Thread: Unnamed 40K Futa RP (Nilly x Chammy)

Descending from the heretical designed ship, the Prodigal Son , along with the Inquisitor Valg was a mass of machinery. Each ponderous step was slow and methodical but of such a stride that it easily matched pace with the man to its fore. With every step gears spun up, latched and released with a whirl of motion. Gas vented and billowed out the form of a rust coloured robe, the distinctive embroidered crenellations of a cog revealed what Order the construct belonged to but it was the combination mechanical-biological skull that declared the ranke of Tech-Priest of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Known to Inquisitor Valg as Enginseer Masoch. Though he walked he made no motion to the escort, no word to his comrade, not a single vocalisation. Impassive and inconsiderate he ignored the rows upon rows of what once might have been subjects for any number of experiments but these specimens were to be fuel. Nothing but kindling for the great psyker flame that burned away the darkness of the immaterium. They were to burn in the same guiding light that directed them to their deaths, gallows humour which while mentally noted was not remarked upon. What did interest Masoch though was the bio-auspex readings he recorded of the Inquisitor as they approached the subject of their venture. Memory banks were quickly searched, scouring files of relevant details of their new prisoner. An Adepta Sororitas, Anastasia, cast in the mould of an Amazon Warrior of ancient Terra, long before the Dark Age and the Techno-Barbarians a physically fit specimen of peculiar mutation. Not one of the Hospitaller Order members, she, for that was the gender designated, was of the Orders Militant. The enforcer of the Holy God Emperor's Will by writ of the Ecclesiarchy's numerous and often contradictory interpretations. Valg's words gained no sympathy from their third compatriot but did produce an unusual response from the Tech-Priest. It was like static, short bursts of intense noise echoed through the chamber and down the passageways. For a moment someone could be convinced it was just faulty equipment but it lasted too long and had too steady a rhythm. Masoch was laughing at the discomfort of an Inquisitor, even as he moved to obey his orders. From his biological signs Inquisitor Valg's nerves where beginning to fray. They were gambling here and with each passing moment the scene became set for a violent confrontation. The cries and river of blood did nothing to stop the escalation and only caused panic and revulsion within the Sister of Battle who cried over her first human contact in such a long time. It proved too much and she eventually collapsed as the party neared their ship. As they boarded the Prodigal Son Valg barked another order as Masoch, who's only response was a titanic shrug which formed into a slouch as the primary power source shut down, energy bled from system to system and the giant was stilled. To accompany this act was the soft, feminine voice of the true Masoch In the Delta Ward then. There was a deathly quality to the voice, akin to that of atmosphere escaping from a tiny slit in one's void suit. With data slate in hand Masoch stepped into view, into the bright lights designed to reveal all details and prevent any would be intruders from lurking in the shadows. Her built was strong, though slender and ample in equal parts. The strength being provided by the augmentation naturally received by one of her rank and title but it was unobtrusive. Slight protrusions bellow her floating ribs gave way to slender pipes that arced into her spinal mounted servo harness. Data ports and auspex sensors were built into her left arm while the right was completely mechanical, either from the Dark Age of Technology or some Xeno design for its fluid shape had none of the clumsiness associated with the Mechanicus. Her eyes moved with robotic enhancement, though at a glance were just a dead shade of grey, and her body was completely hairless but an illusion of hair was granted by a series of data cables bound together at the back of her head in an elaborate pony tail of dancing lights as information travelled from root to tip. Why Masoch felt the need to conceal herself thus were her own reasons how she was able to control the construct through void shield, metres of armour and the most advance electronic counter measures known to the Imperium was a technological mystery. Perhaps though it had something to do with her tendency to forgo clothing entirely. Instead she had tattooed her entire body, or had simply chemically altered the surface skin cells, to a dull rust red. Upon this canvas she had painted the intricate designs of gears, cogs, springs and levers, all in alabaster white. Her body was like the map of a watchmaker's designs. When the odd mood struck her she would boast how all of her knowledge was locked within her skin. With gentle steps though she stepped towards the sleeping warrior, their new host, a most suitable subject for the predations of Slaanesh, that Prince of Pleasure. With ungentle manipulators she plucked Anastasia from where she laid and lifted her high by her bound arms and had her feet dragged behind them. It took little time to reach Delta Ward but Masoch was not so keen on ending her confrontation early. While the women still laid out of her mind and body in new surroundings the Tech-Priest removed the lines of scripture. With her hands and mechadendrites she stroked and prodded the Adepta Sororitas. Collecting new biological information for study and contemplation. When that was done though the servo harness moved and hosted the limp form once more into the recycled air. Pentagrammic warded irons were locked into place, pinning arms and legs spread eagle against a wall. Careful attention was paid though to the mutation, with a weighted collar clasped tight about the testicles Masoch moved up the body, trailing her index finger from groin to bosom. With a flick and quick application of suction provided by her mouth Anastasia's nipples were as perked as they had been in the cold of the Black Ship. To them were attached clamps which could easily be tighten. With a step back Masoch admired her work, it was simple and basic and almost crude but it had a charm all of its own, things would progress in their due course. Now then, it is almost time for you to awaken. Coiling from the base of her spine a metal tendril swayed between the pair, then darted into the Sister of Battles neck. An cocktail of stims designed to increase nerve sensitivity were injected and coursed through the blood stream tell the women awoken from the sound of her own heart thudding in her chest. Before any word of confusion could be spoken Masoch broached the distanced. There there, you poor little thing. I know how you're feeling. My auspex tells me all that you feel. Doesn't it just give you a tinge? Fingers slid down a face, words were forced down a throat. You can feel it. I know you can, I already told you. Still lower the fingers moved, dragging plastic nails across living flesh. Caressing each in turn, holding its weight, kneading it, provoking intense sensation. What's happening to you? Don't fear, this is the fun part. The not so fun part is when mean Valg comes through those door. Then it's an interrogation. With a lunge the hand shot for Anastasia's member, the mutation that had been the cause of all her troubles to date, and it came alive beneath Masoch's fingers. It was limp at first but blood flooded the tissues and it stiffened, rising to an impressive salute. Oh, I knew you'd agree with me. Masoch brushed her chest against her captive's, her nipples hardened by the rough edges of the clamps. Up and down, left to right tell the heat of the action produced beads of sweat and sex. With her torso grinding against the Amazon's white thigh her hand worked the shaft of the cock. Small tendrils danced like tinny mechanical tongues from the augmetic palm. At first it was slow but it quickly built speed. Soon the thigh was slick was the Tech-Priest biological cunt juices, droll dribbled at the corners of her mouth as she buried teeth into the neck of her woman. For that was what the Sister of Battle was, the Tech-Priest's subject, not Inquisitor Valg, or Micah's, hers, Masoch's. But when Masoch felt Anastasia to be about to relieve herself her anger flared and the hand tightened, not a droplet of cum was to be spent, not tell she commanded it. Not yet my pet. Masoch had already taken her pleasure once, the sensation of a human body was far more enjoyable then the coldness of the Xeno Eldar, and she intended to take it again and only then could her pet have her release. With frantic motions and pure hormonal impulse Masoch orgasmed, spraying bodily fluid with the action all over the bound Anastasia. The arch of her body angled the ejaculate to cover from tip of head to the flat of her stomach. In the act Masoch caught rebound as her sex and sweat mingled into a toxic musk of aphrodisiac properties. Now you can. And not to be out done the massive cock jumped in her hand and let loose a torrent of thick, looping coils of sperm. It was hot on their skin and dribbled down their faces. With a smile Masoch licked at the corner of her mouth, tasting the salty treat. And now the fun is ended bye pet. Leaving her there, a mess of shared sex, cum and sweat, Masoch went to her own chamber to clean herself. It was to be a slow, languid act with many repeated fantasies. All recorded to her memory to be played again and again. She pleasured herself as Valg set about preparation for the binding rituals. Breathless and heavy she swore to herself as her mind turned to treason That women will be mine to do with.