Mind Games Pt 02

Sila floated in interminable blackness, her dulled senses not even making an effort to discern her surroundings. She was warm, numb, and tired. Her memory felt just out-of-reach, slipping through the weak fingers of her muddled mind as she sought an explanation for her current state. Some memories seemed closer than others; her faith and duty to the Emperor burned a hole in her head. Was this a punishment for her sins? What had she done?

Her puzzlement only grew as another form began to solidify from the nothingness around her: massive, chitinous, and so very...male. The last thought arose unbidden to her mind, frightening her with its invasiveness. It was her own voice, her own mind, yet felt somehow foreign. She recoiled from the sensation. When the creature finally solidified, it spoke directly into her mind.

"Sila, Tyranids are really bad and you should-"

"Emperor damn it, Nicodemus. If you're not going to take this seriously, I'm going to feed you to the Throne and get it over with."

Both voices sounded familiar, though her fractured memories gave no clues as to their identities.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that you were an expert in fixing psychic cum addiction. That xeno-slut impression you were doing when I RESCUED YOU sure was impressive."

"Listen here, you little shit-"

"Sorry, Sila. Be right back."

Everything went black.

Nicodemus sighed as he stretched, returning slowly to his own body. The faint smell of metal and rot warned him that longer "dips" may not be advisable. He was stretching his capabilities enough as it was. His eyes opened to see a robe-clad figure standing impatiently before him. He put on what he thought to be his most charming smile.

"You're an asshole, you know that?"

"You're welcome for saving you, Atella. Twice."

"That doesn't make you not an asshole."

"And me being an asshole doesn't make me any less responsible for you being alive and of sound mind. Do you want to see what it was like in your head after I pulled you out of that pit?"

The veteran Sister fell quickly silent. In truth, Nicodemus was rather impressed at how well the woman had resisted the psychotropic effects of the Tyranid venom. It took barely a day's effort to rearrange her memories while a Hospitalier purified her blood. Perhaps there was something to be said for blind faith.

Sila, on the other hand, was not so lucky. She was now in her second week of treatment and showed no signs of convalescence. She had been exposed to a truly phenomenal amount of aphrodesiac, many times the amount her fellow Sisters had experienced. This, combined with her reportedly willing submission to the foul beast, had made her incredibly resistant to his treatment. Her blood had been cleansed long ago, but the pleasurable memories and associations had taken root within her. With the state of her mind and body, they were lucky that she was not simply executed. It was only through pleading and a little bit of his "special touch" that he and the Sisters had convinced the Canoness to spare her life.

Even still, she was far from out of the water. Her stay of execution was predicated on her complete recovery. Unfortunately, the psyker was nearly at the end of his bag of tricks. At this point, there was little he could do to break her of her addiction. The vow of silence he had taken even restricted him from seeking the advice of a more experienced telepath. He was breaking new ground at this point, forging ahead blindly, with a time limit. His next attempt would likely be his last.

"Please tend to her while she sleeps, Atella. I will need to rest and plan. If this last effort does not succeed, I fear that we will be out of options."

He took his leave quickly, carefully avoiding any further contact with Atella or any of the other Sisters as he retired to his chambers. Despite his flippant attitude, Nicodemus had become quite attached to his assigned unit over the past weeks. The thought that his failure may lead to Sila's death was unconscionable. That she trusted him enough to allow him nearly unfettered access to her unconscious mind only made him more concerned. He had access to every corner of her mind, seen and even felt everything she had; why could he not restore her sanity?

The weary psyker fell into his uncomfortable bed, staring vacantly at the bare ceiling. He had been given an unoccupied room to sleep in while he aided the Sisters in their recovery. It was a rare thing for a man -- a psyker nonetheless -- to be allowed to stay, for any length of time, within the walls of a convent. The novelty of the situation only impressed the weight of his burden further upon his conscience.

His greatest fear was that her addiction was untreatable. Her mind was fixated like nothing he had ever seen, her entire being subsumed by cravings. Nothing he knew of, short of mind cleansing, could remove the taint that filled her. That, of course, was not an option. To one who lived and died by his mind, death was preferable to such a barbaric mangling. He had seen the end result of the process and had vowed to implode his own head before he risked such a fate. He would not allow it to befall a friend.

It occurred to him as he languidly mused that the inside of her mind was not as foreign as he originally thought. The way the foul xeno had sculpted her mind so quickly and brutally was truly unique, but such a single-minded devotion was not unheard of, particularly not in the Imperium. "A small mind is easily filled with faith", as they say. Faith alone could not save Sila at this point, but an idea was slowly blooming in Nicodemus' head. She did not need to be truly cured, only cleansed of heretical taint. He was halfway down the hall before his mind caught up.

Wakefulness came in stages, disorientation making Sila sick. She surmised from the weakness of her body and her slowed thoughts that she had been unconscious for some time. All ten fingers and toes obeyed her command; a good sign, all things being considered. She struggled to remember the events that had led her here but came up empty. Vague recollections disappeared as she reached for them, disappearing into the blackness. With no small effort, she opened her eyes.

The room was small and bare, primed but unpainted plasteel. A few personal items dusted the otherwise bare shelving. She was in her quarters. The realization almost surprised her. She remembered this much, at least. She identified a few of the items and their memories came back as if they were never gone: a broken, stained chainsword that had saved her life during a duel with an aspiring champion, the hood she had worn when she took her vows, and a small piece of common stone taken from Holy Terra. Her eyes eventually locked onto something that should definitely not be here.

"Good morning, Sila."

"Same to you, warp-tainted mutant."

Nicodemus frowned at her less-than-polite response. Even behind his obvious displeasure, Sila caught a hint of relief on his face.

"You've used that one already, Sister."

"Forgive me. I am rather under the weather. Why are we here? When did we return to Luna? I don't remember-"

"With good reason, Sister. You suffered a great trauma in our last deployment. I had no choice but to suppress parts of your memory. It is only by your Canoness' good will that you still live. I have been assigned to your therapy."

"What happened? Are the others alright?"

"They are fine. They all stand vigil outside your chamber. You should be worrying about you. My efforts so far have been unsuccessful. This is the last trick in my "bag of heresies", as you call it. It would benefit you to focus on your recovery."

Her stomach dropped. Had she blasphemed? She knew herself to be a loyal and faithful servant, but she could not deny the possibility. She could not even remember how much she had forgotten. How much memory was he suppressing? Weeks? Months? Years? If she had done something so abhorrent that the Canoness would approve the intervention of a psyker, she would rather die as a Repentia than suffer her own guilt.

"This was not your fault, Sila. At least not entirely. The Canoness says your sins are forgiven, but your mind has been corrupted. I have suppressed those parts of you, but cannot do it forever. We must act quickly to cleanse your taint before my power wanes."

Sila sat up quickly, the numbness in her limbs slowing her only slightly. Her heart leapt at the opportunity for redemption. While she had no fear of death, she would rather not die on her back for a sin she could not remember. In her haste, her numb fingers dropped the sheet from her body, exposing her nude form. In the corner of her eye, she caught a small stream of blood begin to leak from the psyker's nose. She shot him an evil glare.

"For the record, this is not from you. I often bleed profusely while maintaining my powers."

"Isn't that really bad?"

"It's not actually my blood. That's the concerning thing."

Nicodemus kicked himself mentally. He was not off to a good start. The Sister Superior looked at him like he had just grown another head. He checked quickly to make sure this was not the case. The extra pair of arms folded under his loose robes would remain his only extraneous body parts, at least for the time being.

His eyes lingered on her exposed breasts. As a sanctioned psyker, Nicodemus had very little experience with the other sex. The fear of having a demonic incursion in one's bedroom kept most women from even considering consorting with his kind. Sila was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen even partially naked.

Her toned, yet soft body was so much unlike the shrunken, disfigured, and occasionally on fire women he was used to seeing at the Psykana. He had seen her fully naked before, but the circumstances had not exactly been conducive to admiration. This time, it was required. He was particularly interested in how her small, pink nipples peeked out from behind long strands of inconveniently located pure-white hair. Nicodemus shook his head to regain his focus, blood of mysterious providence splattering about. He had to press on.

"Sila, there is no easy way to say this. The only way I know of to save your mind is to have sex with you. Your memories need-"

"Alright."

"What?"

"I can tell that you're serious. My Sisters would not have allowed you in if this was some trick or joke. I do not understand, but I shall take you at your word."

It was Nicodemus' turn to be stunned. He had not expected this to be so simple. He rose unsteadily from his chair, waiting for the rebuke he was sure would come. When it did not, he crept towards her recumbent form, unsure how to initiate under the circumstances. He had been so caught up on figuring out what to say that he had never considered what he would do when words ran out.

Sila seemed no more comfortable than he. She avoided eye contact with all her might, fixing her gaze somewhere past the foot of her bed. It was amusing to see her demure attitude, considering what she had done to land herself in this position. The psyker only hoped that he could move her as powerfully as the hive tyrant had. The look on her face when he found her and the thought that he could give such pleasure was enough to settle his nerves. He closed quickly, gripping her head gently, and drew her in for a kiss.

Her lips were stiff at first, inexperience and hesitation drawing them tightly closed. Nicodemus fought his way inside her mouth, pushing his tongue through her sealed gates. A soft tweak to her nipple finally broke the tension, her slight moan finally allowing him full access.

With a hand down on either side, the psyker shifted his weight into the Sister, pushing her down until he straddled her, lips and tongues now eagerly exploring their partners. Her stiffness faded as she eased into the unfamiliar act, her body pressing against his as they undulated in slow rhythm. His questing hand lingered on her breast, nipple trapped between two fingers as he squeezed and groped at her ample flesh. She quivered beneath him with the excitement of a virgin, her prior escapades locked and forgotten.

A trail of kisses slicked her jawbone with their mixed saliva, her head rolling back as if in offering. Her skin was sweet and clean, no doubt much better tended by the Hospitaliers than it had been in years. The muscles of her neck tightened below his lips, twitching gently as his tongue explored the hollow of her throat and beyond. A tiny spark of his power was all that it took to make her gasp and arch her back at his gentle touch, her trained resistance melting as they explored each other's bodies.

Nicodemus felt a soft hand wrap around his stiffening member, the fading calluses on her palm barely noticeable after weeks of bed rest. She stroked him with all the skill and subtlety of a combat servitor (without a power fist), but her eagerness more than compensated for her lack of experience. Her touch was light and fast, his loose skin slipping through her grip with assistance from the slow dribble from his tip. The stroking hand never quite crested his ridge, frustrating him as he bucked in her grasp.

He returned to her body, trailing his tongue and teeth down past her collar bone to her flattened breast, biting and tugging at the nipple. Her grip tightened around him as he pulled, lifting her breast with his teeth before allowing it to fall and enjoying the bounce. Her grip stayed tight and her stroke grew longer, covering his entire rod from base to head. She pulled delicately at his foreskin, drawing it up and over his tip with each stroke before collecting his precum with a thumb.

His power trickled into her, increasing her desire and pleasure with every passing second. His mouth never left her nipple while his hand felt down the toned lines of her stomach. She arched into his touch, rolling her hips as his hand traveled lower to permit him greater access to her most sensitive place.

She showed no surprise at the lack of pain as his fingers thrust into her. Perhaps she had torn her maidenhead long ago during the rigorous training regime practiced by the foot soldiers of the Ecclesiarchy. Perhaps she was just significantly kinkier than her demeanor would imply. Either way, the only expression she showed was one of ecstasy as he spread her open. His fingers curled upwards, dragging gently against her front wall as he matched her strokes. They sped up together, neither knowing who initiated the feedback loop of ever-intensifying pleasure. He was certain, however, that she was winning.

With every stroke, he reached deeper into her mind, driving her well past her mortal limitations. Only a primal understanding kept her hand moving as her body shook and convulsed with intense pleasure. She gasped and sputtered at his touch, pushing her hips against his as they stroked each other furiously.

She came first, her body almost jumping off the bed as the stimulation proved too much for her restricted mind. Her grip around his member made him wince but the slack look on her face made up for the unintended pain. A sharp moan trailed into a long whine as her body trembled, hips thrusting against his hands to milk out every second of her powerful orgasm. Her walls gripped him almost painfully while fluid poured out unabated.

The spectacle of her climax triggered his own, her soft gasps and whines spurring his release. Several long strands of seed sprinkled her alabaster skin all the way to her neck before they lost power. A small pool formed in the depression around her navel, the trail edge of his ejaculation. They watched together, gasping for air, as the glaze over her abdomen flowed into the well-defined lines of her musculature.

Sila's body screamed for his touch. She had pleasured herself on many a lonely night during her long career but had never felt anything like this. Her sex burned with desire, her recent climax inflaming, not satisfying her driving urge. Every inch of her skin crawled, the warm flow of his running seed as pleasurable as any orgasm she had given herself. Somewhere inside she knew that these feelings could not be natural, but she could not bring herself to care. She felt safe in his arms, her hidden affection for the psyker finally pushed to the fore by the power she so often ridiculed.

Sila was at a loss for what to do until he slipped out of her grasp, softening slowly as the last vestiges of his climax leaked out. She was only vaguely aware of the mechanics of sex, but knew enough to realize that she would need to restore his hardness if she wished to fill the aching void between her legs. With a sudden burst of effort, she flipped herself on top, trading positions with the flatfooted psyker.

As she looked down on his mutated form, she noticed the white sheen of his love that coated her lower body. Her brain and sex alike tingled and burned with desire as her eyes focused on the foreign fluid. Her fingers scooped the slowly flowing liquid and brought it to her mouth. The taste never reached her tongue, the smell alone almost sending her spiraling into another orgasm. By the time her senses returned, her tongue was scraping desperately against her thoroughly cleaned fingers. She needed more. Fortunately, she knew just where to find it.

It took little effort for the veteran Sister to pin the withered psyker, though the shooting pain that ran through her limbs made her acutely aware of her rest-atrophied muscles. She delighted in the surprised squeak he gave as she probed his ear with her tongue and a gentle bite. Her breasts pressed into his chest, impossibly hard nipples digging into his skin as her body crawled and wormed over his. She was on fire with lust, the small part of her mind still capable of recognizing her unnatural condition shut out as her thoughts leaked from her burning sex and onto the object of her desire.

She slid his rapidly stiffening member into the hollow above her thigh, her slick drippings easing the skin-on-skin friction and trapping him in a cocoon of warm muscle. She groaned and stiffened as he bucked involuntarily against her pressure, rubbing the base of his penis on her exposed clitoris. Their bodies writhed against each other, beading sweat collecting between as their gasps and moans grew.

Her mouth latched onto the skin of his chest, sucking and biting not-so-gently at his pale skin. The taste of his sweat whipped her into a frenzy of licks as she tried desperately to fill herself with him. She was intoxicated, her body tingling with sharp spikes of pleasure at every taste. The taste of his flesh was a pale imitation of his seed, however, and her unnatural craving drew her further down.

The powerful muscles of her stomach flexed as she crawled down his body, his erection slipping down the sculpted furrow of her abdominals. Her heart fluttered when his hand found her cheek, cupping it and entwining with her crinkled and sweat-soaked hair. She moaned in submissive glee as he guided her head to his rock-hard member, pushing her parted lips to touch his crown. She may be on top, but that hardly meant that she was in control. The pressure of his will on her mind stirred something deep inside her that wanted nothing more than to submit and serve, a part of her that she gladly indulged.

His precum tingled on her tongue as she kissed his head with open mouth. Her tongue ran around his ridge, collecting and savoring his taste. She placed her hand over his, holding her hair back and out of the way so he could watch her pursed lips as they ran up and down his length. Her lips quivered with unfamiliar pleasure, her mouth a newly discovered erogenous zone. What little independent thought she had left directed her free hand between her legs to mimic the action above.

A small drop of fluid collected on his tip as her lips and tongue kissed their way along his urethra. She watched as the drop ran down the top of his head and onto his groin before diverting her tongue to collect it. With an audible suck, she took his crown into her mouth, swirling her eager tongue all over his most sensitive flesh. She moaned with pleasure as he twitched inside her, his body teaching her the best ways to pleasure him.