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The Bergman Affair	By : HunterOpera Category: +M through R > Metroid Views: 48055 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money from this. Metroid, Samus, et al are owned by the people that own them, not me. Other M was an abomination in terms of narrative. I'm writing porn while being more respective of the characters...

Chapter List
- 1-The Bergman Affair
- 2-Arrival at YS7-23
- 3-Shaktool
- 4-Kaaye
- 5-Bormu
- 6-Draygon
- 7-Cavern
- 8-Kago
- 9-Zoomer
- 10-Yapping Maw
- 11-Vogl
- 12-Zebesian
- 13-Slaughter
- 14-Interlude
- 15-SporeSpawn
- 16-Jump
- 17-Cacatac
- 18-Zoomer II
- 19-Keaton
- 20-Slime
- 21-Big Time
- 22-Sylux
- 23-Brannigan
- 24-Hook
- 25-Mia Xen
- 26-Line
- 27-Atrocity
- 28-Horror
- 29-Sinker
- 30-Fear
- 31-Ridley
- 32-Wreck
- 33-Pulse
- 34-Light
- 35-Robot
- 36-Laboratory
- 37-Covern
- 38-Phantoon
- 39-Sakamoto
- 40-Madeline
- 41-Damara
- 42-Melissa
- 43-Samus Aran
- 44-Punishment
- 45-Healing
- 46-Finale and Acknowledgments
- 40
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Planet YS7-23, GFDate 4034:0701
Damara stepped off the Delano-7, sighing and rubbing her left bicep. A wicked bruise had begun to form there and she winced when she touched it – Phantoon had managed to tag her before going down, her own presence hidden by the idiot tactics of Commander Dare.
It's a wonder no one recognized the Shock Coil, she thought to herself, but then shrugged. Melissa had promised her that no one would notice her, and her friend lived up to this promise as she did all the others. Melissa doesn't lie.
She smiled as she thought about that. Her escape from the the Federation had been the hardest thing she'd ever done – they'd trained her and drilled obedience into her, but when the moment came she'd just managed to activate the Shock Coil and the armor, destroying all the research the Federation had done to create her.
Before then, she'd had some understanding of why they'd grabbed her – she was one of the best recruits they'd ever had and her hatred of the Space Pirates was something her captors had been able to work with. They'd run her through training programs with dozens of other soldiers from tens of species and chosen her as the best of them.
Then they'd tortured her into compliance.
She learned through the agonized days that they'd chosen her because of how close she was in potential to Samus Aran, that they wanted to give her weapons and armor based on what they'd managed to retro-engineer from their observations of Chozo designs. Their work was not so elegant as Samus, they admitted, but they would make her the equal of her idol.
Through it all, Damara had wondered. She was aware of what they had done to her, aware of how badly they had broken her down. They wanted her to be the equal of Samus Aran in body only, but if she was going to equal or surpass the Hunter she would have to do it in every way: body, mind, and spirit.
And now this is the acid test...
Damara paused in front of her room closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The computer's virtual interface in this laboratory was literally Melissa's subconscious, a secret that Melissa did not want shared with anyone else. It was another thing that brought the two of them closer together, another piece of knowledge that tied the two of them together.
We were both changed by proximity to Samus Aran, Damara thought. I was saved by her, twice, and then destroyed by my desire to be like her. Melissa was cloned from her, her body made in the image of my rival, and her mind a clone of the murdered organic machine that Samus destroyed. Who could ever understand either of us the way we understand each other...?
Melissa had shared that secret, too. There were no secrets between them. When Melissa had found Damara living out on the fringes of the galaxy, eking out a living as a bounty hunter, moving from one conflict to the next. When they'd first met Damara had thought she was Samus, finally come for her after the mess with Gorea, and she'd activated her armor and then...
… the woman that looked like Samus touched her mind, tendrils of thought leaking through the armor, past Sylux and down to where Damara lay inside the core of the machine. Memories leaked into her, of a satellite, of torture, of betrayal, and of an angel in crimson and gold wrecking havoc; Damara had known all of Melissa in that moment, as Melissa had known all of her...
She bowed her head, leaning against the door to her room, remembering. She'd gotten down on her knees, exhausted by the memories of what they both had suffered, and when Melissa had offered her a hand she'd taken it. The two had walked somewhere safe and Melissa had explained everything, explained her plan, explained what she wanted to do to her sister, and Damara had smiled and nodded and felt at peace for the first time since the Federation had betrayed her.
Now, she was shaking. Now, she was scared.
On the other side of the door was truth.
She'd left instructions on how Samus Aran was to be treated, detailed instructions on what was to be implanted in the Hunter's mind. She needed to know if her mind was stronger than the legend called Samus Aran, needed to know if Samus was as breakable as she herself had proved to be. She needed to be stronger than Samus, needed to be Samus' better in every way.
Taking a deep breath, she raised her head and counted to twenty. She waited for her body to stop trembling, waited for her breathing to settle, waited for her mind to empty. Silent, her mind reached out to the computer and her door opened.
Samus Aran. Damara took a deep breath, forcing herself to look at her rival, her idol, her savior.
The woman was on her knees, her legs spread, her head bowed. The minus-suit was on her but not active, not holding her in place – not holding her exposed, not holding her limp arms so that her palms rested open and upward on her thighs, not holding her shoulders back and strong so that her breasts were thrust forward. She smiled at the sight of the near-naked once-woman, the minus-suit revealing far more than it hid, the collar snug around her neck.
As she walked closer she could see Samus tremble, see the breath catch as her midriff stilled. Slow, languid, she bent over and slithered on her belly. Damara came to a stop as Samus' fingers curled and uncurled, her hands down at her sides as her head moved across the top of Damara's boot.
Damara could see the wet trails Samus' tongue left behind.
“Owner,” whispered Samus, her voice a ragged echo of its former strength, “this slave begs you to use her.”
Damara smiled down at the pathetic wretch she'd made out of the once fierce Hunter. She kicked her foot and Samus cowered away, head bowed, hands meeting behind her back as she scurried up to her knees. Damara kicked her knees further apart, then pressed the top of her boot into Samus' slick folds, moving her limb back and forth until Samus was panting.
Then, she stepped back and looked down at the girl. A mental command to the minus-suit would keep the woman wound up without letting her cool down or find release. The way the Hunter shuddered let Damara know that she had figured that out.
Walking to her desk, she fell into her chair and sat as if it were a throne. She considered Samus Aran, her heaving chest, shallow breaths, her paired, parted, and drooling lips.
“Slave,” Damara sneered. Samus reacted to the truth of what she'd become as if she'd been slapped, but that just made Damara's smile grow. “Crawl over here. Undress me.”
Samus' eyes stayed downcast, but they closed for a moment, a single breath drawn in deeper than the others before the Hunter crawled over to where Damara sat. Her hands reached for Damara's boots, but Damara kicked them away.
“With your teeth,” Damara said, smiling. Nothing flashed in Samus eyes, no hint of defiance or rebellion. Samara watched as Samus drew in another long breath, then nodded, and then bent over to Damara's boots.
Mesmerized, Damara watched as the Hunter's lips closed around the fasteners on her boots, undoing them one strap at a time – first the left foot, then the right. She struggled to get them off, but Damara's only offered aid was to lift her feet. It amused her to watch the Hunter struggle with this simple task, to watch her pretty nose wrinkle in disgust as her teeth pulled the socks off her feet.
Damara leaned forward to let Samus pull off her jacket, her lips closing on the bottom zipper and struggling up, revealing the shirt underneath. Damara stood to let Samus remove the jacket, pulling off one sleeve and then the other. Damara ordered her to hang the jacket up and Samus did as ordered, holding it in her mouth, hands behind her back as she shuffled to the closet, placed it within using only her mouth, and then crawling back to where Damara now sat.
“Is this all that's left of you?” Damara asked, taking Samus by the jaw. The Hunter did nothing, offered no resistance, would not even meet Damara's eyes. She smiled and shook her head. “Well, then, Hunter, continue.”
She released the Hunter, watching as her tongue flicked out to claim the hem of her shirt, lips and teeth closing down and lifting up, up over Damara's head. She had to climb on to the chair to do it, and Damara amused herself by toying with the dripping hole above her lap, with suckling on the dangling breasts in front of her mouth. She bit down, enjoying the way Samus's whole body quivered, then released the pitiful creature and pushed her off.
“Fold my clothing, slave,” Damara ordered, watching as Samus used her mouth to fold the clothing on the floor. “Put it on the bed. That clothing has value.”
The unspoken words unlike you were heard by them both.
Samus nodded before crawling back, using her tongue to push under the sports bra that bound Damara's modest chest, her teeth finally clasping the bottom and pulling the garment up and over Damara's head. This time, when Samus had to crawl onto the chair, Damara shoved two of her fingers into Samus's cunt. She laughed as she pistoned them in and out, the Hunter letting out a long soft moan, muscles tensing as she tried not to collapse.
Damara pushed Samus off the chair and slapped her. There was something so satisfying about the hurt in the Hunter's eyes, the shock, the way her lips trembled and shoulders drooped and eyes stayed focused on the floor.
“No one gave you permission to enjoy yourself, slut,” Damara said, grabbing Samus by the throat. She noted that Samus' hands went behind her back, her mouth open, her eyes still downcast. “Put my bra with my shirt, then come back her and take my pants off.”
Samus did as instructed, her hips shaking, and it amused Damara to see the slickness dripping down her thighs and to her knees – what was left of the Hunter getting off on her own humiliation. She turned around, crawling back, ass shaking behind her, head down, hair a tangled mess. Damara ran her fingers through that tangle and Samus stopped, waiting. It was only when Damara did nothing that Samus sighed and moved her head forward.
Damara felt the lips brush against her skin, little kisses trailing down from her belly button to the line of her pants, pulling them slowly down her hips, one side and then the other. Damara had to lift her butt off the chair, laughing as Samus blushed, stroking the slave's golden hair as the pants pushed down her thighs, her calves, and off her feet.
Without being told, Samus folded the pants using only her mouth, then picked them up and crawled back to the bed, piling the pants on top of the shirt and bra, then returned for Damara's last slip of clothing.
Samus was pushed back when she reached for the hemline of Damara's panties.
“Little slaves grab their better's panties from here, not here,” Damara instructed, pointing towards the wetness that had formed along the bottom of her panties, and then the hemline. Samus, weary, nodded, sticking her face in, looping her tongue in and around the scant garment and scooping out a good amount of Damara's fluids.
Damara waited until Samus had pulled the panties down her long legs, then held the Hunter by the throat, pushed the panties into the slave's mouth, forced her jaw closed.
“Clean those panties, little Hunter,” Damara taunted, shaking Samus' head to accentuate her words. “You made them dirty, so you can clean them.”
And Samus did as she was ordered, sucking down on the panties. Damara removing them until she was certain that no trace of her scent remained before slapping Samus across the face with them.
“What do slaves say when they're given a treat?” Damara asked, her foot pressing against the hungry wet hole between Samus' thighs.
“Th-thank you, o-owner,” whimpered Samus.
“Put that tongue of yours to better work, slave.”
Samus nodded, swallowed, leaned in and began kissing up Damara's thighs, moving towards her outer lips and tugging on them – no teeth, all lips and tongue and breath. Damara's fingers locked in Samus' hair as the former Hunter licked and teased, tongue moving along every crevice, every inch of flesh from nose to chin coated in Damara's juices.
Damara let out a long moan stretching back and closing her eyes as Samus' tongue entered her core. Samus explored, tongue and lips darting, suckling, probing – Damara squirmed as Samus found her clit and moved her tongue across it, spelling words in long dead alphabets, the writing become a long auditory moan as it moved up and through Damara.
Her thighs tightened, one of her calves hooking around Samus' head, pushing her deeper, deeper, and deeper still. Her whole body tensed, all thought driven from her mind, she only dimly aware that she was ejaculating down the slave's throat.
When her orgasm had passed and sense returned to her, she found that Samus was still licking her, gently teasing her, leaving her feeling warm and tingly. She looked down at her once-idol, once-rival, and saw someone far more broken than she had ever been.
Releasing Samus, she ordered the broken slave to lick up any moisture that had fallen on the floor before getting her to fetch clean clothing for the woman that was now and had always been her superior in every way.
Samus knelt on the floor, hands resting palm up on her spread thighs, eyes downcast as Damara got dressed. She found a leash, attached it to the slave's collar and tugged.
“Let's go find your sister, little slut,” Damara said, tugging again. The slave-woman crawled in front of her, hips trembling, and Damara knew the orgasm Samus was not allowed to have would drive all other thoughts from what was left of her mind.
The Hunter is in captivity, Damara thought, chuckling to herself, and I am at peace.
*
Okay. Nearly Done. Two more chapters in the main story, then the outro. Are you liking this? Why? What works? What doesn't? I respond to any and all reviews, questions, and comments on the forums, right here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/topic/36931-metroid-the-bergman-affair-feedback-comments-and-workshopping/?page=12 Thank you for reading. Hope you're enjoying. Next chapter soon.
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The Bergman Affair