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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
- 16
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- 18
She was devastated when she left the cell.
It's an interesting thing to watch, friends, considering who she had been. This was a woman who had fearlessly investigated some of the most dangerous places the galaxy has to offer without fear or hesitation, but she was trembling and unsure of herself as she was pushed out of the cell that had been her home for so long.
Braca and Aliste didn't notice her response: the former was replacing his wet shirt with a dry one, buttoning it back up. The latter was walking in front of him, her head bowed and face covered with Salis' juices, her arms crossed in front of her so she could hold Braca's jacket. Their positioning meant that Braca could watch her ass sway as she walked, a sight that he still took a cold satisfaction from.
In front of them, though, was Salis, and the warden did notice. She'd taken the pole from Braca and was using it to move Samus forward, enjoying the way the slave's shoulders shook, the way she tried to hide her panic in her hair. Salis knew that the Hunter had been a predator of open spaces and narrow corridors, that hers had been the grace and gift of movement. Salis had taken that from her, reduced her to this, and she smiled and bit her lip as she watched Samus suffer.
Because of the distress their movement caused Samus, Salis took a longer route than she had intended. None of the others noticed. Samus was panicked but unwilling to even try resisting, knowing that was not what her masters wanted. Her breathing quick and shallow, she struggled to remain calm as she was pushed forward by the neck, directed wherever her owners willed.
A fine sheen of sweat had covered her by the time they reached their destination. Her teeth were chattering and she was trembling. Salis grinned.
“Baron Rinic Pratolsar,” she said, forcing the Hunter down to her knees, forcing her face to the floor, “may your humble servant present the Hunter, Samus Aran.” She bowed with flourish, meeting the Baron's eyes.
He whistled, a slight sound as he sat on a throne and stared down at the reduced slave in front of him.
“Or what's left of her,” Salis admitted. Samus could hear her grin, yelped when her neck was twisted, forcing her to look up at her owner.
“Hello, Samus,” he said. He was sitting on a throne, legs splayed open, dressed in a suit that cost as much as some planets. He was passably handsome, possessed of a finely trimmed beard and carrying a small paunch around his belly, the extra weight not aided by the presence of alcohol resting in a glass by his side and a smoking cigarette in one hand. “Do you remember me?”
The slave didn't. Why would she? Their few meetings had been short and inconsequential for her, and all of them had been a lifetime ago besides.
Samus Aran barely remembered her own name.
A click alerted her that something was happening – the pole attached to her neck dis-attached, setting her free. She pressed her forehead to the ground, arms still bound behind her, raising her ass in the air suggestively. He looked down at her, the way her hair was splayed, the way her eyes looked up at him with pleading adoration when Salis nudged the slave's cheek with her foot.
He'd dreamed of this moment, his foot pushing closer to her. She crawled forward, her knees pushing, shoulders rocking as she closed the distance between them. Her tongue slithered out of her mouth, lathering the toe of his boot.
“Shall I leave you two alone, then?” Salis laughed. Olsar looked at her, the way she was leaning in the doorframe with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face, “Or do you want to know what other actions I've programmed into her?”
“Later for the fine details,” he said, voice throaty and warm. “I'm sure I can muddle my way through her for now.”
“As you wish..” Salis bowed her head low, walked closer and ran her foot over the soaked skin and heavy belt between the Hunter's legs. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.” Olsar breathed. “And Salis?”
“Yes.”
“Masterful work.”
It bothered Salis, how much joy she took from that compliment – but she more than most, friends, knows that we are all slaves to someone.
Olsar waited until Salis was gone, enjoying his cigarette as he watched Samus lick his feet with wide adoring eyes. He pursed his lips, inhaling deeply, struggling to control his lust.
He'd waited so long...
Finishing the cigarette, his hand moved to a series of buttons on his throne and he pushed them, his eyes never leaving those of his prey. Standing, he moved his foot away from where she was bowed, tapping her cheek with his boot and reaching for the heavy hook he had summoned.
His foot moved under her chin, gently lifting her up to her knees. The hook attached to her collar, another few button presses hoisting her to her unsteady feet, tilting her head back. She was taller than him. He remembered that, remembered her easy strength, liked the feeling of power that came with knowing who she had been and what he had done to her.
A slow walk around her hanging body came next, he admiring her every curve – the long legs, the tight ass poking around the belt that split the space between her hips. The way her hair cascaded down around her shoulders enthralled him, her eyes so full of begging.
“Mine,” he said, reaching out and resting a hand on the curves of her. “All mine.”
Samus whimpered – it bothered her but only seemed right that everyone would feel so casual about touching her, owning her, but somehow his hands on her felt worse than any of the others had.
Worse, and oh so much better.
She felt herself flushing, the warmth of his palms a heat she wanted more of. He kicked her legs apart, his hand moving down around the line of hip and leg to where the belt held one pair of the many the invaders that had dominated her.
His hands pressed against the belt, swirling the phalli inside her, filling her with want.
“Who are you?” Olsar whispered, leaning close enough that his acrid breath warmed her cheeks. “Who do you belong to?”
“Samus Aran is a slave,” moaned the former Hunter. “Samus Aran belongs to you.”
“That's right,” Olsar said, smiling as he took hold of her hair with one hand, his other pressing into the belt and making her wince. “Don't you ever forget it, slave.”
She felt the belt come loose, the invaders begin to slide out of her. She whimpered as Olsar took his time, showing off his mastery of her. They fell, then rose, his eyes never leaving hers, her need dribbling down her sopping inner thighs until they finally popped out of her and clattered to the floor.
The former Hunter felt empty, her hips shaking as warm fingers pushed into her, curled, putting a hooked pressure on nerve endings. Her eyes rolled, hips shaking, his other hand pressed against her neck. She bucked over, no longer supported by anything except the fingers inside her, he not strong enough to support her weight but still managing to guide her down, to spank her legs apart when she tried to close them.
“No need for modesty, slave.” His expression was vicious, his head over as she fell on her back and begged without words. “I want to see, feel, and touch every inch of you.”
His fingers lefts her gaping open, he kneeling between her open legs as he fumbled with his pants, managing to get them down around his ankles, his engorged manhood a monster that hovered over her helplessness.
Moved closer.
Inside her.
She screamed, the abuse and the training and the programming shattering her mind with orgasm as he entered her, hitting the core of her with sledgehammer force. She came and came and came again, milking him, squeezing him every time he slammed his cock home inside her.
Neither of them knew how long they spent in that small room – Olsar had taken drugs to keep himself hard, and Samus was wracked with a shattering pleasure every time he moved inside her – but when they were done Olsar fell back, panting, Samus drooling and empty-eyed.
Still, as he panted and leaned his head back, his cock aching and body shaking with the pleasure he'd stolen, he moaned and felt something warm and wet suck him in.
He looked down to see Samus Aran cleaning his manhood with her pouty lips, her eyes still glossy, her hips still quivering.
“Samus Aran is a slave,” he breathed, knowing the truth of those words, “and she belongs to me.”
- 16
- 17
- 18
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Pride and Politics