Here atop the deck, the crisp air pulled in the breeze, the waves sloshed against the hull, the bird squawked.

I stood before Jenna.

She tried to pin a medal on my chest, really pushing and twisting and trying to force it, but the pin wasn't sharp enough to stick into my armored skin, so I gave her a hammer. She whacked it a few times--missing once or twice--but by the end of it, I now had a shining badge of honor nailed to my chest.

She grinned up at me.

I smirked down at her.

We were dressed in the new uniforms. Black and brown long coats that shimmered a sandy red--Dragon Scale fibers interwoven with Cyberleather.

Jenna, the Supreme Commander, saluted me.

I, the Supreme Admiral, saluted her back.

An applause drowned us out, hundreds of pairs of clapping hands, all across the decks, all sailors and soldiers of the new faction and political party, all dressed in the same uniform, their faces proud and filled with resolve.

We had a war to win.

I spun on my heels, walked off the platform and through the crowd--they parted for me--and my feet pounded against the decks, and the people turned and followed and clapped and smiled and some threw hats, and then I realized that this ship was a really fuckin' big ship and I had easily 200 meters to walk before I got back to the bridge--how big was this fuckin' thing now?

Ship Name: Re-Cycle

Ship Class: 450m-Class Capital Warship

Ah, fuck. Was this ship really a half of a fucking kilometer long?

People kept clapping and laughing and pouring in behind me, but soon they realized that we had a really long walk ahead of us, and we walked, the clapping dwindled down, the grins and smiles faded and grew tired and bored, and by the time I reached the bridge, I just wanted to not do anything anymore.

The bridge was no longer fixed to a tower. It now stood about as tall as the gun mounts. Sleek and aerodynamic and wrapped in reinforced glass. The doors slid open with a hiss as I stepped up to them, and I marched into the brightly-lit, renovated command center of the ship.

It was much larger than before.

Several screen monitors were affixed to blocks of machinery with seats in front of each, like a line of desks at a schoolhouse. There was a small helm up front by the windows and comm screens, but it wasn't for me.

Instead, Jessie had brought the Redrim Core Drive up to the bridge, and no longer was it just concrete blocks and chains. Rubber hoses and metal wires poured from the ceiling, crisscrossing in ways that seemed both messy and organized. There were, of course, the chains and binds and ball gags, the nipple clamps and chastity cages and coin slot plugs, yes, all of that sort of thing, and all of it was surrounded by dangling monitors that showed status screens and information as it did back in the engine room.

But this.

This wasn't a Masochist Drive. Nor was it the Super Masochist Drive.

"It's a Sadist Drive," said Jessie from the screen. "Go ahead and buckle in. We'll handle everything from here."

I cringed at the sight of this sketchy thing. How would it even work?

Cassandra's voice spoke throughout the ship. "Beginning Departure Checklist. Secure all personnel and equipment for takeoff."

Engines outside began to spin up. Slow whirrs at first, but building, growing louder.

Technicians filed into their seats in front of monitors and command consoles. The Card King nodded proudly at me as he stepped in, and he hurried over to the helm. Right behind, the Gimp King, and with him, a small squad of his finest gimps. They were bound and gagged, and they looked curiously around at any nearby noise.

"Hello, brother!" he shouted. "I've brought the required batch. I have no doubt they will be in good hands."

I tilted my head. "What?"

Jessie snapped at me. "Hurry up, cocksucker! We don't got all day!"

I brushed it off and stuck my feet into the Sadist Drive locks. They clamped shut, trapping me. The machine began to hiss, the screens blinked alive, and the floor beneath me rose into a platform.

Metal tubes shot into my torso like lashing snakes, and they hooked into me. Cool, crisp liquid poured into my body--a liquid magic dispersal system. I felt the electric-cold-wetness rush through my skin and muscle and bones, pumping raw mana into my body, filling me with power. My heart skipped a beat, and my eyes opened wide.

I grinned a wolf's grin. The Gimp King reflected it.

He barked an order, and his gimps hurried into marked spots around me. Clamps clacked shut on their feet. Chains wrapped them--they moaned in masochist pleasure--and I felt a rise within me. Yes. My dick! It was getting tickled by this!

The engines spun up louder. The Card King spun the helm, and the ship eased into a turn to face the open sea.

Mining lasers: jettisoned.

XP Update: +2,076,670,440 XP

Rockets: loaded.

Crew: secured.

LMD: Haste 60%, Levitate 40%

Flying Mode: engaged.

Sadist Drive: activated.

Emergency Power activated

Heart of the Sadist activated.

Heart of the Kraken activated.

Goosebumps rushed up my arms and back, and I felt myself growling. Those poor gimps. They would submit themselves entirely to me. To face my punishment, my wrath, my power. I would hurt them, yes, and I will love it.

So, so much.

My metal tentacle arms shot out from my torso, and I couldn't help myself. I whipped one of the gimps. It groaned and writhed. And though I had no dick, my boner was diamond-hard.

Whap! The gimps shuddered as one being, as one force interconnected.

The Gimp King stood arms crossed, his bulge throbbing proudly at the sight of his degenerate pupil whipping these submissive gimps, all to power this raid-boss-tier battleship and to satiate our lustful hunger.

Whap!

"Power levels increasing!" said a technician.

"Raising thrust--" said another.

The ship rumbled. The momentum pulled us.

"My word," said the Card King. "This power! The ship is roaring with energy!"

Whap-whap-whap!

The gimps moaned and twitched and squirmed.

Whapwhapwhapwhapwhap--

I salivated. I vibrated with sexual energy where I stood, no longer as some submissive trash can asshole, but as a conqueror, an invader, a dominator. I was a dom now, and seeing those gimps suffer, hearing their yelps and cries with pain and pleasure tasted so, so sweet.

Wh-wh-wh-wh-wh--

-ap-ap-ap-ap-ap--

The ship jolted with strength--the crew struggled to hold onto their seats--and it pulled downward as we lifted out of the water.

I could see it through the screen monitors, the ocean shrinking beneath the ship, the air pressure changing, and now--

I burst into mad laughter. Angry laughter. Demanding laughter. The gimps were steaming. Some frothed at the mouth. Their bodies shook as if electrified as each strike of my whip pushed them further and further and further until--

I came. I came. And once I allowed it, the gimps came, too.

The bridge filled with a cacophony of gimp orgasms and my angry, feral shouts of sexual victory.

A white ring--an airburst--shed from the hull as we shattered past the sound barrier.

Sadist Drive Bonus: 90%

Sadist Drive Status: Locked-in

This was bad. It was so good, it was frightening. Almost as good as coin slot masturbation, and I worried if I would become addicted to hurting people like this. Sexually addicted to hurting people. This was the sexual darkness, and I was in the thick of it. As long as I remembered the Gimp King's training, I should find my way.

The ship leveled out above the clouds and eased into a soft turn for our next heading--perhaps our final destination.

The Imperial Capital: Lambston.