Ethan learned the new rules of his life very, very quickly.
Rule #1: Samus Aran did not walk beside him.
She walked in front of him, six-foot-seven of glossy blue latex and jiggling apocalypse, scanning every hallway like it was a hostile alien planet.
Rule #2: She never blinked.
Her sapphire eyes glowed faintly behind half-lidded bedroom lids, tracking every heartbeat within fifty yards.
Rule #3: Personal space was a suggestion that applied to other people, not to her.
The first incident happened before first period even started.
Ethan shuffled toward his locker, Samus glued to his left side (one arm looped possessively around his waist, the other resting on the small of his back, fingers occasionally dipping lower to squeeze his ass like she was checking it was still there).
A freshman boy (some poor kid named Marcus) accidentally bumped into Ethan while trying to dodge the crowd.
Marcus barely brushed Ethan's shoulder.
Samus moved so fast the air cracked.
One second she was cuddling Ethan, the next she had Marcus pinned face-first against the lockers with one hand, her forearm across the back of his neck, her colossal tits squished against his back so hard milk squirted out the sides of her Zero Suit.
"Apologize," she purred, voice syrupy and terrifying.
Marcus squeaked, "S-sorry, Ethan!"
Samus leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Louder. And mean it, or I turn your spine into a jump rope."
"I'M SORRY ETHAN I LOVE YOU PLEASE DON'T LET HER KILL ME!"
She released him. Marcus slid to the floor crying happy, terrified tears and kissed Ethan's sneakers before scrambling away.
Samus turned back, expression instantly soft and dopey again.
"You okay, baby?" she cooed, cuppling his face between milk-wet palms. "Did he hurt you? Do you need me to carry you the rest of the day?"
Ethan managed a weak, "I'm fine," before she scooped him up bridal-style anyway and carried him the rest of the way to class like a princess carrying her prince.
Second period: Chemistry.
The teacher, Mr. Delgado, made the fatal mistake of asking Ethan to come to the front to demonstrate a titration.
Samus stood up so fast her chair exploded backward.
"No," she said simply.
Mr. Delgado opened his mouth to argue.
Samus leveled her Paralyzer (now permanently set to "dildo mode") at his forehead. The tip glowed magenta.
"Ethan stays seated," she explained, like she was reading from a holy text. "Ethan is precious cargo. Precious cargo does not walk across rooms full of acid and Bunsen burners. I will perform the experiment."
She strode to the front, hips rolling, ass clapping loud enough to rattle beakers. Every male student (and half the girls) openly drooled.
Samus performed the titration perfectly, one-handed, while cradling Ethan against her hip with the other arm. She even labeled the flask in bubbly pink Sharpie: ETHAN'S CUM ♡ (1000 mL).
Mr. Delgado gave her an A and quietly retired on the spot.
Lunch was its own circle of hell/heaven.
Samus refused to let Ethan sit on a normal bench. Instead she sat first, spread her thighs wide, and pulled Ethan down onto her lap so he was facing her, his back to the cafeteria. Her massive tits formed a natural table; she rested the lunch tray on them and fed him bites while her free hand slowly, discreetly jerked him off under the table.
Tifa and Lara sat on either side, fuming.
Every time another student so much as glanced in Ethan's direction, Samus's head snapped around like a turret.
A girl three tables away whispered, "He's kinda cute now—"
Samus fired a warning shot into the ceiling. A heart-shaped blast of pink energy punched a hole straight through three floors and the roof. Dust rained down.
"Eyes on your own plate," Samus called sweetly. "Or I start collecting them."
The girl passed out.
By seventh period, the school had installed a new feature: a red velvet rope line that formed a perfect circle around wherever Ethan was at any given moment. Samus had quietly threatened to "redecorate the gymnasium with intestines" if it wasn't done by sixth period.
It was done by fifth.
Gym class was cancelled indefinitely after Samus challenged the coach to a dodgeball game (one vs. thirty) and won by catching every ball with her ass cheeks, then hurling them back hard enough to embed them in the brick wall.
The final straw came after school.
Ethan just wanted to walk home.
Samus had other plans.
She marched him to the parking lot where (somehow, overnight) a custom vehicle had appeared: a matte-black armored Humvee with tinted windows and a roof-mounted turret shaped like an enormous vibrating dildo. The license plate read SAMUS 1.
She opened the back door, revealing an interior that looked like a strip-club love nest: plush pink leather, heart-shaped cushions, restraints bolted to the floor, and a mini-fridge labeled "Breast Milk – All Flavors."
Ethan stared.
Samus scooped him up, deposited him gently on the biggest cushion, and climbed in after him. The door sealed with a hydraulic hiss.
The partition between driver and passenger rolled up (driven by a brainwashed former hall monitor who now wore nothing but a maid outfit and a collar that read PROPERTY OF ETHAN).
Samus straddled Ethan's lap, tits smothering his face, and finally (finally) let the mask slip just a little.
"I know I'm a lot," she whispered, voice small for the first time all day. "I know I'm scary. But baby… the thought of you getting hurt again makes me want to burn planets. I can't turn it off. I won't."
She reached between them, freed his aching cock, and sank down onto it in one slow, reverent glide.
Ethan moaned into her cleavage.
"I'll be gentler tomorrow," she promised, starting to ride him with long, deep strokes that made the entire Humvee rock on its suspension. "I'll try. But you have to understand… you're not just my Master. You're my entire universe. And universes get protected."
She kissed him (soft, desperate, worshipful) while her hips rolled, milking him with practiced, lethal precision.
Outside, students pressed against the tinted windows, trying to see in. Inside, Samus fucked Ethan so tenderly and so filthily that he came three times before they even reached the first stoplight.
When they finally pulled into his driveway, Samus carried him inside (still impaled on her, legs wrapped around his waist, refusing to separate even to walk).
Lara and Tifa were waiting in the living room, arms crossed, glaring daggers.
Samus didn't even pause.
She walked straight past them, cooing, "Bodyguard shift isn't over until he's asleep inside me," and headed for the bedroom.
Lara hissed.
Tifa cracked her knuckles.
Ethan (dazed, sticky, happier than he'd ever been in his life) just closed his eyes and let his six-foot-seven, galaxy-destroying, pathologically overprotective bimbo bodyguard carry him away.
Tomorrow she promised she'd be gentler.
She lasted exactly six minutes the next morning before vaporizing the mailman for putting junk mail in the slot too loudly.
Gentle was relative.
And Ethan was the safest, most suffocated, most adored boy on planet Earth.
Whether he wanted to be or not.