#mariamor

Forrix before:

You're nothing without me. Be grateful that I'm shaping you as I see fit. You're crying from this little? Cmon, you can do better than that. Be a good little toy and maybe you'll be able to sap a fraction of my stamina away from me. My pathetic little [insert gender]. You want to be a whore for me? Never say that again, whores are meant to be a one time affair. You're something much preferable, because you are mine. Permanently.

Forrix after:

The next moment he knew, his face was but a grinding chair for his woman to use. He couldn't release or divert the waves of increasingly straining arousal anywhere, for he might just break her fingers if he did. And so, with no way out, all he could do was to groan and mouth into her, sucking away every bit of slick she'd produced whilst not recieving. Hoping to his own will that he'll remain strong while her thighs attempted to squeeze the life out of the sides of his face. Oh, he could taste the sheer wanton lust in her, the yearning for him finally having been quenched. He could taste how much she was trying her best to ignore his Astartes presence, even when she'd already numbed that part of her mind with psychic defenses.

Your face crushed, your cheeks torn, your skull cracked. I get to eat every bit of grey matter off your pooling head. I get to obtain every thought you ever uttered, every experience you went through, everything you've ever felt. I could spend hours savoring each burst of data while your body is still twitching, still aching. It must be the nerves. I'll gather a combat knife and try to cut away your sympathic nerve system. The signals are to be expected; riddled with stress hormones at my earlier onslaught at your brand marks. You don't deserve to live with them. You don't deserve to cry with them, to feel any emotion with them. So I made the information, the sheer pain my own.

Ah, it's a terrible sight to see you in so much pain because of me, Amaya. I would make your death quick though. You deserve to rest inside me. You will also never leave me this way. Ah, each bite of memory would feel so good to digest, you would never be alone again, no one would ever have you, my weakness would be deep inside me once more, every last drop of blood would belong to

Chains of what seemed like polished iron, around the length of an Astartes' armspan rattled slightly, muffled by the myriads of ever softer plastcloth softening the double bunk of a bed. The first captains consort was quite pragmatic at creating comfort in a place where barely any was to be found by the Legion's ethos' design. Forrix had never dreamed of a day where he would be willing to get cuffed behind his back, but his woman's offer was too enticing not to at least try out. She'd made sure to let him know that the chains pressing against the crease of his back were easy enough to break for a baseline and that he would have the right to make her stop whenever, for whatever reason. Indeed, the true restraint was rather the exchange of control - she could touch him wherever she wanted, how she wanted while he would need to hold still. Not give in to the need to be in control. Not tonight.

"Kydomor..." crept Amayas voice, weathered by age but still sweet and sultry at the same time. Planting a kiss on his jawline, the short beard he hadn't had time to shave off during the just finished campaign tickling her lush, two-tone lips. He didn't say anything, for he knew how overpowering his voice alone could be if not carefully softened. "Do you know how much I need you to...to roam your hands all around me?" He looked away and was about to turn his head when Amaya went to hold the sides of his face firm and steady. He would not escape her wiles, not if he didn't want to perceive himself as even weaker to her than he could allow to admit. Those lips of hers barely brushed against his, trailing off onto the crease of his left dimple. "Oh, how much I missed to have your skin nearly burn me..." She smiled, breath ragged already as if she'd need him to take the lead right now. But he knew better. This was all an act. Or at least she was highly exaggerating his effect on her.

Just slightly scratching the barely grown hair on his jawline, she went on to suck slightly on his adam's apple, giving out a low moan that vibrated directly into Forrix' vocal cords. Even his voice was capable of being silenced by her... "You're beautiful when offering yourself like this." Damn this woman, damn her to the nearest warp storm. He would definitely have her pinned in somewhere if it weren't for these chains. 'Stop playing with my mind as if it were a harp', he tried to deny himself of the gratitude he felt at her compliment as he swallowed those same words down. "You may look quite good with a beard, my angel." Amaya hushed onto his sternum, finally dragging the tips of his fingers down Forrix' cheek, the sides of his neck, the outline of his collarbone.

The harp comparison came in to haunt him as each touch started to reverberate inside him like she was merely getting used to the intimidating instrument. But once it - he - started to sing just right... "I wonder if it'll grow dark and curly, just like your chest..." No longer a kiss, she simply rubbed her cheek against the fuzzy crease of his considerable pectorals. The twin hearts played a simple polyrythm that was nothing short of mesmerizing to feel. "You're beautiful..." she muttered again, her face heating up from the plenty of warmth Forrix gave out. Wrong, thought Forrix. It was her who was the beauty, no matter how tarnished by the abuse he overlooked in his hubris she was. She was the one who could make miracles happen he was yet to be able to understand in its entirety. She shall be the target of aesthetic admiration, not him. And yet, he again said nothing. He would not even allow himself a slight rattle indicating his strain. This wasn't about desire, but about proving that he could control himself around her, no matter how tempting she shall be. He was not to be played with...

Forrix couldn't hold back the gasp building in his throat when Amaya moved further still, hands on his flanks, breath directly below his chest, where the most elaborate neural port lay. The entry into the core of his black carapace, forming a second limbic system was under assault by a softness it's never felt before... "I'm so glad," said Amaya in-between kisses of the brass colored ring. "so glad you plugged them for me~" Without further warning, pulses of stimulation added to the sensation of her lips as she started to lick and suck around the port itself, the slight metallic taste in her mouth doing little to dissuade her. And so, for the first time, she heard Forrix' chains rattle.

The magnificence of her microscopic curls did no longer block the lights as they tickled his chest. It's been groomed to be especially soft and voluminous today, thought Forrix, taking in the mixture of the hair products lingering, the oil worked into her scalp and her natural scent. It was enough to calm his mind down somewhat; why would she essentially enhance her beauty for this one night if she didn't have none but good intentions in mind? He relaxed, just a little and let the swirls of Amayas tongue play the sensitive nerve bundles make him breathe heavier. "Cleaned and plugged them just for me." She whispered, right into the entry of his neural port. Forrix' chains rattled again. "Standard.... standard hygienic procedures when we're around..." As soon as she left that neural port, her lips were on another, right on the bulk his pectorals were only slightly standing out.

_________________________________________

It must've been close to half an hour, thought Forrix, but just barely. The vixen on top of him hadn't released him from his chains still, and she continued to run her hands and lips throughout the front of his entire body - except the center of his pelvic area. His cock. He was definitely squirming, lightly rolling his hips just to feel some light sense of his balls swaying, his tip leaking somewhere else except the same pathway, his shaft pulsing in agonizing anticipation. At this moment she was working his thighs, those she didn't chain. And just as expected, sweet, rule-abiding Kydomor would not just use the power of his legs to loophole himself into taking over. The chains would've been in the way, and they were a mere physical symbol of the pride he took in obeying just before they began. His heavy panting threatened to spill into a low moan, but it never quite got there. "Do you wish to have my mouth take care of you? Your cock looks painfully tense." Amayas sweet smile certainly evolved into a haze and a smirk. Perhaps it was time that she played this instrument of war for real.

"Hmph." He was still able to both control his mind from taking over right then and there, and his body from release. Yes. he could do both, and her trials of seduction will only prove that he will... His thoughts were abruptly paused when he felt those same soft lips on the slight curve of his shaft. "You should answer me, Kydomor. Who knows how long I'll be able to keep this up?" "Tch." Quiet, thought Forrix, no longer able to look at Amaya without being reminded of his pride by the chains rattling. Damn those chains, there was no escape if he was to keep his dignity in front of himself and her. Besides, she seemed to have quite a bit of fun running her nails around his base, laughing softly whenever his cock jumped towards his stomach once more. Maybe just one look may determine on whether he'd be allowed to keep both the dignity over his body and his mind. He was careful and timid if he had to be, but he was not a coward. He would win this game. He would...

As if Amaya had waited for this one moment, she quickly took his cock in her hands, licking up the remaining length up to his tip before letting her tongue dance on it. One sucking motion, and more precum would leak into her mouth. He was ripe to get emptied by her.

Taking as much of it in her mouth as she could without taking it in her throat, the combined fluids were soon too much to take in, even when she wasn't deepthroating him - he simply was too thick. She'd wondered whether Forrix would actually buck his hips into her should he come. And Forrix realized that he could not keep the promise of keeping himself from climax. With all his will, he refrained from bucking into her for if he did, he might as well break those chains and rut into her until she couldn't take it anymore. No, not tonight. Having her scream and ache and gag for him in sheer discomfort on how she wasn't exactly made for an astartes sized cock was certainly pleasurable. However, how she just looked when she attempted to carefully swallow each drop, how her mouth tightened to ease him into releasing his load, how she acted as if his cum was a treat worth savoring.

Oh this woman will be the end of me, thought Forrix, and he seemed to mind this a lot less than just a few minutes before. "Nnh... so much..." Amaya swallowed again when she finally moved away from his cock. "That's... that's nothing..." breathed the unmade angel under the iron skull. "You still have more for me?" feigned Amaya, a single look at his balls telling her everything she needed to know. This time, he was reaching out to her, needing to remind her just how much sexual stamina he had. The rattle didn't stop him, but the tug did. Blood of Olympia, he'd almost broken them, he cursed to himself... One smaller, less calloused hand was interlacing itself on Forrix' and he looked up to see that in the time he allowed himself to close his eyes, that Amaya had shifted to have her pussy hover just over his face, panting.

"I shall have my fill as well, my angel..."

The next moment he knew, his face was but a grinding chair for his woman to use. He couldn't release or divert the waves of increasingly straining arousal anywhere, for he might just break her fingers if he did. And so, with no way out, all he could do was to groan and mouth into her, sucking away every bit of slick she'd produced whilst not recieving. Hoping to his own will that he'll remain strong while her thighs attempted to squeeze the life out of the sides of his face. Oh, he could taste the sheer wanton lust in her, the yearning for him finally having been quenched. He could taste how much she was trying her best to ignore his Astartes presence, even when she'd already numbed that part of her mind with psychic defenses.

He cursed himself, openly though muffled it may be for not just grabbing her firm ass and having her thighs trapped, not letting go of her until she came. He could make her finish so much faster than she did at this rate... he could do it better. He would do it better. She hasn't even lost control once... faulty, faulty, faulty, his mind ran as his cock sprang back to life over the next few minutes. She still did not change her angle, or give off more desperate noises, or anything more intense; the same steady low moans. Why was she going so far and tortured herself along with him? He needed to correct this. He needed to, for her sake. He... then finally realized that climax was not her end goal, at least not primarily. Her grinding slow, barely tending to her clit, her focus more on the pressure her thighs exuded and her thumbs caressing the palms of his larger hands. For whatever reason, she was savoring this too. "Do you know... can you... taste... how much I want you?" He could figure, and it drove him crazy, and now he had no way to communicate this either.

_________________________________________

Forrix felt something dry scrub his face, nay, his body, the little nubs of cloth unable to hide Amaya's warmth... and he moaned out in regained stimulation. No longer did his body resist, no longer did any part of his mind desire to think for itself. He felt empty, but in a way that wasn't familiar to him at all. Victory was achieved in a state of relative control, defeat in the dissolvement of said control. And even though he lay defeated, sensitive and vulnerable, he did not feel the shame and rage that came with it. And this time he did not completely dissolve and turn back to his pubescent self. He was at the complete mercy of this woman, the lights reflecting her silhouette even more on her dark skin now that it was damp.

"Kydomor..." cooed Amaya, having one forearm leaned on his chest, so her free hand could trace the definition of his arm. He could feel the grool run down her inner thighs, right to his sides. It was wasted there, why wouldn't she let him lap up more? "... hold yourself back some more, won't you?" He's been past the point of caring about anything but not breaking the chains. He practically surrendered a while ago already, so what else would she desire from him? "No." He could see his woman steel herself to get flipped around, manhandled, perhaps pushed around. What he usually did whenever he came back to the Iron Blood and his chemical household was still geared towards active combat. But all he did was to ease into her light touch, groaning at the attention. "I'm not.... ah.... restraining anymore... I'll keep my hands of - ah - to the very end. Until you're done with me." The amused mixture of a low moan and a purr could've crushed him where the body weight of his woman could not. The same towel was thrown back to his face, and she adjusted it so his mouth would be almost free to breathe in fresh air where his nose would smell nothing but her arousal. He could practically taste her again, and by Olympia, he wanted to. But nothing he could do to bring her to have him eat her out, or anything really was as satisfying as when she so clearly showed her want for him. Literally shoved in his face. He was reveling in the fresh memory when he felt that same cunt envelop itself around his ever-twitching cock. No, no thrusting. He'll do nothing but receive. Nothing but receive...

_________________________________________

Cradling the limp woman in his mighty arms, Forrix returned to their hab cell with her in nothing but loincloths. Their home. She was his now - as she was before, but this first night of actually having his desires fulfilled gave it a quality he could not find words for. Not the ones that were in line with the cultural norms of the IVth Legion anyway.

She was his and his alone... he'd never let her go now, for she would've been nothing without him on this fleet. Based on the accounts of Aaron, the boy who indirectly brought the three of them together by being her, well, their son, Amaya had not been this shell of a person before they were forced into the shuttles and away from their home planet. By Olympia, he would restore her and then keep her as his masterpiece. He'd already painted the first strokes on her brand marks with his teeth. Forced her into looking at her own reflection with the light marks now highly reddened by his biting. He would make her ease around him entirely, for she deserved it. He would arrange a mission joined by a delegation of Thousand Sons, so they would examine the psychic blocks that were enacted on her.

She was utterly his, even if she did not wish to have sex with him, even if their relationship wouldn't be the one he'd hope for. For he could force her to do many things, but if he forced her to get as close as he wanted, her restoration would be ruined, her behavior fake and laced with terror and he would've been not one bit better than those who abused him oh so long ago. And so, he sat down on his, their bed, her side to the wall well covered in cushioning nanocloth and placed her down securely. The warmth stolen from her by the water wasn't returning as the rate Forrix would've wished for. "I do not love you." said Forrix with a gaze so contradicting, it would've confused his woman if she weren't regularly dozing off already. He could feel his lips getting fuller, his entire front having this strange tenseness again that nevertheless felt oddly pleasant. Amaya looked beautiful. Completely exhausted by his doing. He hoped she would take the lessons learned to heart though and not just leave them when his marks and bruises will.

Snuggling up to her, his back was towards the door this one night. A catastrophic oversight, weren't it for Forrix' duties and ethos to be far, far away from what feelings and desires he allowed himself to act on. He would protect her, as he did for the past months, and if he died doing so. Her cold felt good on his chest, his right arm pulling her closer to him. They would sleep facing each other this time, and Forrix did not understand anymore why he held himself back with his more tender feelings. She can have them all. And he'll take hers in return. Beneficial to deal with concepts he couldn't define, only draw comparisons to.

Amaya then slurred out something in her native tongue he had no linguistic reference point to, her gaze barely able to hold him in her slowly flickering view. Was something inside of her hurting? Had he been too rough with her after all? "I would never dare to love you." he whispered, just slightly letting himself indulge by placing one of Amayas hands on one of his pectorals. Love was manipulation. Love was abuse. A tool to make people do as you say down to the most shameful acts. He needed the touch, for it soothed him, satisfied the parts of him he'd left on the road for decades. Even the everlasting tension in his fused ribcage seemed to lessen at this close a presence. And he did not understand why.

-

Dull aches seemed to try and penetrate each muscle of her throat, her hips and her thighs when Amaya woke. Then, the points where she knew her brand marks were ached differently, less like a rash or a ticklish feeling and more like she'd been extensively bruised. In other words, she was sore from probably the wildest night she'd ever had with a man. Seeing Forrix' face in front of her - a first as he told her he usually faced the door in case of an emergency - made her strangely confident in what otherwise would've been a morning of suppression and shame. So much had happened in just a single night... she was overpowered by him, and that somehow grounded her. She never thought that pain and surpression in the right places could actually make her feel better. Or that she didn't laugh at him and kick him in the ribs for attempting to court her so aggressively. But that was when she was still free, at home, with her family. She now seriously wondered if she would've ever given someone like Forrix a chance, were he from her village and not the right hand in the scariest formation of warriors she'd ever encountered. This choice was no more, for one of these warrior's bolt had answered for her.

Yes, within the warmth she felt on Forrix' chest having bloomed within her the sinking guilt poisoned the lightness. Desta would have been alive were it not for Forrix' order to restock at all costs. So why in Samson's name would she develop such an intimate quality to her attachment for the First Captain? It felt like she had cheated her husband with a slaver. The more she thought about it, the more she could feel her sore throat tightening and her eyes get ready to empty their tear canals. And yet, yet Forrix actually was hunting down those that relished in her planetsmen's suffering. She didn't choose any of this, not until Forrix made her start to again. Wasn't he the only option she still had for happiness on this ship of endless metal? Did he ever regret the atrocities and oversights that led to her torment he enacted? She knew that he didn't exactly enjoy treating people like tools, but rather that it was the most pragmatic way to get things done. And now, after this night, where he forced her into a speck of confidence, she was thinking clearly. Never would she have chosen this life, never. And yet, the one who could've done anything to her - and she'd take it with the gratitude that at least it would be by a being she wouldn't have called human just a year ago - did so much in his power to make her comfortable in her own skin, her mind, her body. Even if it was just to have her comply for his interrogations at first, he didn't act like a slaver. He was, and yet he was not, and this duality was confusing her to no end.

She was barely up, yet Forrix still laid with his head lolled beside her, one hand on his own chest, his usually tidy sand hair partly obscuring his shut eyes. There have been few people who have ever seen him without his body glove extended to encompass all but his face, and thus with the knowledge that the color of his brows did not match that of his hair. But even then he always emulated some resemblance of his body glove with a head scarf holding it all together. His breath blew just over whatever towel he had spun around her head, which upon closer thought felt a little damp. He looked so... human. Kydomor Forrix, the Breaker, logistics of mass slaughter's cold-blooded master was a mere man sleeping, and this impossible sight was hers to soak in like the brightening of the daylights. She oh so dearly did not want to disturb this moment, for it was as delicate as the paint on a butterfly's wings. But at the same time, maybe she could place her hand on the one on his chest. He was clearly emulating something like tender touch anyways, even if it happened to be subconscious. Just as her index finger brushed on one of his knuckles, his eyes opened.

She could see it's cold blue taking a few seconds to stop squinting before they looked down and his stare blurred into an unreadable gaze she could nevertheless feel consuming her from her hand onwards. He gave a long exhale and just kept gazing at their hands. "Kydomor?" His gaze was too intense for her to keep looking at him, which was quite hard considering how much space he visually took. To spare herself the hard decision between asking to snuggle up to him, having him explain himself for last night's declaration or letting him go to not have some arm of his extensive supply lines collapse. "Get up." said Forrix in a soft, sleepy tone that didn't instill the smallest instinct of obeying. Of course she hesitated, as it had become quite a habit of hers to sleep long into having realized that the First Captain was gone on duty. But also because she didn't know what to make of him; how he thought of her, if he perhaps even saw a lover in her but was only taught slaver's relationships so he had to retract it. But Forrix will not have it, grabbing her by her shoulder and waist to have her on top of him as he stood up. There was no chance for Amaya to do anything but wrap her thighs around him to not have her legs dangling. She still tried to look away, see some form of focal point that wasn't Forrix, but his gaze drew her in a way she hadn't experienced for close to half a decade. Wasn't it wrong to turn over a new leaf with him, second in command of the system that allowed this level of oppression to run rampant of all people?

He let her upper back lean on a wall so he could remove one hand and place it behind her head. And Amaya didn't protest, at least not on the outside. Forrix' gaze deepened as he almost bridged the gap between their lips. It couldn't be more obvious if he tried, but it also verified that he indeed never imposed the entirety of his authority onto her, only enough as to make her compliant to the interrogations, only enough to make her eat, make her sleep, have her help her on her feet. And all this time, she'd feared for the worst because before, the worst had always happened - threads in her soles and hand palms, corporal punishments, being used as testing leather, friends dead because she had dared in the beginning to speak up against their othering by these pointed starred overseers.

She saw it clearly now, void of most of the adrenaline and extreme feelings last night when she came to the same conclusion. And that was when his lips matched hers, his thumb stroking one of her bruised brandmarks. The pain still lingered, and it felt wonderful. Reassuring. Perhaps Desta would forgive her for letting go. For turning over a new leaf.

It was neither heated nor was it exactly chaste; slow and mostly dry, save for the few times Amaya had opened her mouth too wide which wet his lips. Again, this kiss wasn't exactly a good one, but his hold on her, the lazy strain on his hums and purrs, how gentle he was this time made her melt onto his lips regardless. Desta phased in and out of her thoughts during all of this, but that bothered her less and less. After all, who said that she couldn't love two men at the same time?

Love... such a vague word eliciting the widest of reactions across all of mankind. Fear of the pursuit, disgust at the attraction, eternal mourning of a passed one. The mere word was able to sway people into the deepest depths of hell, for like all other language, it encompassed a concept hard to grasp in its entirety. Ripe for exploitation. The tiniest miscalculation of the other's woes, rational or not may spell doom for this ficklest of relationships... or worse, codependency and abuse until one or both lay dead in the other's eyes. And Forrix will not have it. This woman will live, she will be as close to being whole again as he could manage whilst still performing as a First Captain and the longest lasting of the Trident should. And Amaya? She will see to it where the direction of their relations is headed, though the image of her mind seemed to flicker between him and Desta. Not a complete replacement for nothing was the same, not even her and her son. A new beginning, adapted, safe from the perils of the underdecks Forrix would expunge.

He eventually had to let go of her, gently placing her down to turn to his table, screwdriving the disk like neural enhancements onto the metallic surface on where his ears once were. He would be on duty soon, and Amaya held a hand on her lips as if she had been kissed for the first time, slumping down as reality took its time to come back into her experience. Who knew that an Iron Warrior could be so tender, treat other people so delicately? And him, of all people?

"I will return to you at nightfall, safe for a boarding emergency." said Forrix, with the same softness of before. His voice actually felt warming to her.

"I wish to simply embrace you by then. Rest, and wait for me to return."

_________________________________________

Amaya pretty much aggressive painsubbing for Forrix to get him to let go of his iron will for once, even if sometimes she wished sex could be more normal (she only learns during their relationship that Astartes do have some significant psychological differences from baselines)

Forrix secretly being a lot more interested in slow, sensual sex without the crazy hormones but taking a long time to use her to regulate whatever cocktail of battle driven chemicals is still affecting him. Also Amayas inflicted pain does satisfy his darker urges even though he hates himself for this. He wishes that he was vanilla af and blames his tilt towards sadism to having been abused heavy as a child and dominant and possessive tendencies to... well, being an Iron Warrior. After all, iron doesn't bend, it bends other things. (or at least, it shouldn't)

One day they'll get their night where nothing really hurts from size difference, emotion etc. and that will be the greatest they'd ever had. Not a lecture, not a drill, not an instruction, demonstration, plea or playful taunt. All of these will be continued of course, they won't suddenly lose their kinkiness.

But on that night, their sex will be a conversation equally filled by both from start to finish. To be honest, sex wouldn't even be at the forefront... it kind of never was for Forrix at least. Sex holds a lot more symbolism to him than any wanton desires, and if these are fulfilled, that's where he feels the best.

Amaya begging him to have her throat under the mercy of his forearm? He holds what could very well be her last breath, that breath belongs to him and she is devout enough to offer it to him, knowing that she will suffer just a little for him. She's being so desperate to please what he cannot control, and though he despises the violent thoughts in his head, he silently admires her catering to them even if he needs to be convinced to quite a few times.

Amaya going so far to actually touch and caress his whole body, even if it takes quite a bit of time? She's clearly trying to soothe the more alert instincts of his, and also, she would actually, genuinely want to be near his body without just taking it as her plaything. He needs to hear her plead for it as if she couldn't live without running her hands throughout, and he wants her to be slow and meaningful in every movement. She lied about enjoying it once, and he caught on to it quickly, being pretty cold to her for the next few weeks (he's still a son of Perturabo.) It took... a while til Forrix trusted her enough to fucking tell him when she doesn't want to fuck him and tries to do him a favor.

Hell, hell take a conversation about the origins of their respective cultures and what phrases are best suited while cuddling over sex like 90% of the time when he isn't super mega stressed. Unfortunately, he only gets less stressed when garrisoning Olympia and the need for frustration release lowers significantly, so... decades into their relationship. Meanwhile Amaya learns to not completely disregard her physical safety for Forrix' pleasure (he needed to hold back the Lovesick Blight AND her encouraging said Lovesick Blight back when it wasn't obvious that it's a geneflaw so there were hardly any real sex injuries except the one time he broke her ribcage lololololol). And that Forrix values intellectual intimacy over sexual release by orders of magnitude... and sometimes is also having sex more to please her or mechanical needs than any actual want from himself.

With time, the aftercare becomes longer, more extensive and much more speech involved - mostly Forrix talking since Amayas most likely done. He doesn't exactly abandon being kinky, buuuut he did change from a more physical approach to a more word-based one, blunt force rarely used unless she's earned this very treatment. Still enjoys her crying - out of joy, overstimulation, shame, physical hurt. Still enjoys her struggling to take his treatment (verbally it's her trying to not sob in front of him when he mocks and bullies her during kink stuff). All that emotion he induced in her. All of it - expressions made just for him. Pathetic, desperate, hopeful, loving, wanton, completely gone, happy, drunk on him... they're all his doing. She's expressing the exact kind of emotions he has as well, except in his mind, his emotions are ugly and barely worth the consideration for mental health while hers, hers are beauty personified.

She looks so good when he could see the red tint on her very dark skin baseline men couldn't hope to ever perceive when she could barely look at him from having cried so much.

She looks so good when her iris, black like the void already threatened to swallow the white around just because Forrix read her one of the less violent excerpts from his notebook while having her on his lap.

She looks so good when she's being a mother to her, no, now their son, making him just slightly (extremely) envious of the virility and fertility of her last husband. Olympia, he never thought that he ever wanted a child around, but she planted the idea that parents can be good to their children into his head, and now part of his fantasies he writes down involve her pregnant, breast feeding, playing with, teaching their biological child what she's been taught and perhaps smoothing out his sternness with her kindness.

In general, she looks so good when she's healthy, when she smiles, when she expresses the emotions that are hard to name when Forrix himself apparently expresses them.