As Legion besets her, a hand tugs at his belt. His lips claim hers with aggressive desire; presence assertive as desire parts her lips. His tongue extends, caressing hers as his eyes gleam with a red intensity, her heart races. The force of his affection is enough to tilt her head back, causing Rigel to arch her spine. Hands firmly grip her, preventing her fall as their tongues entwine, allowing her to seemingly dangle from their lusty exchange. His abrupt shift from disinterest to manic affection leaves her off balance, struggling with her hands to undo his belt.
Annoyance flickers initially, forcing Rigel to pull away and stare into the intensity of his gaze upon her. But his touch ignites an inner fire. She swallows hard, her throat suddenly dry. The tingling sensation begins, followed by a sudden crackling noise and a burning sensation—one he has grown to resist. She sucks in a breath, her body tensing, her mind screaming at her to run.
But she doesn't.
Instead, she leans into his touch, countering and pushing him back. As he returns to standing, her hands anchor around his neck for support as she climbs him, wrapping her legs around his waist. A familiar position. His lips explore her jaw and neck, nibbling, tasting the sweat and stress of her patrol as her hips begin to move of their own providence in order to coax his lust even further.
The Legion feels her shudder against him, pleasure felt as she moves. Her body is betraying her, much to his satisfaction. Rigel's nipples harden, and her breath intensifies. She hates him, hates what he does to her. He can taste the loathing. But her body remembers the pleasure, the ecstasy that only he can provide.
Her suit is an obstacle to be overcome, the collar high on her neck and complicated zippers confining her taut erotic form. He stands erect as a base upon which Rigel can maneuver. Rigel clings and grinds as his fingers work to unleash her upper body. She swallows hard, her mind racing as she considers her options. She could fight—try to escape - but she knows it would be futile. He's too strong, too fast. And she's too tired, too weak... too in love with him.
She does the only thing she can. She surrenders. Their hands move in unison, unbuttoning where he unzips, pushing away what he removes. Her hand caresses his scalp as his lips and tongue lather her revealed chest. In seconds, all barriers on her chest are gone, revealing skin that burns like the star behind her name, her heart pulsating with power.
He chuckles, his usual satisfied and pretentious sound, mocking her thoughts. Now free, his deep blue-colored hands begin to massage her liberated breasts. The first gripping massage is rough, causing Rigel to ache. His assertiveness punctuated by his lips parting hers once more, a fervor that leaves her breathless. She knows if she responds sweetly with her tongue against his own, Legion's rough massage will diminish in firmness to become gentle circular motions. Teasing her nipples as she likes rather than battering her already sore body.
However, she responds instead to his teasing with a smack to the face.
He smirks. “You wish me to be rougher?”
She remains silent and thinks: “Don't mock me. We both know you never play gently.”
Legion's hands roam her body, aggressive yet familiar. She lets him pull her closer, lets him grind against her, his hardness pressing into her rear. She lets him touch her. Her mind is a whirlwind of conflict. She hates this, but her body betrays her, responding to his touch with a heat that infuriates her.
His fingers squeeze her breasts enough to make her wince. His touch moves pressure toward her nipples, and he pinches. “Your moans are so much louder when I use more torque. It's a chorus I crave in the symphony of our partnership. Besides,” he quickly throws her hard upon the plush purple extra-wide couch. “Your body seems to react more swiftly with more aggressive treatment. Don't deny you enjoy it.”
As Rigel lands on the couch with a thud, she opens her mouth to snap at her husband, but her gaze falls on a small, tattered purple teddy bear tucked away in the corner. She pauses, her expression softening as she reaches for the bear, bringing it to her nose for a sniff. The faint scent of Shimmer, their youngest daughter, still clings to the fabric. A soft, sad smile tugs at her lips as she remembers the little girl's laughter, her tiny hands clinging to the bear as she drifted off to sleep.
Her grip tightens on the bear, and she takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what's to come. “Pleasure me then,” she mutters, setting the bear back in its corner and returning her attention to her assailant. Rigel reclines on the couch, topless.
Her tactical suit is split open at every access point, now only half on with breasts and patches of skin exposed. He seizes her boots. The custom fit and modified version of the standard issue boots that grant Rigel a bit of extra height are tossed to the floor with a thud. Impressively, they both land standing next to one another without Legion even looking. A simple and practiced demonstration of dexterity that will go unnoticed for the near future, as he focuses on pulling the rest of Rigel's coverings from her.
Vulnerable. She's starting to believe it is not about appreciating her naked body but more about the vulnerable state he places her in. Her husband hand yet to reveal a single patch of his perfect blue skin, yet she is to be made bare before him. It wasn't the first time she was tossed around like a rag doll; fortunate for both, she is genetically perfected to be as durable as possible.
“I won't lie,” she grits out, “when you treat me like this, it makes it more satisfying to feel you die.”
Legion chuckles, a dark sound that sends shivers down her spine. “That you enjoy killing me while I'm inside you is the ultimate attraction.” She's dragged toward him as the flight suit comes free. She lay there, in only panties stained with the sweat of work and her own body's preparations for intercourse. He salivates over her form, dainty and firm—such a small thing, yet so sensually dangerous.
He moves toward her head, his belt chiming against his pants. “Finish what you started.”
She squints at him, a soft, annoyed exhale escaping through her nose. Throughout the years, she hated him more and more. And yet, there was an attraction; one she was weak for. Thoughts race as she expertly removes his belt to explore with her hand beneath his pants. She grips his girth. Her eyes glow bright white, mimicking the rise in temperature. “Is it hot enough?”
He lets slip a contented sigh. Most might miss it. “Acceptable,” he says in a monotone, yet his half-erect phallus growing before her very eyes concedes a deeper appreciation for her touch. Attraction mirrored. The dark blue scepter ready for her grasp shines with salty preparation at the tip.
She locks eyes with him. She knows how much he likes watching her.
So she gives in, opening her mouth to him, letting him explore her warmth. She invites him into her mouth. For many, a sensual pleasure between couples; for them, just the beginning of a torturous play. The high acidic concentration of her saliva coating him.
Like whiskey in her mouth and throat; he tastes rich, sweet, and intoxicating on her warm wet tongue as she lathers her hated attraction. Red eyes stare intensely as the pain and pleasure mingle. Her acid wash burns so intimately as his regeneration replaces the epidermis as fast as she consumes. Tongue caresses as acidity assaults.
He doesn't move his hands from his waist. Not yet. Let her play.
She adjusts her position without stopping with the lingual massage; she kneels before him, speeding and deepening her efforts to test his regeneration. His tip is taken to the back of her throat as her tongue swaths underneath as the softest and most tender portion of his phallus, mixing pain and pleasure.
Rigel is proficient and balanced. The agony and ecstacy are in perfect proportion. As Rigel takes Legion's phallus deep in her throat, he reaches fullness. His girth swells to fill her mouth as his length challenges her gag reflex. As her acidity consumes his meat, Rigel tastes the savory flavor of his flesh and the sweet, salty pre-ejaculate creating a full meal upon her tastebuds.
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His left-hand grasps her scalp firmly, fingers twisting in her sweat-soaked hair with both affection and malice. Legion's hips begin to move, his lust intensifying. The firm hand upon her scalp holds Rigel steadier as her cruel lover begins to fuck her lips with the intent to fill her belly with his first release.
His touch is rough and increasing in demand. Rigel responds, but her mind is elsewhere, remembering their first time together. He had been gentle then, patient. She wonders when that changed and why she stays. Rather than resist or become passive, her body tenses in a mid-point between weakness and strength.
“You're distracted,” Legion growls, punishing her imprudence with quick and harsh thrusts.
Her gag reflex struggles, returning her focus, using his hips for support. She hears his flesh inside her mouth sizzling gently.
The pain spurs him like a saddled animal to buck. Legion's hips move with pain and vigor. Six... then seven... By the eighth powerful thrust, Rigel is feeling thick, warm genetic material coating her throat and mouth. Each thrust—ten, eleven, twelve—comes with a sweet, warm reward. But most surprisingly, in his release, she hears Legion moan. An atypical sign of enjoyment.
As he pulls away as she gasps for air. She has swallowed his flavor, mouth opening to show him as her body trembles in the aftermath. Her jaw aches with soreness. Even after decades, she's still struggling with his size.
Rigel meets his gaze, defiant. “I was just remembering when you weren't such a monster. When you could seduce me rather than simply fuck me.”
Legion's eyes flash with something—disappointment, maybe, or hurt? But it's gone as quickly as it appears. “You love the monster I am,” he says, hand moving to her throat, squeezing lightly.
Rigel's pulse quickens. She does love him in a twisted, painful way. But she also hates him and herself for letting this continue. Not just this interaction, but their partnership. “I don't know why I do,” she admits, her voice barely a whisper.
Legion's grip tightens, his gaze intense. “Because we're the same, Rigel. Two monsters bound together.”
A moment to wipe her tears from the effort. She mocks. “A monster that moans.”
His phallus is red and black from the acidic erosion and healing. Blue pigment begins to return. He stares down, an eyebrow raised. “Your imagination has betrayed you. Your perceptions are clouded by affection. An inane need for emotional attachment.”
With a finger to Rigel's chin, Legion helps her rise. “As we've discussed, I retain no such limitations.”
With fluid grace, she rises from the couch, its height bringing her face to face with Legion. “Taking joy in your wife's efforts does not make you weak.”
The Legion's gaze is cold, unyielding. His hand moves between her thighs and quickly invades her slit, testing to see if pleasuring him has made her wet and wanting. “Would it enhance your pleasure to have made me moan? You're dripping wet. More than usual.”
His patience was a meticulous art, and his methods include a careful dance of touch and will. It took time to train her body to respond to his every command, but she reacts with unwavering consistency. He has coaxed pleasure from her with minimal touch. “I did.” She corrects him. “Because you moaned for me.”
Legion's hand moves between her thighs, a smirk playing on his lips. “Do you think I might moan as you consume me?”
She leans in, her voice soft yet firm. “I don't think, I know. You always do. You always have.” With each declaration, she presses her lips to his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, her embrace enveloping him, her scent filling his senses.
Legion takes Rigel upon him, letting her climb atop him as he lies on the couch.
As his erection is consumed, delving into her core, he slips a sweet sound of enjoyment. His hands enjoy the sensation of her salty flesh as long as he can.
As their bodies join, a ragged moan tears from her lips, a sound that never fails to thrill him. Her core stretches to accommodate his size. The sensation of a fierce burn that races from her center to her limbs, a sharp stab of pleasured-pain that leaves her gasping. A wave of ecstasy crashes down her spine, from the crown of her head to the base, making her knees buckle, and her thighs quiver. She impales herself deeper upon him, moaning again; this time from pure, consuming pleasure. Rigel's body instinctively shifts to find a better angle before she begins to move. Slowly at first, then with increasing urgency.
For as long as he can, he thrusts from below, massaging her breasts as Rigel dances atop. She's pulled forward for several thrusts so he can give licks to her nipples, aimed to intensify her body’s sensitivity. But she quickly pushes herself free. She drenches his lap, slowly melting his flesh. She takes him to the hilt, his phallus pummeling her cervix when she bounces.
Legion's body is aflame. He’s being consumed. Once more, as they come closer to cumming, he nears oblivion.
As they release together, Legion feels the familiar sensation of Rigel's body beginning to unravel all he is. She is toxic: designed to be his downfall. And he embraces it. Over and over. Their union a symphony of pleasure and pain. A dance only they can perform.
She watches, transfixed, as his flesh darkens and softens. His muscles loosen and lose their tense, chiseled definition. She cries loudly for him, calling out her growing orgasm as his abs and lap seem to melt away under her unyielding rhythm. His body literally melts to her touch. She holds him close, pressing her breasts deeply into his mouth, pushing harder, feeling his body tense and tremble with the effort to hold back.
Fireworks in her core, as in death, he climaxes in ways most can only dream. Another of Legion dissolves to feed his favorite star. As he goes, he moans for her—pure transcendence.
“There's... my... girl,” he says, his voice soft and strained, pained and fragile. Yet, his eyes gleam with a satisfaction he had never shared with anyone but her.
Her bright stars for eyes illuminate his body as it begins to crumble, his grip on her waning as he slumps back onto the couch, diminishing. His flesh darkens and flakes away, leaving a trail of black ash and stain in its wake. His body breaks down under her influence and the intoxicating power of her scent. She watches, fascinated, as he withers away, a desiccated husk. His life force ebbing away under her touch. Finally, he collapses, his body reduced to a pile of ashes, and she sinks onto the couch, her sweaty skin dusted with his remains.
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Exhausted from her shift and the rigorous workout, Rigel's muscles protest with every movement. She drags herself towards the shower, leaving dark footprints in her wake. The sweat mixed with his ashes stings her skin—a painful reminder of the constricting spacesuit and the intense 'love' making.
The living room's ambient lighting dims slightly in response to her movement, a feature she once marveled at but now barely registers. As she slogs forward, her bare feet sink into the temperature-regulated floor, and from a voice command, she activates the maintenance robots. Tiny metallic creatures whir to life, desperately cleaning just behind her, erasing the evidence of her passage.
A holographic notification hovers at eye level. Rigel absently waves it away, muttering, “Right.” Another reminder about her dwindling social connections, no doubt. The irony isn't lost on her, surrounded by advanced technology, yet feeling more isolated than ever.
Passing the kitchen area, she ignores the soft hum of the food synthesizer as it prepares her pre-programmed evening meal. “Not yet,” she mumbles, her stomach growls in protest. The aroma of artificially replicated basil wafts through the air, a scent that used to excite her taste buds but now merely signals the passage of time.
The hallway leading to the bathroom is lined with dynamic wall displays, cycling through breathtaking vistas from across the Orion Spur. A glorious sunset on Verilia, the swirling storms above the mountains of Yrene, the iridescent rings of the gas giant Sirion—all sights that once filled her with wonder. Now, they're just wallpaper, barely distinguishable from the blank walls of her childhood home. She pauses, her gaze caught by the photos in their room, snapshots of the Legion and her together through the years. She has aged. He hasn't. Tracing the image of her younger self in their wedding photo, a soft sigh escapes her lips. Helpless, she knows she is lost. She is his, and she always will be.
As she approaches the shower, the bathroom's AI assistant chirps a cheerful greeting. Rigel steps into the area without a word. She stands idle, and the program begins. She is still, allowing the water to cascade over her bruised body. Her skin complains as the water hits it, the ghost of his touch still lingering.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the AI's soothing voice echoes softly. “I have adjusted the water temperature to your liking. Would you like any changes?”
“No, it's fine.” Her voice is flat, devoid of emotion.
The AI pauses, sensing her tension. “You've had a long day. How about calming lavender and chamomile mist or tea to help you relax?”
“No. It’s getting late, and Keir should be home soon. I prefer a healing mist, please.” The words feel rehearsed, automatic.
As a refreshing mist envelops her, she winces. The AI continues, “You have a message from Supervisor Solis. Would you like me to read it aloud or save it for later?”
“Later.” The word comes out sharper than she intends.
“Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, Mrs. Waldermara? Your well-being is my priority.” The AI's voice is gentle, designed to provide comfort in a place where Rigel feels increasingly confined.
“No. Dismissed.” She closes her eyes, letting the water wash away the day's grime, if not its memories.
Suddenly, something familiar makes her pulse quicken; it's the sound of a piano drifting through the penthouse. The melody is hauntingly familiar—almost note for note, the same as when she had entered earlier. Her heart sinks. He's back, so much faster than before.