salis smiled. Everything was going according to plan.
Brushing Samus' matted sweat-soaked hair from her eyes and from around her ears, Salis worked the visor loose and carefully set it to one side. Samus blinked in the silvery light, trying to make sense of her surroundings. Her gaze, once so sharp and strong, was dull and listless. Salis patted her cheek.
Other slaves were brought in, women and men who had not suffered a third of what had befallen the Hunter, but all of them were broken completely. Salis had them wash her as they might wash any other object, with cold water on her skin, rough soap-soaked sponges and rags for her skin and hair, coarse towels to wipe the excess moisture away.
Salis herself worked on the Hunter's hair, trimming it and styling it into something like what Olsar had seen at that long-ago gala – a ponytail behind her head and two strands of hair framing her face.
Quiet, Samus moaned into her gag, a dull sensation of needles settling into the soles of her feet as she tried to remember how to support her own weight.
“This is all that remains of one the once mighty Hunter?” Salis chuckling to herself, shaking her head. She checked her datapad and barked an order and all at once Samus was left all alone.
The Hunter tried to make sense of the world around her. The light was jarring, blinding after so long encased in darkness, the low droning hum of her cell an irritation she could do nothing about. She tried to put weight on her feet and failed to hold herself up.
Slowly. Gently. One heel, sliding down to her toes. Testing weight, remembering what it meant to stand. She was panting over the gag, tongue running over the cock in her mouth as she pressed her other heel down, rolled down to her heel.
For the first time in forever Samus Aran was standing.
Then the dildos inside her shocked her and she lost her footing.
Sagging into the straitjacket, Samus moaned in frustration and tried again. The shocks didn't come this time, but thought did – she realized that there was no pattern, the discarded portions of her mind trying to remember how to think. She was standing, taking in her surroundings with an echo of her old attention to detail when she heard whistling from outside her cell.
A moment later, the door opened and four people walked in.
The first was her warden, monochrome and shorter than she was, biting her lip. The second was an ugly and scarred humanoid, the top half of his face covered in surgically implanted metal. He had a warglove on his left hand, a weapon that reminded her... that reminded her of something she couldn't quite recall. The third was human-like, but short and balding, looking nervous, eyes flickering to the others that he kept behind. The last was a couple inches shorter than her, dressed in formal purple and blue, his goatee neatly trimmed.
She didn't know who any of them were but a single title flashed in her mind.
Owners. She stared at them, feeling excitement dribble down her thigh. Masters.
The sight for them, though...
Lines from the ceiling circled under her arms and held her up, even as she struggled to stand under her own power. Her arms were still bound tight under her chest, pushing out her breasts under the heavy jacket that held her. Her long legs were bare, the curve of her hips obvious. A belt journeyed down her abdomen and into the split of her legs, hugging her core and splitting her backside.
She was twitching, her every effort consumed by the simple task of standing. Her eyes were glossy and dull, her hair freshly washed. They walked around her, considered her like the property they were turning her into.
“This is Samus Aran?” Bakhesh said, spitting at the Hunter's feet. He scowled, crossing his arms over his chest.
“What's left of her, yes,” Salis answered.
“Can she understand us?” Braca asked.
“She's trying to.” Salis bites her lip, steps closer to the bound woman, a stray finger tracing the underside of her ass. “The training requires us to break her down, but when we're done she'll understand at least some language.”
“Will she be able to fight?” Olsar asked.
“Perhaps,” Salis shrugs. “We'll have to wait and see. I'm more concerned with breaking her right now. Everything else can wait.”
“Samus Aran.” Olsar shakes his head as he steps forward, grabs her hips and pulls her off balance. He grinds his crotch into the dildos already inside her, looking into her eyes. “Who would have thought the Hunter would make such an adorable pet?”
And then, friends, we got proof of who Samus Aran truly was – some stray bit of defiance rose in her as she met the eyes of the Baron, her gaze narrowing as she tried to attack him. He noted the change in her, laughed as he defended himself, he knowing and she not as to why her kicks were so feeble.
“Good, I like that there's fight left in her,” Olsar chuckled, stepping back. “Bakhesh?”
The Tavlek warlord spat at Samus' feet and stepped forward.
He spent the next half hour working her over. Samus was too close to the experience to really appreciate his skill, but the others were able to watch as the hulking warrior targeted nerve clusters and muscle groups, taking his time to make sure his point was made. By the time he was finished Samus was hanging in her bonds again, her legs hanging limply below her.
“Such lovely legs,” Olsar smiled, stepping forward and moving one away from the other as Bakhesh stepped behind him. He pulled up a knee, licking a calf as Samus dropped her gaze from his. “Just a reminder, Samus – I own you. You know what that makes me, don't you?”
She had no way of answering him, not with the cock shoved down her throat.
But she knew. Everyone in the room did.
And now, friend, so do you.
“Move onto the next stage,” Olsar said, dropping her limb and looking back at the warden. “I'm looking forward to having her around.”
“What is the next stage?” Braca asked.
“Four or five daily sessions of electroshock therapy at random intervals,” Salis said, sounding bored. “Followed by a cold water hose down and drip dry. We'll give her some real food, then hook her back up to this device. We'll start fucking her in another month, if you'd like to be here for that...?”
“I'm sure you'll manage,” Olsar smirked. “I don't have to be first among those to fuck the slut, only first among those who own her.”
“Of course, your grace,” Salis bowed.
Olsar stepped closer to Samus, grabbing her jaw and pulling her close, kissing the hole on the outside of what gagged her. He stared into her eyes, shaking her until she met his gaze.
“The next time we see one another,” he said, “You'll kiss my feet and beg me to fuck you.”
Samus wanted to be defiant but she knew – knew – that her owner was right.
- 9
- 10
- 11
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Pride and Politics