Symbiotic Submission

Issue 3: Sensory Depravation

The quality of my new apartment didn't matter too much when I was bound, blindfolded, gagged, and deprived from all sensory input.

Haven had been given my full permission to deny me pleasure fifty times, and my parasitic alien master had taken to that task with gusto. No part of my body was off limits, no inch of skin was mine to hold back.

In concept, being edged repeatedly was bad enough. Being brought to the precipice of climax, only to be denied, would be pretty torturous on its own. In practice, Haven made things far, far worse.

They knew me, they knew my limits, they could feel when I approached the edge. The level of precision went beyond human, Haven could have me gasping and moaning, nanometers from orgasm, and then pull me back with a flood of hormones that ensured I could never achieve the pleasure I so desperately wanted.

I'd lost count, but I knew we were miles from finishing–it had been...fifteen? Twenty times? Enough that my thoughts were clouded by an inferno of arousal, that it was difficult to think about anything but my desperation to squirt into my diapers, but still an eternity from having this marathon come to any sort of conclusion.

Haven's inky body wrapped around my eyes and ears, and my limbs were pulled spread eagle, hitched to the frame of my bed by their amorphous pseudo-tentacles.

I'd been stripped near-naked, save for–of course–my diaper, which was sodden, but not yet ready to be changed, not that they'd let me up even if I asked now. They had more important things to do.

Inside my sex, Haven pulsed, and I knew things were starting to build again. Slick, warm pressure rubbed against my clit, and my back arched in anticipated pleasure, knowing things would reach an end soon–my logical brain had been buried by denial, I was willing to take any false hope, any lies about the joy I'd soon be allowed to experience.

(Beg,) Haven instructed, and though I was gagged, mouth held open in a drooling mess, I tried.

My words were nonsense–moans and garbled pleas that no listener would ever be able to comprehend, but I obeyed anyways, asking for release, for anything. Haven's work moved faster, thrusting inside me beneath my diaper, stimulating me in every way imaginable all at once.

(Please,) I thought. (I need–I need this, please, Haven, just let me–)

A release came, but not the one I wanted. Instead, I felt Haven suddenly plunge into me from behind, filling my ass as heavily as any plug and spreading it wide.

I was helpless to resist, helpless to even complain. All I could do was tense my body as, instead of the orgasmic release that I'd wanted, I instead was forced to release my bowels, expelling waste into the seat of my diaper in a helpless tide.

Haven's message bypassed rational thought, planting itself deep in my brain–this was the release I deserved. No orgasmic bliss, only heavy, humiliating shame that piled into my diaper, swelling the seat of the crinkly prison I'd been sealed into.

Sweat and repression poured off me, and I sank into the bed as the wave of promised pleasure passed, ungranted.

(Breathe, Mine,) Haven instructed.

Whether this was to ensure I got air and could recover, or to ensure I got an intense shock from the smell that now radiated off me, I didn't know. It could have been both, but one way or another, I inhaled sharply, panting to recover.

(How many?) I asked, weakly, as I felt a trickle of cool water go down my throat–Haven had, at least, kept me hydrated, though I assumed it was a ploy so that I'd soak my diapers more thoroughly. (How many more? I don't know if I can take it.)

(Ten,) Haven told me, and I visualized their wicked, amused grin as they said it.

(Ten? But–that–there's no way it's just been ten. How long has it been?)

(I'm not cheating, plaything. It's been ten near-denials in three hours. We can take a break for now, come back to it later.)

(But I can't sleep until–)

(No, no. You can't go to bed. If my toy wants to sleep, they can sleep on the floor tonight. Tomorrow, we'll go buy you a cage.)

Breathing a little longer, I weighed my options. This session alone had me so desperate and pent up that the idea they proposed–being forced to sleep in a cage–turned me on more. I feared how pliable I'd be if I had to endure this again, and again, five days in a row.

Then again, as long as this had taken–I didn't have the stamina for twelve more hours of this sort of torture.

(A break, please,) I asked.

Relenting, Haven pulled back, their inky body retreating. I blinked a few times–noting that day had turned to night, that I could hear the sound of Central City buzzing outside my window and of the neighbors shuffling around.

The walls were pretty thin–had they heard my desperate moans?

Did they care?

Did I care?

Relaxing a little, I asked aloud, "May–may I change my diaper?"

(You can beg better than that, Mine,) Haven replied.

"Please." I knew he wouldn't give in if I just offered words, but I tried anyway. "May I go change? I–I don't want to go to bed like this."

(Like what?)

(I–) I had an idea, but I didn't want to consider it.

(I like what you're thinking, Mine. Do it.)

Sitting up, I let my mess squelch beneath my bottom, spreading it, smushing it between my cheeks. Making it harder to clean up, harder to change. "Please," I said, thrusting my hips forward a little, grinding my weight into the diaper seat, feeling every moment of the squelching sensation. I thrust a little harder, taking special note of how my slick, soggy diaper rubbed against me, how the sensations blurred, how my ruined diaper clung to my skin.

"P-please, please let me–"

(Stop.)

I froze.

(Clever Mine, but you don't get to cum until your edging is all done.)

"What?"

(I knew what you were trying there. I'm glad to see you've already been trained so well that you thought to try and enjoy your diapers without so much as a suggestion from me–but it will have to wait.)

I swallowed. Had I been planning that? Sometimes Haven's insight into my motives was deeper than my own understanding.

Or else they were lying, gaslighting me about my thoughts so I'd think I liked diapers more than I really did.

"Well...may I?" I asked, sheepishly.

(You may,) Haven thought. (There's a twenty four hour convenience store a block away, with bathrooms available for paying customers. Buy something, and you can use their bathroom to change.)

I nodded, getting to my feet and looking around for my clothes. "Okay."

(Okay, that's all?)

"Er..." Right. They'd given me what I asked for, I should be polite. "Thank you, Haven."