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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
- 8
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Who knows how long Samus Aran hung helplessly in that room?
She does not. Olsar and Bekhesh were busy elsewhere, solidifying treaties and leaving Braca to deal with the fine details of contract, so they do not. Braca, busy as they kept him, was always pressed for time. So he does not. They simply waited as Salis went about her life, managing ore extraction and her slaving business, checking off the weeks and months on her datapad.
Which is to say, friends, that she knows but is not telling.
Maybe not down to the hour, but she could count the days in a way that the Hunter was no longer capable of.
Samus Aran did not enjoy herself. She was lost in the trackless void provided by the visor, dull flickers of light meandering past her eyes as static whispered in her ears, obscuring the programming that was fed into her subconscious.
Without any means of keeping track of time, she was lost.
The visor sometimes told her to suck and she did, massaging the cock in her mouth with her tongue. There did not appear to be any schedule to this event and Samus gave up trying to invent one. Moaning would fill her ears, voices she did not know directing her, and when she was good the cock would expel a sticky fluid down her throat.
It was her only sustenance.
Salis could have told her that it was full of nutrients and aphrodisiacs and chlorium, which kept her muscles frozen and relaxed while slowing her aging. Thus, even left to dangle, her muscles did not atrophy. She ached from being unable to move her arms at all and might have strangled from the position she was left in, but the cock in her mouth breathed for her, forcing air in and out of her lungs.
Likewise, the cocks in her cunt and ass locked her waste inside her until she was cramped and hurting, then the visor would tell her to release and she would. She was being programmed to obey. She knew this in the beginning, but as her mind slowly drifted away that information seemed less and less important, her time as the Hunter a flickering half-dream that made no sense in her new circumstances.
Sometimes, water would fill her belly and be locked inside of her. She would try to expel it in the early days but soon came to accept that this was simply a thing that was done to her and that she had no control over it, just like everything else in her life. She would be filled and emptied as her captors saw fit.
All of it had a feeling of inevitability that Samus had no control over.
Even sleep was tricky. How does one tell between waking and dreaming in an endless trackless void? Samus never knew when she was dreaming, only that she was tired. She supposed that the shocks that rocked her ass were meant to keep her awake.
Salis could have told her that they were but Salis was not there and not paying attention. The process was automated, the only exceptional part of this breaking process the duration that it would take. Samus was never allowed to sleep for more than an hour at a time, a drug added to her diet that would keep her awake and do nothing to help her.
This was not all that was done to her, though, and the quality of the rest would depend on when you asked her of such things.
If you were to ask Samus about such treatment before her capture, she would have called it cruel, savage, barbaric. Afterwards, though – when and if she was permitted to talk – she would have admitted that it was the one thing she truly looked forward to.
Every now and again the cock in her cunt would begin to vibrate, tickling nerve endings and sending waves of pleasure through her. She would see the dimly remembered face of the warden, a girl who she thought might have been herself, and three men she did not know. The men and the warden were labeled Owners, while she was sometimes labeled Samus and sometimes labeled slave.
The whispers would haunt her mind like ghosts, mantras only half understood. This was part of the process – the whispered words were stimulus and she strained to make sense of what was being said to her.
A slave is obedient and refers to its Owners as Masters.
A slave submits to any and all attention its Masters will.
A slave has no will of its own, it an empty vessel for its Masters.
A slave does not say no. A slave submits to whatever is done to it.
Samus Aran is not a person. Samus Aran is a slave.
And then a voice she could almost remember as hers:
“Samus is enjoying having her owner play with her.”
Sometimes, she was even allowed to cum.
In the early days she dreamed of escape, but after a time she realized her Owners would not want that. She settled, allowing the treatment to take hold. At first, she lied to herself and said she was biding her time but even that thought faded in the dark, the only words she barely remembered the ones that were whispered teasingly to her in the emptiness.
Because of her gag, friends, no one could ever hear her scream.
Time passed, the woman known as Samus Aran eroding into nothing. More time would pass before Salis took note: the captive's brain waves entered a sleep-like state and did not come out, not even when she was awake.
Salis made a notation and contacted the Baron. It was time, she thought, for a showing.
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Pride and Politics