In Morpheus Arms Novels & Stories

The sea limbs stab into the wooden wall making their way up to the roof. Tegan looks for a moment watching her as a predator does with their prayer. The black ink that coats his right arm and some of the right side of his armor torso starts to boil like acid. He narrow's his eyes at the tendril on the ground and stabs it with his sword, sticking it in the ground. With his left hand, he plunges his gauntlet into the right arm or shoulder. The points of his finger link making a dent but then revealing through the shoulder itself making a screech on metal sound. He tears through the right side of his armor ripping it off and throwing it to the ground. Now his right side is bare, and the tarnish

“Mistress… please… I can’t hold it… they’re too much…” Nova tilted her head, feigning sympathy. “Poor thing. But the audience decides. And right now they want more.” She raised both arms at once. The transformation was fluid and beautiful, plates sliding, joints realigning, synthetic skin flowing like liquid metal. In seconds her right arm became a long, thick, ridged electro-dildo, glowing with faint blue current along every ridge. Her left arm morphed into a specialized prostate milker: a curved, bulbous head with pulsing suction cups and internal vibrating nodes designed to milk him dry without allowing orgasm.

Her legs went weak just thinking of it, and her insides were turning to hot molten lava. Slowly, she moved out from under his arm, turning around to stare at Armel. Pale white moonlight lit half his face, casting the other half into shadow. The smile lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes were relaxed. A small smile, a remnant from a dream or what had happened only hours earlier, had the corner of his mouth turned up just slightly.