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Overwatch ENF: Bound by Pleasure	By : Meowshi Category: +M through R > Overwatch Views: 1417 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Overwatch or its characters, Blizzard Entertainment owns those rights. I am not making any profit from writing this.

Chapter List
- 1-A Body Transformed
- 2-A Descent into Madness
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“Humanity underestimates us, for they fail to comprehend the power of their own vulnerabilities. Our victory is inevitable, for we Omnics possess the ability to turn their very bodies into instruments of defeat.”
Rammatra, Leader of Null Sector

A sickening crackle reverberated around Brigitte as she swiftly raised her barrier shield, desperately deflecting another searing blast of compressed energy from a Null Sector railgun. As she ran backward, several more bolts of sizzling death slammed into her, causing her to cry out as her shield finally splintered and ruptured, leaving her exposed to the onslaught of energy that raged all around.
But somehow, amidst all the explosive gunfire and screeching machinery, she smiled. The mission to liberate Tracer from the extremist onmic liberation faction was a success!
The Overwatch strike team moved as a single unit, their boots clanging in unison as they piled onto the steel grating of the MV-261 VTOL escape craft. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the unconscious form of Lena Oxton being carried in Reinhardt's massive arms, her frail body bruised and pocked where they had been forced to rip electrodes out of her traumatized flesh.
As exhaustion flooded over her, Brigitte settled onto one of the cramped aircraft benches, her armored body sinking into the seat. Tilting her head back, she surrendered to the weariness that was quickly washing away the adrenaline from the fight.
“We did it!” She exclaimed, breathing heavily and wiping her sweaty forehead with a gauntleted wrist.
“Aye, my squire! We were victorious, but were we too late?” Reinhardt's voice bristled with sadness as he tenderly placed Tracer's unconscious body on the opposite bench, his blueish-silver eyes filled with a mixture of care and concern.
Jesse McCree stood over Tracer's unconscious body, unfastening his poncho and draping it over her to cover her nakedness. “Where's the damn Doc?!” he growled.
He had been in a dark mood ever since they had infiltrated the Null Sector interrogation center and found Tracer strapped to a strange omnic torture device.
“We barely made it out of there alive,” Hana Song's hushed voice escaped her lips in a barely audible whisper, a flicker of pain crossing her face as Baptiste skillfully wrapped bandages around the deep lacerations on her arm. She had been forced to abandon her damaged MEKA and take part in the rest of the battle in nothing but the flimsy protection of her pilot suit.
Genji Shimada rested a calming hand on McCree's shoulder, peering down at Tracer with his cybernetic eyes, “As more people get caught up in this war, it will likely take a heavy toll on those who are closest to our hearts.”
“This barbarism is not the result of people, but machines,” Zarya spat out the last word like a swear, eliciting a series of sad beeps from the E54 Bastion unit whirring behind her. “Bah! You know what I mean.”
Emerging with urgency from the back of the hangar, Angela Ziegler hastened towards Tracer's motionless form. Despite the bruises and welts on her own face, the venerated combat medic seemed entirely focused on the prone girl.
“The internal circuitry of my caduceus staff was damaged in all the fighting,” she announced, sweeping the nanobiotic rod over Tracer's bruised body. “But Lucio helped me recalibrate it in the back!” She smiled appreciatively at Lucio, who blushed in response.
The combat medic normally preferred to administer medical treatments in private, but the VTOL escape craft was very cramped and there was really no option but to do it in front of everyone. She hoped that Tracer would not be terribly embarrassed by the ordeal.
The caduceus staff hummed to life, radiating a beam of healing biotic energy that gently enveloped Tracer's body. As if touched by a miraculous force, the deeply-set injection points from the omnic electrodes instantly began to heal and close themselves, without even leaving a scar.
“You're incredible Angela!” Brigitte cried, jumping up from her seat to watch the wounds recover.
Even as a little girl, she had always been in awe of Mercy's healing abilities. Her own medical expertise mainly consisted of her chucking repair packs at people, but she wasn't jealous, just proud to serve on the same team as the legendary doctor.
“Yes, the shallow puncture wounds seem to be healing nicely,” the doctor announced while reaching down and removing McCree's poncho from Tracer's body, “But look, there still appears to be significant vaginal dilation and abrasive trauma consistent with prolonged and repeated insertions into her lower orifices.”
A flush of crimson rushed to Brigitte's cheeks, and her gaze darted anxiously toward the ceiling. “Oh! Um...yes, certainly. Uh—” Her voice trailed off, uncertainty and embarrassment robbing her of the ability to form complete sentences.
A hush fell over the members of the strike team as Dr. Ziegler voiced what they had all been thinking, and for several seconds only the dull thrumming of the VTOL engines could be heard. The hangar was filled with discomfort and awkwardness as everyone slowly redirected their gaze toward the two obscene gaping holes that rested between Tracer's thighs.
The orifices were abnormally wide and looked grotesquely abused in the bright hangar lights. The flesh around her yawning anus was chapped and red, and her lower lips were so inflamed that they appeared almost purple.
“Oh no!” wailed Hana, wiping her eyes with the back of her wrist. “What sort of interrogation did they put her through?!”
“That robotic bastard won't get away with this,” McCree promised seethingly, “I've got a bullet with his name on it.”
“Zenyatta still believes that Rammatra can be saved, that he can be brought back over to the side of justice; but after seeing this, it is clear that he is wrong,” Genji concluded sadly.
“We'll crush him!” Zaryanova barked, punching a sizable dent into the aircraft's inner walls without so much as flinching.
“Enough!” Brigitte shouted, struggling to hold back her own tears, “We can talk about plans and revenge later! We need to focus on making sure that Lena is okay!”
To her left, Bastion whirred affirmatively.
After battling their way past a small army of nulltroopers, omnic eradicators, and reprogrammed OR14 units; the strike team had found Tracer's naked, emaciated body strapped to a table and connected to a massive omnic device through a series of intravenous tubing and electrode cables. The device seemed to be collecting some sort of data on her as it murmured electronically, but none of the on-field technicians could make sense of any of it. After a few moments of frustration, Zarya smashed the foul machine, which beeped mournfully as it died.
Tracer was lying on some sort of examination table, with her legs spread wide and her arms fastened up towards her head. The female Overwatch operatives, who normally encountered Tracer in the showers and locker room, noticed that the woman's body had been cleanly shaven, including all the hair from between her armpits and on her pubic mound. Two large, cylindrical metallic pistons had been inserted into her vaginal and anal cavities. Though they were inert by the time the group of rescuers managed to reach her, the metal of the pistons was streaked with corrosion caused by her bodily fluids, suggesting that they had to have been active for days on end. It had taken all of Reinhardt's strength to pry the girl off the pistons, and Brigitte could still vividly recall the sickening, wet sloshing sound that emitted when he finally managed to disconnect her lower orifices from the sinister-looking rods.
Dr. Ziegler wielded her caduceus staff with purpose, its aura of biotic healing extending over Tracer's wounded nether regions. The gentle energy enveloped her lower body, reducing the inflammation and tightening the orifices back to normal levels. Unfortunately, the revitalizing effects of the scientific intervention also abruptly awakened Tracer from her unconscious state, causing the spritely pilot to jolt upright with a sudden and forceful motion.
“Turn it off! Please! My body can't take anymore!” the young British woman screamed, momentarily believing she was still a prisoner to the inhuman omnics.
Her eyes were red with exhaustion and delirium, and at first glance, the hangar seemed filled with strangers. Her heart raced as fear flooded through her veins. But when she looked closer, she began to recognize familiar faces. Genji. McCree. Brig. Lucio. Mercy. It slowly began to dawn on her that these were her most-trusted colleagues, her friends.
Tracer asked in a frail voice, her fear giving way to exhaustion, “What is happening? Where am I?” The rush of adrenaline ebbing from her system left her feeling as if she could barely keep her head up.
“Lena, you're safe! You're home!” Brigitte beamed, placing a hand on her shoulder and squeezing it reassuringly.
“Mmh! Oooh n-no!” Tracer exclaimed, reacting sharply to the touch.
Somehow the innocuous contact had overwhelmed her, and her body visibly stiffened as her eyes squeezed shut and her head snapped back in an involuntary motion as she let out an anguished groan.
Brigitte jerked her hand back in a panic and turned to Mercy, “Nej! Did I hurt her?”
A rare occurrence unfolded as the doctor's usual air of professionalism gave way, leaving her visibly perplexed and frightened. “I-I don't know. I don't know what that was!”
McCree chewed his bottom lip nervously and looked askance, as he was very familiar with that sort of response. He hesitated, not knowing how to respond or if he even should.
Seeming to have collected herself, Tracer finally looked down at her body and realized she was naked in front of all her closest allies. The only thing she was wearing was the miniature harness containing her chronal accelerator, and it didn't cover up any of the important parts. She hissed in embarrassment and slapped her arm over her exposed breasts.
Unfortunately, an electric current surged through her body as soon as her arm brushed against her aching nipples, sending waves of pleasure snaking up her spine. The sensation was so intense that she gasped in delight, her heart pounding in her chest. “Hnnng!”
“This is most perplexing!” Mercy declared as she watched Tracer writhe on the bench.
“What's wrong w-with me?” the young woman stuttered, trying to control herself as much as humanly possible.
Whenever she tried to cover her chest or place a hand discretely over her lower lips, an intense wave of pleasure shot across her body, causing her to moan desirously. Even the slightest physical contact sent tiny sparks of delirious pleasure running up and down her flesh, leaving her with no other choice than to reluctantly let her arms hang by her sides and take in the stares.
Tracer's cheeks burned with embarrassment as she looked out at her captivated audience. Tracer had always been a little insecure about her chest. She was a very petite woman who had been denied the blessing of curvaceousness, as her shivering thirty-three-inch bust would now attest. She normally liked to conceal this lack of development with her bulky pilot's jacket or the padded cups of her form-fitting Overwatch uniform, but here she was with her rapidly hardening nipples and nearly flat chest being scrutinized by all the people closest to her.
It was humiliating!
It was mortifying!
It was...it was...going to make her fucking cum!
“Ohguuuu, Ohguuuuuuhh!” the tormented young woman slapped her hands over her mouth in a vain attempt at stifling her blasphemous squeals.
An explosive orgasm shot through her body as Tracer lost all control and screamed as loudly as she could. Her shuddering was so intense that the bench beneath her shook violently, emitting a loud clanging sound as it scrapped against the floor. Her toned, concave stomach flexed with each heaving convulsion before the spontaneous orgasm finally subsided.
Tracer's head fell limply into her chest, as her humiliation was complete and exhaustion once again set it. She greedily sucked in air as she attempted to catch her breath, beads of sweat dripping down her dainty nose and onto the hangar floor.
Her friends couldn't see her expression through her damp, unkempt hair; but she would have been blushing if all her blood wasn't rushing to her nipples and lower lips.
“What is this vile sorcery?” Reinhardt roared, concern for his companion etched into his aging, germanic features.
“I've never seen anything like this!” Lucio exclaimed, shaking his dreadlocked head in bewilderment.
Hana Song quivered in empathetic embarrassment for her friend and whispered, “It's like she's suffering from one of those bodily afflictions from those old tabletop games...”
“I am intimately familiar with what it is like to suddenly wake up with a body that feels foreign and wrong," Genji nodded his head in understanding as he looked over his old sparring partner.
“I-It's alright, I think I-I'm fine now," Tracer offered hesitantly through clattering teeth.
“That's good to hear, as we are still a few hours out from Gibraltar,” Mercy said as she rapidly scrolled through her tablet, looking for any possible explanation for her patient's radically-transformed body.
“Can't this bird move any damn faster!?” McCree growled. The pungent scent of female arousal was now flooding the hangar, and in the cramped space, there wasn't anything to distract him from it.
As the musky scent of her own post-orgasmic excitedness slowly wafted up into Tracer's nose, her body immediately tensed again.
“A-Ah!” she cried out in surprise.
“Tracer! Try to remember that you control your body, not the other way around!” Zarya offered, trying to encourage the young Brit with a reassuring smile.
“O-Of course,” Tracer said through a gritted, pained expression as she tried to suppress her body's crescendoing orgasm. “I can c-control ... ohhhhh ... I can control this ...”
“Don't worry, you got this Lena!” Brigitte nearly attempted to squeeze her shoulder again but then yanked her hand back as she thought better of it.
Tracer closed her eyes and concentrated, determinedly fighting against her own pleasure. Her cute, scrunched-up face was soon twisted in a mask of strained focus, as delicate mewling sounds escaped from her trembling lips. “Mmh mmh mmmmmh...”
“Yeah...well. Any ideas as to our next move?” McCree drawled, desperately trying to change the subject.
“Mmh! Mmmmmh! Oh god! MMMH!”
“Sojourn and Winston were interrogating that omnic financier Maximilien when we left,” Reinhardt coughed out, “Rammatra won't be able to cower for long!”
“I'm sorry, I don't t-think ... I-I can't ...,” Tracer mewled desperately, unable to concentrate on anything anyone was saying and fidgeting her hips rhythmically, “N-no, it's just too m-much MMMMMMHHHHH!”
The wave of pleasure finally broke through the woman's paltry defense and her eyes shot open, as wide as saucers. Unable to restrain herself, she cried out in an animalistic grunt as her orgasm exploded through her like wildfire, consuming every inch of her body with its uncontrollable intensity. She writhed and convulsed, the stunned expressions on the faces of all her allies just adding to her insurmountable pleasure. "Ff-ff-FUCK!” she shrieked helplessly, falling back on the bench in a sweaty heap. With her legs spread obscenely wide, it was impossible to miss the strings of female arousal dripping from the apex of her quivering thighs and puddling down onto the floor.
A hushed stillness engulfed the hangar, leaving the Overwatch operatives awestruck and rendered speechless in their collective bewilderment.
Finally, McCree broke the tension, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, “I'm going to go see if the pilot can't get this thing moving any faster.”
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Overwatch ENF: Bound by Pleasure