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Moments with Molot By Limewah Commission for Anonymous Featuring Strelkov’s characters 18+

Molot smacked his lips and tensed his tongue, as if that would help mitigate the burnt-vinegar taste of the coffee. He tilted his mug and examined the dark fluid. He hadn’t really been paying attention; the colour looked off, more very dark brown than jet black.

“Ugh. Note to self, change the filters on the coffee maker…”

“Huhn…?”

The lombax’s ears perked up, and he glanced at the panda in the reclining chair in the corner. The chair was a little bit like a dentist’s chair, reclined almost horizontally, with no restraints; there wasn’t a need for them. The panda was dressed down to his underwear, and was quite still. He was staring up with unblinking eyes. Two thin red lasers were shooting into each one from a small circular panel attached to a crane-arm. Every so often one of his eyes twitched.

“Oh, I wasn’t talking to you-” Molot began, before pausing. “Hmm…”

He approached the chair. The panda was still, though his gaze was quivering just a little, as though they were in deep REM sleep. Whatever experiences they were going through… they were sure to be vivid. A cascade of sensation, sound, colour, and touch, impossible to define or reflect upon, but as close to an out-of-body experience one could get without an ayahuasca ceremony. It was all just as Molot intended. He spoke into the panda’s ear, clear, precise, and commanding.

“Now, listen closely. You will change the filters in the coffee maker after the conclusion of this procedure.”

“I will change the filters in the coffee maker,” the panda repeated calmly, almost distractedly. “After the conclusion of the procedure.”

Molot checked his wrist-watch. There was a stop-watch timer on the square, chromed screen. He paused it, and extrapolated backwards a few seconds in his mind.

“Stenograph,” he said, and the outer rim lit up - a sign that it was listening.

“Untitled Device, Test 35. Full neural penetration achieved in less than 20 seconds… and on a first-time subject no less. The efficacy of the device has been improved considerably… but power draw remains the primary bottleneck.”

Molot reached down to stroke the panda’s bare chest as he idly spoke, feeling the slow rise and fall of his torso. He felt a bulge thicken and pulse between his legs, too. There was a warm, plush texture to his cock.

“Perhaps a portable battery pack will be the best solution. If a short blast is all that is needed, then this could make an excellent field tool for Pacification.”

He imagined it. The panda made a useful stand in for a hero for now, kneeling before him and staring dazedly at the shining, tight-suited form of his new Master. Sleek and glossy, his suit leaving nothing to the imagination, providing a canvas for the new slave’s worship.

“...hm, would the Pacifier suit as a name? No. Absolutely not. Conclude Recording.”

When the watch’s light switched off, Molot switched off the laser machine in turn.

The panda slumped visibly in the chair, like a puppet whose strings had been snipped. His eyes slid closed as he half-grunted, half-snored. He was unconscious practically instantly; though, really, he hadn’t been conscious to begin with.

The panda’s cock was twitching to attention even now, making a tent in the tight black briefs. The Lombax examined the pillar in its cloth prison, still throbbing involuntarily now and again. He couldn’t help himself. He slid his fingers along the underwear and curled around the fleshy joystick, feeling its pleasant heat and quickening pulse as the panda moaned needily.

“Rest well, bear,” Molot chuckled to himself. “You’ll be well compensated for this.”

He took another sip of the coffee - his chuckle turned to a choke, then a sputter and a spit.

–

Molot always felt exposed when he was ‘activated’. It might have been a text message, or a phone call that activated him and sent Ruslan deep into his subconscious, so far into dreamland that he wouldn’t emerge again for quite some time.

As Molot woke, he tasted something sweet, milky, and lukewarm. Awful thing. He pitched the rest of the cup, spilling its contents on the sidewalk as he walked quicker.

The next thing he did was cringe and squirm at the sensation of those clothes on his body.

He couldn’t imagine how anyone wore shit like this. Cotton shirt, denim jeans, a leather jacket… regular canvas shoes? Ugh.

They chafed at his body, just baggy enough to keep brushing against his fur as he hurried to Ruslan’s apartment to change. It was deeply irritating.

By the time he was in the front door, he was already in the process of stripping him off, as though the clothes were on fire. He left them strewn and crumpled about on the floor; it was all they deserved.

Being naked was slightly better… only slightly.

When Ruslan opened the secret compartment behind Ruslan’s wardrobe, he immediately felt a pang of comfort, the sense he was home again.

Several pairs of those thick bodysuits were waiting for him. Self-powdering for easy application, perfectly shaped to his firm form… each one would be like being squeezed by a lover.

He took his time choosing a suit; the one on the far left hadn’t been worn in a bit.

It was slightly cool to the touch, not in sync with his body heat just yet. He brought the suit to the bed and draped it out over the sheets, examining the inviting slit in the back and smiling with anticipation. First one leg slipped in, then the other. He tugged and guided the form-fitting, stretchy sheen up over his thick calves and thighs, until his feet wiggled through the ankle-holes. Next came the arms. He slipped them in and lifted the suit up, tugging them up over his head and letting the material slide down over his shoulders as the self-sealing seam took effect. It shrink wrapped to his frame, pulling tight against his defined muscles, and packed his hard shaft into a firm, orderly bulge.

He looked at himself in the mirror, his thin tail swishing back and forth over his pert rump.

He looked amazing. Powerful. Unstoppable. Even before he added the boots and gloves to that configuration.

He was ready to work.

-

“You’re joking, right?” the giant ram laughed, nearly spitting out his last mouthful of coffee. He looked out over the park, at the scattered walkers and picnic-ers. None of them paid him, or Molot, any heed.

“Nope.” Molot said, still taking his time with his own drink. The coffee in the base was always kind of shit, so it was nice to get a little treat from a café now and again.

“Fuck’s sake.” Forge said. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Fake letters from an attorney and everything,” Molot continued.

“Over, what, a hundred dollars?”

“Yep. I guess I’ll have to brainwash him again, maybe delve a little deeper.”

“You don’t think that’s overkill?” Forge leaned back on the creaking bench and tutted. “You shouldn’t rely on mind control as a crutch, you know.”

“Easy for you to say, with a body like yours.” Molot said. “Besides, we’re both brainwashed, aren’t we?”

“That’s besides the point,” Forge said. “If someone finds out you’ve been hypnotising your landlord-

“Ruslan’s landlord,” Molot said. “Not mine. The entire apartment block’s still ignorant, and that includes Ruslan.”

“Sure, Ruslan’s landlord, whatever- if the cat gets let out of the bag, that’s gonna need some clean-up. Dr. S doesn’t enjoy cleanup.”

“Neither do I. Don’t worry, I’m being careful.”

Forge crumpled up the paper cup in his hand before three-point tossing it into a trash can across the walkway. The target a bit further than a normal person might have been able to hit.

“Good shot,” Molot said.

“Shit, I shouldn’t have done that, should I?” he said, tensing up. “Shit, is someone gonna clock us?”

Molot could tell.

“No one can tell, Forge,” Molot said. “I promise you. You’re blending in just fine.”

Forge tutted.

“So… explain to me how this works?” he said, looking down at Molot again. The Lombax grinned up at him.

“You know the jargon will just put you to sleep, right?” Molot said. “Just enjoy the sun. Enjoy not being recognized. Isn’t it nice, being able to just blend into the crowd?”

“Yeah,” Forge spat begrudgingly.

The holographic device strapped to Forge’s belt enveloped him in a carefully calibrated distortion of light. To outside eyes, the superpowered ram looked like a slightly less jacked panther, and Molot looked like a rather sleepy older rat gent.

Molot could see the ‘real’ ram through his goggles; the internal HUD provided a constant-read out of the disguise’s integrity.

All of it was holding up just fine. The power draw looked okay, too…

This was an invention he was particularly proud of. Good for reconnaissance, plus, it meant he could go around in public while he was still suited. Molot hated the idea of wearing anything other than his uniform. He felt naked without that sheer black bodysuit, the gloves, the boots.

It also added to the sense of secrecy, that he was getting away with something. That the rest of the world was ignorant to his presence, his power… that, in itself, was kind of hot.

Not that anyone would notice his hard-on.

A slender cheetah wearing rather tight shorts jogged past their bench. His eyes fixated on Forge for a moment, his pace slowing for just a second. They shot him a strange little smile before continuing on. The ram sat up quick as a gunshot.

“Shit. Are you sure it’s working? Did he clock us?”

“Come on,” Molot said. “He was clearly eye-fucking you.”

“Huh.” Forge paused and pursed his lips, nodding. “Right, right… s’been a while since that happened.”

“It’s nice not being recognised, isn’t it?” Molot’s prideful grin grew wider. “He wouldn’t even realise it was you if he was touching you. At least, I think so. I haven’t tested it yet.”

“Yeah, cool,” Forge said, though his eyes were still on the receding jogger.

He didn’t look back at Molot until that twink was well out of sight.

“You sure he didn’t recognise us?” he said again.

“You will be thinking about him for the rest of the day, right?”

“N-no.” Forge snorted through his nose, with the posture of a stroppy schoolboy. The attraction was obvious.

“Will we stop by here again, same time next week?” Molot said, unable to hide his glee. “See if we can get you two a little meet-cute?”

“The fuck’s a meet cute?”

Molot didn’t respond. He was already making plans in his head. That cheetah could be a nice test subject, come to think of it… and he could always wipe the cat’s mind afterwards to ensure that Forge had a more ‘organic’ shot at him.

–

Molot smacked his lips, taking some time to luxuriate in the flavour. He’d nailed it at last.

The coffee was sweet, cold, and bracingly strong.

Batch 18 was his best cold brew yet.

A perfect capstone to a very successful heist.

He was far enough away that the screams of the sirens were so faint you’d have to actively be listening out for them. He was in the clear. He’d made it back to his - well, Ruslan’s apartment. It was, somewhat paradoxically, the safest place for him to be when the heat was on after a successful heist.

Technically the heist wasn’t quite over, but his job was done. A routine in-and-out procedure, breaking into a small, but well guarded lab for some startup with a truckload of money, a laser guided focus on genetic research… and plenty of rivals who wanted to steal their secrets.

There was a good market for that sort of work.

The samples had been filched, and handed off to a fence who’d bring them straight to the good Doctor. All the while, Forge was doing the fun, glamorous task of running interference, drawing the ire of the law and keeping them occupied until they copped on that it was too late.

Molot didn’t feel like he was quite off the clock, yet. He was still suited up, after all. And he would have to make his way back to base eventually.

But… right now, he had some semblance of privacy. He sat on Ruslan’s bed, surveying the familiar mess, breathing in the familiar scents.

He was rather warm, and his tight black bodysuit clung to him like tar. Lying back on the bed drew Molot’s attention to just how exhausted he was, how sore his legs were. And the relief that came from that realisation made his loins pulse suddenly. He was hit with a sudden paroxysm of pleasure that forced out an audible groan from his throat.

…It had been a while since he indulged himself. With Forge, with one of his test subjects… or even on his own.

He had a window of time now, didn’t he…?

He rested his hand on his chest, and slowly began to work down towards the growing bulge between his thighs. His fingers traced along the grooves of his muscles, enrobed in the tight stretchy fabric. When he spread his thighs open, the suit stretched and creaked, seeming to deepen the vice-grip around his muscles.

His cocktip was pushing upwards, tenting the fabric even as the suit seemed to shrink-wrap around the flesh.

The non-newtonian properties that allowed it to remain form-fitting at all times did an excellent job of squeezing the balls and enrobing the shaft. Another disarming paroxysm of pleasure made Molot gasp again, and he felt his toes curling inside his boots before he kicked them off.

The acrid chemical scent of the suit mixed with the hints of his own natural salty odor, just barely escaping from the breathable seams under his arms and around his neck.

He smelled great.

There was something about the scent of a man that messed with Molot’s head. It made thinking straight an ordeal, pushed his blood and his focus away from his mind and down between his legs. He could feel his IQ dropping as his inhibitions fell away.

As he got drunk off his own musk and the chemical-scent, it was impossible to resist the urge to grasp himself with both hands. One cradled his balls, fondling and kneading like testing an orange for ripeness. The other stroked up and down the shaft, gently easing the first droplets of pre-cum. They wouldn’t escape the inside of the suit… and he could clean it up later, as long as he didn’t go too overboard and stroke himself to…

Fuck, it was so smooth. The texture of the suit allowed his hands to squeak and glide along his packaged junk.

The insulating heat was like a warm, tight mouth deep-throating Molot, and it pulled him back to a recent memory of a large, sleepy alsatian, his eyes rolled into his empty head as his tongue lathered all the way between Molot’s legs. That tongue was so firm and wet and strong… it almost lifted him off the ground…

The same was his hips were lifting off the bed as his slow tentative strokes turned into faster pumps.

He hadn’t had sex in a while, and the memory of that last encounter reminded him of just how much he’d been missing. His horny hindbrain, kept dormant so he could focus on his work, had just broken into his brain and taken hold of the controls.

He bucked his hips up and down, losing track of time and of himself. He fucked his hands, and fucked the air, repetitive, forceful and unstoppable like a hydraulic engine. He hissed through his teeth, barely stifling some rather submissive-sounding gasps as his masturbatory strokes brought him closer to a rapidly approaching orgasm.

When it hit, the sudden jet of climactic white moved too fast, too violently for the suit to contain. A white arch of cum arced over his body and drizzled over him. The second spurt travelled even further, hitting him in the forehead and spattering the sheets around him. The following spurts were more contained - the suit had caught up. Blob after blob emptied into the sheath-like suit, keeping his cock slick and warm and wet.

Then came the post-nut clarity… and with it, the post-nut shame.

Molot groaned. His body was aching all of a sudden - was it the exertion from his daring escape finally catching up with him, or was it just from the sheer body-tightening force of the orgasm? It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to be moving any time soon. He’d have to thoroughly clean the suit, and himself, before he headed back.

Dr. S would have to wait. He’d probably understand.

As long as he didn’t know.

-

“Where have both of you been?”

The cougar’s arms and legs were crossed as he reclined in a thickly upholstered, obsidian black chair. It was suspended from the ceiling, able to revolve and move through every inch of the lab-cum-command-centre. His goggles were on top of his head, and he wasn’t wearing his thick lab gloves. It was about as dressed-down as the boss would get in this place. Which implied that he was exhausted and/or fed-up.

Dr. S had a ‘you-have-failed-me-for-the-last-time’ sort of look on his face. It wasn’t that abnormal; it was just how he looked when he was disappointed or mildly annoyed. It would have chilled a rank-and-file mook to the bone, but not Molot. He knew he was fine. Dr. S valued him too much - both as a lackey, and as a colleague - to do anything drastic.

“Both of us?” the Lombax asked. “Has Forge not returned yet?”

“No, I haven’t been able to contact him at all since the manoeuvres. It usually doesn’t take him this long to check in… not to mention you. You’re never late.”

“I just needed a quick breather at Ruslan’s apartment,” Molot said, putting his hands up in a conciliatory shrug. “I apologise. It got a little bit, ah, spicy out there, I ended up needing a bit longer to rest than I thought I might have.”

It wasn’t entirely untrue. He did have to have a post-wank and post-shower nap.

“It didn’t look that bad from my perspective,” Dr. S tutted. “Forge did his part, from what I can tell.”

The cougar’s attention was drawn to a silent newscast on a thick, buzzing monitor. A bird’s eye view showed a tangled, smoking mass; the eviscerated remains of what had once been a phalanx of heavily armoured, well-polished assault vehicles.

“Well, the police department’s new toys got smashed to pieces, so that’s something,” Dr S. sighed. “And the hand-off went fine… so why’?”

“Could be any number of reasons,” Molot lied. “He breaks his communicators by mistake all the time.”

The cougar’s gaze swept away from the tv screen, past Molot and over to another idly staring at the halo of teal-blue screens and their readouts; that meant he didn’t notice the slight flickering giveaway in Molot’s eyes.

Molot was giving Forge a chance for a little break. A sneaky little jamming device, along with that cloaking tech. The last thing he wanted was for the longhorn to miss his date.

Dr S sighed. “Anyway… looks like everything else is in order. The delivery was successful. So I guess if he wants to go dark, I can always interrogate him about it after the fact.”

…Oops. Molot hadn’t considered that, even though it ought to have been glaringly obvious. It was difficult to keep secrets from the good Doctor if he deemed it important for it to know them. Forge would probably get the details of his date brainwashed out of him.

“I’d be happy to do that for you, if that takes the pressure off of you!”

“Hm? Oh, sure.” Dr. S was already distracted again, his attention now drawn to camera footage of a warehouse, where the ill-gotten spoils were being unloaded.

Molot saved his sigh of relief for when he was out of earshot.

-

“Now, let’s try this again.” Molot stared down into the captive’s face, pressing a button on the small remote in his gloved palm.

The cheetah’s eyes were blood-shot a bright red, and his dilated pupils kept flicking back and forth, like he was keeping track of the movements of an angry wasp. His heart rate was slightly elevated, and his synapses were ablaze under the stream of hypnotic light.

Poor thing. The rewriting process wasn’t the most pleasant experience. Not quite the same as what the previous test subjects had experienced.

Desperate times, desperate measures, et cetera et cetera.

“What do you recall?” Molot asked. “About your last date with your partner?”

“George,” the cheetah responded instantly. “Where… is he…?”

Molot tutted to himself. Was that really the best cover name Forge could think of? Every time he heard it, he rolled his eyes. He turned the dial again, and the beam of light buzzed even more angrily. The cheetah cried out and twisted in his bonds. The erupting throb of precum from his exposed cock was, at least, a sign that he wasn’t in too much pain. Just the right amount, enough to stimulate him and open his mind up to the constant stream of re-writing light.

“One more time?” Molot asked again.

“Un… wh…?”

“The name of your partner?”

“G…who…?”

“There we are. Good boy. Now just look at the pretty lights for a while while I take some notes, thank you.”

“Okay…”

He stepped away and muttered into his watch as he stared at a flickering monochrome smear - a sort of sonogram of the flickers and flutters of the svelte cat’s now dimming and distant brainwaves.

“Stenograph. Neural desoldering takes significantly longer with a new subject compared to pre-conditioned subjects. But it seems to be possible, with only marginally more discomfort than normal, and no damage or changes to neuroplasticity. Proceeding to re-soldering process.”

“Is he okay?”

“Mm?” Molot glanced over to the hunched, hulking ram. He almost looked shy. Poor thing.

“Of course he is,” Molot said. “But if you feel like he needs some more stimulation, give him a handjob. I don’t need to tell you to be gentle, of course.”

“Mmh.” Forge said. “What’s the next step?”

“I’m just re-writing his memories. Don’t worry, he’s going to be no less smitten with you. And he’ll be good at keeping a secret. I will need your help for this, though.”

“Right, uh… what will I need to do?”

“Prompt him. Help jog his memories of your first date together, what you’ve done since… movies you’ve watched, that sort of thing. Don’t make new ones up, those are a lot more difficult to make stick.”

Forge moved closer, and was standing over the moaning, wriggling cat. His big paw reached down and gripped that shaft. The cheetah hissed and whined as his hips shot upwards, his heart rate spiking and his breath catching.

“All within parameters so far,” Molot continued with his recorded memo. “Sexual pleasure through mechanical means has proven a useful aid to re-soldering in the past, but manual pleasure administered by someone unrelated has as of yet been untested. Will see if this makes a difference.”

Forge was staring down at the cheetah’s dazed, slack face. He was blushing like mad. He was smitten.

Molot was happy to help play matchmaker.

The lombax approached and looked down at the cat, again.

“Now, it’s going to get a little intense again,” he intoned. “Are you ready?”

“Nn-hnnh…” the cat nodded slowly, his quivering, unblinking gaze unable to tear away from the strobing lightshow.

“Do you notice that your partner is here?” Molot asked softly. “Can you feel his hand? Would you like me to remind you who he is?”

“Yyesss….” the cat chirped, the barest flicker of a smile playing at the corners of his muzzle.

“Good.” Molot took hold of the device’s controller again.

Rather than reaching for the coffee he’d set aside, his other hand just happened to glide down to grasp at the bulge that strained between his legs. He was getting more and more horny lately, perhaps an internal reward for all the hard work he’d been doing. The arousal was a reminder of that second skin, and the power it conferred upon him… how well he wore it.

“Now, listen closely…”