# Author's note:
I have a lot more to say in this world, but I also have a lot of other stories I'm trying to finish in different worlds, so here's a little vignette to kick this along until I can get to the proper next installment.
If you're new to this world: This is about a man agreeing to consensual sexual slavery to a succubus, in her world where she is practically all-powerful and fickle. This installment covers some fairly strict BDSM themes including strict restraint, suspension, nipple torture, suggestions of dubious consent, pain play and toys.
~#~#~
Meridsya slowly ran her talon-like fingernails up my belly, hard enough to feel like scratching, until two nails roughly snagged my nipples and twisted them painfully.
I gasped. I shuddered. My cock throbbed.
With my wrists and ankles stretched apart until my joints creaked and a pad pressing hard into the small of my back to remove my last possibility of movement, it was all I could do.
Meridsya giggled and ground two nails into my nipples, stabbing until I thought I could almost feel my ribs flex.
I screamed at that, but I didn't grow any less hard.
It was the tenth day of my servitude (possession, ownership, slavery) and a pattern had been established.
Every night, Meridsya would fuck me until I passed out, or would make me fuck her until I passed out. Either I would have the desire and then she would simply not accept me stopping, or she would have the desire to take me, or it would amuse her to switch my libido on and see what I would want to do with it -- or what she could do to me while I was helpless to even have a negative opinion.
In the morning, I would wake up against her or with her spooning me or even spooning her. She would be awake. I'm not sure if she needed to sleep, or even if she left me until she knew I was about to wake -- or, more likely, decided when I would need to wake to suit her whims.
We would have some form of slow, softer sex that felt more like making love. It might amuse her to play with me gently, or to give me a long blow job with any combination of tricks, or simply to fuck slowly face to face or from behind, lying on our sides or with either one on top.
We would get up, we might shower (with more playing, but not proper fucking, although probably coming at least once). We would both have coffee. I would have something delicious for breakfast, the menu determined by some whim of Meridsya (although I had yet to eat anything I didn't like).
She might then leave me for an hour or the day or might want to chat about Earth or even just tell me to amuse myself while she ... dealt with papers, in a chair or at a writing desk and rarely looking happy about it but, to every indication I could see, working. I had no idea what it was she was doing or if she could be given any job title I might remotely recognise.
At those times, I usually busied myself reading. Sometimes, I would get restless and swim in a long pool in a cave attached to the bathing grotto, or use a gym set up with Victorian-era bodyweight exercise equipment like bars, ladders, inclined benches and a gymnastics horse.
At my request, Meridsya had given me a climbing wall.
At random times, she would decide she was restless and would fuck me. Those were usually rough times. She rarely felt playful and loving at those times. I always felt a prick of fear before induced lust washed it away, and was usually left sore and feeling used but rewarded -- and frequently mentally exhausted from constant incipient terror.
But after those times, she would make it up to me by making sure that at the end of the day, she treated me to transcendently mind-blowing sex, being the expert seductress to work me over until I passed out from exhausted ecstasy, not the Mistress or the coquette or the lover she usually preferred to be.
So, I had something to look forward to later, then.
I had been in the gymnasium, making myself feel masculine by doing arm and chest and thigh exercises because I felt bored with reading, when a prickling on the back of my neck made me turn around.
Meridsya, wearing her office-vamp costume of an almost-translucent vest over a lingerie-quality bra, leather miniskirt, patterned lace stockings and implausibly high heels, was watching me from the doorway with eyes glittering.
Despite the constructed nature of my body, I still sweated and still got tired and my muscles still got that delicious used feeling, so I was sheened with sweat, breathing hard and wearing only tight shorts and light shoes.
I stood there, looking back at her, feeling as much like an objectified sex slave as I ever had -- which, considering that was essentially what I was to Meridsya, was quite a bar to reach.
"Leave your shoes," she said, before spinning on one stiletto heel and stalking away.
Feeling the incipient dread of not knowing how much this was going to hurt but also with my erection already halfway there and accelerating, I unlaced my shoes quickly, stepped out of them and followed.
She led me to the conservatory.
"Stand," she ordered, pointing at a spot on the floor.
I did so, feeling a by-now-familiar tingling awareness of the so-far dormant spidery mechanism above me.
I glanced up briefly, my animal brain needing to check on the threat, in time to hear an iron clunk noise, a rattling as of large cog wheels, and to see the spider start descending towards me, spreading its multiple limbs like an opening flower.
I actually yelped and jerked back.
"Stand!" Meridsya's voice lashed at me. I froze. Possibly, she was using more than just authority on me.
But I kept staring at it, rigid with apprehension, as it smoothly dropped towards me, articulated arms questing before it.
It looked as though it was waving, sniffing the air or groping. It didn't look like a mechanism calibrating itself, and it certainly didn't look as though it was moving to pre-assigned positions. It looked like a hand flexing in anticipation, or like a blind creature feeling in front of it.
I deeply, sincerely wished it was not blind.
The one thing that made it terrifying compared to Meridsya, who, even at her most boundary-pushing worst, was only frightening, was that it fully appeared to be mechanical. I had no idea how much under Meridsya's control it was. I had no idea if it had independent sentience, or limited programming, or was a pure extension of her will. If it could understand limits or had stress sensors or could malfunction.
I had made no arrangements, come to no agreements, discussed no boundaries, with it.
And as it descended, it was making the most organic, sniffing movements I've ever seen from black iron.
As it came nearer, I began to see its arms in more detail. Imagine a torture device designed to look as mediaevally terrifying as possible, tipped with knives, drills and circular saws -- but someone had replaced most of those tools with the contents of a sex toy catalogue.
There were insertables, of course, in various styles and sizes ranging from smoothly polished rods to the tree shapes of plugs to the common "stack of balls" shape and even one realistic one. There were floggers, including something that spun and appeared to be a wheel rimmed with tongues. There were cuffs, clamps and even fully articulated hands with metal joints that looked to be moulded after bones.
And there were knives and scissors. I sincerely hoped they were strictly kept to be used against clothing.
As it came almost close enough for the longest of its arms to reach out and grab me, it opened like a flower, or -- the comparison leapt irresistibly to mind and stayed there -- like a cuttlefish about to pounce on its prey.
I reminded myself that Meridsya had promised me I would come to no harm from her.
I was having a hard time believing it.
When it was within striking distance, and I was shivering from anticipation without losing my erection, it stopped moving. A hand folded in from the ring of spread limbs, reached slowly towards me and touched my cheek. It was cold but not chill against my skin.
That was somewhere between creepy and disconcertingly reassuring.
Could I possibly relax?
I was looking up at it, puzzled, when two more hands seized me from behind and yanked me off the ground.
I actually screamed, "Fuck!" as my legs wildly flailed, my brain kicking into "falling, where's the ground?" mode and my hands grabbing at the cold, hard, deeply uncomfortable fingers gripping my ribcage.
Cuffs -- wide, snug without pressure spots, and lined with what felt like chamois leather, but undeniably cuffs -- clamped onto my wrists and ankles, freezing my limbs in place and then effortlessly stretching me into a starfish.
I did not have time to appreciate how closely the cuffs seemed to be moulded to my limbs.
I instinctively tried to fight back, but the only thing I could possibly achieve against the spider -- which had no visible motors or hydraulic cylinders or cables actuating it -- was to pull a muscle.
I gasped with pain as it stretched me, then made a barely more articulate and highly undignified sound as it swung me up to the horizontal, keeping my wrists at the same plane as my ankles arced backwards.
The hands around my ribcage, which were beginning to seem almost reassuringly supportive, let me go.
I dropped a little, but my joints would have to stretch to let me drop any further, and I was praying they wouldn't.
With a jerk, I was lifted another two feet and thought for half a second that at least one of my shoulders was about to be dislocated.
But I held together, although I bounced slightly when the movement stopped as abruptly as it had begun.
My thoughts, rallying, were scattered again by the appearance of a gleaming surgical scalpel before my eyes.
I stared at it in terror as the arm holding the instrument rotated about a blade a few times, letting light glint off the steel and show me the fineness of the edge.
It slowly lowered, moving as it did so until the tip lead it down below me and then along my body. The edge was upwards, towards me, which made me even more terrified although my cock was throbbing inside my shorts and doing its best to fight the fear that should have been consuming me.
I reflexively tried to lift myself up, although I am no gymnast and my muscles screamed with little effect.
Something slammed into the small of my back. It didn't punch me but it knew exactly where it was stopping, and that was a centimetre past where my skin had been. It felt like a bolster. It stopped me from moving even more than the position had.
I had to watch, petrified, craning my neck down to see, as the blade slid slowly down underneath my body, getting slowly nearer my skin as its horizontal path came closer to my angled torso.
I even sucked my belly in, although it was flat enough already.
As the blade passed my belly button, it smoothly rotated to have the edge down.
That was scarcely reassuring.
It paused at my waist, then angled up and towards the waistband of my shorts.
