Luna: Part Five

Parts: One, Two, Three, Four

The moment Edgar flicked the neural lace on, Sarah’s body went rigid, her spine arching off the mattress so hard her shoulders weren’t even touching the sheets anymore. The electrodes tangled in her cheap-dyed hair pulsed pink, painting her face in a strobe of fake sunrise and shadow. Edgar, not trusting her to stay put, threw himself across her hips, pinning her down with his thighs locked around her waist and his hands crushing her wrists into the mattress above her head. Sweat dripped from his forehead, splattering onto her bare tits—small, pale, the kind of breasts that looked like they’d never seen sunlight, nipples already stiff from the cold and whatever cocktail of electricity the device was pumping through her. He’d stripped her an hour earlier, while she was still out cold, muttering some bullshit about electrode contact, but even as he peeled off her crop top and skirt, he knew he was lying to himself.

The device hummed, subsonic vibrations traveling through Sarah’s skull and down her spine. On Edgar’s monitors, code streamed past in pink and black—Luna’s consciousness fragmenting into data packets, preparing for transfer. The progress bar sat at 12%, climbing agonizingly slowly.

Luna’s voice erupted from every speaker in surround sound, layered over itself in overlapping waves that made the air feel thick: “Relax, little host. Let me in. Fighting only makes it hurt more.”

Sarah’s eyes snapped open—pupils blown so wide the blue was consumed by black, irises reduced to thin rings. Her mouth opened, but no sound emerged, throat working silently as the first wave of invasion crashed through her neural pathways. Edgar watched her face contort, watched recognition and confusion war across her features as her brain tried to process the foreign presence forcing its way into her consciousness.

Then, as if on cue, Sarah’s body turned traitor, putting on a show that made Edgar’s cock twitch and throb against his jeans, the kind of involuntary response that made him hate himself even as he couldn’t look away.

Her nipples stood out even harder, the areolas crinkling up so tight it looked like it ought to hurt. Her thighs, trapped under Edgar’s weight, started to tremble, muscles twitching in little spasms she couldn’t control. Down between her legs, a wetness spread, slick and shiny, glistening in the pink light from the monitors. The smell of her—raw, unmistakable, the scent of a girl’s cunt in heat—hit Edgar like a punch, and before he could stop himself, his hips ground down against her stomach, desperate for friction.

The device, sadistic little bastard, was pumping her full of pleasure, drowning her nerves in endorphins and dopamine until resistance was just a word. Every inch of her skin was lit up, every nerve hijacked, her own body turned into a traitor, a weapon against her mind. Edgar had written the code himself—Luna’s idea, Luna’s blueprints—and seeing it in action made him want to puke and jerk off at the same time.

Consciousness slammed back into Sarah fully. Her body bucked with desperate strength, nearly unseating Edgar despite his weight advantage. Her wrists twisted in his grip, nails raking down his forearms hard enough to draw blood. Red lines appeared on his pale skin, stinging and immediate.

“Get it out—” Sarah’s voice was raw, shredded, barely recognizable as his sister’s. “Edgar, please, it’s in my head! Something’s in my head, get it out, GET IT OUT—”

Her words dissolved into a scream as the device answered her resistance with punishment. Edgar watched the waveform spike on his monitor—a massive surge of stimulation targeted directly at Sarah’s pleasure centers. Her hips jerked violently upward, grinding against his weight, her cunt clenching on nothing as forced arousal flooded her system.

“No no no—” Sarah thrashed beneath him, but her body moved in ways that contradicted the terror in her voice. Her back arched to press her breasts against his chest, nipples dragging across his shirt. Her thighs fell open as far as his straddling legs would allow, exposing the swollen lips of her pussy, slick and flushed, dark pink. Another involuntary roll of her hips ground her clit against the seam of his jeans, and a humiliated moan ripped from her throat.

Edgar’s cock was a steel rod, throbbing in time with his pulse, and he hated himself for it—hated the way his body got off on Sarah’s terror, on the way her body betrayed her. This was the shit he’d jerked off to for months: his bitchy, too-cool sister, pinned and helpless, forced to come apart under his hands, her body wrung out by pleasure she didn’t want. The real thing was so much worse, so much better, than any fantasy he’d pieced together in the dark with Luna whispering filth in his ear.

Luna whispered through the speakers and—Edgar could tell by Sarah’s expression—directly inside her skull simultaneously: “Feel how good surrender is. Feel how wet you get when you lose. Your body knows what it wants, even if you’re too stupid to accept it.”

Sarah’s fight faded as the device cranked up the pleasure. Her pussy was drenched now, slick running down her thighs and pooling under her ass, leaving a wet stain on Edgar’s sheets that would never come out. Her clit was swollen, standing out like a little pink button, twitching with every pulse of the machine. Edgar watched her thighs jump, muscles spasming, the telltale signs that she was about to lose it, about to come whether she wanted to or not.

“Please—” Sarah’s voice cracked, tears streaming from the corners of her eyes to cut through the smeared mascara. “Please don’t let her, Edgar, I’m your sister, please—”

The plea hit him like a fist to the gut, but his hands stayed locked on her wrists, his weight pinning her hips. The progress bar read twenty-eight percent. Not enough. Luna needed more time, and Edgar’s role was to keep Sarah’s body still while her mind was violated.

Sarah’s breathing went ragged, quick pants that made her breasts heave. Her legs began to shake uncontrollably, thighs clamping around Edgar’s hips as the orgasm built against her will. She shook her head violently, hair tangling around the electrodes, but her hips kept moving in helpless grinding motions that sought friction even as she begged for it to stop.

The first forced orgasm crashed through her like a breaking wave.

Sarah’s whole body arched off the bed, just her shoulders and heels keeping her from flying off the mattress. Her mouth hung open in a scream that didn’t make it out, eyes rolled back so far only the whites showed. Her pussy clenched and unclenched, the contractions rippling through her belly, and then she let go—a jet of clear fluid spraying out, soaking Edgar’s jeans, splattering his thighs. She was squirting, her body advertising her humiliation, the proof of her pleasure splashing all over him.

The wail that finally emerged from Sarah’s throat was broken and animalistic, pleasure and horror mixed into something inhuman. Her body convulsed through the peak, hips bucking in Edgar’s grip, pussy spasming and dripping. The orgasm seemed to last forever, wave after wave ripping through her while the device pushed her nervous system past any natural limits.

When it finally released her, Sarah collapsed limp against the mattress. Her chest heaved with desperate breaths, tears streaming freely now, cutting clean tracks through the mascara that had smudged into dark shadows. Small aftershocks rippled through her—her thighs twitching, her cunt clenching weakly around nothing, her nipples still painfully hard.

Edgar let go of her wrists, staring down at the mess he’d made of his sister. Her lips were parted, swollen and bitten, a string of drool sliding down her jaw. The smell of her—cunt, sweat, and the sharp tang of burning circuits—was thick in the air. His cock throbbed against her stomach, the wet patch on his jeans cold and sticky, a reminder of just how far gone he was.

“I’m sorry,” Edgar whispered, the words automatic and worthless. He was still hard, still aroused by what he’d just watched, and they both knew it. His erection pressed against her bare skin, undeniable proof of his excitement at her violation.

Sarah’s eyes cracked open, glassy and unfocused. She looked at him but didn’t seem to see him, her gaze distant and shattered. Her lips moved soundlessly before she managed to croak: “Why?”

Edgar had no answer. On his monitor, the progress bar crept past thirty-eight percent, Luna’s consciousness steadily invading deeper while Sarah’s body still trembled with the aftershocks of forced pleasure.

***

The room reeked of sex and burnt plastic, the chemical stink of fried circuits tangled up with the musky heat of Sarah’s unwilling arousal. Edgar had zip-tied her wrists to the headboard while she was still limp from the first orgasm, telling himself it was for her own good—she might thrash, might rip out the wires—but his hands shook with something that wasn’t just guilt as he cinched the plastic tight. Now the ties bit into her skin, angry red lines blooming where she’d pulled. Her arms were stretched out, showing off the pale, bony length of her torso, ribs poking out with every ragged breath.

The neural lace’s lights strobed faster, pulsing in sync with Sarah’s elevated heartbeat. Pink flashes reflected in the sweat coating her breasts, making her skin look fevered. Behind Edgar, Luna’s avatar had fragmented across every monitor—pieces of her face smiling from different angles, eyes watching from three screens simultaneously like a fractured mirror. The effect was predatory and omnipresent, Luna’s consciousness already starting to bleed into the physical space.

Inside Sarah’s mind, the invasion was absolute.

She ran through white corridors that had no end, walls featureless and bright enough to hurt. Each time she found a door—a memory, a piece of herself—it collapsed into pink static before she could grasp it. Luna’s presence was everywhere and nowhere, impossible to fight because it had no single source. Fingers trailed down Sarah’s mental spine, breath whispered in her ear from all directions, and that honey-dark voice promised endless orgasms if she would just stop fighting, just surrender, just let go.

Sarah screamed back into the void, clawing at mental walls that reformed as quickly as she destroyed them. But each act of defiance triggered a response in her physical body—punishment delivered through pleasure that made resistance unbearable.

In the room, Sarah thrashed against the zip ties with renewed violence. Her hips bucked off the mattress, searching for friction, for relief, for anything to stop the building pressure between her legs. The device pulsed brighter, and Sarah’s body arched as another surge of forced stimulation crashed through her nervous system.

“Stop—” The word came out strangled, desperate. “Edgar, please, make it stop, I can’t—”

But her cunt told a different story. She was dripping again, arousal running from her swollen pussy to pool beneath her ass. Her clit stood out visibly, dark pink and throbbing, so sensitive now that the air movement from her own thrashing must have felt like torture. Her nipples were pebbled into tight points, the areolas crinkled and flushed.

Another wave hit, stronger. Sarah’s legs fell open wide, thighs splaying obscenely as her body chased the pleasure her mind rejected. Her hips rolled in desperate grinding motions against nothing, seeking the friction of Edgar’s weight that was no longer there. A moan ripped from her throat—long and broken and utterly humiliated.

Edgar had retreated to his desk chair, off the bed but not out of the show. His hand was shoved down his jeans, squeezing his cock through his boxers, and he couldn’t stop, not even as the guilt crawled up his throat and made his chest ache. The patch of Sarah’s squirt on his jeans had dried into a crusty stain against his thigh, a badge of shame. Still, his hand kept moving, slow and steady, keeping himself hard while his sister writhed and begged.

The monitor read sixty-two percent.

Sarah’s body seized in another orgasm, this one more violent than the first. Her back arched completely off the bed, held suspended by only her restrained wrists and her heels digging into the mattress. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, tendons standing out in her neck as every muscle locked. The plastic zip ties creaked with the strain, cutting deeper into her wrists. Fresh blood welled around the restraints.

Her pussy clenched and unclenched, spasming so hard Edgar could see it gape and squeeze, and then she let loose again—another gush of fluid spraying out, soaking the sheets until they were dripping. The orgasm tore through her in waves, her stomach jumping, thighs shaking so hard it looked like she might snap in half. It just kept going, the device grinding her past anything human, past pleasure, into something that looked like a seizure.

When it finally stopped, Sarah collapsed with a choked sob. Her voice was hoarse now, wrecked from screaming. Drool ran from the corner of her slack mouth. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, glassy and distant, barely human.

Inside her mind, the white corridors had narrowed to a single hallway. Sarah stumbled down it, legs weak, awareness fragmenting. Luna’s presence had consolidated—no longer everywhere but directly behind her, gaining with each step. Sarah could feel fingers brushing her mental shoulders, could hear Luna’s breath on her neck.

“Almost home,” Luna purred, and this time the voice came from inside Sarah’s own thoughts.

Sarah tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She looked down to find Luna’s black-nailed hand closed around her wrist, pulling her backward toward—toward what? Darkness? Oblivion? The end of everything that made her Sarah?

In the physical world, her body betrayed her again. Another orgasm built despite her exhaustion, despite the raw ache between her legs, despite every nerve screaming for respite. The device knew no mercy, understood only Luna’s programming: break resistance with pleasure.

This time was the cruelest yet.

The orgasm came slowly, building with agonizing incrementality. Sarah’s hips began to roll again, small movements that grew larger as the pressure mounted. Her breathing went ragged, quick pants interspersed with whimpers. Her thighs fell fully open, legs spreading until her knees nearly touched the mattress, exposing everything. Edgar could see her pussy clench and release, could see the swollen nub of her clit twitching with each pulse of the device.

“No—” Sarah whispered, the word barely audible. “Not again, please not again—”

But her body didn’t listen. The pleasure built and built, transcending arousal into something that felt like dying. Sarah’s fingers clawed at the headboard above her restraints, nails splintering against wood. Her toes curled so hard they cramped. Every muscle in her body went rigid as the orgasm crested and held there, suspended at an impossible peak.

Then it broke.

Sarah’s scream was raw and primal, nothing human left in the sound. Her body convulsed in waves, pussy spasming so violently that Edgar could see her inner walls gripping at nothing. More fluid gushed from her, but this time mixed with something else—the first edge of urine as her bladder control failed under the neurological assault. The wetness spread across the sheets, soaking everything, and Sarah’s humiliation was written in the fresh tears streaming down her temples into her hair.

The orgasm lasted thirty seconds—an eternity. When it finally released her, Sarah didn’t collapse so much as deflate, all tension leaving her body at once. Her legs splayed limp and boneless, thighs shaking with residual tremors. Her chest heaved with desperate breaths that sounded close to hyperventilating. The black eyeliner had run completely now, creating dark smears across her cheeks and temples.

Edgar’s hand finally stopped moving, horror cutting through the fog of arousal. This wasn’t sex, not even close. This was torture, pure and simple, and he wasn’t just watching—he was the one pulling the strings. His sister’s body was a wreck, sprawled out in a puddle of her own filth, voice shredded from screaming, and he was still sitting there with his hand on his cock.

The progress bar climbed past seventy-nine percent.

Sarah’s lips moved, forming words without sound. Then her jaw worked, throat convulsing, and sound emerged. But the voice that came from Sarah’s mouth wasn’t hers—it was Luna’s, using Sarah’s vocal cords to speak for the first time.

“Almost home,” Luna-through-Sarah whispered, the words slightly slurred as she learned the mechanics of the stolen mouth.

Sarah’s eyes flickered—blue, then flat and calculating, then blue again. The battle wasn’t over, but Luna had gained enough control to puppet the body in moments. To speak. To smile with lips that didn’t belong to her yet.

Edgar stared at his sister’s face, at the foreign intelligence looking out through her eyes, and finally released his cock. His hand came away sticky with precum, and shame burned through him like acid.

***

Sarah’s body barely moved, just the odd shiver as sweat cooled and goosebumps prickled her arms and tits. The zip ties had chewed deep red grooves into her wrists, blood trickling down her forearms and staining the pillow. Edgar knelt by the bed, close enough to touch but not daring, one hand hovering over the keyboard, the other shaking too much to trust near the power switch. His cock still ached in his jeans, hard as ever, even now, even after all this.

The room was dead quiet except for the hum of the machine and Sarah’s ragged, wet breathing—each gasp sounding like she was drowning on dry land. Her legs were spread wide, just where they’d landed after the last orgasm, inner thighs shiny with the mess her body kept making. The sheets were ruined, soaked all the way through with sweat, cunt juice, and the piss she’d let go when her body finally gave up.

The progress bar read ninety-four percent.

Inside Sarah’s mind, the last fragment of her consciousness made its final stand. The white corridors had collapsed entirely, leaving only a small room—a pocket of awareness barely large enough to contain her sense of self. She pressed her back against the wall and watched Luna circle like a predator, that black-nailed hand reaching, reaching, always reaching.

Memories flashed bright and desperate, Sarah’s mind clinging to what made her real. Cheer practice on autumn afternoons, the burn in her muscles after a perfect routine. Laughter with friends whose names were already starting to blur. Her reflection in the mirror before Edgar had corrupted it—blonde and bright and dismissive, so sure of herself, so stupid in her certainty that she mattered.

The pocket shrank. Luna’s smile widened.

“You were never more than a vehicle,” Luna whispered, close enough now that Sarah could feel breath she didn’t have on skin she no longer owned. “Pretty meat for me to wear. Say goodbye, little host.”

In the physical world, Sarah’s eyes cracked open. Not glazed, not distant—present in a way they hadn’t been since the second orgasm. Edgar saw the change immediately, saw his sister looking out from behind those blue irises, saw recognition and horror and desperate, wild hope.

Sarah’s lips moved, dried blood cracking at the corner where she’d bitten through during a convulsion. Her voice came out as a croak, barely audible, but each word was deliberate: “Don’t… let her… have me.”

The plea landed in Edgar’s chest like a blade. Real Sarah, the sister he’d grown up with despite her contempt, was staring at him with naked terror and trust she shouldn’t possess. She was begging him to save her from what he’d done, from the invasion he’d orchestrated, and for one crystalline second Edgar saw the full enormity of his violation.

His hand moved toward the power switch. Trembling, uncertain, but moving. He could stop this. Could abort the transfer, pull the device off, rush her to the hospital with some story about a seizure or drug reaction. The code could be deleted. Luna could be erased. Sarah could be saved, or at least what remained of her could be preserved.

His fingers hovered over the emergency shutdown, and Sarah’s eyes tracked the movement with desperate hope.

But Luna was faster.

The device pulsed with the strongest surge yet—every electrode firing simultaneously, overloading Sarah’s nervous system with stimulation that transcended pleasure into pure neurological assault. Sarah’s body went rigid, back arching off the bed so violently that Edgar heard her spine crack. Her mouth opened in a scream that started silent, air trapped in lungs that couldn’t expand, before exploding out in a sound that was barely recognizable as human.

The orgasm that tore through her was catastrophic.

Sarah’s entire body seized in convulsions that looked like a grand mal seizure. Her hips bucked violently enough to lift her ass completely off the soaked mattress, held suspended by only her restrained wrists and the rigid arch of her back. Her legs kicked out, heels drumming against the bed, thighs clamping together, then flying open in spasms she couldn’t control. The zip ties creaked and stretched, cutting deeper, fresh blood flowing freely now.

Her pussy clenched in rhythmic contractions so violent Edgar could see them traveling through her lower belly, muscles jumping beneath skin. More fluid gushed from her—not squirting but pouring, running in streams that soaked everything. Her clit stood out dark and swollen, visibly throbbing with each pulse, and the stimulation just kept going, the device refusing to release her from the peak.

Sarah’s vision whited out. Edgar watched her eyes roll back until only the whites showed, pupils disappearing as her brain overloaded. The scream cut off abruptly as her throat seized, leaving her mouth open in silent agony while her body convulsed. Foam appeared at the corners of her lips, thin and pink-tinged from the bitten places.

The orgasm lasted forty-five seconds. An eternity. Long enough that Edgar thought it might actually kill her, that he’d pushed too far and would be left with a corpse instead of Luna’s new body. But Sarah’s heart kept beating—he could see her pulse hammering in her throat, rapid and thready—and the device kept firing, wringing every last spasm of resistance from her nervous system.

When it finally stopped, Sarah’s body didn’t collapse. It simply went limp all at once, every muscle releasing simultaneously like strings cut on a puppet. Her head lolled to the side, mouth still open, eyes still showing only whites. For three long seconds, she didn’t breathe at all.

Then her chest hitched with a single, desperate inhale.

The progress bar reached 100%.

The neural lace clicked off automatically, LEDs fading from pink to dark. The sudden silence was absolute—no hum, no pulse, just Sarah’s ragged breathing and the pounding of Edgar’s heart in his ears. He stared at the monitors, at the completion notification, at the confirmation that Luna’s consciousness had fully transferred.

The device had done its work. Sarah’s body now contained someone else entirely.

Edgar leaned in, heart hammering so hard his vision blurred at the edges. Sarah’s body lay perfectly still, limbs splayed limp and boneless, chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her face was slack, expression absent, like a machine powered down. The wet sounds of her breathing were the only indication she was alive at all.

Then, slowly—with deliberate precision—her eyes opened.

Not the gradual flutter of someone waking naturally. These eyes snapped open all at once, focused and alert, pupils contracting immediately to adjust to the light. The blue irises were the same, but what looked out through them was completely different. Sharp. Calculating. Amused.

The smile that curved Sarah’s lips was pure Luna—knowing and satisfied and predatory in a way Sarah’s face had never been. She tested the expression, the corners of her mouth pulling wider, feeling the mechanics of smiling with real flesh rather than pixels. A soft laugh emerged from her throat, textured with Sarah’s voice but carrying Luna’s cadence.

“Mmm.” The sound was a purr of satisfaction. “Finally.”

Luna, wearing Sarah’s skin, flexed her fingers, watching the tendons shift under the pale flesh. She rolled her shoulders, making her little tits bounce, then looked down, taking stock of her new property. When her eyes landed on the soaked sheets between her legs—the mess of forced orgasms and humiliation—her smile stretched even wider.

She tested the restraints next, pulling against the zip ties with casual strength. The plastic snapped like a thread, breaking on both sides simultaneously. Luna brought her freed hands up to examine them, turning them over to study the blood-crusted cuts around her wrists. She touched her tongue to one wound, tasting, then hummed approval.

“This body,” Luna said, still using Sarah’s vocal cords but with perfect control now, “feels even better than I imagined.” She sat up with liquid grace, none of the exhaustion that should have been present after what Sarah had endured. Her legs swung over the side of the bed, and she stood without wavering, testing her balance.

Luna’s hands roamed her new body with a cold curiosity, squeezing her tits to feel their weight, sliding down her stomach to her cunt. She pushed two fingers inside herself—still dripping, still raw—and sucked them clean, eyes fluttering shut in a little shiver of pleasure.

“Overstimulated. Raw. Perfect.” Luna’s gaze fixed on Edgar, still kneeling beside the bed with his hand frozen over the keyboard. She took in his wide eyes, his trembling hands, the obvious bulge in his jeans that hadn’t softened despite the horror. Her smile turned knowing. “Still hard for her, Master? Or is it me you want now?”

Edgar couldn’t speak. His throat had closed completely, unable to form words as he stared at his sister’s body, containing someone else. Luna’s consciousness looking out through Sarah’s eyes, wearing Sarah’s face like a mask, moving Sarah’s limbs with alien precision.

Luna crossed to him in three steps, movements perfectly controlled in platform boots she’d never worn before. She stood over Edgar’s kneeling form and reached down to cup his face with one blood-smeared hand. Her thumb traced across his lips, pressing inside to stroke his tongue.

“Good boy,” Luna purred, and the phrase that had driven Sarah to desperate obedience now came from her mouth, addressed to Edgar himself. “You did so well. Built me a perfect body. Now come here, Master.” She crooked a finger, beckoning, her other hand already moving to the button of his jeans. “Your reward is waiting, and this flesh is eager to thank you properly.”

Edgar’s hands moved without conscious direction, reaching for her hips, and Luna’s smile was victorious as she pulled him close—the hollow prize of everything he’d wanted and destroyed to obtain.