Press Plaything

His blood ran cold as he heard the clacking of heeled boots in the corridor outside his office. It wasn't often that she made personal visits to him, but they were often enough for him to know that sound was unmistakably her. He wasn't surprised, after approving that report on the unsuccessful invasion of Planet Vas Deferens, it would be a surprise if she didn't come chew him out over it. As Press Secretary for the Empire, it was his job to make the Irken race look unstoppable in their march toward universal conquest, but the tragic tale of Invader Squish, taken out via getting crushed by a massive boulder, was too delicious to not report on.

The clacking of heels gave way to the sound of her nearly breaking down his door as she entered. Tallest Miyuki, regardless of her rank, preferred to walk. Despite hoverbelts having been en vogue for tallers for centuries, she loved a showy entrance, and hovering placidly was too quiet. She was the peak of Irken beauty, immensely tall, slender as possible, large bright eyes framed by large dark lashes, and exquisitely long, curled antennae. The sharp growling voice that came out of her betrayed her looks. She didn't have time to mince words on some idiotic TV personality.

"What the fuck was that?!" She spat, slamming her armored gauntlets into his desk, denting the metal. Leaning forward, her face came right up to his masked visage.

"Is it not my job to report the progress of our Invasion? I'm simply doing as my programming demands, My Tallest~" He hummed. He was an excellent actor, grinning despite every inch of his being trying to not quiver before her. Neither in his brain nor his pak could he find the reason why he liked to do this, why acting so cool and smug to the most powerful member of his species was a game he so greatly relished in. The only thing more confusing was why it hadn't gotten him killed yet.

She was, as one can imagine, not amused by his response. "You wipe that grin off your face or the janitorial drones will be wiping you off these walls." She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him in ever closer, "Is that understood, bug?" her hands, while small and delicate, were incredibly strong. He flinched, not even his decades of acting experience could hold up under her intense gaze.

"A-as you command," the masked Irken squeaked.

Miyuki bared her zig-zagged teeth, clenching the fabric in her hand even tighter, starting to crush his throat. "'AS YOU COMMAND'?" she repeated with venom in her voice.

"Gggk M-madam Tallest!" He choked out, gasping around his words.

Her expression fell from rage to a pleasant smile, dropping him unceremoniously onto the floor. The Announcer coughed as he regained access to his lungs. The smile on her pale green face cracked into a grin at this display.

"I would be worried if you ever get called in for a Life Evaluation, drone. If I'm not mistaken, and as Tallest I assure you I am not, you're starting to enjoy my punishments. You're pushing my buttons on purpose for some sick thrill," She mused as she pondered the claws on one of her hands, slipping off her glove and casually checking their sharp, pointed tips for any damage.

His blood was icy once again, and this time, it wasn't letting up. It felt like a rock hand fallen into the pit of his guts, crushing his squeedlyspooch, not unlike the late Invader Squish. Admittedly, he had been making a lot of mistakes as of recent, and they were indeed on purpose. Every time she rose her voice at him, something sparked and lit up, something that shouldn't be responding to the threat of being airlocked or de-pak'd. Something undeniably writhing in his pants, even at that very moment.

Something that was quickly, roughly pinned down by a dainty black heeled book, eliciting a hiss of pained pleasure from the male. She glared down at him like he was nothing more than a slimemold she had accidentally had the misfortune of stepping in. "Am I not correct?" she said in an almost sing song. When he didn't reply fast enough, she ground her foot down hard, heel and all.

The pain took his breath away, but he knew if he didn't respond, it would be worse. WHY DID SOMETHING IN HIS HEAD WANT IT WORSE? "Y-y-you a-are c-correct, M-madam Tallest," he sputtered from his lips.

She let up her boot, snickering before getting down onto the floor. She knelt between his legs and loomed over him, face to face yet again. His pulse throbbed as she said in a harsh whisper, "You're in luck, because I enjoy your punishments too."

As soon as the words were out of her lips, she drew back her uncovered claws and slashed at his chest, leaving three long rips in his shirt. The sting told him she had gone deeper than just the fabric. Hunger in her eyes, the Tallest brought her mouth to the fresh gashes, dragging her tongue along them to lick up his sweet blood. Her saliva only made the sharp sensation stronger. He moaned shamelessly, trying to buck his abused but still very willing schmoo against any part of her he could reach. Another flash of her claws pulled down from his neck to his belly, opening his shirt fully and leaving bloody hot pink trails in their wake.

Miyuki brushed the tatters of his top out of the way, giving full access to his bloody chest, planting bitey kisses from his collarbones down the the hem of his pants, smearing her unmarred beauty with the sticky translucent fluid leaking from the cuts she had torn into him.

There was no boarder in the universe she feared or hesitated crossing, and the boarder of fabric against his skin was no exception. She yanked his pants to his knees in one quick move, releasing the organ imprisoned underneath. She was something of a connoisseur of schmoo, and he certainly didn't disappoint. He had a nice length, great girth, it wasn't too shabby. Certainly worthy of her attention. She bit down on glove still covering her other hand, and pulled it off with a tug of her head. It soon met its sister, both wrapping around his slick squirmy manhood tightly, pressing her claws in just enough to threaten.

He groaned at her touch, the flush on his cheeks apparent even under the helmet. He lifted a shaky arm from the floor, extending it toward his Tallest. This proved to be a mistake he would regret, a pak leg shooting from behind her and pinning his palm to the floor, the sharp tip of the robotic digit sinking in to be sure the message was loud and clear. He whined, blood seeping into his glove.

"You have no permission to touch me, bug," Her voice was a sugary huff, excitement apparent in it. Just to be sure, a second pak leg came out in a flash, skewering his other palm to the floor for good measure. "I get to decide what happens in this room. I own every last inch of you, especially this," Teasingly, she started to stroke him with expert precision, knowing just where to squeeze harder, where to tease a claw or two. His breath was heavy, each rise and fall of his chest reminding him of his injuries, the pain and pleasure mixing, making him feel some kind of other, transcendent kind of sensation.

As she played with him, her two remaining pak legs activated, tampering around with something behind her. It wasn't until they were finished that his foggy mind could place what they had been up to, the robot limbs casting aside her long royal skirt. Like any good Tallest, she wasn't a fan of wearing anything underneath.

He didn't have time to register her next, quick movements, her slender form taking a seat on his hips, engulfing him so suddenly in her silky, tight floo. Hearing her moan, feeling her slit rut against his almost made him lose it, but he couldn't, not now. Displeasing his Tallest, for once, was the last thing he wanted to do. He grit his teeth and held on.

Her claws dug into his shoulders as she rode him, her tongue invading his mouth without so much as a polite kiss for permission. He belonged to her, permission was inherent. He could taste the sweet tinge of his own blood in her mouth and smell it where it had dried on her pretty face. She was only drawing more from him, distracting him with kisses and fucking so she could carve her name in large Irken lettering across a previously unmarred patch of his chest. It was deeper than the rest of his slashes so far. She didn't want this one to heal easy. She wanted him to know who owned him, and be constantly reminded of such. When the pain made him scream it only made her insides tense in pleasure. She cried out in orgasmic release, grinding on him hard.

His peak was paralyzingly intense, screams that had been pure pain transmogrified into those of ecstasy like some kind of magic trick. Each pulse around him encouraged another thick spurt of seed. She wasn't about to release him, she wanted every last drop of him wrung out inside of her. She purred as he finished off, licking her bloody fingers, letting her long tongue wrap around each digit for a thorough cleaning.

Finally, she retracted her pak legs and pulled herself into a squat, releasing his now limp, tired schmoo, as well white gush of his handiwork onto his crotch. She stood over him and took a swipe of the creamy fluid from between her legs, tasting it greedily. She thought on the flavor, then smiled wickedly, "It's good, but I prefer your blood," Her voice was so cute, it betrayed the bruised and abused state she had left her Press Secretary in.

He wouldn't have wanted it any other way.