The Breaking of Mother Night 5

by Mr. K. 

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“Say it again,” he chuckles.

“You made a puppet out of me,” you say. Tonight, you are Mother Night in chains. That night, you were Mother Night in strings.

“It … wasn’t just that you moved me with the strings. The strings … they channeled some sort of power into my muscles. I mean …” you tell him methodically. You think about how it felt. Standing in chains, you tell your captor “I still don’t know how you did it. You jerked me around like a puppet at first. You moved me around in that stiff puppet way, at first. You wanted to humiliate me, didn’t you?”

He nods and smiles “It was a joy to humiliate you in front of your daughter.”

You remember how you spoke as he danced you around.

“Look … Look at Mommy. Look at what he did to me. Isn’t it amazing? Look. He made a puppet of me.”

You look at him now. “You were even able to manipulate my words.”

“I was.”

Soon, you recall, your movements became natural and smooth, but still under his control.

“Show my lovely wife how much you appreciate our attention,” he said. You felt your body being walked across the room to her. The gorgeous woman in black spread her arms wide. Her body was a sleek and muscular as yours. You were suddenly obsessed with her curves. Your mind and body took the invitation, walking like a runway model walking the way they compelled you to – until you were in her embrace.

”Give us a kiss, love,” she laughed. “In fact, give yourself a kiss,” she laughed again. Standing there in chains, tonight, you don’t say what you remembering and feeling. He knows, though, that you are remembering how you discovered that the wife was a shapeshifter. You remember how she held you in a vise grip and smoothly morphed into a double of … you.

There was no shock in your face then; they had stolen your ability to react, to emote. You watched her hair grow red and thick. You watched her eyes turn blue and you felt the shape of her breasts change slightly, morphing to match yours. She held you, her puppet in a firm embrace, and her eyes slid shut as one broad, full mouth met the other.

Standing there, now, in chains, you recall how soft and slow her tongue was as it parted your lips and slipped into the heat of your mouth. You knew what your own tongue felt like now as it slid and slipped across the relief of its twin. She tenderly raped your mouth with your own tongue.

“The kissing … She enjoyed it for the longest time. I was a puppet and all I could do was let her kiss and pet and grope me,” you say. You remember how wet you grew and how your thick legs trembled as her mouth took yours captive. In the black second skin, you could feel the hot juices gushing from you and flooding your costume. The material left no space between your skin and the stretch material, but it was still flooded with your juices. You felt something else, as well.

“She was grinding against me. She was grinding her crotch against mine and … And, I could fee her vulva swelling and her clit actually getting bigger. I thought it was just her clit, at least for a moment,” you tell him, Mother Night in chains.

“When I felt it really spear against me, and I remembered that she was a shape-shifter, I realized it was a cock,” you recount for your captor, recalling the unyielding hardness of the member against your crotch.

“She told the puppet strings to lay me on my back, and she told me … she told me to open my costume. I did it, easily, for her,” you explain. You remember laying on your back and spreading your legs, your fingers holding your big, thick labia open.

“The juices were just pouring out of me,” you say. In chains, now, you feel your heart racing at the recollection. “I was a puppet, and I looked, and she … She had opened her own costume and was standing there, looking like me, but with a huge member sprouting from her. From me,” you say.

“And what did she do?” he asks.

“She fucked me,” you say.

“Say it in the third person. I like that,” he smiles.

“She fucked Mother Night,” you say. He finishes his tea and claps I his hands.

“She properly raped you in front of your daughter. Good show!” He clapped again.

Well, that was then and this is now. I have something new for you.”

He rises and slaps you, laughing as your chained body collapses to the floor.

"Here," you heard him say. "Let me help you up."

There is, again, the cold tightness of a chain around your throat. This time, it is short and in the hands of your captor.

He twists and tightens the chain, smiling as your red lips part and curl in strangled pain, as your tongue juts forward.

"I was not much of a gentleman the last time we met. I beat you, she raped you, and we dropped you in the bay. You ultimately won, though. Didn't you? I plan on having a very different meeting with you this time."

He is pulling you to your feet, twisting the chain around your throat, and stroking the muscular contours of your body.

"I've always liked the feeling of your costume. It's like leather mixed with rubber, or something. And I love your muscles. And I love your big breasts."

He makes it tighter and tighter, smiling and laughing as you strangle. You can feel blood pounding in your head and your limbs growing heavy. You can feel your mouth open and your tongue seeking the cold air.

You sink back to your knees.

He tilts your head back.

He spits into your mouth.

He twists the chain and the lights dimmed out. He strangles you until you pass out.

“Goodnight, Mother Night,” you heard him laugh as darkness takes you.

You are only out for a short time. Your head is pounding, and your throat is throbbing, but you can tell that he only wanted you to feel the pain and the helplessness. You are Mother Night in chains, curvy and strong, beaten and choked.

“You don't have your speed, your strength, your ability to fly. You don't have that ‘blackout’ power of yours. You aren't able to be completely invulnerable,” he tells you, smiling. He is right. You can still feel the tight burn of the chain that was used to choke you. You can feel where your body was used as a battering ram against the floor.

You feel the weight of the chains.

“I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to play with you. I'm going to I introduce you some more new toys.”

He kneels, wraps his arms around the thick contours of your legs, lifts, and drapes you over his shoulder. It is effortless. "Here, I have a seat for you. Best seat in the house."

The chair itself would look completely normal on its own. It would just be one of those comfortable, slightly posh chairs that shows up in slightly posh offices.

The chair would be ordinary if it did not sit in front of a great glowing wheel that seemed to hum and pulse. You have spent the last few minutes folded over his shoulder, your ass on the air cupped under the strength of his hand.

It is when he slings you down and slams you into the chair that you can see the whole contraption.

He is smarter than the last time, and more sophisticated.

Whatever those chains were, they were beyond what he could use to fight you last time you met. He unchains you. He undoes the padlocks, and he undoes the coils and lengths and intricate crisscrosses of metal that have enshrouded you.

The questions have been burning in you and, as he manipulates her body, taking the chains away and laying them loudly on the stone floor,

“So, what's with the upgrade,” you ask.

He smiles as he secures your wrists to the arms rests. Two clamps hold your sinewy forearms down. He takes a moment to feel your breasts, your thighs, your hips.

“We can talk later,” he chuckles. “First, I want you to feel this.”

He steps back and pushes a button on a nearby computer.

The pain is something otherworldly. It is a universe beyond physical pain. Your mind and body separate. Your consciousness splits into shreds.

You scream.

You can see yourself.

You are in the chair, and you are above yourself.

Your voice comes from inside your head, and it echoes from every side.

You feel your consciousness strip itself from your body and some sort of energy surges through it. Through you.

You reach out for what you could only call a steam and time and conscience. It turns to vapor in your hands. The vapor burns you beyond human understanding.

“That was 2.5 seconds,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “Can you believe that? You wanted to die, didn't you?”

You are Mother Night, broken. Your eyes wide. You are gasping for air and your body is shuddering to a halt.

“I have more where that comes from. For the time being, let me show you to your room.”