Sense Depravation (second person)

You are a woman. Barely. You're fair-chested, fair-skinned. A head of red, if what rare glimpses into the past you can manage are accurate. You're short, perhaps five feet. Short, but strong, you think. Strong-willed? Or just strong? You can't even remember. You think you were strong. You acted strong? Thinking is hard. Remembering is harder.

You hang there, ropes around your wrists and your shoulders, your ankles and knees, your stomache and chest. Nothing but ropes. You float in what seems like nothingness, blindfolded and gagged, with nothing but the ropes' chafing to remind you that you still exist, and that the world around you is more than the nothingness that blankets every one of your senses. Even the ropes that bind you feel inconsequential, fading in and out of nothingness. You feel... drugged. Do you? You've no frame of reference. You don't know how long you've hung here. You don't know how you came to hang here. You barely remember yourself. Memories, both recent and ancient, are far and few between. You feel like something's broken the nothingness, before. You feel like there've been interruptions. A hand brushing against your cheek? It felt so alien. So... strange. A dream, or reality? Sometimes the dreams are obvious, bright skies and blurred faces. Faces that should be familiar. They smile at you with nondescript mouths, thin lines on blank, featureless faces. Sometimes the dreams replicate reality. You think. You're never able to tell for sure whether they're dreams or memories. The two feel the same, unconsciousness constantly warring for supremacy of your mind, clouding and crippling your consciousness.

A memory surfaces in your mind. Of reality? Or a dream? You can't tell. A rough hand grabs your chin, angles your mouth upwards. An uncontrollable thirst overcomes you. A thirst you'd never realized you had, a foreign, constant sensation you were unable to recognize until that moment. Thirst. A thirst soon sated, but by what? The memory disappears as fast as it surfaced. You're not even sure, sometimes, if the memory isn't reality. If not for that feeling, that quiet reminder of what you think might be truth, you'd have no idea whatsoever. If not for that subtle, indistinct knowledge that maybe, just maybe, this might be a memory. They're indistinguishable sometimes. In the absence of feeling, REAL feeling, recalling a sensation seems the same as experiencing it. At least to the degree your drugged mind and dulled senses CAN experience it.

Yes, drugged. The word surfaces in your mind, and for a moment you feel something resembling clarity. Drugged, yes. That must be it. You don't know how you know, but you do. You search your mind for some related memory, half-recall some long-past act of... theft? You see your hand reaching out, grabbing a book? Feel a tinge of guilt. The memory is muddled, little more than a smudged, moving image playing across your mind. You can't so much as feel the texture of the book, though the blurred colors shine bright. Colors you know you've seen before, since you remember them, and yet still fill you with the sense of witnessing something alien, undiscovered. Something you've never seen before, a whole new dimension, an unexplainable technology or magical marvel. The memory fades out, and as soon as it does a half dozen sensations flood your mind. You feel prodded, you're drinking something, you're blinking. Memories? Memories. You're sure of that, somehow. You focus on the drinking. The fluid is wonderful. Not for any perceivable reason - just wonderful. The fact is subconscious, a distinct, ingrained feeling that the drinking is an act of rightness. A glass vial pressing against your lips. It's thick... salty? Musky. The last half comes only via vigorous sucking. You realize how incredibly lucid you are. Drugged. That's right. You had realized you had been drugged. Right? Right, you think. Drugged.

You shudder. A familiar tongue runs along your pussy, trail of wetness tickling your exposed flesh as the large member assaults you, slowly teasing your lips, pushing inwards for a half second and then receding. A familiar tongue. The lucidity is refreshing. The ability to think. And yet it's extremely limited. You realize the tongue has been there for a good while without you noticing. You realize a large, strong, but... feminine? Feminine. A feminine hand is gripping you at the ankle. A strong feminity, a brutal delicateness to the fingers. Even as it squeezes hard enough to bruise, there's a feminity. The motions of the tongue, too. They are graceful, the tongue dancing along your folds, kissing and teasing your honeypot. You shiver as it dips between your lips, tickles your clit for a moment, before retreating once more. The sensation is exquisite, the unfamiliar intensity overwhelming your under-utilized senses. Your body feels like a living extension of your clit - every mind-numbing sensation seems to spread throughout the entirety of your being. The lucidity helps, no doubt. A strange lucidity. You're in the hands of orcs, you're sure of it. Not a male, judging by the amount of turtoruous detail put into your captivity. You've been living off their cum. The thought seems obvious and idiotic to you. Of course. But for how long?. The tongue has retreated from your folds, gone to tracing your belly, dipping into your button, leaving a trail of cold wetness in its wake. She's let go of your ankle, though it still feels her grip. Her hand now cups your breast, squeezes your nipple to trigger the slightest bit of pain, then retreats, along with her tongue. For a moment, all but the feeling of wetness - both that of your own unwanted arousal and her tongue - is gone, then you feel a large finger tracing your cunt, then diving in, sampling your looseness. Loose. You're loose, of course. A warmth presses against you. Her dick. Again, a familiar sensation. The half-flaccid cock even now drools onto you, leaving lines of orc pre as she rubs her semi-enthusiastic member against your stomache, stopping only to push (not seriously, you hope) against your belly button, before straightening its course and tracing a line down to your cunt.

You realize just how aroused you are. Uncomfortably aroused. Your body knows this touch. It knows what's coming next. The feeling bugs you. Gnaws at you, really. That your body has a better memory than your mind. That somewhere, subconsciously, you remember everything. Or a lot more than you do now. Her dick is erect. It prods your stomache, now, pulsing. The shemale orc is playing with your cunt with one hand, teasing your lips, as she -probably- emboldens her own member. You realize how detached you feel. Each sensation is yours, and yet at the same time you seem a spectator, sharing your subject's feelings, being your subject, even, and yet still a distinctly separate entity. Every train of thought makes the sexual simulation almost unnoticeable. Until she rams it in. In one powerful thrust her entire length spears your cunt, your own arousal and your evident familiarity with this task greatly aiding the insertion. And with that your attention is locked on the genital union, the sensation of sex and the sound of sloshing of fluid your only anchors to the real world. Then all is silent, save for very faint sound of both you and her breathing. Her cock pulses occasionally, pushing against your walls, pussy familiarly full. Her dick is thick. Inhumanly thick, you're sure. Each twitch is a world of pleasure, every powerful throb recorded by your incredily full cunt. She stays there for maybe a half minute. Odd, for one of a race so brutish. Her dick slides out. Slowly. The slow outward slide is even more pleasurable than the initial thrust, the orc's massive cock gently gliding out of your well-lubricated, well-stretched pussy. Seemingly tired of 'foreplay', she rams her cock back into you halfway out, the shock of pleasure mindnumbing. Your mind registers it as a stark contrast to your previous nothingness, your body registers it a familiar sensation. She hilts herself inside you once more, crotch pressing against your own. She grabs your waist with both hands, then slides out, lifting you up as much as your bindings allow as she does so. Then she hilts herself again. Each sheathing of her cock inside your pussy brings an almost painful smacking of body against body. Her pace becomes feverish as she lifts you up, slamming your bodies together with ease, pre drooling out of her cock and mixing with your own liquid lust, pussyjuice and pre dripping out of your fuckhole, splashing with every thrust, trickling as she pulls out. You notice, then, just how -warm- you feel. Familiar, again. It's a slight warmth, but one easily recognizable. And in noticing that you notice just how dull your mind feels. If this is the effect of just her pre-seed... a particularly powerful thrust breaks your chain of thought, clearing your mind completely. With one powerful slam, she hilts herself inside you, gripping your waist almost painfully, the incredible impact rubbing your raw pussy past the breaking point, and you orgasm. Hard. Your pussy floods the penetrator with femcum, trickling liquid audible in the present silence. She stands there for a few seconds, dick twitching powerfully inside you, wet with both your fluids, before lifting you again and brutally fucking you. Sweat flies off you with every impact, the feverish fucking and drug-induced warmth having turned you into a swampy mess. Her feverish pace holds up for a few minutes, at best, before she once more hilts inside you, powerfully. With one last smack she lets go of your waist, and grunts. For a quarter-minute she stands there, dick oddly motionless, until finally she releases a slow moan and plasters your inner walls with orcish seed.

And a whole fucking lot of it.

You gasp - or try to, gag keeping you completely silent - as shot after shot of cum paints your pussy, the thick fluid leaking from between your legs in a steady half-stream. At this point, all thought is lost on you. Your whole body radiates with warmth from the drug-like seed, pulses of drug-induced pleasure and heat flowing through you alongside the post-orgasmic bliss. You're full beyond fullness when she finally pulls out, letting a nigh waterfall of cum pour from your loose cunt. A few lines of cum land on your body, one coming as far as hitting you on the nose. Then nothing. No touches, no cum, just you floating there, body rope-bound, mind ecstasy-stuck. Waves of euphoria wash through you, the feeling of cum leaking out of your lips divine, the cum on your skin divine, your body tingling, aftershocks of sexual pleasure still rocking through your honeypot, no doubt made hypersensitive by the orc cum that -still- trickles onto the floor.

The gag is abruptly pulled out of your mouth, and you gasp. The orc speaks. A few words. Her voice is rough, and powerful. Feminine, though. "Drink, pet." And with that she brings a well-known, large vial up to your lips. A familiar joy wells up inside of you, your body well familiar with this ritual, even as your mind retains its familiar blankness. She pushes it roughly into your mouth, letting several mouthfuls flow, cum dripping down your chin as it does so. The effect when taken orally is incredible. Your body feels incredibly hot, pleased beyond bleasure, and you even feel -spiritually- fulfilled. A strange happiness, a feeling of rightness, that seems to want to leap out of your chest. A feeling of divine providence, of being at peace with the world, of being satisfied. And maybe you are. At the second mouthful you cream yourself once more, the orgasmic fluids bringing about a second orgasm in you. You moan around the vial as the flow slows, and in response the orc roughly fingers you. The sensation is maddening. You were hypersensitive before, but this is absurd. The very brushing of her fingers against your clit makes you feel close to an instantaneous third climax, though she denies you the pleasure, simply withdrawing and wiping your mixed juices off on your cheek. You suck down the last of your meal, before giving up, content in your thoughtless bliss. She sticks two cum-wet fingers into your mouth and lets you suck them dry before she replaces your gag and leaves you to your pleasured captivity once more.

You wake up sometime later, aware of nothing but the ropes that bind you, and the feeling of floating in nothingness. Your mind is dull, your thoughts are slow. Your memories are non-existant. You wonder how long you've been here? You try to remember, feel glimpses of past sensations. Brushings against skins. You remember... dreams? Or memories? Colors, faces...