Tags: WH40k, Female!CommissarxTrap!Psyker, femdom, oral:female, dubcon The room was cramped and stripped nearly bare apart from the essential faculties, even for a commissar; a desk, closet and bunk bed surrounded by claustrophobic metal walls. It wasn’t much, but her scent lingered on her personal effects. Damiene warily inspected the commissar’s quarters, the sheer thought of being in the same place where she sleeps and gets dressed… it was intoxicating to the boy, and he could feel himself getting excited beneath his oversized robe. It was intimate, just being in her personal quarters. Naturally, Damiene -- and the rest of the regiment -- was strictly forbidden from entering Vanja’s room, but despite his better judgment he was compelled to. He couldn’t explain it or justify it, but he was fascinated by her; the timbre in her voice when she gave orders, the scars from countless battles adorning her body, the way she’d briskly pat him on the back to comfort him after a particularly long day. He wanted to be nearer to her, but such intimacy was a luxury no one in the regiment could really afford. One can easily learn about another person just from the state of their personal quarters, and Vanja was no different. Even without tapping into his psychic abilities, Damiene could easily visualize her behaviors behind closed doors; her plainclothes and uniforms alike were strewn about the floor or the frame of her bed, sheets unmade, pillow turned sideways for hugging… Damiene couldn’t keep himself from smiling. He turned back to the doorway for a moment. It was shut, and the corridors outside were unusually quiet. As good an opportunity as any, he mused, trying to calm his own rapid heartbeat. He began to shed his heavy robe, revealing how ill-fitting it was on his shamefully feminine frame. If being a psyker wasn’t bad enough, his lithe, girlish body invited even more punishment from the guardsmen he’d been assigned with. His long, straight black hair brushed his shoulders as he disrobed, tickling him a little. He shuddered a bit at the sudden surge of cool air from the vent port against his tender skin, stiffening his nipples. This is wrong, he scolded himself as his hands began to idly stroke his body, Someone’s definitely going to find me. Yet he could not force himself to stop, dress himself again and bury the memory of this foolish, daring endeavor. Something caught the boy’s eye: perhaps in her indifference or unexpected haste, the commissar had left her underclothes in a careless pile on the floor. They were standard-issue, functional, grey garments. Not particularly flashy nor arousing, but they were hers and more importantly, they smelled like her. Damiene snatched them from the floor and inhaled deeply, sending little sparks coursing through his body and making him rigid. His free hand snuck down to his crotch to feel himself. He wasn’t very large, but he did enjoy heightened, sometimes debilitating sensitivity. His free hand began to move on its own, fingertips massaging himself between the legs, the combined sensations of her scent and his own gentle touch quickened his breath. His voice peaked involuntarily, and found himself calling out her name in particularly shameful fashion. A pitiful, breathless ‘Vanja, Vanja…!” echoed throughout the metal room. Soon both of Damiene’s hands were focused on his member, fingertips encouraging it to full length with a familiar, light grasp. He held the underwear between his lips, trying to taste her. His pace quickened, thoughts and visions of her strong, muscled body pressed against his, embracing him, playing with his-- “What are you doing in here?” A familiarly stern voice penetrated the metal walls, booming in the boy’s head. He turned, reflexively, though he already knew who awaited his response. Commissar Vanja of the 43rd Harkonian Regiment stood in the doorway, a hideous scowl on her face that exaggerated her scarred lip. The momentary silence that followed was thoroughly shattered by the thunderous footfalls of her boots as she strode towards the nude boy. “I-I was just--” Whatever pitiful excuse he might have had planned was almost immediately cut off. Vanja had taken him by the arm and swung his body against the metal wall perhaps harder than was necessary, resulting in a painful thud. The shock evacuated all the air from the boy’s lungs, leaving him gasping pitifully as she loomed over him. Her grip tightened, urging a response, but Damiene’s voice failed him. The only sound he could conjure up was a pitiful whimper, far from any kind of dignified response. The towering woman pushed him against the wall again with both hands, silently demanding an explanation. Her righteously indignant gaze bored a hole through the boy, although he never lifted his eyes off the floor to meet hers, as the monument to his sins still stood shamefully upright in his vision. He was beginning to tremble nervously, his words still lodged in his throat. The silence was filled by the sound of oncoming footsteps and low, idle chatter of a crowd of guardsmen filing down the hallway. The door had been left open a crack. She released the boy and went to close it, the sound of the lock snapping shut filling Damiene with dread. She turned to face the boy again with that familiar, menacing expression, circling back around until they were mere inches apart again, her hands placed firmly against the wall, trapping him in. “I’m still waiting.” The commissar’s tone was stern, but not entirely devoid of mercy. His throat burned and tears began to flow freely. Coupled with his thin, feminine frame, he appeared like a pitifully lost child and he knew it. Something about the sight softened the commissar’s fabled iron heart, thought she deigned to admit it -- the way he choked and sputtered on his words, trying to form a coherent apology for the fortieth time and failing again. Vanja cleared her throat, breaking the monotonous sounds of Damiene’s whimpering and sniffling. “One last chance. Answer me or I’ll have you discharged from my company.” The commissar spoke low, bringing out the huskiness of her voice for increased effect. “Or worse, I could put a bolt through your skull at a moment’s notice and file it under ‘insubordination.’” "N-No...! No, n-no, no...! Please d-don't, I'm s-sorry... I'm sorry...! C-Commissar... P-Please, I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry...! P-please don’t reassign me!" The words flowed from the boy in a graceless flurry. “I’ll do anything, I just want to s-stay here with you!” “And why should I let you?” She pressed on, finally gaining traction. “B-because… I…” His voice grew quiet with oncoming regret, until it was barely a whisper, “Because I l-love you, commissar.” He held his hands to his chest in some attempt to slow down his frenzied heartbeat and attempted to make eye contact despite his tears blurring his vision. Vanja was blushing slightly, her cybernetic eye staring back with intent as she processed the unceremonious confession. She wasn’t smiling like the boy had hoped, instead her visage slowly grew more grim. Disgusted, even. She slammed the wall with her palm and laughed boisterously, mockingly, causing the boy to flinch. “You love me?” She stepped back and turned away, scoffing indignantly. “Just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Moments passed in silence, neither very sure what to say next. Damiene had attempted to cover himself as best he could, though not daring to move to pick up his robe. Vanja pressed her fingers to her forehead, speaking into her palm, “That’s ridiculous.” “W-why? You’re so strong and c-care so much for me... And, and, a-and--” She struck the locker that served as her closet, silencing him again. “We’re soldiers, Damiene. We have no time for love.” Her voice had lost its derisive edge. It was somber, forlorn, regretful. Another pause. “Fine. If you truly mean it, then show me.” “Huh?” The woman had already begun undressing, shedding her iconic cap and coat, stowing them in her locker with an uncharacteristically gentle touch. Then her shirt came off, then her pants. She was left in a pair of similar gray underwear and her auburn hair in a tight ponytail. The scars that decorated her athletic form were on full display, each a souvenir of some vicious battle that she somehow survived. Damiene had always admired them, though. She approached him again with unwavering resolution burning in her eye. “Show me how you’d love me.” “I d-don’t…” “Show me how you’d fuck me.” Her hand slid down Damiene’s slicked, hairless chest until it found his still-erect member. “That’s an order.” There was no time for hesitation. He placed his hands on her as awkwardly as any human possibly could in an attempt to soften her up. The tension between them could have been cut with a knife, and Damiene’s entire body seized as he feared his Commissar’s reaction. What worried him even more was how little she reacted -- simply standing over him, looking down with a smug, expectant look. Something hard formed in his throat as he placed his fingertips against her stomach, making him panic a little. His body had become suffocatingly hot, whether by some failure in the craft’s life support systems or the situation itself, the heat had become nearly debilitating. Vanja impatiently took him by the wrists and placed them on her hips, hoping he’d pick up on her lead. The boy may have been naive -- gullible at times -- but not outright stupid. His touch moved down her sides until they reached the waistband of her underwear. He looked up again for her approval, but she made no indicative gesture. Instead she waited, expecting to administer some “physical encouragement” should he try her patience further. The boy swallowed, finally able to dispel the lump in his throat as he peeled the cloth from her thick, muscular thighs until they silently hit the ground around her ankles. Vanja was almost entirely bare before him, a noticeable tuft of similar red hair nestled between her legs. With the difference in their respective heights, the tip of his head barely reached her lips.Damiene was nearly slavering at the sight, her scent, her proximity. His body ached to be even closer despite his previous fears and her obvious disdain. “I’ll p-put it in now.” His voice shook as he took ahold of her hips again. Again, the woman deigned no response, inviting him to continue. The boy stood on his tip-toes with his heels against the wall in an attempt to gain as much height as possible, though his knees still threatened to give out from under him. Vanja pressed her hips forward against his, slowly taking more of his length inside, deeper between her legs. Damiene was breathing heavily already, trying his best to maintain any semblance of composure under her pressure. He slid further, closer until their bodies were pressed against each other. The boy could barely wrap his frail arms around the woman’s scarred and hardened torso, trying to maintain a grip to keep from slipping out. Vanja continued to observe as the boy attempted to ravage her as best he could -- which, as it turned out, was rather weak. “I can barely feel anything.” Her voice was low but her tone was sharp, like how she’d usually speak to a particularly insubordinate guardsman. “You’ll have to do much better than that.” She leaned forward with her forearm braced against the wall, her lower body rocking lightly in reaction to the boy’s spirited thrusting. The difference in height left the boy directly between her breasts, savoring their unusual warmth and softness in relation to the rest of her body. The boy smothered himself between them, pushing his hips further and harder into her despite the growing weakness in his knees. She must have been able to tell from his quivering, placing her hands on his ass to force him further into her. His limbs went limp in her embrace, finding the enveloping warmth of her powerful arms oddly comforting. Damiene’s entire body bounced in Vanja’s hold, lifting him up off the ground and pushing his hips against hers with very obvious impatience. The tightness of her walls sliding against his sensitive flesh brought him close to his peak, but could not find his sought-after release. She was using him, fucking herself with a pitifully-sized cock attached to a body that whined and cried too much. Damiene was a toy and little else. The boy groaned miserably, having been on the cusp of climax for so long. “C-can I cum yet, c-commissar?” Every word was a labor, interspersed with quick, shallow breaths. “P-please…” She did not respond. Vanja’s arms slacked, and Damiene slipped out, still twitching and begging for attention, soaked in her juices. His legs dangled helplessly, still suspended in her arms. She grinned deviously and slipped a finger up, inside his ass. “You may.” Damiene erupted onto her, coating her abs and breasts with thin strings of cum. The pent-up force was so great his head went blank for a brief period, tongue hanging lazily out of his mouth, drooling onto himself. After three or four quick streams, she finally set him back down on his weak, shaky legs. They locked eyes again; she looked amused, but not quite satisfied. They stood still for a moment, their heavy breaths filling the chamber. Vanja placed a hand on the boy’s head, stroking his long hair lightly, which he held in his own for comfort. She quickly glanced down at herself indicatively, then back up. “Clean me.” Her grip tightened for emphasis, slowly pulling him closer until he relented. The boy leaned in until he was a hair’s breadth away, the combined scent of his cum and her sweat emanating from her skin intoxicating him again. He started low, near her navel, to her breasts, pooling the liquids on his tongue. The taste was foreign to him, but not unpleasant. Rather, what surprised him was the texture and consistency. He savored the lightly bitter, viscous fluid in his mouth with a feigned reluctance, occasionally looking back up for the commissar’s approval. Her grip never loosened, her expression still pleased with his continued obedience. It disturbed him. He expected, hoped that would have been the end, that he had performed adequately and his earlier transgressions forgiven, but Vanja was not yet done. In true commissarial fashion, she was always painfully thorough. She grinned wider, a wicked thought unfolding in her head. Damiene was guided to the nearby bed, his hair being used like a short, unforgiving leash. “On your back.” She commanded. The novice psyker complied, once again struggling to swallow his growing fear. Vanja climbed on top, taking each of the boy’s slender hands in hers and holding them above his head. He tried to sink further into the rigid mattress as his breaths became more shallow and panicked under her weight. She proceeded wordlessly, sliding her lower body up along Damiene’s until she was hovering over his face, dripping, slavering onto him. The sight of her -- all of her -- looming over him; that condescending look in her eye; her permeating, sweaty musk; her powerful arms holding him down… He rubbed his legs together in some futile, desperate attempt to calm himself down as his blood rushed down to his lower half once again. She lowered herself until his incoherent protests were thoroughly smothered by her warmth and wetness. Damiene’s entire body began to squirm helplessly under her weight in a slight panic. “Just do as I say and it’ll be more enjoyable for the both of us, all right?” She held him firmly against the bedframe with little effort, but her tone was strangely consoling. “Open your mouth and use your tongue. And stop struggling so much. I need this, too.” Damiene settled down, partially because he was running out of breath and partially at the commissar’s behest, but mostly because he was astounded by what he saw. Something was different about her. She looked… soft. Her eyebrows were no longer permanently furrowed and she was blushing rather heavily. He wondered if a single other human in the galaxy had seen this side of her. Though, he understood what she meant, despite her brevity. Sweat glistened on her skin under the shitty fluorescent lights, contouring every ridge and curve along her body. She lifted herself, leaving Damiene’s mouth and chin already soaked. He inhaled deeply and caught his breath after nearly suffocating. He nodded in understanding, “C-can you release me, at least?” Vanja shook her head with a light smile in response, as if the request was beyond her capacity. “All right, sorry…” He opened his mouth and prodded her entrance with his tongue, awkwardly wriggling it around inside her. Female anatomy was so foreign to the boy it may as well have been a tau or eldar straddling him. It felt different than earlier; he could more easily visualize each fold and ridge with the utmost detail as he explored her depths. Vanja’s hips began to rock steadily, almost involuntarily at the continued, graceless caress, urging him on even more. Rather than pleasured moans or sensual outcries, Vanja would only grumble or swear under her breath as if she were displeased, but the quickened swaying of her hips indicated otherwise. The two of them were finally caught in a rhythm, some clumsy dance set to the music of low groans and the slurping of  wet flesh against wet flesh. An unfamiliar force welled within Vanja’s stomach, like a knot was tightening within her; powerful, but not painful. It was slow at first, increasing by degrees as Damiene writhed and wriggled inside her. Then it hit; like taking a shoota round square in the abdomen. She crumpled, lurching forward and nearly hitting her head on the wall in front of her. She sat there, motionless, breathing harder than she ever had prior. She dismounted the boy after a few moments of recuperation, who was left in a similar state, his chest heaving laboriously and limbs weak. Vanja chuckled morbidly to herself, wondering if she had involuntarily broken a couple of his bones when she came, but he seemed all right, if equally exhausted. Giving Damiene a quick look-over, something caught her eye. “On your stomach.” “P-... please no more, commissar. I’m s-sorry.” She grinned again and flipped the weightless body over, teasing the boy’s ass with a fingertip again. He came again as she inserted it, releasing a deep, wanton moan as the thin white liquid weakly dribbled out in a sorry little puddle. He laid there for several more moments, too tired to move. Vanja was already in the middle of cleaning herself up and getting dressed again, strapping her boots on the edge of her bed and donning her favorite cap and coat. “Consider your earlier trespass forgiven. Just don’t let me catch you doing it again. Stay if you need to catch your breath, just don’t take too long. You still have your duties to attend to, I’m sure.” She was nearly out the door, looking only minorly disheveled. “Commissar…?” She turned with a slightly impatient look. “I l-love you...” She chuckled once. “Don’t be ridiculous.”