A name is a sound you make with your voice to identify a person. How... does the suit not know this. How was the suit using language so fluently earlier without knowing this.

The suit's rudimentary communicative abilities do not seem up to the task of explaining, but it—she, there is beginning to be a definite she-ness to the mental presence—riffles through Nema's memories some more, looking for names, experimenting.

Her/their body whispers aloud, "Lira... len, ler... Lirin." A sense of firm purpose at having found the right one.

It's nice to meet you, Lirin, though I can't say much for the circumstances.

Beside her/them, the prince stirs in his sleep. An arm cinches around their waist.

Their body snuggles up and rests closer to him.

Nema can't seem to get the vivid images of violent murder out of her head. They make for an uncomfortable contrast with the alien feelings of love and desire.

She tries to ask, What's happening to me? What are you doing to me?

Lirin twists slightly away from the prince and lifts their head to look down at their body, where an intricate tracery of glowing tattoos spreads like a flowering vine up from their crotch to between their breasts.

Nema doesn't recognize all of them, but the structure at the base is something almost anyone would recognize. Contract. A slavery contract, to be specific. (She tries to ignore the sudden wave of despair. Despair is not helpful, even if it's right.)

So there's the contract structure, and the slave and servant and corruption tattoos, whose broad shapes she recognizes even though she can't read their details. But there's another tattoo integrated into the same assembly, almost like a bridge between it and the further tattoos reaching up her torso, that she can't quite place...

Lirin reaches down to touch the unfamiliar lines, and traces the shape of a heart among them. She presses into Nema's mind the memory of falling in love as soon as the prince's cock entered her.

hate hate hate kill kill kill— No. She needs to focus. Can't get distracted by unattainable fantasies. So she has a magic tattoo that makes her fall in love with whoever fucks her. It's not actually worse than the contract seal, not by a long shot.

Does the contract bind you too?

A whisper of mental laughter, and a response firmly in the negative. Lirin is free.

...freedom is... complicated, though. She was made for a purpose. She was made for Nema, to bind her, to hold her, to make her—the concepts are too hard for her to structure, so she pushes memories instead. The agonizingly painful rape, the arousal it brought, the long hours of wildly overstimulating constant orgasm. She was made to make Nema into that.

She likes making Nema into that.

Phantom touches trail across Nema's breasts and thighs. Their body snuggles closer to the prince, and he sighs happily in his sleep and buries his face in their shoulder. Somehow without any external movement at all, a tentacle swells at Nema's entrance, thick and slick and slimy, pressing slowly into her.

She wants to shudder, to bite her lip, to cry out in pain and pleasure. She can do none of those things.

The alien feeling of love presses on her mind... and she relaxes into it, with some effort, turning away from the fantasies of clawing her own skin off to escape the suit. There is no escaping this suit. She belongs to Lirin now, until Lirin chooses to release her, and that's too much to hope for.

Still slowly gently fucking her, Lirin sends a wistful negative. She can't let Nema go. Their bond is utterly permanent. Even if she wanted to—and she really, really doesn't—a serious attempt to separate would likely kill them both, would almost certainly kill at least one and leave the other at best in a desperately weakened state barely clinging to life. Lirin is effectively a second skin, permanently sealed around Nema's body, fully integrated with her being.

Well. Then she might as well enjoy it, mightn't she?

She lets the tide of sensation wash over her, lets the feeling of her tight cunt being forced open fill her with need and desire, embraces her blossoming love for the beautiful terrifying creature who holds absolute power over her body. If she is to be a slave, let her be Lirin's slave. Better this than the prince. Better almost anything than the prince.

Yours, she sends, wishing she could moan aloud, glad that she can't. If she moaned aloud the prince would hear. yours yours yours hurt me fuck me rape me yours

Mine, Lirin agrees. Mine to hurt, mine to fuck, mine to rape. She's getting better at communicating in word-shaped concepts.

A tentacle swells behind their closed lips, and slides down Nema's throat. Not a trace of her choking or gagging shows on the outside. Phantom touches squeeze and fondle and suck on her breasts, but externally, they barely move. The tentacles in her throat and cunt move slowly, but forcefully, deliberately provoking more pain than pleasure. A third tentacle unfolds into her ass, and acts much the same way.

The more Lirin fucks her, the more it hurts, but the more it hurts, the more she wants. If she could move she would be writhing. Her utter helplessness only turns her on even more. She loves Lirin, wholeheartedly, desperately. She wants nothing more than to be her helpless plaything, endlessly violated, hurt and fucked and touched and filled. She craves that whiteout pleasure from earlier, but she wants it with pain, with helplessness, with inescapable violation.

This time there is no sudden shock of release. The pleasure climbs slowly, beginning with the gentlest of touches and escalating to more and more. Lirin's main focus is on Nema's breasts; her clit, teasingly, remains untouched. But her breasts are enough. Stroked and sucked and lovingly bitten by phantom tentacles, they send torrents of pleasure dancing along her nerves until she tips over the edge into whiteout.

yours

It's possible that Nema passes out, because the next thing she knows, Lirin is operating her body to suck the prince's cock. She's choking and gagging openly now. The prince seems to enjoy it. Early morning sun filters through the windows, and the tattoos force love into her heart.

She feels that warm affection, fully and undeniably.

She also feels a deep visceral urge to bite his dick off and swallow it whole.

not yet, whispers Lirin's mental voice. It's clearer now than it was last night. She's learning very quickly.

Not yet? Not yet, she says?

Hope wells in her heart. Maybe they can escape. Sneak out the window in the middle of the night, or something, while the prince is asleep; or during the day while he's gone, if he trusts in the contract seal to keep them safely penned wherever he orders them to stay.

No. The mental voice is amused. I give him what he wants: I let him rape you. I give you what you want: I let you eat him. Then we go.

...she doesn't seriously want to—

It's hard to have this conversation while choking on cock. The prince forces himself farther down their throat as he fills it with his cum, and Nema loses her train of thought.

"Good girl," says the prince, catching his breath and stroking her cheek with his fingertips as he pulls out. The praise makes her heart sing and her loins throb. She wants to lean into his touch like a happy cat, and also wants to bite his fingers hard enough to crunch bone in her jaws; somewhat to her surprise, the first impulse makes it all the way to her body. The prince laughs and pets her hair.

"I have work to do today," he says. "The servants will bring you breakfast; eat it. When you are finished, get into bed and masturbate to the thought of me until I return."

"Yes, Master," Lirin says with their voice, nuzzling his hand and expressing a delicate shiver of arousal.

The worst part of it is, it kind of does turn her on. Being helpless, being forced to do what he wants, being used for his enjoyment.

She still hates him, though. Images of tearing into his flesh with her teeth fill her mind.

I promise I don't actually want to eat him, she tries to explain. It's just something I keep thinking about because I hate him so much.