Anna Henri

“What was that?” You turn to the nearest servant with a gilded data-slate in hand. A lux-pen, adorning a green, long plume pauses over the screen as you wait for the woman to speak.

“My Lady, a shuttle is landing upon the port.” She bows her head deeply and the augmetics around her neck stretch with the movement.

“Another? Let them. Rogue trader has informed us that we will be supplying Footfall with provisions. How many crates we have ready?”

And yet an uncomfortable silence follows. You cock your head to the side slightly, attempting to get a glimpse of the servant’s face that is hidden because of her obedient stance. Irritated already, you exhale through your nose and raise an eyebrow. “Answer me.” Trying to keep your voice calm, you still issue the order curtly, in almost a choppy manner that makes the woman flinch.

“My Lady, I don’t think it is another cargo vessel from Footfall. It has…” She pauses, swallowing audibly and even in a crowded hall you can hear it. “My Lady… It has insignia of the His Most Holy Inquisition.”

A chill locks up your spine. Your muscles contract, squeezing even your lungs so tightly you can’t inhale. The plume quivers as the lux-pen begins slightly trembling in your fingers. Inquisition? Here?

But should you even be surprised? When Lady Theodora passed and her heir came to Janus, everyone thought that Vistenza will remain the Governor. Why wouldn’t she. Vyatt served well under Lady Theodora even though her particular tastes in all manners of entertainment made you avoid her inner court by all means. She treated the nobles well, yourself included, but you saw heresy in her doings even when others tried to ignore them.

So it was a surprise to all, except you, when the new rogue trader dealt with Vistenza in the only way people of the Imperium should deal with heresy – swift execution and burning away the filth. And in privacy of your own thoughts, you admitted that the choice to keep the planet surprised you. Not only it suffers from xenos, hiding somewhere in the jungles of Janus, but also Vyatt’s stain permeated almost every wall within the palace. Same palace that is now yours.

No, it’s not a surprise either that following the rogue trader’s deeds, the agents of the Holy Inquisition would follow. Vistenza’s fault. The thought makes your jaw tighten and closing your eyes you try to calm the nerves that spread in anxious waves through your chest.

“My Lady?” The servant’s voice snaps you back to the present and you look at her, catching an uncertain look in the woman’s eyes. Her back is still bent in a bow and you exhale, lifting your chin.

“That’s perfectly fine. Make sure that the agents are met with utmost respect. I will meet them in my office.”

You don’t even need to glance around to know that the whispers have hushed and everyone’s eyes are on you. The presence of the Inquisition is nerve-wracking to everyone who has even a slightest idea what that could mean. Maybe Holy Exterminatus is not out of the possibilities after all.

“Yes, My Lady.” The servant finally straightens her back and looks around, turning to instruct those other obedient just like her and you look at your dataslate, seeing the checklist blinking with items still to be marked off.

This can wait. Now the priority is ensuring that some crazed agent of the Inquisitor Lord does not suddenly start seeing heresy everywhere when you’re trying so hard to root out the last remnants of it. Despite your original surprise to keep the colony going, by now you would appreciate it if you didn’t die in flames with the rest of good people here. You’re working hard to restore the order, to bring Janus up to proper standards of the Imperium. They will have no cause, right? That’s what you tell yourself.

As you cross the hall while your heels click sharply in an anxious silence that surrounds you, you make your way to the office. It’s the same one Vistenza has used, but you made it different, reshaped it to reflect you in a similar way it reflected Vyatt, until her death. The dens that she had bellow the palace have been cleansed, blessed and turned into an archive with the door now permanently open for everyone to access it with ease. Will that be enough? You’ve been a Governor just for a mere three weeks yourself and you did as much as you could during the time.

You let the door close behind you and walk around the desk, trying your best not to feel nervous. Putting the data-slate down, you toss the lux-pen on top and push your shoulders back. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you have nothing to fear. So what if some agent wants to check the nooks and crannies for remnants of heresy. You are confident that the rogue trader rooted them out and what dregs of it have remained afterwards were taken care of by you personally. And if they want to question you, they are welcome to do that too. You won’t repeat Vistenza’s mistakes. You are not as delusional as she was.

And yet while you stand by your chair, eyes locked on the gilded steel door as if it might open without a warning, you realize you keep nervously sliding your palms over the dress you’re wearing. The silks already feel damp below the tough ceramite corset you’re wearing and it feels like it’s beginning to suffocate you. Nevermind that, you tell yourself and exhale slowly, lifting your chin in defiance of your authority being questioned even before it actually happens. You know it will, you heard stories.

The vox built into your desk comes alive but you don’t even flinch, finding your strength at last. “My Lady, Inquisitor Lord Calcazar is requesting audience and he’s on his way to your office.”

Not just some agent then. Him.

Smoothing the front of your dress again you stand confident and tall, despite your still sweating palms. Seconds pass that feel like they stretch into years, let alone hours, decades even. You thickly swallow, your throat not wanting to move as you command it.

And then the door opens.

You bow your head immediately, not even sparing a second to observe the man who just filled your office with his presence like it belongs to him.

“Welcome to Janus, Inquisitor Lord Calcazar.” Your voice trembles a little but it’s barely audible and you hope that he doesn’t hear it.

“Stand.” A deep but calm voice command and you straighten up, hearing the door slide closed before you lay your gaze upon the invading presence of the Inquisitor Lord. And you quickly observe the details that make up the man - his power armor that is in colors of dark grey and red, beautifully gilded just like his bionic arm. You see an ocular implant and a steel plate on his skull, telling you of battles past. But what draws your eyes is not the imposing warrior visage before you, but Calcazar’s longish, greying mane of hair and a face that looks unexpectedly noble despite being marred by multiple scars.

Yet his remaining eye doesn’t look at you as you watch him. It rather wanders the office as if looking for anything to condemn you with. Calcazar is inspecting it like you inspected him, but truly there’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a standard Governor office you can find on any planet throughout the Imperium. Vistenza had it set up a bit differently, but you ripped it all out and remade it according to protocols and regulations, avoiding to spend a single coin to emphasize the luxury that you could indulge into if you wished so.

“You’re the new Governor, correct?” Calcazar finally turns his gaze to you and you nod.

“Yes, Inquisitor Lord. My name is-“

“I know what your name is.” He rudely cuts you off and your jaw clenches. Naturally, you didn’t expect him to suddenly treat you as someone equal to him, but you absolutely anticipated at least a shred of respect. “What I do not know is if the previous Governor didn’t secretly teach you her ways of heresy.”

The way heresy falls of Calcazar’s lips makes you shudder and you lower your gaze to the desk. It’s tidy, neat and yet you feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s some sort of invisible stain upon it. Or in your office, or somewhere in the palace. Something that didn’t escape the meticulous cleansing that the rogue trader, and then you, performed.

“No, Inquisitor Lord, I was not too familiar with late Lady Vyatt. I knew of her and she knew of me, but we rarely crossed paths.”

“Is that so.” Calcazar sounds almost amused but you wouldn’t bet even one throne that you’re correct in this assessment. Footsteps, and you are forced to raise your eyes only to observe how Inquisitor approaches your desk and looks down at it, noting the items on it: the vox transmitter, cogitator screen, pens and papers, some dataslates and couple books, all neatly sorted and stacked. “Then what about your brief imprisonment in the past?” He looks at you and that look takes away your breath.

Of course he knows about that.

“It was long ago. I got mixed up with the wrong people.” You admit and that’s the truth.

When you were barely twenty years old you thought it would be fun to run with the farm boys despite your elevated noble status. Your mother didn’t approve and your father outright forbade you to consort with them in any manner. Yet you would sneak out of the family mansion and go for drinks in the village where the boys lived. One such night one of them, a blonde guy by the name of Forio, decided it would be fun to scare the villagers and so he wrote some gibberish with the chalk on a wall. At first he wanted to draw an evil sign, one of the evil gods, but none of you knew how it looked like, so Forio tried to mimic a possible heretical language. Well, it worked, too well. Next day not only the village but two other nearby fell into complete panic. At the time Vistenza’s father was a Governor and he ordered an investigation. It turned out someone saw you that night. Forio got executed and you, with the rest of the boys, got imprisoned and interrogated for several months. Your father refused to help you and thought it will be a good lesson. He wasn’t wrong. In the end your charges were cleared and Forio was the one to pay for the crimes of youth.

“A noble choosing to mingle with regular workers, smearing a stain of possible heresy over her family name.” When Calcazar looks at you again it’s not an accusatory kind of expression on his face, but a calm authority that tells you he’s completely in charge here. And just like your father was right back then, so is the Inquisitor correct in this moment.

Yet the words feel like a whip upon your back and you flinch slightly. “My charges have been cleared.”

“And one of your group got executed, rightfully so.” He retorts back and you flinch again.

“He was the instigator and the one who scrawled the words. We should’ve stopped him, that was our crime, Lord Inquisitor.” Just to break the eye contact, you bow your head again and hear Calcazar exhale slowly.

“And who’s to say that it wasn’t a precedent for what’s yet to come? Heretical tendencies do not always tend to be a lifelong career, Governor. Maybe Vistenza set an example you are curious to follow now that the esteemed rogue trader thinks that the heresy has been uprooted and eliminated on this plentiful world.”

“Inquisitor, surely you’re not implying-“

“I’m not implying anything, I’m merely wondering.” Hearing footsteps resume you dare to rise your eyes again and watch the Inquisitor make his way around the corner of your desk and towards the window on his right. “Come, Governor.”

You hesitate, not because Calcazar’s tone is colorless and not because he’s ordering you around, which he has all the right to do, but because he stops by the window and looks outside of it, turning his scrutinizing gaze away from you. Allowing you a moment of reprieve from his imposing presence, the Inquisitor stands there, giving you time and you exhale a shaky breath, then chew on your bottom lip. He can’t really remove you from your office for something that happened years and years ago, can he?

Yet you know the answer even if you don’t want to admit it. He could execute you right now and nobody would be able to do anything about it. Who would be willing to oppose the Inquisitor Lord? Not even the rogue trader, under which you serve, would be able to intervene if he accused you of heresy.

You want to ask if this is necessary but know that you have no right to question his motives or reasons. Yet you want to resist and tell him that you don’t deserve such treatment, but you’re aware that he’s not treating you in any way, he’s just merely asking you some questions. You want to tell him to leave, but that might be worse than being accused of heresy when it comes to repercussions for defying an agent of the Holy Throne. So you linger, eyeing the Inquisition symbol rising high over the power pack of his armor like it’s a guillotine blade. Like the shadow it casts alone could slice through aliens and unbelievers.

Only seconds pass, not minutes, even if feels like that while you dread to approach, but at last your duty rules over your fear and your feet begin moving before you even command them. Heels click softly on the marble once you cross over the carpet and you stop ways behind Calcazar, unconsciously gripping corner of the table as if to steady yourself.

“Closer.”

Your throat works when you attempt to swallow and your hands begin to shake. Or maybe they haven’t stopped shaking since you heard of his arrival. You cannot be sure, but again you move, making three or four tentative steps in the Inquisitor’s direction. For a moment you glance to the window, seeing only white stone railings and lush crowns of trees rising outside of it. A sight that you have already grown accustomed to despite not using this office for long.

“Closer.” With jaw clenching from stress, you make a handful of more steps towards the man and at last he briefly glances at you over the pauldron bearing a terrifying looking skull. “I said closer. You can’t see from all the way there.” It’s an order, crystal clear and one you cannot disobey.

So you approach, feeling like your knees might give out beneath you at any moment and you stand by Calcazar, forcing your eyes to look outside of the window again. This close you smell oil, you smell metal and an undeniable scent of his perfume, strong and imposing just like he. Something like gunpowder and power combined, you can’t quite pin the origin of it and your palms become slick with sweat again, making you grab onto the front of your skirts once more, clenching them tightly in your shaky fingers.

“What do you see?” He asks and you are absolutely sure it’s a trick question but you still look around.

Now close to the window, you see more than just the railing and tops of trees. You see pathways of white stone and the landing pad where Calcazar’s own shuttle is settled, one reserved for the rogue trader. His spacecraft is in colors of black and red, with front, wings and the top of it carrying Inquisitorial insignia. You wonder if he has one craft that’s stealthier and you chastise yourself for being stupid, of course he does.

You also see workers around his shuttle, tech priests burning their holy incense and most likely chanting placating words to the machine spirits. You see your own people, serfs and PDF and even a man of your personal guard, who’s chatting lively with Calcazar’s pilot. You assume  him to be one because his uniform is dark grey besides the silver pin on his chest that glints in the sun. You don’t see what the pin is of, but nobody on Janus dresses like this.

Besides the relaxed atmosphere around the landing pad, there are guards pacing on predestined routines, servants who are running errands and nobles who are taking leisure walks to appreciate the lush growth around the palace. And all of that is encompassed by a tall wall. It was breached before by the rebels but got fixed some weeks ago. Beyond all that there’s a road, snaking away from the numerous gates and into the untamed jungle, leading either to houses that nobles hold or to processing plants and villages of workers who harvest Janus’ resources for entirety of the Von Valancius dynasty.

And yet even with all of that you are not sure what you’re supposed to be seeing. What is a correct answer? Is there even one? You force yourself to look away from the idyllic sight outside and at the Inquisitor who, you only now notice, has not been looking with you, but at you. Something unpleasant gets lodged in your throat and you attempt a smile, knowing full well that it must look like a pained grimace and you just hope it doesn’t.

“Well?” Calcazar asks and he looks almost… amused? You’re not too sure and you’re not all too willing to apply this kind of word to the expression the man is donning upon his regal looking face, but you find no better alternative. Keen look and a faintest hint of a smile tugs at one corner of his lips. “What do you see, Governor?” The way he says your title makes a shiver run down your spine. It’s both mocking and intense. Like a title given to a fussy toddler to make them happy.

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking for.” Being scarily aware that you can’t diplomacy your way out of this situation you rely on truth and Calcazar scoffs a little, his previously subdued smile becoming just a fraction wider.

“That’s a mistake you can’t allow yourself to make if you want to remain a loyal daughter of the Imperium.” He says and gestures to the window. “Look again.”

What is this, a lesson? But you do look outside again, letting your eyes sweep over the same image that you observed just moments ago. Nothing appears to be different, nothing at all, so you step closer to the window and frown, trying to understand what is it that the Inquisitor wants you to see.

“I’m not sure, I don’t-“ You begin with a degree of frustration only to feel a hand on your shoulder that makes you jump. You look at Calcazar and meet his eyes again, seeing that same amused little smile still on his face as if glued there. He’s having fun, you realize, at your fear, your anxiety, your desire to have all the right answers to his cryptic questions.

“It’s there, you will see it.” Words that would sound encouraging if it were said by anyone else now only fill your stomach with dread. What if you don’t see, what then?

But still, you peel your gaze away from him and look outside once more, to the white stone and happy people, to the flora that is basking in the early morning sun and beyond the gates, into the wild jungle that has both promises and danger. What is it that he wants you to see?

And while you’re focusing on solving this little riddle that he has given you, Calcazar just watches your face. A thoughtful and strained expression is upon it, but then something else draws his attention when you inhale a shaky breath. How your breasts are pushed together in the corset, how with every inhale your neck tenses, and seeing you so frightened but still trying your best, the Inquisitor lets his hand slip from your shoulder and down your arm, towards your elbow. This time you don’t look at him and it serves Calcazar just fine. Releasing your arm he pauses but proceeds and puts same hand at the small of your back, eyes rowing over your figure in search for hints of heresy but with a type of hunger that is not below even the Emperor’s most trusted.

Focused on your task, you barely notice the intimate touch, the way he shifts ever so slightly to remove himself from the direct path of the window, moving to the shadow just next to it. His left arm, encased in an armored glove, slips further, to the side of you and his fingers find purchase there, slightly hooking themselves under the edge of your corset.

But you’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice even that, it’s all too subtle for your brain that is working fulltime to find the answer and please the Inquisitor, not knowing that it’s not your answer that is on his mind anymore. And suddenly you see it! You see it, you see a man by the bushes, by the gate. Ragged clothes, shears in hand, hair grey and tied in a loose ponytail. There’s an eyepatch, you’re confident about it even though it could also be a shadow cast upon his face. But you see it.

“There!” You rise a hand and point in the direction, keeping your eyes on a man. “He’s not part of the palace’s servants, they are all demanded to wear uniforms and he doesn’t have one. It’s him, right, Inquisitor Lord?” When only silence greets your question you frown, wondering if you got it right and you decide to risk taking your eyes from the outsider. You reluctantly begin to turn your gaze away, unwilling to lose sight of the obvious trespasser. “Inquisitor Lord?”

A rough yank on your side makes your body slam first into his armor, then you’re shoved against the wall, your shoulders gripped so tightly it’s painful. The moment a shocked gasp leaves your throat, you inhale deeply and stare at Calcazar who’s now uncomfortably close and towering over you with his assertive figure, the ocular implant catching a crimson glint of light before he leans over you, forcing you to upturn your face. With lips parted and tiny gasps escaping your mouth you stare at him, too terrified to even say anything. When his words come, and they do come in a low, steady tone that makes you grope at the wall behind you, you find it difficult to comprehend them at first.

“You’re not a heretic, are you?”

“N-no, Inquisitor Lord.”

“You’re a faithful servant of the God-Emperor and his Most Holy Inquisition?”

What? You blink couple times and manage a quick nod. You don’t want to be executed for saying no. “Yes, yes of course, Inquisitor Lord, always!” The way words tumble out of your mouth you’re going to be surprised if he can understand them at all.

But he smirks slightly and leans incredibly close to your face, allowing you to feel his fawning breath on your skin. “Is that so?” Eyes sweep down your face and back to yours, making your lungs forget how to function.

“Y-yes.” Your voice trembles and your heart beats so fast in your chest you’re afraid it will hammer itself out from beneath your ribcage. “A-anything.”

“Anything.” A dangerous glint appears in Calcazar’s eyes and he pauses as if thinking. “Then I think I have just a task to prove your loyalty, Governor.”

You gulp down whatever that seems to be stuck in your throat and wait for his next words. Yet before the verbal instructions come there’s a touch and it’s so unexpected that you take a moment to realize what’s going on.

When Calcazar released your shoulders you don’t even know, but next you notice his hands doing something is when he grabs a fistful of your skirts and lifts them to your knees. Eyes widening, you first look down, then at him, while your lips move but no words come out.

“Hold them for me.” He instructs and almost robotically you take the bunched-up fabrics. “Higher, all of them, and keep them there.” Still staring at the Inquisitor you pull the front of your dress into your arms and hold it against your chest, barely breathing. “See, my dear, no matter how much your rogue trader is pleased with you, I need to be pleased with you as well.” He begins, eyes rowing over your naked thighs and knee-high heels you’re wearing. Calcazar even catches a glimpse of your underwear, white lace panties almost teasingly peeking from behind the edge of the skirt.

“Pleased…” You echo the word, trying to understand the implications of it and they don’t come until the Inquisitor reaches down and caresses your right thigh, his fingers brushing over the hem of your panties at your hip. Gulping down nervousness and something else that you can’t quite identify, you rise your gaze to the man.

“Yes, pleased. You know what that means, don’t you?” Feeling Calcazar’s fingers hook over the elastic of your undergarment you attempt a nod. “I’m not going to send you on some dangerous mission, my dear. You’re far too useful for me if you remain here, on Janus, reporting back to me if anything happens.”

“Reporting back?” You gasp out, for a moment too focused on what he’s asking of you to even notice how Calcazar begins slowly pulling your panties down on one side.

“Reporting back. To me, even before the rogue trader.” Holding your gaze with the intense one of his, the Inquisitor releases the elastic and startles you when his augmetic hand grips your other thigh. He leans just slightly, letting metallic fingers slip to the back of your leg and near the knee before powerful bionics grab your soft flesh and pull up your leg. You gasp and look down, squishing the skirts to your chest even tighter while your face begins to show a hint of red.

Being so exposed, even if not naked, makes you flush with heat both in face and somewhere inside of you where it coils in fiery tension at your loins. Your jaw clenches when you realize that this show of power, this intimidation, this overwhelming control of you is getting to you in a way that you haven’t anticipated, but Calcazar did. When his gaze drops to your panties again and when he notices that you’re growing wetter, he exhales slowly and smirks. “I see you are willing to cooperate, am I correct?”

“I-… I…” You inhale in quick gasps and Calcazar enjoys how terrified yet aroused you are. Just the thing he was looking for to relieve the pressures of serving the Imperium and needing to come here in person. A little reward, so to speak, of the most pleasant kind.

When he realizes that you’re not going to answer him, incapable of coherent thought, he kisses you, taking your breath away completely. You yelp against his mouth, eyes widening as you stiffen, still with your skirts pressed against your chest by your shaking hands, but when you feel a hot, wet tongue push against your lips you obey and part them. And when Calcazar’s insisting muscle finds yours, forcing a whimper out of you, that’s when your eyelids begin feeling heavy with desire. Something you cannot resist, something you don’t want to resist.

Letting out a strangled moan against Xavier’s mouth you flinch when you hear a dull but loud thud on the floor by your feet. Then another and you flinch again, but then realize that he’s dropping items from his belt and you whine with anticipation. The grip of augmetic fingers on the back of your thigh lift it higher and you protest with a quiet mewl at the strain of your muscles that obey him with soreness at your hip.

“Shh, quiet.” The Inquisitor whispers, breaking the kiss and brushing his wet lips against yours before he rises your leg even higher and your knee almost touches your chest and the skirts there.

After you part your heavy eyelids you are met with a hungry kind of glint in his eyes, but then you wince slightly because the forceful position he’s put you in makes your tendons pull painfully. The increasing sore tension urges you to adjust your body, to find relief and so you turn slightly, pressing your right side to the wall and a palm too, for balance. Your skirts remain pinned to your chest, albeit by one hand only and they partially drape down, yet cover nothing. “Inquisitor Lord, I-“

“I said be quiet.” He responds, cutting whatever it was that you wanted to say and you bite down on your bottom lip to prevent any more words escaping that are clearly unwelcome and unneeded.

When Calcazar press your knee to your shoulder, painfully so, you swallow another whimper, then forget your discomfort entirely when at last you notice what his other hand is doing. With a swift, practiced motion the Inquisitor moves his hand under the cloth covering his groin, and the rustling of both new and torn purity seals is brief, before you witness Calcazar throw the fabric slightly to the side with a flick of his wrist, and reveal to you his hard cock in full. Even though he’s grasping the base of it with his armored hand, you still see the size of it, the bulging vein that snakes to the tip and the color of red eagerness.

Your eyes widen and your mouth moves but no words come out. When Calcazar notices this he smirks, interpreting your stunned silence as an unspoken compliment and he strokes his shaft slowly, teasingly. “You were right about the servant, posing as a gardener.” He speaks as if nothing else is happening and you two are just having a polite conversation. Yet he relishes in how your eyes follow the strokes of his hand, unabashedly carnal and eager. “Missing details like this can be fatal. I hope you learned this lesson and have taken it to heart.”

“Yes, yes.” You nod once, very slightly and lick your lips without even knowing you’re doing it.

“Good. Maybe you can indeed serve the Inquisition.” He moves closer and while you watch him with obedient need, Calcazar switches his hands, grabbing your ankle that’s in the air with his non-augmetic hand and pressing his mechanical one next to you against the wall.

Then he looks down. “Move it.” Ordering you, the Inquisitor makes you scramble for a thought but thankfully you quickly understand that your panties are still in the way.

With a new and furious blush leaping onto your face you release the skirts, letting them drop completely. They would cover your from him if not for your thigh still pinning them to your chest, and you move trembling fingers to your undergarment but pull the middle aside without hesitation, revealing the most intimate part of yourself to Calcazar’s eyes.

You hear him exhale slowly as he takes in your exposed body, as he sees the wetness that is enticing him to plunge his cock into, the folds that have plumped up with your arousal and how parted they are because of the position Calcazar has suspended you in. “God-Emperor…” He mutters to himself and moves himself closer, nudging the soaking opening with the tip of his cock. You whimper as you watch and chew on your bottom lip. Now, you want it now, why doesn’t he hurry up, why-

Before your lustful prayer even comes close to the end in your mind, Calcazar clenches his jaw and thrusts into you, watching his entire length disappear inside of you with slick ease. You cry out with a whine, struggling with the size of him, your body protesting in a painful ache that follows the stretch of your pussy around him. But before you can make another pitiful moan, Xavier steadies himself on his feet and moves the mechanical arm swiftly, covering your mouth with the palm of it.

“I said be quiet, didn’t I.” He pauses, glances down to where his cock twitches at the eagerness of friction and then looks back into your eyes, allowing himself a small smirk. “I haven’t even started yet, Governor.”

You whimper against the metal, but it has shut you up sufficiently enough that you can’t open your mouth and with a pleading look you try to beg for him to start slow, to let you adjust. But if you were hoping that the Inquisitor is at all concerned with your comfort then you are reminded the harsh truth by the way he begins thrusting.

Without a delay Calcazar begins moving his hips, snapping them against you in precise, hard moves and he groans when first few such pumps give him the satisfaction he was looking for. The Inquisitorial rosette from his wrist swings faster as he increases the rhythm, making your eyes water while your body struggles with the sudden insertion and harsh pounding, but you grow more aroused as well. You’ve never been fucked like this, but quickly realize that you enjoy it.

Maybe it’s the danger and power combined, maybe it’s because Xavier is a first man in your life to treat you like this, maybe it’s both or maybe even neither. You don’t have the luxury to ponder upon why you’re enjoying this as much as you are despite the discomfort, the soreness and the sharp pain that pierces you every time the Inquisitor sheathes himself into you to the root. You just moan behind your lips that are still pressed closed by the augmetic hand.

And then you look at his face, noticing sweat pebbling his brow, the parted lips behind which his teeth are clenched, groans coming out with restrain and effort to keep himself as quiet as he’s keeping you. Yet Calcazar’s eyes are not on your face, but on his cock, thrusting into you fast and hard like he’s chasing his relief before possibly thinking better of what he’s doing. With another painfully deep shove of his cock you yelp and your eyes roll to the back of your skull when sweet relief of him pulling back wipes out any coherent thought.

And still you don’t want him to stop, not right now. Your entire body begins to tense when pleasure begins washing over you in waves of promised relief. And the Inquisitor senses it by how your cunt clenches around him, wet heat of your body straining against his intrusion and unrelenting friction. He groans louder, seeing your arousal not only ease his thrusts, but also leaking down the inner thigh of the leg that is shaking from needing to hold up your whole bodyweight like this. Calcazar’s fingers grip your ankle harder, bruising it beneath the fabric of your heel but you barely notice the pain, whining into the mechanical palm that is unrelenting.

For a moment Xavier glances at you, noticing the sweat that is beading your skin and dampening your hair at the temples, but your closed eyes and your hand, still holding your panties to the side, now tremble with pleasure rather than strain. Your body is warning the Inquisitor of how close you are to your climax and he realizes you might come even before he does.

With a swear on his lips, Calcazar looks down again, relishing the view of his cock penetrating you, fast and thick as he makes your body fully yield to the pleasure at last and your moans become louder but thankfully not dangerously so, not enough to become a risk to be overheard by someone who would not survive attaining such knowledge, no matter how accidentally. A choked moan gets stuck in his throat when you tighten around him even further.

And you know you’re close. So damn close. Your closed eyelids part again just enough for you to see how Xavier is focused on one thing and one thing only. Somehow it makes it all more satisfying and you try to gasp for air, your nose not providing enough of it even if your corset is restricting the intake of air as is. Your head swims, your body shakes, your muscles become taunt and the wave of heat that you tried to forestall until now comes crashing down against your will. You don’t make a sound, stopping breathing completely as your back arches, as your shoulder leans painfully into the wall and your sweaty fingers leave streaks upon it while your entire form spasms with climax.

Thrusts, still so deep but no longer painful, only amplify the pleasure and the satisfaction, making you nearly rip at your underwear where your fingers are still hooked because as your orgasm begins to fade another one hits almost immediately and this time you whine, your throat working both with your cries at the attempt to swallow them back down.

Xavier notices how you climax around him again and he can’t hold back anymore. He wanted this to last a little longer, to enjoy the warmth of a woman’s body for at least a few more minutes, but how you tremble and shake, how he sees only the whites of your eyes through the parted eyelashes, how you struggle with your moans and breaths… It undoes Calcazar in a matter of seconds.

With a blissful moan of his own, the Inquisitor has to restrain himself from closing his own eyes, just so that he can watch his thrusts become erratic. Two, three times, just before it all comes to an overwhelming explosion of pleasure. Another moan and he moves slower but with his thrusts still hard while he empties himself completely inside of you, letting your still spasming body milk him of everything that he can offer. And when Xavier sees his cum beginning to seep out of you and around his cock is when he finally lets his eyelids drop and his hips slow into stillness.

Panting and with ripples of his climax still washing over his entire body in a relaxing bliss, the Inquisitor remains as he is for a moment longer, only hearing your strained gasps for air. Reminding himself of your predicament, Xavier removes the metal grip from your mouth and looks through strands of hair that have fallen over his face when he lowered it in exhaustion. Sweat beads are trickling down his temple, making greying hair there damp before it drips down his face.

You don’t look much better, your skin damp and glistening from the exertion he put both of you through. Able to breathe freely now you inhale air greedily, gulping it down as if you were drowning just moments ago, but that’s not far from the truth. It felt like you nearly lost your mind when your orgasm overtook your sanity and reduced you to something made out of pure, pulsing pleasure.

For a moment you hold his eyes, then the Inquisitor uses his metal hand to swipe the palm of it over his slightly disheveled hair and then he pulls back, not avoiding to look how his cum drips out of you and onto the floor below. You look downwards as well and if your face wasn’t flushed already, you would blush fiercely at the view of the state he just left you in.

He releases your ankle now and you lower it carefully, your body reminding you of the strain it has been put through with soreness and agonizing tension of tendons, but you finally stand with both feet on the floor and the skirts cover your legs completely, hiding even the mess on the floor. You feel thick wetness beginning to smear your inner thighs and you clear your throat, not even sure of what to say.

Xavier, on his part, swiftly steps back and tucks himself away, behind the cloth with purity seals. A sound of a zipper that you somehow didn’t hear at all the first time and then he bends down, picking up his items. You bend down too, helping him, and sweat rolls down your nose, dropping from the tip of it. You need a bath, a long one and that’s what you try to focus on while you awkwardly try to help the Inquisitor affix his belongings back to his armor.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten your promise.” He suddenly says in the quiet of the room and your eyes snap to him, watching that regal face that is less than harsh now, but rather awash with relaxation and contentment.

You in fact have forgotten. Your mind is full only of flashes of what has just transpired between you and the Inquisitor Lord. “Promise..?” You ask carefully and Xavier rises an eyebrow, this time very clearly amused.

“I’m flattered to have managed to scramble your brain so thoroughly, but yes, the promise. You will report back to me before you report to the rogue trader. Is that understood?” Calcazar finishes fixing himself up by clasping the sand timer to some mechanism on the front of his waist and you nod.

“Yes, the promise.” You swallow, trying to gather your brain that is truly scattered, most likely boosting his ego, but you don’t care for that. “I will, Inquisitor Lord.” Pausing, you swallow again, your throat feeling parched. “I will report to you before the rogue trader.”

“Good.” He simply says and when you think he’s about to turn and leave you, ruffled up and sticky, he pauses, then eyes you whole with eyes lingering on your still rapidly rising chest and squished-together breasts beneath the corset. Then he gives you another smile. “I’ll send an agent to establish a secret channel for us to communicate. Until next time, Governor.”

And that is all he says before turning and walking away, heavy thuds of his power armor boots filling the room entirely until the door opens and then closes behind him.

Left alone, you linger where you are for a moment longer, then drag yourself to the desk and throw yourself into the armchair, relaxing into it until your entire body is limp and throbbing with soreness and echoes of your orgasms. As you lean your head back with your eyes closed and try to catch your breath at last, you think of his words.

And then your eyes snap back open, realization dawning upon you. Until next time, he said. You hear the words clearly in the chamber of your mind and then it loops again. Until next time.

Your panties are uncomfortably wet as your body begins to cool down from the exercise, but you don’t know if it’s because of a little ‘gift’ he left you with or from arousal, washing over you anew.

Until next time.

There will be a next time.

You exhale slowly and let your eyes close again.

And then you smile.