Sense Depravation (third person)

She is a woman. Barely. Fair-chested, fair-skinned. A head of red. Short, perhaps five feet. Short, but strong, she thinks. Strong-willed? Or just strong? She thinks she was called strong, once. She thinks she once acted strong. But thinking is hard. Remembering is harder.

She hangs there, ropes around her wrists and her shoulders, her ankles and knees, her stomache and chest. Nothing but ropes. She floats in what seems like nothingness, blindfolded and gagged, with nothing but the ropes' chafing to remind her that she still exists, and that the world around her is more than the nothingness that blankets every one of her senses. Even the ropes that bind her feel inconsequential, fading in and out of nothingness. She feels... drugged, she thinks, and immediately questions the thought. She has no frame of reference. She doesn't know how long she's hung here. She doesn't know how she came to hang here. She can barely remember herself. Memories, both recent and ancient, are far and few between. She feel like something's broken the nothingness, before. She feels like there've been interruptions. A hand brushing against her 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 smiled at her with nondescript mouths, thin lines on blank, featureless faces. Sometimes the dreams replicate reality. She thinks. She's never able to tell for sure whether they're dreams or memories. The two feel the same, unconsciousness constantly warring for supremacy of her mind, clouding and crippling her consciousness.

A memory surfaces. Of reality? Or a dream? She can't tell. A rough hand grabs her chin, angles her mouth upwards. An uncontrollable thirst overcomes her. A thirst she never realized she'd had, a foreign, constant sensation she was unable to recognize until that moment. Thirst. A thirst soon sated, but by what? The memory disappears as fast as it surfaced. She's not even sure, sometimes, if the memory isn't reality. If not for that feeling, that quiet reminder of what she thinks might be truth, she'd have no idea whatsoever. If not for that subtle, indistinct knowing that maybe, just maybe, this might be a memory. Memory and reality are indistinguishable sometimes. In the absence of real feeling, recalling a sensation seems the same as experiencing it. To what extent she's able to experience it. She feels her senses dulled, and yet cannot remember a time when they were sharper.

Drugged. The word surfaces in her mind, and for a moment she feels something resembling clarity. Drugged, yes. That must be it. She doesn't know how she knows, but she does. She searches her mind for some related memory, half-recalls some long-past act of... theft? She sees her hand reaching out, grabbing a book? Feels a tinge of guilt. The memory is muddled, little more than a smudged, moving image playing across her mind. She can't so much as feel the texture of the book, though the blurred colors shine bright. Colors she knows she's seen before, since she remembers them, and yet still fill her with the sense of witnessing something alien, undiscovered. Something she's 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 her mind. She feels prodded, she's drinking something, she's blinking. Memories? Memories. She's sure of that, somehow. She focuses 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 her lips. It's thick... salty? Musky. The last half comes only via vigorous sucking. She realises how incredibly lucid she is. Drugged. That's right. She had realized she had been drugged. Right? Right, she thinks. Drugged.

She shudders. A familiar tongue runs along her pussy, trail of wetness tickling her exposed flesh as the large member assaults her, slowly teasing her 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. She realizes the tongue has been there for a good while without her noticing. She realizes a large, strong, but feminine hand is gripping her 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 her folds, kissing and teasing her honeypot. She shivers as it dips between her lips, tickles her clit for a moment, before retreating once more. The sensation is exquisite, the unfamiliar intensity overwhelming her under-utilized senses. Her body feels like a living extension of her clit - every mind-numbing sensation seems to spread throughout the entirety of her being. The lucidity helps, no doubt. A strange lucidity. She's in the hands of orcs, she's sure of it. Not a male, judging by the amount of turtoruous detail put into her captivity. She's been living off their cum, she thinks. The thought seems obvious and idiotic to her. Of course. But for how long?. The tongue has retreated from her folds, gone to tracing her belly, dipping into her button, leaving a trail of cold wetness in its wake. The orc has let go of her ankle, though it still feels the grip. The orcish hand now cups her breast, squeezes her nipple to trigger the slightest bit of pain, then retreats, along with her captor's tongue. For a moment, all but the feeling of wetness - both that of her own unwanted arousal and the orc's tongue - is gone, then she feels a large finger tracing her cunt, then diving in, sampling her looseness. Loose. She's loose, of course. She grimaces. A warmth presses against her. A dick. Large. Again, a familiar sensation. The half-flaccid cock even now drools onto her, leaving lines of orc pre as the semi-enthusiastic member is rubbed against her stomache, stopping only to push against her belly button, before straightening its course and tracing a line down to her cunt.

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

And a whole fucking lot of it.

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

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

She wakes up sometime later, aware of nothing but the ropes that bind her, and the feeling of floating in nothingness. Her mind is dull, her thoughts are slow. Her memories are non-existant. She wonders how long she's been here? She tries to remember, feel glimpses of past sensations. Brushings against skins. She remembers... dreams? Or memories? Colors, faces...