Poxitarium Invade

A bond

Kaizu lifts her body from the floor with a steady, determined grip, and steps out of their quarters, now navigating the shadowy hallways with a purposeful stride. His steps are measured, his focus unwavering, each movement deliberate as he carries her along the narrow path. The dim glow from scattered wall sconces casts shifting patterns across the walls, deepening the oppressive silence that envelops them. His eyes remain forward, his expression carved with the certainty of a man driven by a single, undeniable objective.

The atmosphere is charged with a thick, almost palpable tension, an undertone of forbidden allure coursing through the air. His hold on her is unrelenting, like a hunter gripping its prize on his shoulder as he moves steadily through the dimly lit corridor, each step punctuated by the cold, hard tap of his boots against the floor. The echo of his movements carries through the silent passageway, amplifying the stark solitude of the late hour.

Reaching the general's office, he knocks with a deliberate, almost theatrical certainty, a gleam of expectation shimmering in his eyes. The door opens with a low creak, revealing the general, whose usually stern expression softens with a rare, rumbling chuckle as he takes in the sight. "Kaizu," he murmurs, raising an eyebrow, the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly, "What spectacle is this now?" His voice is laced with both curiosity and faint amusement, his piercing gaze quickly noting the tension in the fabric at the front of Kaizu's pants.

Kaizu, his voice firm but laced with an undercurrent of barely restrained arousal, declares, "I know what you've been doing… how you've affected her. I sensed it earlier, the way you played with her emotions… and now, I want my share." With a deliberate, almost careless release, he lets her unconscious form drop to the floor, the dull impact echoing through the room like a distant drumbeat.

The general’s interest sharpens immediately, his eyes narrowing as a predatory glint dances in their depths. He steps closer, his movements smooth but filled with a controlled tension. “Is that so?” he replies, his voice carrying a darkly intrigued undertone, each word dripping with an unspoken challenge. "I’d be a fool to refuse you that," he adds, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips, as if savoring the potential that now hung in the air between them.

His gaze shifts momentarily to her lying crumpled on the floor, her body still and vulnerable under the flickering lights. Turning his attention back to Kaizu, his smile deepens into something more sinister, his expression suggestive of a man who knows far more than he reveals. “What exactly do you have in mind?” he continues, his tone now edged with a mix of amusement and expectation. He makes a subtle gesture with his hand, signaling to Tolius and Fereyan, the personal guards stationed at his side. Without hesitation, they step forward, their heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor as they move to secure the door, the lock clicking shut with a cold finality that seals them all inside.

Kaizu's eyes glitter with a malicious gleam as his lips curl into a wicked smile. "I enjoy seeing her manipulated... like a marionette on display," he murmurs, voice low and dripping with suggestion. "What do you think, General? You’re the one who pulls the strings here, after all."

The general shifts his stance, crossing his arms as he leans casually against his desk, his gaze narrowing in contemplation at Kaizu's words. "Are you truly prepared to betray her?" he asks slowly, his voice tinged with a faint note of regret that seems to pierce the tension. "You're her closest ally, the one she confides in most. There's still time to reconsider." The suggestion of empathy in his tone hovers in the air like a faint echo, a hint of something that almost seems genuine.

Kaizu’s hands tighten into fists, not out of anger, but from the effort to restrain the conflicting emotions roiling within him. "I don't care," he grinds out, his breath quickening, eyes flashing with a fierce hunger. "I just want to enjoy myself."

The general arches an eyebrow, his gaze sharp and assessing, studying Kaizu with renewed interest. "Why her?" he challenges, his tone edged with curiosity. "There are plenty of others you could pursue, without turning your back on her like this."

Kaizu remains silent, his face a mask of turmoil, his thoughts clearly warring beneath the surface. The general senses a crack in Kaizu's resolve and presses further, his voice becoming softer, almost coaxing. "She's not the only woman here... You could choose another, spare her whatever fate you’re imagining for her."

A heavy silence falls between them, the air thickening with the weight of their confrontation, neither willing to yield. Finally, the general breaks the standoff with a slow, deliberate nod. "Very well, Kaizu. You’re part of this now… this endeavor," he concedes, his tone half-mocking, half-serious. "But aren't you the least bit curious about my plans, about what’s truly at stake here?"

He watches Kaizu closely, his expression a blend of caution and intrigue, as if gauging whether the younger man is ready to dive deeper into the dark waters of his schemes.

Kaizu, hands buried casually in his pockets, nudges her head with a teasing flick of his foot, pressing down just enough to display the firm outline of his desire through the fabric of his pants as he shifts his stance. "I don’t care," he remarks, his tone cold, devoid of emotion. "Do whatever you want. I’m just here to watch… and have some fun."

The general nods slightly, a flicker of amusement crossing his features. "Very well," he replies, turning his attention to the guards. "Bring her over."

Tolius and Fereyan, their imposing figures framed by the dim glow of the overhead lights, step forward with a disciplined air. Faces set in stone-like determination, they move in unison, their hands reaching down to grasp her arms with a practiced efficiency. Her limp form dangles between them as they drag her across the cold floor, her legs trailing lifelessly behind, each step an echo in the silent room. Reaching the general's desk, they lower her carefully, her body slumped, awaiting whatever fate is to come.

The general begins to prepare a concoction, a strange liquid swirling in a small vial, its acrid scent filling the room. He wafts it under her nose, the pungent fumes strong enough to stir her from unconsciousness. Her eyes flutter open, and a wave of confusion washes over her face, followed by a dawning realization of where she is. She blinks rapidly, trying to clear the fog from her mind, her senses assaulted by the intense lighting above her.

As her gaze sharpens, panic wells up in her chest. She struggles against the restraints, feeling the rough fabric biting into her wrists, the ache in her limbs only adding to her fear. “Where… where am I?” she stutters, her voice fragile, quivering with dread as she takes in the unfamiliar surroundings. Her breath quickens, her heartbeat pounding in her ears as her eyes dart frantically around the room, only to land on the general.

He stands over her, his figure imposing, his face a mask of cold authority mixed with a hint of malevolent delight. She tries to find her voice, a small, desperate whisper slipping through her lips, "Sir…"

The general moves in closer, his steps slow and deliberate, savoring the fear radiating from her eyes. His hand reaches out, wrapping around her neck, fingers playing with her skin, alternately squeezing and releasing, his touch cruelly calculated to toy with her response. Her cheeks flush, a betraying mixture of confusion and reluctant arousal coloring her expression. His lips curl into a crooked grin as he reaches for a syringe filled with a clear liquid.

“This,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “is called 'the opener.' It will make every nerve in your body respond… exquisitely." Without another word, he plunges the needle into her arm, watching closely as the serum flows into her veins. Her body stiffens, a gasp escaping her lips as the sensation spreads, her skin tingling, her senses heightened to every slight touch.

"Sir..."her soft moans fill the room, a mixture of pleasure and pain, as the general’s hands travel down her body, caressing her hips and waist with a deliberate, sensual touch, one hand at a time, starting from the hip and going slowly to her waist, like a dance on her, on repeat, pressed and sensual.

"Mmm..." she moans, closing her eyes, now enhancing the feelings and awarness even further. She looks at the general, trying to fight him but her muscles weren't aware yet.

Kaizu watches intently, caught between a surge of jealousy and a perverse sense of fascination, his hands curling into tight fists as he struggles to keep his emotions hidden. He fights to maintain a composed expression, even as the conflicting feelings churn inside him, threatening to betray his true thoughts.

The general, sensing the turmoil simmering beneath Kaizu's façade, can't resist the chance to needle him further. "How do you feel about this, Kaizu?" he prods, his voice laced with a hint of mockery.

Kaizu forces a grin, his lips stretching in a way that barely hides the tension rippling across his face. "I’m enjoying every bit of it," he replies, his words sounding strained, each one forced out against the wave of jealousy that claws at his insides. He swallows hard, fighting to keep his composure intact. He couldn't afford for the general to see his real emotions, the dangerous affection he harbored for her, the very reason he had chosen this path—to bury those feelings deep within himself.

The general lets out a low, amused laugh as he reaches down and slowly unzips her suit, revealing the curves of her chest as they strain against the fabric, desperate to be free. The sight is tantalizing, her pink skin catching the light with a sheen that speaks of warmth and life. Kaizu, following the general’s lead, steps closer, his hands moving deliberately, pushing the suit further down. He takes his time, savoring each inch of skin revealed—the soft, smooth line of her shoulders gleaming with a flushed hue, tinged with a faint, almost palpable aura of excitement.

He continues to peel away the fabric, exposing the delicate contours of her back, feeling a rush of something akin to hunger as he drinks in the sight of her vulnerability. Her body trembles slightly, a reflexive response to the sudden exposure, and he feels a twisted thrill run through him. He stands behind her, observing as one soft curve of her breast slips free, swaying slightly with the pull of gravity. The suit clings stubbornly around her full hips, the fabric bunching and holding, leaving her caught in a state of half-dressed submission.

For a moment, he just watches, his gaze tracing the gentle curves of her form, his breath catching as a mix of desire and something darker floods his veins. Her position leaves her defenseless, and the knowledge of that, the sight of her laid bare, only intensifies the conflicting emotions that roil within him.

Kaizu’s hands glide around her form from behind, his grip settling on her chest. Her soft moans grow more pronounced as she writhes under his touch, the effects of the tranquilizer and her confusion swirling together to fog her senses. Her body responds involuntarily, betraying her as she cries out his name.

"K-Kaizu!" she gasps, her voice quivering with a mixture of fear and helplessness. "Why can't I move?" The desperation in her tone is palpable, mingled with a frisson of terror. Her mind struggles to piece together the situation, her body reacting to sensations that she cannot fully understand.

Kaizu, however, remains detached, his gaze locked onto the general. The general's demeanor is unsettlingly calm, his face a mask of inscrutable composure. Kaizu notes with a hint of unease that the general’s uniform appears perfectly unruffled, devoid of any visible sign of arousal. He realizes with a sharp pang that the general has not yet shown any sign of excitement, a contrast that heightens his own agitation.

The general, seemingly unfazed, continues with his meticulous preparations, arranging a tray with six vials of varying colors—red, green, blue, orange, gold, and black—each vial a precise 7 cm in length. As he works, he casts occasional glances toward Kaizu, his eyes sharp and observant, as if testing his limits and pushing him further.

Kaizu remains focused on the task at hand, his hands continuing their provocative exploration of her body. He moves closer, his desire becoming increasingly evident as he presses against her, the sensation of his own excitement growing more insistent. He guides the guards, urging them to shift her position toward the general’s desk. His gaze is fixed on the colorful vials, a flush of anticipation quickening his pulse as he watches the general’s every move with increasing eagerness.

“Tell me, boy,” the General’s voice carries a teasing, almost whimsical tone as he gestures toward the assortment of vials, each filled with a liquid of brilliant and varied shades. His eyes are sharp, betraying a hint of amusement as he relaxes in his desk chair, scrutinizing Kaizu with keen interest.

Kaizu’s gaze locks onto the vibrant array, his intrigue clearly evident, though his understanding remains limited. He yearns to inquire about the nature of the liquids, but a hesitance lingers, as he dreads that the truth might be more unsettling than enlightening.

The General, sensing the silence stretch, interrupts Kaizu’s thoughts with a voice that slices through the tension. “It’s nothing too dangerous at the moment. After all, this is merely the beginning of our trials.”

Kaizu swallows hard, his voice laden with a mixture of eager suspense and underlying anxiety. “The gold one, what does it do?”

The General’s smile broadens, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes. “We shall find out soon enough.” With a deliberate motion, he signals to one of the guards, who immediately steps forward, retrieving the golden vial with practiced precision and preparing to administer the injection.

She watches with growing dread, her inability to speak a silent plea against the overwhelming circumstances. Fear and a confusing sense of excitement clash within her as she confronts the reality of her own submission and humiliation. The golden serum is injected into her waist according to the instructions on the vial. The guards, experienced with the vials from previous encounters, are familiar with the procedure, though they were not prepared for this exact moment. The process serves as a stark reminder of her vulnerability.

As the liquid enters her bloodstream, an immediate and intense reaction sweeps through her body. It feels as though her vitality is being reinvigorated, with her adrenaline spiking as she desperately tries to move away. The guards, however, only tighten their hold, forcing her down onto her knees before the General’s desk.

The General’s eyes sparkle with intrigue as he signals for her to be pulled closer, positioning her at his feet. The scene before her, once a mere concept, is now a harsh reality—one she had never anticipated finding herself in.

“S-s-sir,” she stutters, her voice quivering with a blend of heightened emotion and anxiety, the effects of the serum amplifying her sensations.

“Describe what you’re feeling,” he commands, his tone authoritative and unyielding. He shifts his posture, placing a leg around her to create a boundary of control and dominance. His stance is deliberately open, his leg spread to invite her closer, asserting his authority and marking his territory.

She struggles against the overpowering sensations, the vial’s effects magnifying her inner turmoil. Her body is engulfed in a tumult of feelings: the lingering arousal from previous encounters, the intense sensitivity of her nipples, and the dampness between her legs seeping through her suit. Her mind reels under the relentless influence of the vial, compelling her to submit despite her internal resistance.

The vial imposes a relentless force from within, an indescribable sensation that constricts her tightly. She remains muted, making small, distressing sounds between his legs as the guards hold her firmly. The General reaches out, his hand gently brushing her cheek three times—a gesture that oscillates between reassuring and disconcerting.

Peering up at him with beseeching eyes, she momentarily stops her sobbing. “Mmm… sir…” Her voice reflects the conflicted emotions stirred by his touch.

He continues his tender touches, his tone taking on a more serious note. “Don’t make me resort to the muzzle, girl.” His gaze is intense, drawing her into the depth of his stern demeanor. She swallows hard, tears flowing down her cheeks anew as she quivers under his scrutiny.

Kaizu yanks her hair back sharply, causing her to cry out in pain. “Kaizu!” she wails, her eyes clenching shut as her face is forcibly directed toward the General.

“Say it,” Kaizu commands, tugging her hair intermittently to make her squirm.

“I…” she starts, her voice faltering as she battles her own emotions. Her efforts to stifle her feelings only heighten her distress, her body betraying her struggle.

“Hm…” The General’s expression turns thoughtful as a new idea emerges. “A thought has just occurred to me,” he says, a hint of amusement seeping into his voice.

Kaizu’s interest is heightened as he observes the General’s actions.

“Why don’t we let her reveal what she’s experiencing?” The General leans in, carefully yet assertively lifting her head from Kaizu’s grip and then positioning it on his knee with a firm press.

“No!” she cries out in desperation, her attempts to escape proving futile against the General’s firm hold.

“Quite vocal for someone who claims not to want to talk,” the General comments with a chilly tone as he guides her arm toward his groin. He places her hand there with deliberate authority, asserting control with calculated precision.

Despite the effects of the tranquilizer diminishing, the situation remains critical. She tries to pull her hand away, but the General’s grasp is relentless, forcing her hand to move roughly against his jeans.

Kaizu, observing this, begins to touch himself through his pants, his growing excitement evident as he relishes the unfolding scene. ~This is perfect~ he thinks, his pulse quickening.

“Girl,” the General releases her head from his knee and grips her chin, tilting it upward to meet his gaze. His demeanor becomes increasingly severe, a violet energy flaring in his left eye, amplifying the gravity of the moment.

“Obey,” he demands in a harsh, commanding tone, almost a growl as he insists on her full attention. “I order you to tell me how you’re feeling.” His voice brooks no argument, exerting a pressure that overwhelms.

Surprised and frightened, she feels her blood surge, accompanied by an unexpected rush of excitement that she cannot ignore.

She quakes, the effects of the golden serum intensifying, making resistance impossible. “Arousal and..submission,” she finally confesses, tears streaming down her face, her voice trembling with shame and confusion. The inner pressure and the compulsion to submit become intolerable, and she finds herself wanting to please him, despite the horror of her predicament.

Hoping that the pressure-induced sensation would grant her the freedom she yearned for, she braced herself. As she finally admits her feelings, a fleeting sense of relief ignites within her, a brief moment of liberation. However, this newfound clarity is quickly overshadowed by a rising dread. The realization of the vial’s true nature hits her like an icy wave—what is this vial truly doing to me~?

Her mind races with fear as the full implications settle in, leaving her increasingly apprehensive.

The General’s gaze remains fixed on her, his expression subtly shifting from one of amusement to a darker, more controlling intensity. “I can see from your face that you’ve uncovered the vial’s true purpose,” he reflects aloud, his voice a deep, contemplative murmur that seems to reverberate through the room. His tone hints at a profound sense of gratification, as if he’s savoring the unfolding realization.

He continues to guide her hand with purposeful motions, the coarse fabric of his jeans creating a stark friction against her skin. The rhythmic, repetitive movement heightens her sensations, blending with the palpable energy radiating from his arousal. His erect member, pressing and straining, intensifies the atmosphere, casting a potent aura that merges with the effects of the vial. The environment thickens with a charged atmosphere, mirroring the General’s escalating sense of ownership over the situation.

The General’s voice slices through the tension, commanding her, "I expect you to stop crying now." His tone is steady, almost soothing, as he brushes her cheek, wiping away her tears. The submission washes over her, and she feels an unnatural calm, a forced serenity, and a smile that seems out of place in such a dire scenario.

"Good girl," the General praises, his voice soft and reassuring. "Now, show me how delighted you are to see your General today." He guides her hand to his zipper, encouraging her to pull it down. She complies, her cheeks flushed deeply, her thoughts muddled by the effects of the vial.

Kaizu watches with a sinister grin stretching across his face. “General, can we remove her mask? I’d love to see her face without the battle mask on,” he says, his voice carrying a note of irritation as he glances at the mask. His fingers probe the rough edges, searching for the release mechanism with increasing frustration. The General observes the scene with a hawk-like gaze, his awareness of her growing unease palpable. He catches the subtle shake of her head, a silent but firm rejection of Kaizu's suggestion.

“She’s fighting after all, isn't she?,” the General notes casually, his shoulders shrugging in a gesture of indifference that breaks the thick silence hanging in the room. Kaizu’s eyes sparkle with fresh interest, his previous irritation fading as he now perceives her struggle as a compelling challenge. Rising from his seat, he bows deeply to the General, his expression reflecting a form of obsessive glee.

“Zhail Pox,” Kaizu mutters, his voice bubbling with a strange form of exultation.

She looks up at the General, her gaze a complex mix of surrender and gratitude. The moment unfolds slowly, her emotions fluctuating as she processes the General’s intervention. The fact that he prevented Kaizu from removing her mask fills her with profound relief. Gradually, she turns her face toward his hand resting on the armrest, seeking solace. For a brief moment, she leans into his arm, her touch soft and tentative, and then places a gentle kiss on his hand.

The General, fully aware of the shifting dynamics, regards her with an observing eye. “I see the vial is becoming more effective,” he remarks, a hint of satisfaction evident in his tone. His lips curl into a knowing smile, reflecting his approval. “Isn’t that right, Kaizu?” His gaze carries an air of authoritative satisfaction, reinforcing his control over the situation.

The General raises an eyebrow, observing Kaizu's hands moving toward his groin. His tone is authoritative, but with a trace of playful mockery. "Kaizu, compose yourself. You’re in my presence, after all. You’re not yet part of the performance," he says, signaling for Kaizu to cover himself. "You need to endure a bit as well. You expressed a desire to be involved in this."

A heavy silence blankets the room, thick with unspoken tension. The girl continues to press kisses to the General's hand, her actions a blend of fascination and dependence. The warmth emanating from his skin is oddly soothing, creating a complex sensation of comfort that she finds irresistibly compelling. Each gentle kiss is punctuated by a soft, involuntary moan, her cheeks flushing with a deep crimson as she savors the sensation.

The General, clearly relishing the scene, presses his hand more firmly against her lips intermittently, reinforcing the connection between them. "Don’t make me use the muzzle," he warns, his voice a mix of sternness and subtle mischief.

Her eyes widen with a mixture of sadness and confusion. "I thought I was doing well... I..." she stammers, her voice quivering as she tries to comprehend her perceived failure.

The General, visibly entertained, grins at her discomfort. "I was addressing Kaizu. Keep going, good girl," he instructs, his voice smooth with an edge of command.

Kaizu’s eyes flash with indignation. "I said I want to enjoy this too. You agreed... Will you really put the muzzle on me just because I want to partake as well?" His tone is charged with a mix of fervent desire and frustration.

The General’s grin widens, his gaze cold and resolute. "Everything in its own time. You’ll have your turn with her eventually, Kaizu. For now, she belongs to me. You can choose to watch or leave."

He gently moves her face away from his hand, his gaze carrying a note of disdainful amusement. The purple aura around her lips now resembles a slick, unsettling coating, as though they were smeared with a glistening, violet syrup. "You look adorable," he comments with a tone of mocking satisfaction, as he guides her face toward his unzipped trousers. "Lick," he commands.

She is overwhelmed by the intense, almost intoxicating energy surging through her veins, her senses dulled and warped beyond recognition. The vial’s effects intensify, and she yields to its relentless grip. She laps at his boxer shorts, her tongue making the fabric moist, clinging tightly to his engorged member beneath. “Mmm… It’s shifting,” she murmurs, her voice quivering with a mix of pleasure and confusion, her cheeks reddening with a blend of embarrassment and yearning.

“Sir… How did I… end up in this present m-moment? What brought me to this?” she questions, her voice faltering as she continues to lick and kiss his covered flesh. Her words are broken by staccato breaths, each one revealing her growing pleasure and bewilderment.

His member reacts to her touch, expanding and becoming more rigid, pressing insistently against her tongue. “Mmm… Girl…” he groans, his pleasure palpable as he forces her head down further.

A sudden, sharp pain jolts through her entire body.

“Sir!” she cries out in distress, the agony in her stomach and lower abdomen becoming unbearable. The sensation is so severe that she arches her back reflexively, a reaction the general had not foreseen. Despite her suffering, he maintains a firm hold on her hair, causing her to yelp in torment.

“What is it?” he asks, his tone changing as he loosens his grip on her hair.

Her eyes are glassy and unfocused, teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, her gaze fading and losing its color. “I feel awful…” she begins, her mouth frothing as her body convulses violently.

Descent into desperation

“Argh, damn it…” the general mutters, frustration evident in his voice. His disappointment slices through the fog created by the vial’s effects, and she apologizes through her tears. “I’m sorry,” she sobs, her voice breaking as she continues to touch and kiss his groin with the last remnants of her strength.

Despite her waning energy, the general is taken aback by her unwavering persistence. She is on the verge of collapsing, her determination pushing her beyond her limits in a desperate attempt to please him. Her body quivers, a mix of exhaustion and ardent need propelling her actions. “Mmm…” she moans softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

She coughs and convulses, her movements becoming increasingly erratic. “I… I want to… k-kiss…” she says, her voice robotic and mechanical, as if the drug has overridden her will. She fumbles with the edge of his underwear, cautiously pulling it down, her eyes fixed on him, awaiting his reaction. She remains careful not to overstep, her attention solely on his response.

“Go on,” he commands, his tone authoritative, as he waits for her to continue.

She pulls his underwear down further, the intoxicating scent growing stronger as the fabric brushes against her face. The sensation of the coarse hair and the sight of his engorged, rigid member at the base is almost overpowering. Her breaths are shallow, a blend of longing and fear as she takes in the scene before her.

He groans in pleasure, casually lighting his cigarette, the smoke drifting languidly into the air.

She hesitates, her gaze flickering up to the general with eyes now vacant and glazed, foam spilling from her mouth and trickling down her chin. A shiver runs through her, a consequence of the drug’s influence, and she quickly averts her eyes, shaking uncontrollably. She avoids his gaze, trying not to soil him. Her body collapses to the side, inadvertently pressing against the bodyguard holding her upright. Foam continues to drip from her mouth, collecting on the ground as she sobs, her fists clenched tightly against the frigid floor.

“Noo…I wanna k-keep going...” she cries out, her voice choked with torment, her heart pounding as if it might burst from her chest. Her panic intensifies, and she feels an overwhelming sense of impending doom, as if death is near. Her body quakes violently, tears mixing with the foam as she desperately tries to avoid meeting the general’s eyes. She is consumed by a profound sense of failure and dread, unable to bear the thought of his scrutiny. “I failed,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over her sobs and retching. The sounds of her distress are agonizing.

Fereyan, observing the scene unfold with a mixture of fascination and desire, finds himself increasingly captivated by the raw display of vulnerability before him. The sight of her collapsing, shaking with a blend of agony and submission, sends a surge of excitement through him. He feels an intense, almost overwhelming arousal, his breath quickening as he watches her distress and her desperate attempts to comply. The vision of her contorted body, her tear-streaked face, and the foamy drool pooling on the ground triggers a deep, visceral longing within him. Fereyan’s thoughts become a tumultuous whirl of envy and craving, a burning desire to be in her place, to experience the same surrender and the electrifying thrill of being utterly dominated. He shifts uncomfortably, unable to tear his eyes away from her, his own body responding with a fierce, involuntary hunger for the intensity of her submission.

Meanwhile, Tolius, standing a few paces away, watches with growing concern. The sight of her torment, coupled with the evident fascination of his fellow guard, weighs heavily on his mind. He feels a deep unease at the scene’s unfolding brutality and the implications of their actions. Despite his instinct to intervene and voice his concerns, Tolius remains silent, bound by the strict orders to stay out of the situation. His eyes dart between Fereyan’s increasingly heated expression and the girl’s deteriorating state, a knot of worry tightening in his chest. He feels a pang of guilt and helplessness, the urge to speak out clashing with his professional restraint as he watches the disturbing tableau before him.

Medical Dose

The general’s grin fades as a genuine look of concern replaces it. His demeanor shifts from detached amusement to urgent apprehension. “Guard Fereyan. Bring the medical dose now,” he commands, his voice sharp and insistent, his stance tense and his arousal still evident from the lingering effects of the scene. The smoke from his tobacco drifts away, its casual presence contrasting sharply with the escalating crisis.

“Kaizu. Leave now. This is serious. Go and try to calm yourself. We will resume this another time,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for dissent.

“Yes, sir,” Kaizu replies, his own anxiety apparent as he is escorted out by another guard, the door locking securely behind him.

As the general’s concern deepens, she begins to lose her grip on consciousness and, seemingly, her mask, her sense of reality slipping away. Her attempts to hold her face become increasingly feeble, her vision darkening. “Sir…” she stammers, her voice a faint whisper of shock and fear, as she covers her face with quaking hands, her sobs growing more intense with each breath. The dread of her impending collapse is tangible, her breathing ragged as she feels her strength waning, uncertain when her final moments might arrive.

She covers her face, her mask now gone, unwilling to allow them to see her bare countenance. “Let me see, girl,” the general commands with a disconcerting calmness, his voice aiming to reassure her. “I don’t think you’re so unattractive. I’ve seen worse, trust me.”

The force of the vial intensifies, compelling her to open her eyes, squinting tightly as if trying to shield herself from his scrutiny. Her heart pounds, her mind spinning as she dreads seeing herself through his eyes.

The general’s initial composure falters as he catches sight of her face. “Oh my,” he exclaims in genuine surprise, his neutral expression slipping away. His eyes widen in astonishment, though she cannot fully discern his reaction. The sight of her is so unexpected that it leaves him momentarily disoriented, his usual poise broken.

For her, accepting her appearance has always been a struggle, a challenge hidden behind a mask of fear and fleeting moments of solace. It symbolizes her self-view, protecting her from the harsh reality of how she looks or who she truly is.

Guard Fereyan returns with the medical dose, but his hands shake as he nearly drops the vial in shock. “She’s so—” he begins to say, but his own reaction silences him. He realizes it is not his place to comment further.

The general, regaining his composure, muses aloud with a hint of intrigue, “Charming and pleasant to behold…?” He strokes his chin thoughtfully, lost in his own reflection.

A deep groan escapes him as he shifts focus back to the immediate crisis. “This can wait for another time,” he asserts, his voice hardening with determination. “Administer it to her; I don’t want her to perish just yet.”

Fereyan, now wearing a mask to shield himself from the intense light emanating from her face, administers the injection with practiced precision. The needle punctures her skin, delivering the essential dose.

Despite her weakened state, she continues to direct her gaze toward the general, still under the effects of the command. “I order you to relax your muscles, cease your crying, and end the panic attack immediately,” he commands authoritatively, his posture stern. He zips his pants back up and strides toward her, stepping carefully over the foam-soaked floor.

Gradually, she begins to regain control over her breathing, her frantic gasps subsiding as the medication takes effect. The general gently lifts her arm and helps her into a chair, his touch steady but considerate.

Fereyan, momentarily breaking from his usual impassive demeanor, whispers with wide-eyed disbelief, “He never handles things personally…”

The general’s irritation spikes upon hearing Fereyan’s whispered remark. “I believe you’re talking far too much,” he snaps, his tone edged with irritation. He then redirects his focus to the urgent matter, demanding, “What happened? Who prepared the dose? Tell me immediately!”

The general’s commands land on her like a series of sharp impacts, each order resonating with a harsh clarity. She instinctively covers her ears, her eyes wide with alarm, as the general notes her reaction.

Tolius, the other guard, reports calmly, “The package arrived as usual, and I saw nothing out of the ordinary with it.”

The general, his patience fraying, barks, “Go investigate what’s changed, Fereyan. I’m not in the mood for delays. Tolius, clean her up.” He tosses his cigarette aside, the ember glowing faintly as it lands on the floor.

Shattered Trust

“Sir...” she murmurs faintly, her voice carrying a soft, desperate tone, craving his touch. Her thoughts are a tangled mess, gripped by the fear that they might loathe and scorn her appearance. Her anxiety surges, imagining that the guard taking her away means she is to be punished. Her mind races, struggling to grasp what she might have done wrong, her confusion deepening as she grapples with the unknown reasons for their displeasure.

“Why?” she asks, her voice quivering as Tolius carefully directs her toward the bathroom. Her bewilderment grows with each step, unable to make sense of the unfolding situation. Tolius, bound by his duties, says nothing, but a flush colors his cheeks as he removes his mask. In an unexpected gesture, he forms a heart with his hands and points toward her, silently conveying a hint of fondness.

"You… love my face?" she stutters, glancing toward the mirror beside her. The image staring back at her leaves her speechless, a wave of disbelief washing over her. "Why is it so bright? I can't make out anything," she mutters, her voice heavy with frustration as she fights against the strange, glowing reflection that distorts her features. Her eyes widen with unease, the light bouncing off her skin in a way that feels foreign, alienating her from her own visage. Her fingers trace along her cheeks, searching for clarity in the blur of radiance, while a sense of helplessness grips her heart.

"I hate being so alone, with no one to talk to," she sobs, her voice breaking as tears stream down her face. Her emotions surge like a storm, the ache of isolation mingling with the confusion and fear that swirl within her. The clash between the stark solitude she feels and the unfamiliar faces around her is profound, making her feel as if she’s caught in a whirlwind she cannot control. Each breath is heavy with the weight of loneliness, deepening the sense that no one truly understands her plight. She looks around, desperate for a connection, but finds only blank stares and silence, which cuts through her even more sharply.

The guard, his self-control slipping, finally breaks his silence. “But I can see you… I don’t understand why you can’t,” he says, his voice a mix of bafflement and earnestness. “You look… so divine, it’s like…” he hesitates, searching for the right words, “like your face is illuminated, with a gentle, pinkish glow, soft and almost ethereal. Somehow, it’s captivating, without any clear features standing out, but still... a sight that is comforting to gaze upon. Have you truly never seen yourself in the mirror before? Where is your mask?” His tone is filled with a sincere worry, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of what he sees and the strange situation unfolding before him.

The General steps into the room, his presence commanding as his eyes flick toward Tolius, carrying a hint of sternness. “I see you’re feeling conversational today. I’ll allow it, just this once,” he remarks, his tone containing a restrained edge, like a taut string.

“Let them speak,” she interjects, her voice laced with pain but touched by an uncommon softness. “I’d rather stay silent myself. I don't like that they aren't allowed the freedom to express what’s in their hearts.”

She continues in a slow, halting manner, still holding herself in a posture of humility, her voice imbued with a faint, wistful yearning. Her words seem to float out as if spoken in a distant reverie, carrying the weight of a desire for change she feels incapable of enacting, a longing for a world where voices are not silenced and hearts can be open.

“Girl,” the General replies, his voice a mix of irritation and a subtle attempt at reassurance. “This isn’t about oppression or control. I require quiet to think clearly. I’m not restricting anyone’s speech without a purpose.” His hand moves to her face, and the touch is unlike any other—her skin seems to buzz with a strange vitality, as if an invisible barrier pulses between them, a force field of energy shielding her features.

“Sir, I’m so unclean… Please, don’t…” she murmurs, her eyes shifting away, her voice quivering with a deep-rooted sense of disgrace. Though she does not pull away from his hand, her body remains tense, caught between submission and fear.

The General, undeterred by her discomfort, poses a probing question. “Why is it that some of us can perceive your face clearly while others cannot? How do you declare yourself filthy when you cannot even see your own reflection?” he asks, his tone carrying a hint of curiosity and seriousness. He moves to a bench near the shower, his expression contemplative, the weight of his words lingering in the humid air, thick with an unspoken understanding and the gravity of the moment.

“I feel so tainted…” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a fragile whisper. “I can feel the dried tears pulling at my skin, the foam itching against my chin…” Her words are laced with discomfort, each one a small confession of her sense of contamination.

“Tolius, bring a wet rovun and clean her up,” the General instructs, his tone firm yet calm, maintaining control in the midst of the unfolding tension.

Tolius moves swiftly, submerging the cloth in a nearby tank of water. He begins to carefully dab at her cheeks, the rovun’s cool moisture offering a brief reprieve from the feverish heat of her skin. Over and over, he rinses and wrings out the cloth, each pass removing more of the dirt and foam that clings to her face. As the grime slowly disappears, he hands her a tissue, indicating for her to blow her nose. She does so, the noise unexpectedly loud and carrying a faint hint of amusement as it reverberates through the confined space.

“I am so exhausted,” she confesses, her voice trailing off with a weary yawn as the tension gradually recedes, replaced by a faint sense of relief.

“You’re dismissed for today,” the General states with a note of finality, his voice carrying a sense of authority that brooks no challenge. “I’ll confer with Guard Fereyan about the situation. Tolius, assign her to a different sleeping pod tonight. Kaizu will come for her—whether she’s conscious or not.”

“Why—” she starts, her voice faltering, but is quickly silenced by the understanding that suddenly grips her, conveyed in the subtle shift of her comrade’s posture.

The General's expression remains impenetrable, his demeanor as controlled as ever.

“Why did he betray me? What happened?” she pleads, her voice breaking with the weight of despair. “What was that back there? I thought it was only the General who meant me harm… but him too?…”

A heavy silence falls over the room, suffocating her with the absence of a response.

“Tolius,” the General orders, stepping out of the bathroom and moving back to his usual chair, “escort her to the designated room.”

With a sigh of frustration, the General strides away, heading toward Fereyan, intent on finding out exactly what transpired in the deposit room.

Confusion

Tolius, his face concealed by a full mask, escorts her through a narrow corridor that exudes a clinical precision. The floor, made of sleek, polished metal, reflects the glaring fluorescent lights above, casting a stark, clinical sheen across the space. The walls, clad in robust, reinforced panels, are painted in a subdued gray, contributing to the stark, impersonal ambiance of the military facility. At regular intervals, the hallway is broken up by large, fortified doors, each adorned with a small, illuminated sign denoting different functional areas. The entire environment is characterized by an unsettling cleanliness and a cold, methodical efficiency, emphasizing the austere nature of the base.

As she is guided through the corridor, the lingering effects of the vial throb persistently through her veins. Her movements are unsteady, as if her body is grappling with a sense of imbalance. The drugs have cast her into a foggy stupor, where every noise seems to echo with increased intensity and every light blazes more harshly. The haunting remnants of the day’s subjugation continue to plague her senses, intensifying her disorientation and fear. The sterile environment around her seems to amplify her unease, making her feel as though she is caught in a never-ending loop of unsettling sensations.

Despite the fog of disorientation that envelops her, she can't help but observe Tolius with heightened clarity. His presence exudes an unexpected tranquility. Although his mask conceals his face, it fails to mask the subtle, commanding stance he maintains. She is drawn to his solid build and the poised manner in which he directs her steps.

In a moment of vulnerability and bewilderment, she inadvertently casts a look of admiration in his direction, a glance that he can just about discern through the shifting light. Her gaze lingers a fraction longer than intended, and she lets out a faint, appreciative sigh. As she lifts a quivering hand to smooth her disheveled hair, the gesture betrays her subconscious attraction, revealing a flicker of admiration amidst her confusion.

Tolius, while maintaining his professional composure, cannot completely overlook the brief spark of warmth in her eyes. He feels the subtle shift in her demeanor, and it momentarily disrupts his steady rhythm. His pace slows just a touch as he absorbs the unexpected human connection in the sterile environment of the facility. The corridor seems to stretch interminably, with the walls absorbing the faint sounds of her uneven breaths and the distant drone of machinery.

As they proceed, his grip on her arm remains gentle yet firm, guiding her with a calming assurance. The harsh overhead lights cast shifting shadows that play across the walls, further disorienting her. Despite the impersonal and clinical nature of the surroundings, and the unsettling events that have transpired, Tolius’s presence offers a rare moment of solace, however brief. The occasional warmth in his eyes contrasts with the cold efficiency of their environment, providing a fleeting sense of comfort amid the uncertainty.

Upon arriving at the secluded room, Tolius turns to her with a demeanor that is both serious and kind. “Do not open the door to anyone,” he instructs, his voice imbued with an urgent undertone. “It’s not safe here. There’s an emergency button on the wall.” He places the small, metallic button into her trembling hand, its cool surface a marked difference from her warm, anxious skin. His gesture is both practical and oddly soothing, offering a small point of stability amid the surrounding turmoil.

The room is softly illuminated, with its walls lined with padded material designed to dampen any external noises. The air is crisp and clean, carrying a faint hint of antiseptic that lingers in the background. Tolius carefully assists her to the sleep pod, the gentle hum of its mechanism creating a calming background noise. He meticulously arranges the bedding, smoothing out the sheets with a practiced touch. His movements are deliberate and tender, each action a quiet reassurance.

“I need a bath,” she says, glancing away with a hint of shyness. “I feel really dirty…”

He lifts her into the bathtub with practiced ease, the warm water flowing over her as he gently settles her down. The tub is a notable deviation from the sterile environment she’s been in; its warmth and the delicate steam rising from the surface provide a brief reprieve from her turmoil. As he begins to wash her, his hands move over her body with a nearly reverent touch. Each stroke of the sponge is both cleansing and soothing, evoking involuntary sighs of relief from her lips. Despite the surrounding chaos and confusion, a part of her can’t help but respond to the care and warmth, her body gradually unwinding under his skilled touch. The interplay of the water against her skin, coupled with the rhythmic motions of his washing, brings an unexpected solace.

Tolius is acutely attuned to her reactions. Although his actions are driven by necessity, there is a subtle, almost imperceptible playfulness in his touch. His fingers linger just a moment longer than required, tracing the contours of her body with an intention that merges duty with a hint of personal indulgence. The response she exhibits is tangible, her body reacting instinctively to the attention, her breathing growing more ragged as she yields to the sensation. The warm water surrounds her as he places her into the tub, and he begins to cleanse her with a sponge, his motions gentle yet suggestive.

His touch grows more intimate, lingering on her chest as he fondles them with practiced delicacy. Each stroke of his hand is intentional, his fingertips brushing over her sensitive areas, eliciting involuntary sighs from her as her body responds to the sensation. His touch is both comforting and stimulating, every caress designed to draw out her reactions.

His fingers trace lightly over the curve of her chest, creating patterns that send a ripple of sensation through her. He teases her sensitive nipples, gently pinching and rolling them between his fingers, causing her to gasp and arch her back, pressing herself closer to him. The warmth of his touch seems to imprint on her skin, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

As he continues his attentions, she can feel her body temperature rise, her skin flushing with need. His hands seem to be everywhere at once—stroking, squeezing, and teasing—driving her wild with longing. She can feel her sensitive peaks responding under his touch, becoming more pronounced and yearning for further stimulation.

He seems to sense her growing craving and leans down, taking one peak into his mouth. He begins with gentle sucks, his tongue swirling around the area, before increasing the pressure, nibbling lightly with his teeth. She gasps, her hands burying in his hair, pulling him closer as he lavishes attention on her sensitive flesh.

He moves to her other side, giving it the same focused care, while his hands explore her sides, tracing the curve of her waist and the flare of her hips. She is submerged in a wave of sensation, her body quivering with desire, each touch igniting her longing further and further.

As her breathing becomes more ragged, her body involuntarily curves towards him, revealing her gratification. Tolius, in tune with her responses, allows his own desire to merge with his actions. He starts to touch himself discreetly, the feeling of her receptiveness fueling his own excitement. His kisses on her neck and shoulders are gentle yet persistent, a blend of loving affection and escalating passion. He uses his lips to trace down her damp upper skin, relishing each reaction as he continues to cleanse her.

Sensing the growing tension, he glides his hand downwards, slipping between her thighs to caress her clit with a skillful touch. His fingers investigate with intent, aiming to bring her solace from the overpowering sensations. The water and her natural slickness meld together, and he can sense the warmth and silkiness of her arousal against his fingers. His touch is both calming and titillating, intended to intensify her pleasure while he retains control.

His own excitement presses as he continues to pleasure her, his groans of gratification blending with her moans. The difference of his own arousal against her body creates a charged ambiance, contributing to the intricacy of their interaction.

He displays no worry for his suit becoming wet; his concentration is entirely on his desires. With an air of wild abandon, he unfastens his trousers, revealing himself, and roughly guides her hand to his boxer briefs. His movements are confident and calculated as he pushes her fingers against his growing arousal, encouraging her to feel the warmth and firmness through the material.

He grasps her head firmly, pulling it towards him with a powerful, commanding motion. She is rendered compliant by the effects of the vial, her body quivering with a mix of pleasure and submission as she moans against him. The vibrations of her moans only stoke his arousal further, fueling his need.

As he draws her head closer, he retreats slightly and positions himself at her mouth. Without hesitation, he compels her to take him into her mouth, the initial pressure causing her to gasp. He holds her head steady, controlling the rhythm with precise, slow movements. He thrusts himself in and out of her mouth with deliberate, leisurely strokes, relishing the warmth and tenderness of her lips as they part to accommodate him.

Each push and pull of his hips is met with the wet, responsive pressure of her mouth, her muffled moans vibrating against him. The sensation is heightened by her compliance, the drug’s effects making her body more pliable and eager to please. He revels in the primal connection between them, his breathing becoming more ragged as he drives his pleasure through her.

His grip remains firm, his fingers splayed across her head to ensure she remains in place, her mouth moving rhythmically in response to his movements. The contrast between her submissive state and his controlling grip creates an intense dynamic, amplifying the pleasure for both of them. As he continues to thrust slowly, he indulges in the feeling of complete domination and the satisfaction of her compliance, his own release drawing closer with each measured movement.

Still being with her body underwater, her head is on a side, sucking it, afraid of the General lurking over her, her actions even tho involuntary, might find her arousal both maddening and infuriating.His eyes could narrow with a mix of satisfaction and contempt as he notes the way her body betrays her true feelings. He might interpret her responses as a challenge to his authority, leading him to impose stricter punishments or more intense measures to reaffirm his control and dominance. Her confusion and sense of violation only add to the gravity of her situation, making her eventual punishment all the more severe and profound.

As Tolius feels the intense pressure build up within him, he thrusts into her mouth with deliberate force. The sensation of her warm, wet tongue moving around him creates a maddening friction that drives him closer to the edge. Each thrust deepens, pushing her head forward as she struggles to accommodate the growing size and length of him.

Her mouth is penetrated by his cock, the slickness of her saliva mixing with his pre-cum, making each movement more intense. The contact between her moist lips and his throbbing member sends waves of pleasure through him, causing his breathing to become labored and uneven. Her tongue's movements, though involuntary under the drug's effects, stimulate him further, eliciting groans of satisfaction from Tolius.

He continues his relentless rhythm, savoring the feel of her mouth tightening around him. Her own sensations are confusing—each thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through her, amplifying her wetness despite her initial resistance. The sensations are overwhelming and disorienting, making her body respond reflexively even as her mind grapples with the violation.

With a final, intense thrust, Tolius reaches his peak, releasing a warm, viscous stream into her mouth, causing her to recoil in distaste and attempt to pull away, her eyes squinting in reaction. Tears well up at the corners of her eyes, reflecting her discomfort. The liquid spills over her tongue, hot and tacky, presenting a sharp contrast to the previously intimate connection they shared. He tightens his grip on her hair, tilting her head back to ensure she swallows every bit of his release. She struggles, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her gaze meets his with a look of distress, her expression revealing her aversion to the overpowering, pungent taste in her mouth.

He looks down at her illuminated face with an authoritative, almost predatory presence. His gaze holds hers, conveying a silent imperative for her complete acquiescence. As she swallows, her throat visibly contracts, his authority and control evident in the way he compels her to accept every part of him. Her eyes, brimming with confusion and reluctant submission, lock with his, mirroring the intricate blend of fear, yearning, and discomfort she is grappling with.

“Good girl,” he says, continuing, “But I won’t let you cum.”

When she’s finally freed, she gasps for breath, a mix of pleasure and revulsion evident on her face. She quickly washes her mouth with her hand, trying to rinse away the taste with the pouring water above, making unpleasant, gagging sounds as she does so.

“Bleaurgh, ewww… Why?” she asks, her eyes wide with betrayal as she looks at him.

“Mmm…” Tolius responds, his expression one of amused detachment.

She rises from the bath, giving herself a final rinse as she prepares to leave.

Tolius gently takes a rovun and begins to absorb the moisture from her skin. He then dresses her in a soft, white pajama designed to offer maximum comfort and foster relaxation.

She breaks the silence, her voice tinged with confusion, "Why did you do this?.. I didn't want to.."

His movements remain tender and precise, each adjustment of the garment made with the intention of enhancing her comfort. The fabric wraps around her like a soothing embrace, providing a cocoon of serenity that sharply contrasts with the earlier turmoil.

Tolius’s gaze lingers on her, a blend of contentment and empathy in his eyes as he watches her settle into the newfound comfort. “Rest now,” he murmurs softly, his voice a gentle caress.

She is left with mixed emotions, grappling with the abrupt shift from distress to comfort. As Tolius steps back, he ensures she is peacefully at ease, the intimate moments they shared leaving a lasting impact on both their hearts.

As he prepares to exit, he casts a final, lingering gaze in her direction. “Good night…” he murmurs, his voice carrying a blend of admiration and sympathy. “I hope he doesn’t hurt you too badly. You’re my favorite so far.” His words hover in the air, offering a bittersweet reassurance that sharply contrasts with the harsh reality she faces. A fleeting trace of empathy is evident in his eyes before he turns to leave, his footsteps softly reverberating against the metal floor.

She nestles into the sleep pod, finding a brief moment of comfort in the soft embrace of the bedding. Yet her mind remains a storm of anxiety and dread. Memories of the day's events swirl within her, each recollection a sharp shard of turmoil. As she attempts to drift into slumber, her fleeting calm is abruptly interrupted. After only a few hours, she is jolted awake by a cacophony of noise. The once peaceful silence of the room is torn apart by a clamor of dissonant sounds—urgent cries, the jarring clang of metal, and the relentless hum of machinery. Her heart pounds as she struggles to decipher the chaotic symphony invading her fragile refuge. The room, which had been a temporary haven, now becomes the backdrop for a new surge of fear and disorientation.

Meanwhile, as the door to the General's office closes behind Kaizu, he finds himself in the impersonal hallway, his mind reeling from the events that just transpired. The echo of the General's words and the image of her writhing on the floor, foam spilling from her mouth, are etched into his memory, fueling a tumultuous storm of emotions within him.

As he makes his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the military base, Kaizu's thoughts are a chaotic mix of desire, anger, and confusion. The sting of the General's dismissal hits him hard, each step away from the office a poignant reminder of his own helplessness.

In an effort to relieve his frustration, Kaizu strides purposefully toward their private quarters, his steps hurried and deliberate. Once inside, he forcefully shuts the door behind him, the sharp thud reverberating through the confined space. The room is sparsely decorated, with just two beds, a small table, and a few chairs filling the area. A soft, flickering light casts unsettling shadows on the walls, echoing the turbulence of his mood.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Kaizu unfastens his pants, his arousal quickly emerging from its constraints.

He grips himself firmly, his hand moving with frenzied intensity as he imagines himself in the General's place, dominating and controlling her. His breath comes in ragged gasps, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge.

Kaizu's mind wanders further into the forbidden, imagining her stripped bare, her body exposed and vulnerable before him. He envisions himself exploring every curve and contour of her flesh, his hands roaming freely as he claims her as his own. The image of her writhing beneath him, her masked face flushed with desire, drives him closer to the brink.

He retrieves her pillow, the scent of her still lingering on the soft fabric, and grips himself firmly. He begins to thrust into the pillow, each movement accompanied by the mental image of her masked face and the memory of her soft moans.Kaizu's hips buck wildly as he imagines himself in the General's place, claiming her as his own. The sensation of the pillow against his sensitive skin, combined with the erotic thoughts dancing through his mind, quickly brings him to the brink.

With a final, shuddering thrust, Kaizu climaxes, his release spilling onto the pillow and mingling with the scent of her. As he lies there in her sleeping pod, his cock still throbbing and releasing semen, Kaizu knows he cannot linger in this stolen moment of pleasure. With a heavy sigh, he rises from the bed and leaves the soiled pillow behind, a tangible reminder of his transgression.Kaizu makes his way to the communal showers, the cold, sterile environment a stark contrast to the warmth and intimacy he had briefly indulged in.

He stands under the harsh spray, letting the water wash away the physical evidence of his actions, though the guilt and confusion remain deeply embedded in his conscience.After cleansing himself, Kaizu heads to his own sleeping pod, his body weary from the day's events. As he slips into the cold, uninviting bed, he feels a sense of exhilaration and anticipation rather than guilt. The memory of his fantasy and the pleasure he found in his actions fuels his desire for more

Despite the weight of his betrayal, Kaizu falls asleep like a baby, his dreams filled with visions of her and the dark desires that consume him. His slumber is deep and untroubled, his conscience unburdened by the consequences of his actions.

Some time later, Kaizu is jolted awake by blaring alarm sounds, the same cacophony that echoes through her secluded room. The sudden noise rips him from his dreams, his heart racing as he struggles to orient himself in the cold, sterile environment.

As the urgency of the situation dawns on him, Kaizu realizes that the base is under some sort of threat. His mind races with possibilities, the danger posed by the General and his own betrayal paling in comparison to the immediate crisis at hand. Kaizu springs from his sleeping pod, his body tensed and ready for action. He quickly dons his uniform, his movements swift and purposeful as he prepares to face the unknown. The alarm continues to wail, a haunting reminder of the chaos that has erupted within the once-orderly confines of the military base.

As he steps out into the corridor, Kaizu is greeted by a scene of pandemonium. Soldiers and personnel rush past him, their faces etched with fear and determination as they scramble to respond to the emergency. The cold, marble walls now seem to close in on him, the base transformed into a labyrinth of uncertainty and peril.

Kaizu's heart pounds in his chest as he joins the fray, his mind consumed by thoughts of survival.