The "Prophet" stood over her, his breathing ragged as he fought to stay conscious. He pressed his forehead against Diana's, unleashing a desperate wave of psychic filth that should have shattered a mortal mind.
'Is that all?' Diana mused, her true consciousness watching from a cold, distant peak. 'He's already hitting a wall, and I haven't even dropped my primary shields. This isn't nearly depraved enough yet.'
Amused by his struggle, she manually lowered her mental gates. The effect was like a dam bursting; a flood of obscene, slave-coded information roared into her psyche, turning her thoughts into a chaotic slurry of lust and submission.
"Ughhhhhh!"
Her superhuman frame buckled, and she began to spray uncontrollably. Thick, clear ejaculate erupted from her, painting the mahogany desk, the high-end monitors, and the floor-to-ceiling glass in a layer of hot, musky fluid. Snot and tears—useless human responses her body had long forgotten—poured from her face. Her moans were no longer regal; they were the hoarse, animalistic sounds of a creature being broken, penetrating the soundproof walls until the staff in the hallway could hear the faint, rhythmic screams of their "stern" President.
The Cult Leader laughed maniacally, seeing the invincible Guardian reduced to a twitching heap in a rising pool of her own juices. He reached into his robes and produced a magically modified, thick member—a tool of pure corruption covered in grotesque, fleshy barbs. He drove the enormous glans into her wet, gaping heat.
Diana's body froze like a statue, a reflexive Amazonian defense, but her mind was already too far gone to maintain it. The barbs scraped against her internal walls, causing her to lose all bladder control. She climaxed instantly, her womb greedily swallowing the jagged intrusion.
A false personality—a "Slave Diana" born from the psychic clash—bubbled to the surface.
"Mmm, so good... the Master's cock... oh, gods, yes!"
"You arrogant bitch!" the Leader snarled, slapping her heavy breasts until milk sprayed in long, white arcs across the office. "You destroyed my kingdom! I'm going to fuck you into a husk!"
He gripped her neck, his fingers digging into her windpipe. Diana's face flushed a deep, seductive red, her tongue lolling out as her body pretended to suffocate. Though her divine physiology didn't need oxygen, the sensation of strangulation sent a jolt of peak-intensity pleasure straight to her clitoris.
She wrapped her long, stocking-clad legs around his waist, her high heels—soaked in a cocktail of fluids—dangling behind him as he pounded her. She was no longer the CEO; she was a vibrating, leaking toy, her calm gaze replaced by a wide-eyed, seductive allure that begged for more.
The Leader created a shimmering blue rope, looping it around her neck and pulling her head back until her spine arched. He lifted her, slamming her face-down onto the executive desk. His barbed penis rotated inside her, shredding her internal walls with a friction that made her howl with a mix of agony and ecstasy.
With a low growl, he reached her uterus and erupted. Thick, dark semen flooded her cavity, surging into her fallopian tubes as he siphoned her vast magical reserves through his connection to her.
"More... Master... please!" she rasped, her face pressed against the cold wood of the table, her milk and sweat mixing with the spilled ink of her discarded corporate reports.
The high and mighty Guardian was gone. In her place was a ruin of a woman, dressed in the tattered remains of her battle robes, being systematically drained of her magic and her dignity by the very man she had intended to "research."
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