Poxitarium Invade

Unveiled Chamber

In the dimly lit chamber, the air was heavy with the scent of rusted metal and something far darker—an aura of looming menace. At its center stood the General, his blue cape draped over broad shoulders, casting long, ominous shadows against the cold stone walls. His presence was commanding, an immovable force amidst the shifting darkness.

Beside him, Vontum worked silently, his eyes gleaming with an ancient, malevolent energy as he completed the final preparations. There was a subtle hum in the air, a near-imperceptible vibration that seemed to pulse through the very walls, charged with the raw power they were about to unleash.

The General’s hand moved to his comm link, his expression hardening into a mask of ruthless authority. When he spoke, his voice sliced through the chamber like a sharpened blade, carrying a command that allowed no room for disobedience.

“Fereyan,” he ordered, his tone absolute. “Bring her to the chamber. Now.”

A brief pause, then the comm link crackled with a response.

“Understood, General. She’s on her way.”

The General’s eyes met Vontum’s, and with a single, slight nod, the two men acknowledged their shared understanding. A dark and meticulous plan was now fully set in motion. In the flickering light, the General’s face remained cold, unreadable—there was no space here for doubt, only calculated resolve.

As they waited, the General’s gaze drifted to the metal table that Vontum had carefully prepared. Every piece was in place, save for the final, crucial element. Vontum’s voice, low and guttural, broke the silence.

“She has no idea what awaits her,” he murmured with quiet satisfaction. “She will not resist.”

The General’s lips twisted into a thin, humorless smile. “Resistance is futile. The Phrodia will make sure of that.” His words were laced with cold certainty, and Vontum responded with a low, chilling chuckle that seemed to ripple through the chamber, amplifying the unease in the air.

The General’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as the faint sound of approaching footsteps echoed down the stone corridors. His nod of approval was subtle but decisive, a silent acknowledgment of the final phase beginning to unfold.

“Let’s make sure she knows her place,” he said, his voice a quiet but commanding force. “The experiment must succeed.”

Arrival of the subject

The chamber door slid open with a soft, sinister hiss, and Fereyan entered, her posture slumped in forced compliance under his unrelenting grip. The General’s gaze hardened as she was brought before him, her wide eyes flickering with a volatile mix of fear and defiance. Yet, there was something unusual—a faint, radiant glow clung to her, a dull white aura that pulsed subtly, as if defying the oppressive darkness around her. Vontum, usually impenetrable, paused for a fraction of a second, surprised by her lingering light, though he quickly regained his dark composure, casting a silent glance toward the General.

“Welcome,” the General said, his voice laced with cruel amusement. “It’s time to begin.”

Vontum stepped forward, his presence looming like a shadow stretching across the room. “Number 36 is ready, General.”

The two men exchanged a final look, their plan now fully in motion, the final piece of their elaborate puzzle in place.

As Fereyan took her first step into the chamber, the door slid shut behind her with a heavy, ominous thud, sealing her fate. A wave of cold dread settled deep in her gut. The room was suffocatingly dark, illuminated only by the faint, eerie glow from the metal table, laid out with surgical precision, almost as if preparing for a ritual. The air was thick, saturated with the pungent scent of metal, its sharpness making her feel as if she were stepping into something far more sinister than she had imagined.

Her eyes darted frantically around the room, her anxiety mounting with every heartbeat. Everything felt wrong. Shadows seemed to dance unnaturally, twisting in ways that defied reason, while every glint of light reflecting off the strange, alien instruments made her skin prickle with unease. Her gaze finally settled on Vontum, and her breath caught.

He was nothing like she had imagined. Cloaked in darkness, his very presence was suffocating, almost inhuman. His long, white hair fell around a face marred by grotesque stitches, as though he had been pieced together, a grotesque abomination forged from flesh and something far darker. His gaze was piercing, his cold, calculating eyes dissecting her with a chilling intensity, as if she were already on the table.

Who is this man? she thought, her mind racing, desperate to steady her breath. The General had always radiated control and power, but Vontum was something entirely different—he carried an ancient darkness, a malevolence that whispered of horrors long buried in forgotten times. She had faced danger before, but this—this was beyond anything she had ever encountered.

A shiver crawled down her spine as the weight of her predicament crashed down on her. The room, the table, Vontum’s presence—it all pointed to something far more terrifying than she could comprehend. The General’s power had always been intimidating, but with Vontum by his side, she felt like nothing more than a pawn in a game she didn’t understand, a helpless lamb being led to slaughter.

I shouldn’t be here… The thought echoed through her mind, soft but insistent, like a whisper trying to break through the chaos swirling inside her. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to hide, to disappear—but there was nowhere to go. The walls of the chamber loomed around her like a cage, closing in with every heartbeat, suffocating her with the realization that escape was impossible. She clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging into her palms as if the physical pain could anchor her to something solid, something real. But control was slipping away, unraveling with each passing second, like sand through her fingers. The fear and uncertainty gnawed at her, chipping away at her defenses, until all she could feel was the overwhelming pressure bearing down on her, threatening to shatter her completely.

I have to stay strong, she told herself, her internal voice desperate, grasping at any thread of resilience she could find. But even as she repeated the words, they felt hollow. Her resolve, fragile to begin with, was already crumbling. Her body ached with exhaustion—she hadn’t truly rested in days, and last night she’d barely managed an hour of sleep before Fereyan had dragged her here. The weight of fatigue pressed heavily on her, clouding her thoughts, making it harder to focus, harder to breathe.

Her mind flashed back to the moments before her capture, the fleeting hours of restless, fractured sleep. She had been on edge, aware of the looming threat, but never imagining it would come so swiftly. And now, standing in this chamber, her body trembling from both exhaustion and fear, she could feel her energy draining away, like a candle slowly burning out.

Vontum’s Obssesion: Specimen 36

The General leaned in close, his voice soft, yet laced with a quiet, chilling menace. “Do you know what this is?” he asked, his tone making it clear that he already knew the answer—she had no idea.

Her eyes fluttered open, disoriented and full of fear. The dim light blurred the edges of the room as she tried to focus, her mind still fogged by confusion. “No... what is it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling under the weight of dread.

Before she could catch her breath, Vontum cut in, unable to contain his excitement. He gestured eagerly toward the creature, his tone dripping with impatient enthusiasm. “Specimen 36. A truly remarkable species. It produces a substance called Phrodia—extremely valuable in certain... specialized markets.” His eyes gleamed with an almost manic intensity as he spoke.

He didn’t need to explain any further. The implications hung heavy in the air like a blade waiting to fall. Phrodia was infamous, its effects known to break even the strongest minds, turning the will to resistance into nothing more than a memory. A single dose could corrupt the sharpest of minds, bend the most unyielding of spirits. Her stomach twisted as realization dawned.

“You’re going to help us extract it,” Vontum continued, his voice now cold and devoid of emotion. He spoke with a clinical detachment, as if discussing a mundane task rather than her impending role in this twisted experiment. “The creature has been... enhanced to ensure maximum yield.”

The dim chamber thrummed with a low, almost imperceptible hum. The walls, thick and oppressive, seemed to pulse with an eerie life of their own, mirroring the sinister glow coming from the containment unit. Vontum moved before the glass enclosure, his dark figure reflected in the eerie green light that bathed the creature within.

The alien spider, Specimen 36, loomed behind the glass. Its grotesque, iridescent body shimmered under the muted light, dark and slick, as though the shadows themselves were clinging to it. Its many eyes—black, soulless, and gleaming with a malicious intelligence—fixed on the figures outside the glass. There was an unsettling awareness in its gaze, as if it understood more than it should. The creature moved with a slow, calculated grace, each step deliberate, its spindly legs producing a soft, rhythmic clicking against the metal floor that reverberated through the chamber like a distant drumbeat.

At the General’s signal, a panel of the wall hissed open, revealing the creature in its full, nightmarish form. The air grew thick with tension, the sound of the door sliding back filling the room like the final warning before a storm. The spider, now unrestrained by the barrier, unfolded itself fully, its massive legs extending with predatory elegance. Its sleek, dark body gleamed like polished obsidian, every movement a blend of lethal grace and cold precision.

Its many eyes never wavered from their target—her. It was as if the creature sensed the fear radiating from her, feeding on it. There was no hesitation in its slow, deliberate movements, only a chilling sense of purpose.

A Glimpse of Fear

She instinctively stepped back, but Fereyan’s iron grip yanked her forward, her heart pounding erratically in her chest. “No, please, let me go!” Panic clawed at her insides as the horrifying reality sank in—she was trapped here with them, no way out, no hope of escape.

The General approached her with maddening slowness, each step deliberate, savoring her fear. His presence loomed like a dark cloud, suffocating her with its weight. He reached out, his hand brushing her head in a mockery of tenderness. “Remember when you captured it?” His voice dripped with poisonous sweetness, each word a sharp, twisted knife. “It’s missed you so much.” A wicked grin tugged at his lips, his left eye flaring with a malevolent purple energy, the dark excitement rolling off him in waves.

“What? Sir, no! Please!” Her voice cracked, each syllable drenched in terror as she realized she was teetering on the edge of something far worse than she could imagine. “I’m so tired, I’m begging you, don’t!” She squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling down her cheeks in frantic sobs, her desperation laid bare for all to see. Fear slithered up her spine like a living thing, tightening around her throat, choking her, suffocating her. She thrashed weakly in Fereyan’s hold, pure, chaotic terror overtaking her.

The General merely smiled, amused by her struggle. “Is the specimen prepared?” he asked in a low, measured tone, as if her pleas were nothing more than background noise.

Vontum nodded, his sinister grin widening. “Yes, General.”

Without a word, the General gave Fereyan a subtle nod, and the silent command was understood immediately. Fereyan moved with mechanical precision, his grip like cold iron as he dragged her toward the metal table. Its surface gleamed ominously under the dim lights, as if it had been waiting just for her.

She fought, a spark of desperate energy crackling around her, wild and frantic, but it was useless—pathetic, even. In one swift, practiced motion, Fereyan slammed her onto the table and strapped her down. The restraints locked into place with a sharp metallic snap, the sound echoing through the room like a death knell.

Pure panic surged within her as she writhed against the bindings, her screams filling the air, frantic and broken. “Please! No! Let me go! Please! What are you going to do to me?!” Her voice trembled, raw with terror, but it only seemed to amuse them more. The more she begged, the more her despair thickened the air, suffocating her, trapping her, as if the very room fed on her fear.

Encounter with Specimen 36

Her desperate cries had an unintended, sinister consequence—arousing the creature that lurked nearby. The spider, its senses finely tuned to vibrations of distress, stirred with an almost eager excitement. Her terror, raw and palpable, rippled through the air like a beacon, drawing the creature nearer. It could feel her helplessness, and it hungered for it, instincts awakened and sharpened by the intensity of her fear.

As her struggles grew more frantic, the atmosphere in the chamber shifted, becoming thick with a dark, predatory energy. The air crackled with anticipation, the space itself responding to the growing excitement of the spider. Her screams were like music to the beast, feeding its growing hunger with each passing moment. The more she begged and sobbed, the more electric the room became—her panic a catalyst for the creature’s insatiable desires.

Vontum released a low, guttural laugh that reverberated through the chamber, chilling and twisted. His eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction as a wicked grin spread across his face. With a deliberate gesture, he unleashed the alien spider—Number 36. The massive creature emerged slowly from the shadows, its form gliding with an unsettling grace that belied its monstrous size.

The spider’s iridescent body shimmered in the dim light, its legs moving in eerie synchrony, each step deliberate and unnervingly silent. Its multiple eyes, black and soulless, scanned the room with a cold, calculating intelligence. It seemed to ignore the men entirely, as if instinctively understanding they weren’t its intended prey. No, it had another target in mind—a far more vulnerable one.

When its many eyes finally settled on her, there was a flicker of recognition, a spark of something disturbingly familiar. The air grew even heavier as the creature’s gaze locked onto her, a sinister hunger glinting in its eyes. There was something unnerving in that look, as if the spider remembered their last encounter, the failed trap, the near miss. A twisted bond of familiarity seemed to form between them, only amplifying the beast’s excitement.

Its movements became more deliberate, more purposeful, driven by a primal urge to claim what had once eluded it. It crept closer, each step filled with an almost unbearable tension, the soft click of its legs against the cold floor echoing ominously in the chamber. There was no need for haste—the creature could afford to savor the moment. Its hunger grew with every inch it closed between them, the thrill of the hunt thick in the air.

Her breath hitched as she watched the spider’s grotesque pedipalps twitch near its mouth, swollen and pulsating rhythmically with a toxic green substance. Phrodia. The very sight of it made her stomach churn with dread. The venomous liquid shimmered in the dim light, its potency undeniable. The Phrodia was far more than a weapon; it was a tool of domination, a substance that could bend the mind, break the spirit, and strip away any semblance of resistance.

The creature’s eyes glimmered with a disturbing mix of anticipation and desire, a sickening hunger that made her heart race faster. It was no longer just a predator closing in on its prey—it was a force of nature, relentless and unstoppable, drawn to her fear like a moth to flame. And she could feel it now, the realization that she had no control, no escape, no hope.

The room seemed to close in on her as the spider inched closer, its eyes never leaving hers, that sinister hunger gleaming brighter with each passing second. The last remnants of her strength drained away, leaving her trembling, a powerless offering to the beast that had come to claim her.

Ritualistic dance

The air around her seemed to thicken, charged with an intoxicating, almost electric energy. The creature’s presence was both terrifying and hypnotic, its sheer power radiating in waves that gripped her, rendering resistance futile. Every deliberate movement it made carried a silent promise of the horrors yet to come. Trembling, tears streaming down her face, she silently pleaded with the monstrous spider, her eyes wide with desperation. Her arachnophobia had never prepared her for something like this—a colossal spider, 1.3 meters in size, known as the Crawled Eye. But this one was different, more dangerous, more alive.

Before it began, the spider performed a rhythmic, hypnotic dance—a ritual of its species, used to mesmerize both mate and prey alike. Its legs moved in perfect synchrony, weaving a pattern that seemed to pull her in, trapping her gaze. There was an eerie grace in its movements, an unsettling elegance that stirred something deep within her, something primal and unspeakable. The rhythm echoed in her bones, awakening a confused, twisted desire she couldn’t understand.

What the hell is this feeling?! she thought, disgusted, tears streaming down her face. Why am I feeling attracted to a spider?! This is wrong! Her sobs grew louder as her emotions spiraled into confusion, battling the unnatural pull.

The General watched closely, seated alongside Vontum, their expressions cold, detached, as if observing nothing more than a scientific experiment. “The Phrodia will break her,” he murmured, his voice soft but certain.

Vontum chuckled darkly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic amusement. “Oh, it will. It has driven far stronger minds to the edge of madness.”

The two men leaned back in their chairs, smoking tobacco and sipping coffee, casually facing the scene before them as though watching some grotesque form of entertainment. The landscape beyond them was forgotten; their attention focused entirely on her and the creature’s performance.

Guided by both instinct and Vontum’s enhancements, the spider positioned itself above her, its many eyes glinting with an unsettling hunger. Just before its pedipalps hovered over her trembling skin, it locked eyes with her—radiating dark orange waves of desire and anticipation. The palpal bulbs throbbed rhythmically, filled with the potent chemical, Phrodia. In a swift, calculated movement, the spider began its process, its legs caressing her body with disturbing precision, knowing exactly where to touch to draw the deepest, most visceral response.

Its limbs traced patterns of twisted pleasure across her skin, and with horrifying accuracy, the spider inserted its pedipalps into her lower abdomen. The Phrodia flowed into her veins, its effects immediate and catastrophic. Her body arched involuntarily, a scream of silent agony tearing from her throat as the substance seized control.

Her mind became a fog, clouded by the overwhelming power of the Phrodia, bending her thoughts and warping her will to the creature’s influence. Desire—unnatural, all-consuming—flooded her, robbing her of any shred of control she had left. The spider’s rhythmic touches intensified, each caress driving her further into a twisted ecstasy as the Phrodia coursed relentlessly through her.

Soft, unwilling moans escaped her lips, filling the room with the sound of her torment. Through her blurred vision, she looked at the General, her eyes pleading, her voice shaking. “Sir... please... Why?” she sobbed, feeling the bitter sting of betrayal, the depths of her suffering laid bare.

The General stood from his chair, his footsteps echoing as he approached her and the creature, his voice devoid of any trace of empathy. “This is only the beginning,” he said coldly, his hand brushing across the spider’s back in a disturbingly affectionate gesture, his eyes filled with menace as he stared down at her.

At his words, her sobs intensified, her heart pounding wildly, her soul feeling as though it were being ripped apart, trapped not only by the cold metal restraints but by the suffocating dread that had wrapped itself around her. She was lost—completely and utterly.

Vontum, standing just behind, watching, his eyes fixed on the spectacle before him, a twisted smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

Desperation and ecstasy

As the spider continued its sensual exploration, its limbs grazed the soft curves of her breasts, gently circling her nipples, causing them to harden with anticipation.

The creature seemed to sense her most sensitive spots, as it teasingly caressed the underside of her breasts before moving down to the dip of her waist and then out to the flare of her hips. Its touch was feather-light, yet it left trails of fire in its wake, making her ache for more.

As the Phrodia coursed through her veins, an unsettling transformation began to unfold within her. She could feel the spider’s limbs brushing against her skin, once the source of her deepest fears and anxieties, now becoming strangely soothing in their delicate caress. A bewildering calmness washed over her, enveloping her in a soft cocoon that overshadowed the terror that had once gripped her heart with an iron fist. Her mind, once a turbulent storm of dread and revulsion, began to quiet, its chaos subdued by the drug’s insidious influence. It was as if the very essence of fear had been stripped away, leaving behind a disorienting tranquility that settled over her like a thick fog.

Confusion swirled within her as she questioned herself, ~Why does the spider’s touch, which should repulse me, now feel strangely comforting?~ Each caress, which had once loomed as a horrifying prospect, now elicited responses from her body that were both perplexing and intimate. Her breath came in uneven, shuddering gasps, a mingling of fear and reluctant pleasure. Her skin tingled with an involuntary warmth that coursed through her veins, an electrifying sensation she found herself powerless to deny. It was a dissonance that shook her to the core, as she grappled with the realization that her body was responding in ways she had never anticipated.

A deep, suffocating shame welled up inside her, battling fiercely with the overwhelming sensations that cascaded through her being. She struggled against this internal conflict; her body was betraying her in a most unexpected manner, reacting to the spider’s touch with a sensitivity that was both alarming and confusing. The Phrodia had warped her innate fear into an alien form of desire, leaving her torn between the intense shame that flooded her mind and the unsettling realization that the creature’s presence was no longer the nightmare it once represented. It was a clash of emotions that rendered her paralyzed, teetering on the precipice of self-discovery while desperately yearning for the safety of her former beliefs.

Unaware of her growing desire, the spider’s limbs traced the contours of her hips, slowly working their way towards her inner thighs. The creature seemed to take pleasure in the way she trembled beneath its touch, as it gently brushed against the tender flesh of her thighs, inching closer to her most intimate areas.

With each caress, the spider seemed to learn more about her body, discovering the secrets of her pleasure and using them to heighten her arousal, leaving her breathless and yearning for more. The alien spider found her temple, and rubbed skillfully with not too much pressure and not too fast her spot as if he knew how to do it properly.

As the spider’s limbs continued their tantalizing dance across her body, two limbs on her breasts, one around her hips moving in a infinite symbol motion, and one limb moving on her clitoris, she felt a sudden shift in her energy. The once stressed dark orange energy that had surrounded her began to transform, radiating a vibrant, pulsating pink that the General had known before. This change seemed to only encourage the creature, as it pressed on with its relentless caresses.

“General, help!,” she yells angry at him tho knowing he’s her ultimate salvation.

Despite her growing arousal, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of shame at her own reactions. She tried to stifle her moans, not wanting to betray the effect the spider’s touch was having on her. Closing her eyes tightly, she pleaded softly, “Please, stop...”

In response to her plea, the spider emitted a screeching sound, as if it were reprimanding her for her resistance. Instead of ceasing its movements, the creature pressed its limbs harder against her sensitive spots, intensifying the sensations coursing through her body.

The increased pressure forced a louder moan from her lips, as she struggled with her own desire and the overwhelming sensations the spider was eliciting from her.

As the spider’s relentless caresses pushed her closer to the brink of ecstasy, it became clear that the creature was also reaching the peak of its own arousal. The spider’s movements became more frantic, its limbs pressing harder against her body as it sought to bring them both to the ultimate climax. With a last stroke, she arches her back releasing her sticky cum on tol of his limb, the spider taking a moment back with its limb in the air as to enjoy the discovered moment of her reaction.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, the spider positioned itself above her, preparing to give in to its own desire. With a final, powerful thrust, it plunged its fangs into her abdomen, injecting its essence deep within her.

The sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced before – a searing heat that spread throughout her entire body, melding pleasure and pain into one indistinguishable sensation.

As the spider released its Phrodia inside her, she felt a surge of energy coursing through her veins, pushing her over the edge into a mind-shattering orgasm. The world around her seemed to explode in a burst of color and light, her body shuddering with the intensity of her climax. The spider, too, seemed to be lost in its own ecstasy, its limbs trembling as it held her tightly, the two of them entwined in a moment of shared rapture.

In the aftermath of their passion, the spider slowly withdrew its fangs, leaving her feeling both utterly spent and strangely invigorated. The energy that had once glowed a radiant pink around her now seemed to shimmer with a new intensity, forever changed by the creature’s powerful essence that now resided within her.

“Leave her,” the General ordered, his voice cold and final. “Let the Phrodia take full effect. We’ll return when she’s ready.“, says the general while putting a cup beneath

Together, they turned away, leaving her alone with the lingering effects of the substance and the memory of the spider’s sensual dance, and its limbs, the spider lurking around her, dazed as well.

The spider looking at her in the aftermath with the same killer eyes and hunger that lurked before, as if speaking to her saying “See you next time”.

In the cold, sterile chamber, she lay tied to the metallic table, her body writhing in a twisted combination of agony and ecstasy. The Phrodia within her seemed to pulse with a life of its own, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her veins even as it caused her nerves to scream in pain. Each sensation seemed to feed off the other, building in intensity until she felt as though she might shatter into a million pieces.

As the pleasure reached its peak, she could hold back no longer. With a soft cry, she surrendered to the overwhelming sensations, her body convulsing as she released her own essence. Again. And again. The metallic table beneath her was soon slick with the evidence of her climax, each droplet slowly trickling down the cold surface to pool in the waiting cup below.

“Help...” she whimpered, her voice barely audible in the empty chamber. The spider, having completed its task, remained still and silent, offering no solace or comfort in the face of her torment. Alone and bound, she shuddered, caught between the irresistible pleasure that continued to course through her and the aching loneliness that seemed to echo in the cold, sterile room around her.

Cold pleasure

In the meantime, The General, having feasted his eyes upon this captivating landscape of exophilia, finds his excitement rising, his energy surging purple in his left eye, as he observes her through the concealed camera.Her body trembles intermittently, succumbing to the effects of the Phrodia coursing through her veins. Harsh, guttural moans escape her lips as her head hangs low, exhaustion weighing down every muscle. Bound to the metal table by her hands and legs, her arousal has reached such intensity that she climaxes repeatedly, involuntarily, her body shivering with each wave. Sensations of tingles and electric spikes radiate through her skin, her sensitive areas crying out for more. Her nipples harden in anticipation, a mix of pain and pleasure, while her entrance, swollen and slick from the relentless flow of her desire, drips steadily into the nearly brimming cup below.

Vontum watches the General with a knowing smirk. ‘I see you’re prepared as well,’ he chuckles, a guttural sound rumbling from his throat, his eyes drifting to the strained bulge in the General’s pants

The General gestures sharply to Tolius, his tone commanding.

“Squeeze more out of her, now. Then take the cup and signal Fereyan to release her,” he orders, his voice steady and unyielding. Without waiting for a response, he casually reaches into Vontum’s drawer, extracting a tobacco stick. He lights it with a practiced hand, exhaling slowly, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp with intent.

Tolius nods and strides toward her, the door opening with a hiss. At the sharp sound, she lets out a startled yelp, her senses unbearably heightened and every nerve on edge. He moves closer to her, her skin now glowing with a vivid, radiant pink that seems to pulsate with each breath. The strange aura around her shimmers, extending nearly 30 centimeters beyond her skin’s surface, more intense than the last time

She sits in silence, not bothering to ask for help — she knows it would be futile. Her eyes meet Tolius’s, her gaze steady but hollow, devoid of any hope or resistance. Her naked body trembles, hanging limply from the restraints, flushed with ecstasy and slick with the evidence of her endless release. Tolius feels a surge of arousal at the sight, a hard-on pressing against his pants. He approaches cautiously, a muzzle gripped firmly in his left hand, ready to use it if anything threatens to disrupt his pleasure.

He drags a plain metal table closer, the sound of scraping steel echoing in the cold room. With deliberate movements, he places the muzzle down and reaches for the cup beneath her, now brimming with liquid, placing it on the table, and putting another empty cup beneath. The scent of Phrodia — potent and intoxicating — fills the air, clinging to his senses. He breathes it in deeply, thinking,~They’ll be pleased. Very pleased.~ A flicker of satisfaction crosses his face as he seals the cup carefully.

Her head droops, a wave of dizziness making the room spin.~I won’t beg~,she thinks, teeth clenched against the electric tingles that run through her body, her skin so sensitive it feels like it might ignite. She watches him through half-lidded eyes, sensing his desire, his hunger, a predator savoring the moment.~What more could they want?~she wonders, a mix of defiance and resignation coursing through her. Her body, though trembling, aches for relief — yet she knows it will not come from him. Not yet.

Tolius moves closer, a slow grin forming on his lips as he leans in, inhaling the scent of her arousal mingling with the air.“Just a bit longer”,he muses, feeling a thrill shoot through him. His eyes narrow with anticipation, already imagining the next steps. He lives for this — for the control, the power that surges through him at the sight of her breaking, little by little.

Tolius’s gloved hands move to her breasts, his fingers pressing into her soft flesh without a moment’s hesitation. He feels her body react, trembling beneath his touch. There’s no resistance, no struggle — only submission, her body attuned entirely to the pleasure coursing through her. His gaze narrows, a morbid satisfaction swelling in his chest. “So easily broken", leaning in close to her ear. His breath is hot against her skin as he lets out a low, primal groan to her ear, feeling her shiver in response. His hand slides downward with deliberate slowness, tracing a line over her stomach before reaching her temple, then descending lower still. His fingers find her clit, and he begins to rub it in slow, rhythmic circles.

Her soft moans fill the room, and with each one, Tolius feels his arousal deepen. ~Yes... give in~, he thinks, his own excitement building at the sound of her helplessness. He watches her closely, savoring the way her body twitches and reacts to his touch. She lets out a soft, breathy “mmm...” — a sound that shoots through him like a jolt of electricity. Her hands, though restrained, move in weak, circular motions, a futile attempt to free herself. ~She wants to be released... but not too much~, he thinks, recognizing the conflict in her actions. Her energy is spent; she’s too drained, too tired to fight him off.

Tolius picks up the muzzle from the table and holds it in front of her face, silent, commanding, showing her that if she keeps fighting, she’ll get it. Her eyes widen at the sight, a shudder running through her body. He notices her gaze drift downward, lingering on the bulge in his pants. ~Begging for it~, he thinks with a sly grin, feeling his desire flare. The outline of her jaw and forehead is barely visible, her features obscured by the deep pink glow of her energy.

He strokes her again, this time harder, more deliberately, pressing against her with increasing intensity. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, each sound fueling his lust. ~Let it build~, he urges mentally, savoring her helplessness. Her body shudders violently, and he can see she’s nearing her breaking point, her face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and pain tho only deep pink radiating energy could be perceived. Her lips part, and she manages to gasp, “I beg you, stop!” Her voice is weak, barely coherent, filled with raw desperation and torment.

Tolius feels a dark thrill at her plea, the power coursing through him like a drug. He presses harder, feeling her body arch and strain beneath him, her final reserve of energy spent in one last release. She cums again, her back arching, her head thrown back, a scream tearing from her throat that quickly dwindles into a whimper. ~Such sweet agony~, he thinks, feeling her body go slack, her eyes fluttering closed as she slips into unconsciousness. He watches her for a moment, admiring her surrender, then slowly places the muzzle over her mouth, his thumb brushing the button.

With a flick of his wrist, he activates it, sending a harsh jolt through her body. She convulses, her eyes shooting open for a brief moment, a look of shock and pain flashing across her face before she falls back into darkness. Tolius watches her body go limp again, hanging loose and spent, the cup beneath her filling another quarter with the fluid that drips from her. Sweat glistens on her skin, her chest rising and falling in exhausted spasms.

He reaches for his comm link, his voice calm and commanding. ‘Fereyan,’ he speaks, ‘Your turn.’ With a final glance at her limp form, he turns away, taking the sealed cups in hand. ~Vontum will be pleased with this~, he thinks, feeling a deep, perverse satisfaction settle in his chest. Tolius strides out of the room, his mind already on what might come next, anticipation threading through his veins as he makes his way to Vontum

Uncounscious embrace

Fereyan steps into the room, his eyes drawn immediately to her fragile, vulnerable body, still glowing with that persistent pink energy that pulses like a warning or a call. He watches her carefully, noticing the erratic rhythm of her shimmering aura as he moves closer. With a practiced touch, he unlocks the metal straps that bind her, feeling the warmth radiating from her skin as he lifts her limp form into his strong embrace. Her body is light against him, almost weightless, as if the very energy within her is the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

He carries her down the corridor to the cleaning room, his footsteps echoing softly against the cold, sterile floor. Once there, he sets her down gently, his eyes never leaving her as he reaches for the tap. Warm water flows into the deep, porcelain bath, the sound of it filling the room, a low, soothing murmur that contrasts with the harshness of everything that came before. He gazes at her, his expression unreadable, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing slow and labored. Is she truly unconscious? he wonders, leaning down to touch her nipples from time to time, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin, searching for any hint of a reaction. A slight twitch here, a flicker of her brow — but nothing more. Satisfied, he continues his task, preparing a thick, plush rovun towel beside the bath.

When the tub is filled to the brim, he lowers her carefully into the warm water. Her body floats slightly, the pink glow dimming as the heat envelops her. Fereyan reaches for a sponge, pouring a generous amount of scented oil onto it — a blend that fills the air with a rich, calming aroma. His hands move with careful precision, caressing her skin with the sponge, wiping away every trace of what had been done to her. He starts with her face, soft circles that brush away the sweat and tears, then moves to her ears, down the nape of her neck, over her shoulders, and across her back. His touch is firm but gentle, methodical, almost tender. He reaches her front, his hands moving down to her inner thighs and carefully applying a special lotion to her most intimate areas, ensuring that every part of her is cleansed, made new.

The water ripples softly around her as he continues, moving to her legs and feet, washing away the residue of her ordeal. Her body, though unconscious, seems to respond to the warmth and care, her muscles relaxing slightly, the glow around her skin growing fainter. Fereyan lifts her from the bath once the water cools, holding her steady with one hand while he rinses her with a gentle stream. She remains balanced on a chair, head lolling slightly to the side, her hair trailing like a pink halo against the white porcelain. He dries her thoroughly with the soft rovun, the fabric absorbing the last remnants of water from her skin.

Once she is fully dry, he wraps her in the thick rovun, then scoops her into his arms once more, feeling the steady beat of her heart against his palms. He carries her down the narrow hallway to The General’s office, a small but well-furnished space that connects to the General’s private quarters. Reaching a discreet side panel, he presses a hidden latch, and a door swings open, revealing the luxurious room beyond.

The General’s room is different than the rest of the facility — a space of comfort and opulence. A large king-sized bed dominates the room, draped in pristine white sheets that glow with an almost ethereal brightness against the soft, golden light of the fireplace. The thick winter rug beneath his feet muffles Fereyan’s steps as he crosses to the bed. A grand sofa chair, positioned perfectly before the crackling fire, offers a place of rest, while a vast library of books lines the walls, each one meticulously organized, hinting at the General’s desire for knowledge or perhaps a taste for old-world sophistication. To the left, a doorway leads to an en-suite bathroom, its marble floors and polished fixtures gleaming under the light.

Fereyan places her gently on the bed, her damp pink hair splayed across the pillow, the pink energy around her flickering as if sensing the change in environment. He pauses for a moment, taking in the sight of her lying there against the stark whiteness of the sheets, her body still, her face finally at peace. ~Will she wake to more torment, or something else?~ he wonders, but he does not linger long. He knows his orders.

With a final glance, he turns away, leaving her to the whims of the General, the door closing behind him with a soft click

The Phrodia

Meanwhile, Tolius approaches with the sealed cups, each containing a viscous, light green liquid that has seeped from her. He places them carefully on a specially designed table, its surface pristine and immaculate. The liquid swirls slightly as it settles, a reminder of the ordeal that has transpired.

Vontum’s eyes narrow, a glint of rised anticipation in his gaze. His voice emerges in a low, chilling tone, his words dripping with a morbid excitement. “This is going to be quite interesting,” he intones, a dark smile curling his lips. “I can hardly wait to see how potent it has become after her... involvement.” His laughter, a haunting, maniacal sound, reverberates through the room, echoing like a death knell.

He stretches languidly, his movements deliberate and unnervingly calm. His demeanor is almost cadaverous, exuding an aura of deathly stillness as he reaches for the cups. “Let’s see what horrors we have wrought,” he murmurs, his voice a cold, detached monotone. He carefully places the cups into a specialized vault, a mechanism designed for the production of experimental pills or potent substances, its interior hidden from view.

Fereyan returns, resuming his position at the General’s side with the stoic demeanor of a guard awaiting orders. He stands vigil alongside Tolius, both men waiting silently for further instructions. The General, having finished his cigarette, rises from his chair with a commanding presence. His uniform, strained and slightly disheveled from the bulge in his pants, is adjusted with a deliberate motion. His gaze is steely and unyielding, his voice echoing with authority.

“Inform me when the product is ready,” the General commands, his tone brooking no argument. His eyes lock onto Vontum, conveying a message of both expectation and dominion.

Vontum’s response is a dark, knowing smile, his teeth glinting disturbingly in the dim light — a mix of gold and white, a reflection of his morbid pleasure. “Fear not, General. You will be the first to know when our little concoction is complete,” he says, his voice carrying a menacing edge that hints at both pleasure and cruelty.

Kaizu’s fate

The General walks through the dimly lit corridors, flanked by guards on either side, their footsteps resonating with a heavy, rhythmic thud. The General, his posture exuding an unyielding authority, breaks the silence with a voice that commands attention.

“Have you interrogated Kaizu thoroughly?” His voice is firm and controlled, each word carrying the weight of his dominance. The sound of his footsteps echoes through the corridor, a reminder of his unwavering control.

Fereyan, walking a step behind, gives a curt nod. The General’s gaze is fixed straight ahead, his expression a mask of impassivity. “Yes, General. He appears to be mentally fractured. He expressed deep remorse and mentioned that he... snapped,” Fereyan reports, his voice carrying a note of concern masked by professionalism.

The General’s stride slows, his curiosity piqued despite his stoic facade. “Mentally fractured? My soldier? Explain,” he demands, his words dripping with the cold detachment of someone accustomed to viewing others as mere instruments. The query is less of a question and more of an expectation for precise answers.

Fereyan continues, his tone steady despite the gravity of the situation. “I conducted a thorough analysis, including scans. The results confirm he has experienced a severe psychological breakdown. The trauma from the noises and the events appears to have triggered acute PTSD.”

The General listens, his interest growing, though his expression remains inscrutable. He comes to a halt before his office door, the metal sliding open with a soft hiss. “Very well then,” he says, his tone almost dismissive, as if bored by the explanation. “Inform the therapist of Kaizu’s condition. Do not engage with him any further and ensure he remains within the confines of the Hypercube. No exceptions.” His voice is laced with finality, a clear indication that his instructions are non-negotiable.

As he steps into his office, the scent of Phrodia lingers in the air, a stark reminder of the earlier events. The General’s arousal is palpable, the sensation intensifying with every passing moment. He closes the door behind him with a definitive click, the sound resonating with the finality of his command.

“Understood, General,” Fereyan replies, his tone respectful yet resolute. He turns and exits the corridor, his mind already shifting to the next task. The weight of the General’s orders hangs heavy in the air, a clear directive to manage the situation with precision and care.

The Axar

The General remains seated at his opulent desk, a symbol of his power and control, while Tolius stands at his post near the door. The office, an extravagant display of luxury, is filled with an almost tangible sense of anticipation. The General, his purple energy pulsing and swirling like a dark storm, rocks slowly and controlled left and right in his chair, a manifestation of his barely contained excitement. Tolius, noticing the General’s barely restrained energy, clears his throat occasionally, the atmosphere thick with seuxal tension.

“Prepare me an Axar drink, will you?” the General commands, his voice resonating with a compelling authority. His tone is both expectant and impatient, as if the very act of preparing the drink is an essential part of the unfolding drama. His energy, a deep and vivid purple, casts an eerie glow around the room, filling it with an almost oppressive weight.

Tolius nods, his movements precise and efficient. He retrieves a bottle of the rarest and most potent alcohol, its origins as exotic as its flavor. With practiced elegance, he pours the amber liquid into a specially crafted glass, each movement deliberate, each action a reflection of the General’s meticulous standards. The liquid swirls hypnotically, catching the dim light and shimmering with a rich, golden hue.

“Pour one for yourself too, Tolius. You’ve earned it,” the General adds with a rare note of approval, his eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and expectation. The command is not just a gesture of camaraderie but a mark of the respect he holds for Tolius’s unwavering loyalty.

Tolius complies, filling his own glass with the same golden elixir. The two men clink their glasses together, the sound a sharp, crystalline note that slices through the stillness of the room. With a firm, resonant voice, they toast in unison, their words echoing the tradition: “Vwel!” The word hangs in the air, laden with both ceremonial weight and unspoken promises.

They drink deeply, the potent alcohol warming their insides as it is made from the rarest of fruits, fermented under meticulous conditions. The flavor is intense, a testament to its exclusivity and strength. As the liquid settles, the General’s gaze grows distant, his mind seemingly elsewhere, contemplating the next steps in his complex schemes.

Meanwhile, she drifts deeper, her body sinking into the soft sanctuary of the bed. The sheets are cool against her skin, their crispness softened by the warmth of her lingering glow. She is caught in a strange, twilight state — not quite awake, but not fully asleep. Somewhere in the haze, she feels the gentle press of pillows cradling her head, the fabric tenderly brushing against her cheek. The scent of his musk is still in the air, faint but unmistakable, an intimate reminder of his presence. She inhales unconsciously, her lips parting in a soft, dreamy sigh, the scent filling her lungs, warming her from the inside out.

Her mind drifts further away, carried on invisible currents to a world beyond waking. In her dream, she sees his face, his hands, those eyes that always seemed to pierce through her defenses. She feels the blush on her cheeks, even in the depths of unconsciousness. His smell wraps around her like a second skin, a soothing balm that lulls her deeper into the embrace of sleep. Her breathing steadies, her muscles relax, and she feels the tension melt away, replaced by a weightless serenity. She is floating now, lost to the world, her senses dulled but alive to the soft comfort of the sheets, the memory of his touch, and the soundless night that welcomes her.

Deeper and deeper, she drifts, surrendering to the pull of sleep, a final, silent surrender to the dream that awaits.