Chapter 15: Idkk
He stayed like that for an hour, until his jaw ached and her skin was chapped from his stubble. When he finally pulled away, his eyes were clearer. “Better?” she asked, running a thumb over his damp lower lip. He just nodded, nuzzling back against her thigh, and she knew the answer was yes.
That evening, they were on the couch, the black leather sighing beneath them. A forgotten game stream glowed on the wall. His head was in her lap again, his mouth on her, a lazy, idle sucking that had no goal but presence. She stroked his hair, watching the screen without seeing it. “You’re gonna wear me out,” she murmured, not meaning it.
“No I’m not,” he mumbled against her, the words vibrating through her flesh. “You love it.”
She did. The power of it was a drug. But a new thought, cold and sharp, slid in. Was this all she was now? A fucking security blanket with a dick? The pleasant haze evaporated. She shifted, a subtle tension in her thighs.
He felt it. He pulled off, looking up. “What?”
“Nothing.” She tried to relax.
He studied her face, then slowly, deliberately, lowered his head again. This time, he took her deep, his throat working, swallowing her down to the root until she felt the head of her cock bump the back of his palate. He held her there, his nose pressed into her pubic bone, until she gasped and her hips jerked. He was reminding her. He owned this feeling, owned the source. Her doubt melted, burned away by raw, gagging sensation. She came hard, her heels digging into the leather, her cry sharp in the sterile air.
After, he rested his cheek on her thigh, catching his breath. “See?” he said, his voice ragged.
” he said, his voice ragged. She traced the shell of his ear, watching colors dance across the screen without processing them. His breath was a warm, damp ghost on her inner thigh, his presence as constant and demanding as the static humming beneath the cushions.
The next night, another stream flickered, some loud comedy about androids. His head was in her lap again before the opening credits finished. His mouth, practiced and hungry, found her through the thin silk of her shorts. She sighed, a genuine sound of pleasure, her body arching into the familiar, worshipped heat. He sucked her slowly to full, aching hardness, his reinforced jaw applying that perfect, unwavering pressure.
“You’re obsessed,” she breathed, her hand finding his hair.
He hummed in agreement, the vibration traveling straight up her spine.
She laughed then, a low, throaty sound. “You know, baby,” she said, her voice teasing, her fingers tightening slightly in his curls. “This fucking thing isn’t my only part.” She guided his head, just a inch, to the side, where the softness of her inner thigh met the curve of her ass. “Get your mouth on something else for a minute. Christ.”
He went still. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the canned laughter from the screen. Then he moved, not with reluctance, but with a dark, focused curiosity. He nuzzled aside the silk, his breath hot, and his tongue—that expert, devoted tongue—laid a broad, wet stripe not on her cock, but lower, tracing the sensitive pucker of her asshole.
“Oh, fuck,” Glitch gasped, the surprise melting instantly into a sharp, novel thrill.
He ate her ass with the same single-minded devotion he gave her dick, his tongue pushing insistently against the tight ring of muscle, licking and probing until she was writhing. “Yeah, just like that, you hungry bastard,” she moaned, her head thrown back, one hand scrambling for the couch arm.
He didn’t stop. His tongue worked her open with a wet, sloppy dedication that left her shaking. He buried his face between her cheeks, fucking her with his tongue, groaning into her skin like he’d found a new religion.
When he finally pulled back, his chin was glistening. He looked up at her, eyes black with want. “Fuck,” he breathed, and dove back down, but his mouth bypassed her dripping cock entirely, returning to lap hungrily at her loosened hole.
As the days bled together, this became the new rhythm. He would appear, silent and inevitable, his hands sliding under her dress whether she was calibrating a relay or staring at the rain-smeared viewport. She’d feel his breath, hot through the fabric, and a thrill would spike—a guessing game with her own body as the board.
Would it be the sharp, welcome heat of his mouth swallowing her down, his throat convulsing as he took her whole? Or would it be the slower, more shocking intimacy of his tongue pressing into her ass, licking and probing until her knees gave out?
One afternoon, she was trying to focus on a broken signal decoder, its components scattered across the floor. His shadow fell over the parts. She didn’t look up. “I’m busy.”
He knelt. His hands pushed her thighs apart. She felt the cool air, then the wet, flat stroke of his tongue—not on her cock, but lower, circling her asshole with deliberate, obscene precision. “Goddammit,” she hissed, her fingers crushing a capacitor.
He froze, his tongue still pressed against her. She watched his shoulders tense, saw the realization hit him—he’d pushed past a line she hadn’t known was there. “Shit,” he muttered into her skin, pulling back. “Glitch, I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” His apology was a frantic, wet mumble against her thigh before he turned his head and took her cock into his mouth with a new, desperate urgency.
This was different. It wasn’t worship or hunger. It was penitence. He sucked her off with a frenzied, deep-throating rhythm, his hands gripping her hips hard, tears of effort or regret mixing with the spit slicking her shaft. He was trying to swallow his mistake, to suck it out of the air between them. “It’s okay, baby,” she breathed, her anger dissolving as she felt the raw need in his mouth. She cradled his head, stroking his sweat-damp hair as he worked her. “It’s okay. Maybe I should’ve given you more space to begin with.” He whimpered around her, the vibration a raw echo. “More space for this,” she sighed, her head falling back as he drove her toward the edge.
He sucked her through that first climax, his throat working relentlessly as she pulsed against his tongue, her fingers leaving white-knuckled impressions on the leather. “Don’t you stop,” she gasped, the words shuddering out of her, her eyes already refocusing on the scattered decoder parts by her feet. He didn’t, his mouth a wet, insistent vacuum on her oversensitive cock, and as a second, deeper wave began to build in her gut, she reached for a splicer tool with suddenly steady hands.
“Just like that, fuck, keep sucking,” she muttered, her voice low and commanding as she peered at the fractured crystal circuitry. His obedient mouth was a constant, grounding pressure as she aligned two hair-thin filaments, her world splitting perfectly between the buzz in her loins and the problem in her hands. Then she felt the blunt, wet pressure of a finger, slick with his spit, circling her other hole, and she didn’t flinch. “Yes,” was all she said, a breath of permission.
He pushed his finger into her ass, slowly, the tight ring of muscle yielding to that persistent invasion, and a shocking clarity laser-cut through the pleasure. Her hand, which had been trembling moments before, became perfectly steady. She slid the filament home, her breathing even, as he finger-fucked her with slow, deep thrusts, his mouth never leaving her cock. The dual sensation—the deep, full ache inside and the tight, sucking heat on her shaft—sharpened her mind to a phenomenal point. She could see the signal path, visualize the corrupted data stream as he crooned a groan around her flesh, the vibrations traveling straight to her core. “Faster,” she instructed, her tone analytical, and he obeyed, his finger pistoning into her ass while his tongue flicked the head of her cock.
A spark leapt between the contacts in her tool, the decoder humming to life in her palm just as her second, catastrophic orgasm detonated.
A spark leapt between the contacts in her tool, the decoder humming to life in her palm just as her second, catastrophic orgasm detonated. Her back arched off the floor, a wordless scream tearing from her throat as he finger-fucked her through it, his mouth milking her cock until it was soft and spent. She collapsed, the smell of ozone and her own come thick in the air, the decoder clicking quietly in her slack hand.
He crawled up her body, licking her stomach, her breasts, her throat, tasting the salt of her sweat. “I fixed it,” she whispered, dazed, holding up the device.
“I know,” he murmured, kissing her jaw. “I felt you fix it.” He was hard against her thigh, a blunt, insistent pressure. He shifted, his cock nudging at her entrance, but she put a hand on his chest.
“Not here,” she said, her voice still shaky. “My back is killing me on this floor.” She looked at him, at the desperate hunger in his eyes, and a slow smile spread across her lips. “Take this to bed. Properly.”
He didn’t need telling twice. He stood in a fluid motion, pulling her up with him. They left the tools and the humming decoder on the floor, a trail of discarded clothes marking their path to the dark bedroom. The air was cooler there, the sheets a crisp, black expanse.
He laid her down, her body a pale contrast against the void of the fabric. He started where he always did, his mouth descending, taking her softly into the wet heat of his mouth. She sighed, her fingers lacing behind her head, watching him work. He sucked her back to full, rigid attention, his tongue tracing the swollen veins with a devotion that made her toes curl. Just as the first tremors began in her belly, his hand slid down, a finger slick with his own spit circling her other hole.
He pushed it in as his mouth redoubled its efforts, swallowing her down. The dual invasion, familiar now, tipped her over. She came with a sharp gasp, her hips lifting off the mattress, her release flooding his throat. He sucked it all down, his finger still buried deep inside her.
Before the last pulses had even faded, he changed. He released her cock with a wet pop and shifted down the bed, his hands spreading her cheeks. His mouth, that voracious, devoted mouth, found her ass. He ate her out with a sloppy, starving intensity, his tongue plunging into the looseness his finger had created. He licked and probed, groaning into her flesh, and the sensation was so shockingly intimate, so filthy and perfect, that she came again almost immediately, a softer, deeper clenching wave that had her muffling a cry in the pillow.
He didn’t let her breathe. He moved back up, took her throbbing cock in his hand, and began to stroke her, his grip tight and sure. He watched her face as he jerked her off, his other hand pinning her hip to the bed. “That’s it,” he breathed, his eyes locked on hers. “Come for me again.” The command in his voice, the rough friction of his palm, pushed her into a third climax, a shorter, sharper burst that striped her stomach and his fist.
He brought his glistening hand to his mouth, sucked his fingers clean, then went back down between her legs. His tongue lapped at her spent cock, then traveled lower, burying itself in her ass once more. This time, he added a second finger, stretching her slowly as he feasted. The stretch burned, a delicious, full ache that merged with the relentless stimulation. She came a fourth time from his tongue alone, her thighs trembling violently against his ears.
The night dissolved into a wet, dark cycle of gasp and release. He sucked her to a fifth orgasm, his throat working greedily. He ate her out until a sixth, quieter one shuddered through her. He stroked her with a brutal, fast rhythm for a seventh. His mouth returned, sucking so hard he left bruises on her inner thighs, coaxing out an eighth.
Dawn was a grey smear at the viewport when he finally stirred from where he’d been resting, his head on her stomach. He was still hard, had been all night. He looked at her, her body glistening and wrecked on the sheets. “I need to be inside you,” he said, his voice raw.
He rolled her onto her stomach, pulled her hips up. He didn’t bother with more spit, just used the mess already there, guiding the thick head of his cock to her ass. He pushed, and the burn was exquisite. He slid in slowly, relentlessly, filling the space he had worshipped all night. Once he was fully sheathed, he stilled, both of them breathing hard.
Then he fucked her. Deep, pounding, full-stroke thrusts that shook the bedframe. He gripped her hips, pulling her back onto him with each drive. The pressure was immense, overwhelming, a direct line to her oversensitive cock, which slapped against her stomach with each impact. She didn’t touch herself. She didn’t need to.
The friction, the profound fullness, the animal sounds he made, it built a coil in her very core. It tightened with every thrust, a spring wound past its limit. When it broke, her ninth climax was a silent, total body convulsion, her ass clamping around him in rhythmic pulses, her cock jerking against nothing, spilling onto the sheets beneath her with no hand but his fucking her. He roared, slamming into her one last time, and she felt the hot rush of his own release filling her up.
They collapsed, a tangled, soaked heap. She felt him soften and slip out of her, a trail of their mixed fluids following. She didn’t move. She couldn’t.
Some unknown time later, she became aware of the sterile glow of full morning. She peeled herself from the mattress, her body feeling used and magnificent. She found a long shirt and walked on unsteady legs to the main living space. He was already at the dining table, a spread of nutrient packets before him. He looked up as she approached. His eyes were clear, peaceful.
He said nothing. He simply pushed his chair back, the legs scraping on the floor. He knelt beside her as she stood there, pushing the shirt up. His mouth found her, still tender, still half-hard. He began to suck, a slow, steady, breakfast rhythm.
He began to suck, a slow, steady, breakfast rhythm. Glitch, her body still humming from the night’s wreckage, reached for the coffee Lalita had silently brewed and placed on the counter. The bitter, hot liquid was a solid anchor in the floating sensation of his mouth on her.
“Mmm,” she sighed, not at the coffee, and scrolled a news feed with her free hand. A stock report, a zoning dispute, an orbital debris alert. His sucking deepened, his tongue flattening against the underside of her shaft, and she absently patted his head. “Good boy.” He moaned around her, the vibration a sweet counterpoint to the political analysis she skimmed.
She took a long sip, the rich roast flooding her senses as his throat opened, taking her all the way down. He held her there, his nose buried in her, breathing her in as she read about a reactor meltdown three sectors away. He pulled off with a wet gasp and immediately dove back, his lips sealed tight, sucking hard as if trying to draw the very marrow from her bones.
Her first orgasm of the morning was a quiet, steady release, a warm pulse directly into his waiting throat. He swallowed every drop, his adam’s apple bobbing, a low groan of satisfaction vibrating against her pubic bone. She didn’t pause reading, just flexed her hips slightly, feeding him deeper as she clicked to a story about transgenic sports.
His mouth was relentless, working her softness back to a throbbing stiffness, his reinforced jaw never tiring. He sucked her off a second time as she drained her mug, this climax sharper, a jolt that made her toes curl and her news scroll blur for a second. “Fuck, that’s good,” she muttered, to the article or to him, she wasn’t sure.
He lapped at her, cleaning her meticulously, his tongue worshipping the sensitive head. The cum was delicious and filling for him, a salty-sweet protein shake that grounded him in her reality. She poured a second coffee, the stream of dark liquid mirrored by the steady, devoted pull of his mouth.
He brought her to a third, slower peak, her cum a smaller, spent trickle he chased with the tip of his tongue. She read about new synapse-regulation laws, her fingers idly stroking the shell of his ear as he nuzzled, spent and happy, against her thigh.