Meridsyas Pet 02 Boundaries

Author's Note: Well, I can't say I wasn't gratified by the reaction the first chapter in this little tale got.

Unfortunately, I can't promise you new installments quickly: My life just does not have that much free time in it, no matter how much I want to put down some more of Lucas's new existence as a captive manslut.

This story contains supernatural beings and themes of dubious consent, bisexuality, BDSM, female dominance and male submission, pegging, pain for sexual pleasure, orgasm control and forced orgasms, and slavery.

Having got the setup out of the way, this is pretty much all sex spaced out by some extra world-building. I hope you enjoy it.

#~#~#

I woke to find myself curled on my side with Meridsya spooning me.

My dreams had been jumbled impressions of torrid sex interspersed with warm, comforting tenderness but always with Meridsya in control, a looming presence felt as much as seen.

The night before, she had completely broken me by playing my cock with absolute control until the smallest bit of aftercare put me to sleep. Then I dreamed, then I woke to find her curled around me with one hand possessively on my chest, her knees nestled behind mine, her breasts squashed with unlikely firmness against my back.

I often wake with a start, I sometimes wake with a moment of sharp clarity that I am awake.

That time, I just went from one state of total psychological submissiveness to another, passively waiting for her to need me.

She moved, her hand on my chest shifting to tweak a nipple as she purred like velvet in my ear, "Good morning, pet."

I gasped as I grew hard fast enough to make me twitch.

"Mmm," she purred, breath tickling my ear, making me shiver.

She moved away from me. "Roll over."

I complied without thinking, her hand reaching for my shoulder to guide me -- not pull me, but guide me -- to face her as her other arm slipped under my neck and my lower arm folded up between us.

Her upper leg lifted over mine, her hand slid down to guide my cock and as we moved together, I slipped straight inside her warm and slick cunt, making me gasp again.

She pulled me against her with her hand on my lower back, her leg folding over mine and encouraging me to move my leg until my thigh was squeezed between hers.

Her breasts were squeezed against my chest as she leaned in to kiss me tenderly.

Since standing up from Seiren's couch, I had been fucked until I passed out, had maybe half an hour of info dumping before agreeing to spend a year as a sex slave, then subjected to the most controlling, draining, overwhelming fellatio of my life, then woke to find myself, within two minutes, buried inside Meridsya again.

It's hard to conceive of "too much sex", but I felt overwhelmed, more passive than I had ever been in my life, helpless in the face of her hunger and my body's new, unnatural ability to respond.

But her kiss was slow and soft and tender, just brushing my lips at first, settling in comfortably before her tongue even made an appearance, and her hands on my back were comforting and still. She slowly teased out my will to respond again, asking not for my shuddering ecstasy but for the sort of warm tenderness that is craved with or without sex.

In one sense, it was exactly the same as what had gone before: She was utterly masterful in her ability to manipulate me, and I responded.

I was soon kissing her back, participating, waking up my senses and concentrating on her as I dredged up every skill I had.

Her hips were still, her legs resting pleasantly against mine, her hand on my back still tender, as our kiss progressed slowly to tongues sliding over lips.

My cock deep inside her was pulsing in time with my heart, apparently pressed gently against her cervix, full and fat and warm and content just to be there, as our tongues slid into each other's mouths.

We may have lain there like that for five minutes or 50, for all I knew, before our kisses became heated, heads moving, noses rubbing together, mouths wide open to press fully against each other between attempts to suck a lip between teeth. A duelling element entered the kiss and she chuckled, warmly, a sound that thrilled me right through.

One hand on my back moved at last to stroke teasingly up my spine from the top of my buttocks.

The invitation was obvious. I began to move inside her.

This time, it was Meridsya who gasped in pleasure and arched, thrusting her breasts against me as she broke our kiss to bend her head back, exposing her neck.

I moved slowly, feeling her with long strokes, pressing gently against her cervix each time, not pulling out as far as I might have wished since our position made that difficult and her legs clamped mine, but making sure to make my strokes as long as I could.

My lips followed her as her head moved, sliding down over her chin to her neck, nuzzling and kissing the arch of cool white skin as she gasped with pleasure, her hands on my back now clutching at me.

I realised, fleetingly, that she was presenting as human again, after fellating me as a demonic red figure.

That moment of clarity helped me focus. Helped me realise where I was and what I was doing and that she seemed to be encouraging me to be active -- was responding so well to me being active. Was feeding that part of me that wanted to give pleasure, that desired giving pleasure, that felt a warm glow of satisfaction and pride at making a woman shudder and moan.

I began moving my hips with more purpose, varying my stroke and my pace, feeling out her reactions as well as her tight, wet vagina.

Her hips began to shift, not taking charge but moving with her body's reactions, trying to grind her clit against my pelvis every time I bottomed out inside her.

Her head stayed back as I traced the line of her neck, then her collarbone, then her ear with my lips.

My hand on her back moved, caressing then sliding around her flank to stroke the compressed side of her breast. Urged on by her constant litany of little movements and breaths and mostly wordless sounds, I stroked her breast, caressed it, teased it with fingertips and fingernails, until she was shuddering against me, her hands on my back clutching, fingers digging in.

My other hand, then lying folded between us and resting between her breasts, began moving, shifting, unfolding to take a breast and squeeze it, feeling its soft outside and firm core.

I changed my rhythm to hard, rolling thrusts as my free hand eased between us and my fingers found a nipple, erect and pressing into my chest, and squeezed it gently.

She arched more, back quivering, mouth open, gasping now in time with each of my thrusts, fingers curling into my back but hands still, hips beginning to move demandingly. I shifted to slamming my hips into hers, tapping her cervix sharply each time, fucking her.

She cried out, her hips slamming back against mine, three, four, five, six times before suddenly she was clutching me tight to her with not much more than normal human strength, her leg trying to pin my hips in place, head still rolled back, as she gasped for breath for a long, timeless moment.

When she did not immediately switch to being assertive, I shifted my hips experimentally and shifted my fingers to either side of her nipple. Licked a bit of spicy-tasting sweat off her neck.

She moaned, shifting her leg and lifting her knee up, sliding her foot up my calf. She rolled a little away from me, her uppermost arm sliding up to lie above her head. Offering herself to me.

I was still hard. Could not be soft, at that moment. Was not close to coming. Still had that extra self-control I had thought I felt when she had started fellating me before she deliberately stripped it away from me to demonstrate her power.

I began moving my hips again, making her groan in post-orgasmic give-me-more pleasure. My lips traced her neck around, inviting her to roll further until I could follow her cheek up to her ear and lick it softly.

I felt her quiver around my cock.

Her movement exposed her breast, making it sit round and proud on her chest instead of squashed against me, its nipple sitting hard and long atop it. I began teasing that erect nub with my fingertips, stroking and squeezing and rolling and twisting, slowly getting harder and stricter and firmer and sharper until she was responding to hard pinching, firm pulling and even brutal twisting with arched back and ecstatic cries.

It took a lot of willpower to not pound her then, but I maintained long, slow, deep strokes while I toyed with her nipple, and kept those long, slow, deep strokes while I settled into a brutal massage of her nipple coupled with soft, light, licking of her ear.

Meridsya was not the only one who could mix conflicting sensations to try and confuse the senses.

She lay, mostly on her back, inviting my attentions with one arm above her head, cunt squeezing my cock as I kept my orgasm at bay, and once more began those demanding, twitching, rolling, quivering movements that spoke of her own impending climax.

I pulled her nipple away from her body as she came, distending her breast until stretch marks appeared.

She came violently and copiously, a small amount of wetness squirting around my cock.

I let her relax for a little while, she gasping for air (how did she even need to?) until, feeling much more confident, I shifted my body to get my mouth to the nipple I had so abused and sucked on it gently.

She responded to that, too.

I pushed her onto her back and rolled on top of her, shifting my legs to push hers outwards.

She stretched both arms above her head, surrendering herself to me, not even looking at me, eyes closed and head turned to the side as she sighed happily.

Her sighs turned to moans the instant my mouth returned to her breast.

I suckled on her abused nipple as I began making small, rolling movements with my hips.

Then I moved to her other nipple and her moans became more demanding, her head rolling languidly from side to side.

I continued until her legs lifted to wrap around me and a pleading note entered her vocalisations.

I moved away from her breasts to give myself room to start making longer, stronger thrusts. I was rewarded as she arched, stretched, rolled, and made a gleefully expectant sound.

I pushed her knees away from my waist and she complied immediately, acting docile despite the tightness in her cunt and the desire in every one of her movements and sounds.

I pushed her knees back towards her -- having no doubt she would be flexible enough to easily fold in half -- pressed them down next to her torso and began fucking her in earnest.

She cried out with pleasure, arched her head back and stayed that way as her cries with every one of my thrusts escalated, her hands clutching at the bed's carved wooden headboard, until she exploded a third time, this time wailing as she bucked violently and, again, gushed around my cock.

I kept pounding until her orgasm collapsed, then pressed into her and stilled, still holding her knees as I breathed deeply and she gasped for air.

"Please, come inside me," she whispered, lying limply and still with eyes closed as if defeated. "Please fill me."

I let myself feel my cock, then, and I began moving inside her for my own pleasure.

I deliberately did not care about what she felt, deliberately wanting to use her, not share my pleasure with her. But that didn't stop her from joining me as I shouted, jerked and spasmed.

What felt like much later, as I lay limply atop her and my breathing slowly wound down, her hands began stroking my back almost lovingly.

"You're my pet, but we're both complex beings," she whispered. "I can take you and toy with you and make you my helpless slut, or I can want you to pound me like raw meat, or I can want it sweet and tender, and I know you sometimes want the same things. I told you, I was looking for someone compatible with my desires."

She lifted my head so she could kiss me softly. "Thank you, my pet."

I didn't quite know how to respond to that.

She smirked when I didn't say anything -- smirked and pulled my head down next to hers again for a brief, fierce hug.

I was still, to no real surprise, hard inside her.

"Now get up, we must show you your home."

I pulled out of her and rolled off with reluctance but much more energy than I had been expecting to have by that moment.

She stood up smoothly, gracefully, and with absolutely nothing leaking between her legs. She pulled a black dressing gown, almost floor-length this time, off a wooden hook on one of the bed's posts and pulled it on.

I blinked in surprise at that. So far, I had seen her create clothing out of thin air, turn clothing into thin air and change its colour at will. Putting on something that already existed seemed too pedestrian.

I looked, but there was no other gown hanging up.

She strode towards a pair of double doors on the wall facing my side of the bed. What I assumed was my side of the bed.

They opened at her approach. "This is your dressing room!" she proclaimed, not seeing if I was following her.

I hurried after her, my cock finally detumescing, but stopped on the threshold to stare.

The room was lined with racks that were full of clothes. I had never owned so many at one time. There was a row of kilts with shelves of belts and sporrans, there were hanging sarongs and racks of pants and shirts with a distinctly ruffled or gothic theme. There were even dresses, which surprised me until my brain was short-circuited by a mental image of Meridsya taking me while I was wearing one.

When my mind rebooted, Meridsya was standing in the middle of the room and smirking at me. I had no doubt that she knew what I had been thinking.

Her gown was actually fully closed, showing only a small amount of what was more a tasteful decolletage than cleavage, although it was silk and clung to her breasts as if wet. She spread her arms. "All yours! Dress as you like, when you like, or go naked if you wish." She smirked at me again. "Unless I give you instructions otherwise. Now find something to wear and meet me in the drawing room."

She walked out, one finger raised to brush lightly over my shoulder on the way past. "Don't bother with shoes, unless you want to."

I stared after her. When she was gone, I stared at the room.

I felt like a kid in a toy store.

#~#~#

The urge to jump wildly from rack to rack and play dress-up was immense, but Meridsya was waiting for me.

I decided on a gillie shirt and kilt. Something I was familiar with, which I felt comfortable wearing in my own home.

But as I turned towards those racks, I caught sight of myself in the tall, wide mirror at the end of the room.

And I stared.

While my body may have been defined by some sort of enduring sense of self, it was closer to my desired self-image than my actual experience.

I was the same height, the same basic build, but more muscled than the lean, once-scrawny strength I was used to, with shoulders that no longer looked too wide for their musculature and a chest that could have shaped a small bra.

Had I appeared here like that? I hadn't had a single moment to really look at myself, to even think about myself clearly, since Meridsya had pulled me into her world. Maybe I had, or maybe she had shaped me somehow.

My eyes travelled downwards. I had always been a grower rather than a shower, which I had kept an irrational sense of shame about. That was no longer the case.

I moved my hand to my cock to try and tease it erect, but I needn't have bothered -- my erection was no sooner thought than growing.

I had always been long, but thin. I was not much longer, but I was fatter. Not greatly, not jaw-dropping, jaw-stretching thickness, but just that little bit extra to give me a feeling of smug satisfaction.

I had to close my eyes for a second, disgusted by what were probably my own stereotyped, predictable desires.

Then I kept my eyes closed as I tried to will myself to relax, to detumesce before dressing.

To my immense surprise, it worked.

I firmly turned away from the mirror, but every movement reminded me that my body was, in a sense, souped up. My arms were a little bit more loaded with muscle. When I stepped, or twisted, I felt that tiny extra bit of power available.

I found myself grinning. I could definitely get used to that.

I found a black traditional linen shirt but decided on impulse to go for a punk kilt festooned with chains and decorative zips and utilikilt pockets. And, since she had said so, bare feet.

I also found a hairbrush, which was a huge relief.

It made me realise I hadn't seen a bathroom. That made me realise I did not need to go to the toilet, and that made me recall what she had said. I had to pinch myself to remember that this body still felt real.

I found hair ties, but I slipped one into a pocket and left my hair out.

When I walked out into the drawing room, the sight of Meridsya stopped me dead in my tracks.

She had dressed as well. She was wearing mostly black -- a short skirt, spider-web-patterned stockings that finished flirtatiously at the skirt's hem, high-heeled knee-high boots that instantly said "dominatrix" and a thin white blouse through which showed a black bra that looked more like lingerie than something comfortable enough for daily wear. Her marble-white skin was sharply contrasted by black lipstick and kohled eyes. She looked every inch corporate goth, a blend of sexually available secretary and threatening authority that made different suggestions tangle and fuse in my mind. Her hair was in a French braid that started on either side of her temples, hinting at the horns she had shown me.

I felt immediately jealous of her hair.

But I didn't spend too much time staring at her because she was standing at what could be called a breakfast bar, using a chromed lever-action espresso machine with a small model of an eagle on top -- the sort that sells for $2,000, looks older than espresso itself, and after which I have lusted for many years.

Meridsya smiled at me and offered me a demitasse. I had to cross quite a lot of room to take it.

It was one of the best coffees I had ever tasted.

"You are free to use anything here whenever you wish -- unless I want you. We have recreated beans and I enjoy the taste so these are good but, as I said, there is no caffeine. But I find arousal to be so much more invigorating anyway."

I could not argue with that.

"Come," she said, turning away and striding towards French doors I hadn't noticed before.

I frantically looked around for a sink, or draining board, but could see nothing, so I put my cup next to the espresso machine before ... taking a moment.

I managed to resist my impulse to hurry after her, ashamed to be late, and forced myself to remember that I was still, despite everything that had happened to me, Lucas -- that if someone said something peremptory and marched off, they could damn well wait while I finished what I was doing. Meridsya had not demanded I be utterly subservient at every second, so I would do what I could to establish a more equal relationship -- no matter how unequal our positions actually were.

I strode after her, but in my own time, fast only because I have long legs and a lifetime of restless impatience pushing me to walk quickly.

But I froze when I got to the doors.

They lead to a corridor that was essentially a long greenhouse, with lush tropical plants on either side of a stone-paved walkway, glass several metres to either side and arching overhead. The word "conservatory" sprang to mind. It looked -- much like the rest of Meridsya's rooms -- as though it had been designed a century or more ago, in England.

I did not hate that.

The architecture was, if anything, overbuilt -- the metal ribs rising up to support the glass were the sort of sculpted I-beams, lightened with circular holes along the spines, that I might expect to hold up a train station. It bought a touch of Industrial Revolution to the baroque atmosphere of the rooms.