Editing Commissar Techpriestess love story (section)

=== Chapter 21 ===
The petite priestess tried to hide her face behind her arm, as the open shirted commissar approached. He walked around the table, in front of Octavia, tracing a finger over the crimson sash, from her wrists, to her neck, and then down to the free end, which he took in his hand. He looked down at her, a smirk on his face, as he asked again, “This is my sash, isn’t it, Octavia?”
Her fleshbrain squealed with joy and terror, was this it? It asked, would he ravish her? Had she gone to far? Her mind went blank, every nerve ending, biological and artificial, on high alert, as she nodded, “Yes,”
The commissar coughed politely, “Yes, Who?”
Her cheeks went red, as she looked up at her lover, holding the red sash in his hand like a leash, her fleshbrain gleefully noted, “Yes, Sir.”
The Commissar nodded approvingly, “That’s better. Now, do you know what happens to someone who takes a Commissars personal belongings?” He said, his creative mind making sure he put just the right amount of cold dispassion in his voice to elicit a response from his guest. Octavia shook her head, “No, sir.”
The huge commissar knelt down, adding a new knot to his sash, which held it tight against the pale skin of Octavia’s neck. She let out a quiet moan, nuzzling towards the commissars still gloved hands, but he pulled them away, moving further down the sash. He pulled down on the sash, tying it around the table leg, tugging it to make sure the knot was fast, before he stood. Octavia felt a thrill go down her spine, her mechadendrites twitching excitedly, as the huge commissar circled the table.
“Such, infractions,” He said slowly, trailing his hand up the petite priestess’s back, “Are punished”.

The huge commissar emphasised the word punish with a firm backhand to Octavia’s shapely rear. A gasp tore itself from her throat, and she tried to lift her head to look behind her, but the sash around her neck pulled tight, preventing the motion. It still stung from where Rogal had struck her, and she whimpered, hearing the sound of fabric moving behind her. She tried again to look behind her, to see what Rogal was doing, when suddenly, she couldn’t see at all. Her eyes flicked through the spectrums automatically, struggling to see, as she felt the soft fabric of another sash on her cheeks and forehead. Blindfold. He had blindfolded her with his sash. Her fleshbrain moaned lustily, relishing the complete lack of control she had. She gasped as Rogal leaned against her, feeling his immense size pressing against her, “How then” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear and cheek, “Shall we punish you?”
Octavia whimpered as she grinded back on the huge commissar, her mechadendrites reaching back to try and undo his trousers. She felt Rogal stand, and then gasped at the sharp tugging sensation of the commissar grabbing her mechadendrites in his hand. He held the mechanical tendrils firmly, tutting at the red and white garbed priestess, who merely whimpered again. 
“I asked you how do you think you should be punished, you were not asked to, or told to do anything else,” He said, firmly, tugging gently on Octavia’s mechadendrites. Her fleshbrain moaned lustily, relishing her submissive position. “Please, Sir,” she begged, trying to wriggle against him, her mechadendrites pulling at his grip feebly. The huge commissar grinned, trailing a hand up a steely leg, before it met pale, soft skin. Octavia moaned, pulling at her leash, trying to get closer to the commissar. His gloved hand ran over her undergarments, before coming to rest on her tailbone.

Octavia wriggled her rear underneath his hand, “Please, sir,” she begged again, “Please?”
Her pink lips were open, her breathing fast, as she felt him lift his hand. With a pop, the clasps that held her skirt on were disengaged, as Rogal tore it from her hips. She let out a gasp and whimper, very aware of how exposed she now was. She felt her lovers gloved hand return to her tailbone, resting lightly on her hip, his fingers drumming. She tried again to free her mechadendrites, but his hand held firmly around them, and she heard him chuckle. Her fleshbrain let out a sigh of pleasure, he was so strong, and firm, how he held her now, so exposed, made her feel so wanton. “Please, Sir?” she begged again, and this time, she got an answer, as the huge commissar leaned over her once more. 
“Please, sir, what?” he whispered, his warm breath against her neck making her shiver with delight, as she pressed up against him once more, his immense holstered weapon pressing back. He could feel the heat from her through his trousers, and he smiled, gently nudging forward with his hips. Octavia moaned lustily, “Please!” she hissed, “Ravish me, Ravish me like a lady should be,” she begged, and Rogal’s reserved façade came crumbling down. He grinned, his stately movements now frantic, as he released her mechadendrites and planted both hands on her hips, his fingers curling around the elasticised sides of her undergarments and pulling them down, letting them drop to her knees. Octavia’s mechadendrites followed suit, a pair curling under their mistress to cup her now heaving bosom, the other pairs snaking back to help the commissar with his trousers. With a few quick movements his weapon was unholstered, as he pulled a fresh prophylactic from his pocket, sheathing his lascannon in a protective film.

Octavia moaned quietly, as her mechadendrites slid against her sensitive body, the spiralling metal casing of the mechanical tendrils stimulating the densely packed nerve endings nestled between her legs, before letting out a gasp as Rogal’s huge hands clapped down on her thighs. Strong hands moved her hips to the right angle, her cognitor wrapping itself in a few extra layers of surge protection, as her fleshbrain groaned with wanton lust. Her mechadendrites whipped out, securing her as best they could to the rest of the table, as Rogal removed a hand from her side, to guide himself in. Her back arched, and she let out a gasp, as the very well-proportioned Commissar entered her. The gasp became a moan as he slowly buried himself inside her, with little bouncing increments. Her legs twitched, his massive hands clamping themselves in the curve of her waist, her hourglass shape so very apparent from his top down view. He smiled, she was so beautiful to him, her pale flesh and gleaming augments, hour glass figure and bright green eyes. He built up to a stead rhythm, his huge hips bumping against her, eliciting a moan or a gasp with every thrust. Slender hands grabbed onto the crimson leash that tied her to the table, holding tight with pleasure as the Commissar continued, powerful, relentless. Like a titan, her fleshbrain managed to think between waves of pleasure. A mechadendrite slid from its spot anchoring her to the table, to stab down into the floor, grounding the priestess, after a struggle by her cognitor to avoid what happened earlier that day. Her hips bucked, as the commissar put on a burst of speed, driving harder and faster into her, and she bit into the soft flesh of her upper arm, the power surging through the electoos making her teeth tingle.

Rogal slowed, adjusting his stance, before thrusting at a new angle. His movement was rewarded with a lusty moan, and he reached forward to grab Octavia’s ponytail. She gasped as he wrapped a huge hand around it, before arching her back further as he pushed her head down. Her fleshbrain moaned happily, this was better than she had ever imagined, and she was good at imagining things. Her body sang with pleasure, as the massive commissar continued at his steady pace, driving into her like a piston. She had lost track of time, and of most things, her fleshbrain enjoying this very human act to its fullest potential. “Please, Sir,” she pleaded “Ravish me,” such words from her mouth just drove her more into a frenzy, her mechadendrites crushing into the solid wood table. Behind her, the commissar switched his technique again, driving her to even higher heights of pleasure, the little bar in her head flashing wildly, her fleshbrain thrashing about in ecstasy.
“Hit me,” She cried, her mechadendrites pressing into the solid timber, as Rogal’s concentration was broken, “What?”
“Hit me!” Octavia pleaded, her shapely rear bobbing as Rogal continued thrusting. He slammed up to the hilt in her, pausing, his uninjured hand swinging out before backhanding her across he rump. Inside her head, lights flashed, as the bar tipped past the end, detonating into billions of tiny pinpricks of light. Her body seized, her hips bucked, and she clamped down on the commissar’s weapon, causing it to fire as she let out a shuddering moan. Rogal gasped as his lascannon discharged, his own hips rocking back with the recoil, and he sank forward, his hands moving from Octavia’s hips to the table to support him. His breaths came in deep gasps, his massive chest heaving, his hat, still on his head at its jaunty angle.

Octavia whimpered, her limbs heavy, as she slumped to the table. Her mechadendrites went limp, Rogal leaning over to untie her from his sashes. Bright light switched to dull as her eyes readjusted, and she blinked a few times. Gently, huge hands undid the knots at her wrists and neck, and she stretched out, her slender limbs glinting in the dim light. She rolled over to look at her lover, who lounged satisfied in his chair once more. He gently stroked her leg, humming happily to himself, smiling lopsidedly with post coital smugness. Wordlessly, he scooped her up in his arms again, carrying her towards his bed. A mechadendrite pulled her undergarments back up, and she snuggled into the commissars broad chest. Gently, he lay her down, pulling his blanket over her, and kissing her on the forehead.
“I need a shower,” He whispered, “Back in a moment, my pet.”
Octavia smiled happily at the term of endearment, snuggling down in the blanket, her mechadendrites wrapping her up in the warm fluffiness. She watched her lover collect a fresh set of undergarments and disappear into his bathroom once more. The sound of the shower filled the small tent, as Octavia lay, staring at the sloped ceiling. She threw the blanket aside and got to her feet, making her way to the bathroom. Quietly, she stripped from her garments, laying them beside Rogal’s pile, before slipping into the shower behind the massive commissar. Steam surrounded them, and she gingerly reached out to touch his back, tracing the lines where water streamed down. 
“I wasn’t expecting a guest,” he said, turning side on, letting Octavia closer to the water stream, “But there’s room enough.”
Warm water cascaded over her curvy body, Octavia relishing the feeling, as rivulets flowed between the segmented plates of her augments.

Rogal stood behind her now, gently scrubbing at her upper back. Her mechadendrites moved lazily, playing with the water, her hands moving to cup her full breasts, the commissars arms moving around her waist to hug her to him, as he nuzzled at her neck, “You’re beautiful, I just wanted to tell you that,” He whispered, before nibbling gently at the back of her neck. She shivered happily, reaching up to tousle his hair, “You’re a handsome man, a very handsome man.” She whispered back, leaning her head against his. He reached forward to turn the water off, and the pair just stood there, in their dripping embrace. A mechadendrite snaked out and snared the towel, wrapping it around them both, before Rogal pulled it from his shoulders, wrapping Octavia in the black fluffy fabric. He stepped out from the shower onto the mat, water still dripping off him, reaching out to the shelf to grab another towel. The petite priestess of the machine god stepped out beside him, her mechadendrites patting her dry with the towel. The pair towelled themselves off, Rogal pulling on his commissarial issue sleeping trunks, Octavia slipping back into the crisp white undergarments, smiling happily. The huge commissar stretched, before letting out a yawn,
“Well, my pet, shall we hit the sack?”
Octavia nodded happily, “That sounds like an excellent course of action.”
Rogal smiled, “And this time, there’s room enough for us both,” he said, before flopping back onto his bed. The petite priestess crawled up beside him, rolling onto her side, her head on a massive bicep, her mechadendrites pulling the blanket up to cover them both. The huge commissar yawned again, then leaning over to kiss his lover on the forehead.