Captured by the Yandere Space Pirates

[Warning : contains Reverse- Rape]

Syn's eyes widened, shock and horror coursing through him like lightning.

"Surprised?" She laughed, a jagged, unhinged sound that echoed in the glade. "They're such good weapons. You were right—whoever controls them holds supreme power."

She leaned closer, her breath hot against his ear, her hair brushing his cheek.

"During the hostage exchange, I was right beside the commander when you took charge of that pirate ship, Syn. It was my idea to send shapeshifters to slaughter everyone, to bring the captains—and you—alive. But those idiots failed. Weak, gullible hearts, refusing to kill indiscriminately."

Her laugh was a blade, cutting through his hope as she tossed aside the shredded remains of his shirt, her eyes raking over his exposed torso with possessive hunger.

"You say you haven't bathed, but you look so neat, smell so good," she mocked, her nose brushing his neck as she inhaled deeply, her lips grazing his skin. "Were you lying again?"

Syn's muffled protests grew desperate, the peach choking his words, his jaw aching from the strain. Ila's smile turned feral, her eyes glinting with sadistic delight.

"Killing you is the last thing I want, Syn. I want to make you mine. It was my mistake, my fucking mistake that you joined the pirates. If I'd claimed you sooner, instead of all that drama about not being ready, you'd never have strayed. How much did the pirates pay you? I'll give you a hundred times more. Will you come to my side?"

Syn nodded vigorously, his eyes pleading, his body straining against the binds, but Ila's laugh was cold, cutting.

She leaned over his chest, her hands crawling up his face—one gripping his hair, yanking his head back, the other shoving the peach deeper, forcing his jaw to stretch painfully, tears of strain spilling from his eyes.

"You've lied so many times, Syn, I can tell you're lying now, again," she whispered, her tongue flicking out to lick his cheek, then the tears that streamed down, savoring his fear and pain with a twisted reverence.

"I'll make you mine my way. Don't worry—you won't die. I won't let you."

Ila's hands moved to his pants, her fingers yanking them down with ruthless efficiency, the fabric tearing under her strength. Syn thrashed, his bound limbs straining, the drill-strings cutting into his skin, but her power was absolute.

She shifted, sitting on his thighs, and stripped away his underwear, exposing him completely.

His breath hitched, panic and shame flooding him as she gazed at his naked form, her teal eyes gleaming with possessive, unhinged hunger.

She leaned down, her tongue flicking across his length, a slow, sensual lick that sent an involuntary shudder through him, his body betraying him despite his terror.

Her lips curled into a smile, her eyes locked on his, relishing his helplessness.

Ila rose, her movements fluid, almost ceremonial, and shed her own pants, revealing her bare skin, her tank top clinging to her curves like a second skin.

She positioned herself over him, her thighs straddling his hips, her eyes burning into his with a manic intensity.

"You're mine, Syn," she whispered, her voice a vow, and lowered herself onto him, her virgin blood mixing with the grass beneath as she took him inside her.

The act was raw, commanding, her hips grinding with a fierce, unrelenting rhythm, her hands pinning his shoulders to the ground, her nails digging into his skin, drawing thin lines of blood.

Syn's muffled cries broke through the peach's gag, his body responding against his will, arousal spiking as she moved, her dominance absolute, her body a weapon of control.

Her breaths were sharp, her moans low and triumphant, each thrust a claim, her muscles flexing with every roll of her hips.

She rode him in a cowgirl stance, her thighs gripping him tightly, her movements precise yet frenzied, as if pouring months of obsession into every second.

Syn's body shuddered, his forced release crashing through him, a wave of pleasure tainted by violation, his mind screaming against the betrayal of his flesh.

Ila's own climax followed, her body trembling, her head thrown back, a primal moan escaping her lips as she shuddered, her teal eyes half-lidded with ecstasy.

"This is what you wanted, right, Syn?" Ila panted, her voice wild, her hips relentless, picking up speed as if insatiable. "I didn't give it to you before, so let's have sex all day. I'm free, you're free—it's fun! I don't know why I kept rejecting you."

She went wild, her movements frantic, her body claiming him again and again, each thrust more aggressive, her nails raking his chest, leaving red welts.

Syn's muffled screams grew louder, his voice breaking through the peach's gag as she forced multiple climaxes, his body wracked with overstimulation, his nerves screaming from the relentless assault.

Something was wrong—terribly wrong.

The peach's juices, laced with a potent aphrodisiac, kept him painfully aroused, his erection unyielding, his body trapped in a cycle of forced desire.

Ila rode him like a storm, her laughter echoing in the glade, a manic symphony of possession.

His eyes rolled back, his mind fraying under the onslaught of pleasure and pain, his senses drowning in the haze of her dominance.

Ila bit the peach and pull it off his mouth, her lips crashing against his in a bruising kiss, her tongue invading, her teeth nipping his already bloodied lip, the metallic taste mingling with her saliva.

Her hips ground harder, her rhythm unceasing, her body a relentless force as she claimed him again, their releases syncing in a twisted dance.

Syn was lost, his thoughts dissolving into a primal fog—sex, more, more, more.

He laughed, a broken, delirious sound, as Ila's laughter joined his, their kisses sloppy, desperate, their bodies locked in a cycle of release.

They came again, the eighth time, their chuckles mingling with gasps, the glade a twisted stage for their frenzy.

His body trembled, his muscles aching, his mind a haze of overstimulation, the aphrodisiac driving him to the edge of sanity.

"It's getting late," Ila murmured, her voice breathless, her teal eyes gleaming with manic delight.

"One more time." She started grinding again, her lips claiming his in a savage kiss, her tongue delving deep, her hands sliding to his neck.

But this time, her grip wasn't sensual—it was angry, vengeful, her fingers clenching with a force that cut off his air.

Syn kissed her back, drowned in the aphrodisiac's haze, the lack of oxygen heightening his final orgasm, a blinding, excruciating rush that obliterated his senses.

Her choking grip tightened, her nails digging into his throat, and he didn't realize he'd fainted, his body going limp beneath her, his consciousness swallowed by darkness.

Ila lingered over him, her breath ragged, her teal eyes studying his unconscious form with a mix of adoration and possession, her lips smeared with his blood, her body slick with sweat and their mingled fluids.

She traced a finger along his bruised neck, a soft hum escaping her lips, as if savoring her victory.

Slowly, she removed the drill-strings, their whirring ends retracting from the earth, freeing his limbs.

His body was slack, marked with welts, scratches, and her claim.

She gathered him into her arms, his weight no burden to her strength, and rose, her expression a blend of tenderness and madness.

With a final glance at the glade, she carried him into the forest, vanishing among the trees, her prize secured, her obsession fulfilled—for now.