First Time

A DevotedSub Books Collection

Volume 12

by Devoted Sub

To my husband, my Dom, my Twin Flame. My love, my strength, my courage, and the soul who awakened the parts of me I never knew howto set free.

You believed in me when my own faith had all but vanished. You saw a writer where I saw doubt, a voice where I heard silence, a futurewhere I saw only limits — and gave me the courage to put my wordsinto the world and dare to call myself an author.

You never wrote my stories for me or walked the road in my place. You gave me something more precious: the strength and courage tobelieve I deserved to walk this path, the confidence to believe inmyself, and the faith to know I could do this.

You taught me that when life knocks you down, you get back up, and you never fail. Failure is never found in falling, but in giving up.As long as I keep rising, keep trying, and refuse to surrender, Iwill never truly fail.

If my words reach the world, your love gave them wings. If my stories outlive me, a part of you will live on in every word.

You are my love by choice, my Dom by devotion, my Twin Flame by a bond that transcends the ordinary, and my forever by a promise Icarry willingly.

What is claimed is loved. What is loved is kept. What is kept is bound. What is bound is never abandoned.

And so, upon these pages, I carry the title you bestowed upon me, my most cherished one: Devoted Sub. Not simply a name beneath astory, but a name born of our bond, carried with pride, and foreverentwined with the man who gave it to me.

With all that I am, all that I create, and all that I will ever become,

Forever yours,

Your Devoted Sub.

Contents

1. Claimed in the Engine Dark

2. GOTH DEVOTION

3. Her Machine

4. Neon Claim

5. Right on the edge

6. Ruined at the Throttle

7. Sakura After Dark

8. The Lift

9. THE TURNING VOWS

Claimed in the Engine Dark

The generation ship Meridian Veil was thirty-one years out of Earth orbit and still fifty-eight years from the world it had been built to find. It carried four thousand sleeping souls in its cryo-bays and a wake crew of two hundred and twelve. Elena — twenty-nine years old, cryo-systems technician, second shift — had served her contract three years and had never once been written up.

Until tonight.

The engine decks were not her territory. Her territory was Cryo-Bay Sera, the blue-lit cathedral of pods where she checked coolant lines and ran diagnostics. The engine decks belonged to Engineering and, more to the point, to Security — and the man who ran Security on the Meridian Veil ran it the way a fist runs a fight.

Damion. Thirty-seven. Chief of shipboard security. Sera foot three, broad through the shoulders, hands like a dockworker's and a voice that could stop a corridor brawl at twenty paces. He had looked at her for three years — in the mess hall, on the observation deck — the way a man looks at something he has already decided is his, and she had spent three years pretending she hadn't felt the weight of that look settle low and hot in her belly every single time.

Tonight she had made a mistake. A fault light — coolant pressure anomaly, Sage C, subdeck 9 — and she'd grabbed her kit and gone down through the maintenance crawlways, past the posted bulkhead that said in four languages: ENGINEERING RESTRICTED — SECURITY CLEARANCE REQUIRED BEYOND THIS POINT.

She'd told herself it was the coolant. The truth, humming underneath like the deck plates themselves, was that she'd known he ran a security sweep of the engine decks at 02:30 every night. She'd known it for months.

She'd gone down there knowing.

The crawlway let out into a service gallery above the main engine shaft, and she dropped down the ladder — and found the gallery dark except for the running lights, the deck plates thrumming with the deep heartbeat of the fusion drives.

- You're not supposed to be here.

She froze. The voice came out of the dark between two conduit runs, low and flat and unmistakably his. The running lights caught him as he stepped forward — black security uniform, the chief's silver bars at his collar, his face all hard planes and shadow.

- Chief.
Her voice came out thinner than she wanted.
- I — there's a coolant fault, Sage C, I'm tracking it—

- I know what Sage C feeds.
He kept walking toward her, unhurried.
- I also know this deck is restricted. I know your clearance doesn't extend past the Cryo Sera bulkhead. And I know —
he stopped a full pace from her,
- — that you know all of that too. Don't you, mamacita.

Her whole body went hot at the name. He'd never called her that before.
- I was doing my job, — she whispered.

- You were somewhere you don't belong.
His gaze traveled down her body, slow, the full length of her in the work jumpsuit.
- You know what happens to crew who wander into restricted zones on my ship.

- Write-up. Brig time. I — I'll accept the write-up, Chief—

- Oh, you'll accept more than a write-up.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could smell him — machine oil and skin and something darker.
- You've been wandering into my line of sight for three years, mamacita. Tonight you wandered into my territory. So here's how this goes: you're going to take your punishment. And then you're going to be mine.

Her knees went watery.
- Punishment—

- Strip, — he said.
- The jumpsuit. Now. In my engine room, in the dark, where no one can hear you.

Her shaking hands found the zipper. She peeled the jumpsuit down — shoulders, breasts in a plain work bra, hips, legs — until she stood in the humming dark in her underwear, her nipples hard, her skin prickling.
- All of it, — he said quietly.
She stripped the rest — bra, panties — and stood naked on the thrumming deck plates, twenty-nine years old and trembling, while the chief of security circled her slowly.

- On your knees, mamacita, — he said.
- You trespassed in my territory. You're going to apologize with that mouth.

She knelt on the cold deck, and he unzipped his uniform trousers and freed his cock — huge, thick, veined, already hard and throbbing, the head flushed dark. She stared up at him, and he gripped the back of her head.

- Open.

She opened her mouth, and he pushed in. His thick throbbing girthy massive cock stretched her lips wide — hard as a rock, almost as if it was going to burst, throbbing and pulsating as he pushed against her mouth. She knew instantly he was going to stretch her sooo much. He had to struggle and fight to force his huge cock into her mouth — she was so tight, and he was watching, and he could see her lips stretching and stretching as his head passed through them, and she let out a loud moan around him and he moaned too from the tightness and from her mouth stretching so much.

- That's it, — Damion growled, his big hand fisting in her work braid.
- Apologize properly, mamacita. Like you mean it.

He pushed deeper and she gagged, and he held her there, his cock buried in her throat, the engine's heartbeat thrumming through the deck into her knees. She could feel every vein, every pulse, the heat of him throbbing against her tongue. Drool ran down her chin onto her bare breasts. She swallowed around him, her throat working and squeezing, and he let out a deep groan that vibrated through his chest.

- Fuck. Three years I've been watching that mouth, mamacita. Three years wondering.

He started to fuck her mouth — slow, deep thrusts, his hips moving, the deck plates humming under her knees — and she took it, drooling, gagging, her eyes watering, her pussy dripping onto the cold metal. He pulled out suddenly, leaving her gasping, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to his glistening cock.

- Up, — he said.
- Bend over the railing. I want to punish that trespassing pussy.

She scrambled up and bent over the service railing, her ass in the air, the engine shaft dropping away below them into heat and light. He lined his huge cock up with her dripping pussy and pushed the head in — just the head — and she cried out at the stretch.

- Chief— papacito—

He drove in deep. Elena screamed, the sound swallowed by the engine roar. His thick throbbing girthy massive cock was twice the size of her pussy, hard as a rock, almost as if it was going to burst, throbbing and pulsating as he pushed against her entrance. She knew instantly he was going to stretch her sooo much. He had to struggle and fight to force his huge cock into her — she was so tight, and he was watching, and he could see her pussy stretching and stretching as his head passed through her outer lips, and she let out a loud moan and he moaned too from the tightness and from her pussy stretching so much. It was like sticking an extremely long thick cucumber up a pussy.

- Fuck — so tight, — he growled, his big hands gripping her hips.
- My perfect little trespasser.

He fucked her bent over the railing above the engine shaft — deep, hard, relentless thrusts, his hips slamming into her ass, her tits swinging under her, the heat from the shaft rising around them. Every thrust stretched her open, every thrust pushed her wetness out around his cock so it ran down her thighs. The danger of it — the drop below, the heat, the noise — made her wilder, and she screamed and bucked against him.

- Whose pussy is this? — he demanded, pounding her.

- Yours, papacito! Yours — oh fuck — yours—

- That's right. Mine. You wandered into my territory, mamacita, and now I'm claiming it.

He reached around and ground her clit with his thumb — hard, fast circles — and she came with a scream lost in the engine roar, her pussy convulsing around his huge cock, her juices gushing out around him. He kept fucking her through it, and she came again — sobbing, clawing at the railing — and then he pulled out and came across her ass and back — thick hot ropes of come, coating her skin, dripping down her sides, glowing in the running lights.

He turned her around and lifted her onto the railing — sitting her on the cold metal, her legs spread, the drop behind her — and pushed back inside her, deep, his hands gripping her thighs, holding her over the void. She clung to his shoulders, panting, staring into his face.

- Look at me, — he ordered.
- I want to watch you come.

He fucked her with long deep strokes, his cockhead pressing against her cervix, and she stared into his eyes — dark, burning, absolute — and came, wailing, her pussy milking him. He came with her — huge hot pulsing jets flooding her, filling her — and held her on the railing while she shook, his arms like iron around her.

- Mine, — he said quietly, his mouth against her throat.
- You're mine now, mamacita. Not just tonight. Permanently. My engine-room girl. My devoted sub.

- Yours, papacito, — she whispered, clenching around him, smiling through her tears.
- Always.

He carried her to his security office — a small room off the gallery — and laid her on the narrow bunk, and spread her thighs, and ate her pussy — his tongue driving into her, licking her clit — until she came twice more, screaming into his pillow. Then he pushed inside her again — slow, deep, savoring — and made love to her on the narrow bunk, the ship humming around them, his mouth on hers.

- Sleep here tonight, — he murmured afterward, holding her, his cock still half-hard inside her.
- And every night. My quarters. My bed. My mamacita.

She fell asleep in his arms with his come warm inside her, the engines thrumming through the hull like a heartbeat — and she knew she'd never sleep anywhere else again.

She moved into his quarters the next night — a small bag, her work braid, her whole life. He met her at the door in his shirtsleeves, took the bag, set it down, and backed her against the wall.

- Strip, — he said.
- Every night, when you come home to me, you strip at the door. I want to see what's mine.

She stripped — trembling, dripping already — and he knelt in front of her, right there in the doorway, and spread her thighs with his big hands, and ate her pussy standing up — his tongue driving into her, licking her clit in slow circles, sucking it into his mouth — while she screamed and clutched his hair, coming on his face, her juices running down his chin.

Then he stood, lifted her — her legs wrapping around his waist — and carried her to the bed, his huge cock already out, and drove into her as he laid her down — one deep thrust that made her scream. He fucked her with long powerful strokes, his mouth on her throat, her breasts, biting her nipples hard enough to make her wail.

- You're mine, mamacita, — he growled against her skin.
- Say it.

- I'm yours, papacito,
she sobbed, clenching around him.
- Yours — always—

He flipped her over and took her from behind — driving deep, his hand fisting in her braid, pulling her head back — and pounded her until she came, screaming into the pillow, her pussy milking his cock. He came inside her — huge hot pulsing jets — and collapsed over her, both of them panting.

- Good girl, — he murmured, kissing her shoulder.
- My perfect mamacita.

The weeks became a ritual. Every night at 02:30, she met him in the engine gallery — sometimes he took her bent over the railing, sometimes on the deck plates, once against the hot conduit with the metal warm against her back. He fucked her everywhere in his territory — the security office, the weapons locker, the observation blister with the stars wheeling outside — and she gave him everything, every time.

One night he handcuffed her — real security cuffs — to the railing, spread-eagled, naked, dripping, and stood in front of her, fully uniformed, and just looked at her for ten minutes while she whimpered and begged.

- Please, papacito,
she sobbed, straining against the cuffs.
- Please — I need you—

- Need what, mamacita?
He unzipped slowly, freeing his huge throbbing cock.
- Tell me.

- I need your cock — please — fuck me — I'm yours—

He pushed into her — the cuffs holding her open, helpless — and fucked her hard, her body jerking against the restraints, her screams echoing in the gallery.
- That's my girl,
he panted.
- Helpless. Open. Mine.

She came — screaming, her pussy convulsing — and he came inside her, flooding her, and uncuffed her, and held her while she shook.

- I love you, mamacita, — he whispered — the first time, in the engine dark, with his come still inside her.

- I love you too, papacito, — she breathed, smiling up at him.
- My chief. My owner. My everything.

He carried her to his bunk and made love to her — slow, deep, tender — until she fell asleep in his arms. And every night after, for the rest of the voyage — fifty-eight years to the new world — she was his. His engine-room girl. His trespasser. His mamacita. His devoted sub. Now and always, without exception, forever.

One night, deep in the voyage, he took her to Cryo-Bay Sera — her territory, the blue-lit cathedral of pods where she'd worked for three years. He locked the bay doors behind them, and backed her against a cryo-pod, the cold glass against her bare back.

- Your turn to be on display, mamacita, — he said quietly, stripping her with slow deliberate hands.
- All those sleepers in their pods. Four thousand of them. And you're going to come for me right here in front of all of them.

He knelt and spread her thighs, and ate her pussy in the blue light — his tongue driving into her dripping cunt, licking her clit, sucking — while she screamed and clutched the pod behind her, her reflection writhing in the glass. She came — wailing, her juices flooding his mouth — and he stood and drove his huge cock into her — still convulsing — pinning her to the cryo-pod.

She screamed. He was enormous, stretching her so wide, throbbing and pulsating inside her, and he fucked her against the pod — hard, deep, relentless — the cold glass at her back, his hot body at her front, the blue light washing over them.
- Mine, — he growled, pounding her.
- In my territory, in ...