by shukyou (主教)
“What’s it do?” I asked, staring into the box.
“What do you mean, what’s it do?” asked Isha. “It’s a dick.”
I could see that. “But what’s it do?”
“It does what dicks do,” Isha said. She poked at its head, and a small pink lightning storm erupted from the point of contact and spread down along the shaft. I had never seen a human penis in person my whole life long and I was still pretty sure they didn’t do that. “Want to try it?”
All I could think was, this wasn’t what I’d had in mind for my birthday.
Isha slipped a hand around my waist and pulled me closer, until we were side by side beside the table, staring down at the dick in a box. She nudged the table and it wobbled a bit. This was too weird by a factor of ten. “You can wear it first,” she said, her voice an enticing purr.
I gave her the strongest side-eye I could manage. “I don’t have the ports for that.”
“You don’t need the ports for that!” Sounding far too cheerful, Isha reached under the boxed dick and pulled out a clip of a matched rosy shade. “It’s got a bypass.”
Damn that beautiful woman. I sighed and leaned my head to one side, drawing back wisps of my silvery hair to reveal my interface. I’d had it installed so long ago, Isha’s mother hadn’t even been born yet. I tried to forget this at every opportunity, which of course meant she liked to remind me just as often. Damn her to hell, I thought again, as she fitted the clip around my ear, touching the contact points to the interface panel. I felt the familiar click as the hardware snapped into place, but then nothing after. “Your dick’s a dud,” I told her.
She rolled her eyes at me. “It’s not even on,” she sighed as she picked the dick up out of the box. It looked bigger in her hands than it had wrapped in its packing matrix, a real formidable hunk of synth. Peering at me over the tops of her half-moon glasses (entirely for show, her eyes were as perfect as the rest of her), she opened her mouth and took its pink head between her sea-green-painted lips. She swirled her tongue around the top and grinned. A second later, her hand turned at the base.
I gripped the table to keep from falling over. There was turned on, and then there was going from zero to monsoon in point-two seconds. “Fuck!” I yelped, trying to keep my balance as the sensation washed over me. Here I was, getting my first blowjob.
Isha just grinned as she took it further into her mouth, punctuating the soft wetness of her mouth with the occasional scrape of her front teeth, like she did against my pussy under normal circumstances, only now with a lot more surface area. I both felt it in my clit and didn’t at the same time, which was a weird bout of cognitive dissonance. I didn’t really have time to ponder the incredible duality of sensation, though, because she wasn’t letting me focus; instead, she was swirling her tongue around the knobby head, grinning at me all the while.
I like to say I don’t have much dignity left in me, but I’ve got more than I’d care to admit, and what little’s still hanging around told me I should reach up and rip the bypass clip from my ear, stopping this whole nonsense right here. I hadn’t signed on to the Utopia Veneris because I wanted more phallocentric nationalism in my life, after all. Then again, I also hadn’t bargained on acquiring a space-born girlfriend a third my age whose only real associations between fascism and penises came from history lessons, so I supposed there were always new and exciting ways life could take us.
With that same sly smirk on her face, Isha swirled her tongue around the top, then parted her lips and took half of it down in one swift stroke. “Fucking fuck,” I muttered, biting at my lower lip. I caught myself in the middle of an unconscious thrust of my hips, trying to shove it down even farther — but as gestures went, it was a vain one, considering how I wasn’t even touching the shimmering pink organ that had taken over all my senses.
Isha pulled the dick from her mouth with an obscene pop. “How’s that?” she asked. She unlaced the front of her corset and shoved the dick down between her breasts, which was a wonderful and different sensation all its own. Its glowing base stuck up right to the base of her throat, while the rest was hidden in the soft flesh of her cleavage. Just in case I’d forgotten about the connection there, she gave her rack a little shake, which I felt somewhat generally in the area I suppose a real, flesh-and-blood penis would have been, if I’d had one. Instead, I had this.
And I was starting to admit, to my chagrin, that this? Wasn’t so bad.
When I didn’t respond, Isha laughed and tugged the dick back out. She held it up and looked at it, then blew on it experimentally; that made me shiver, and she laughed. “This is better than I expected,” she said, giving it a little shake and eyeing me as I shuddered in response. “Maybe I should get a mount for it.” Pointing it away from her, she held it down just below her navel, shaking it back and forth like the world’s worst swashbuckler. “What do you think?”
“I think your pants wouldn’t fit,” I said through clenched teeth. Every time she moved that damned thing, I felt it all the way down to my toes. I was hardly a stranger to haptic hardware; for the first twelve years of my life, my left leg had been an expanse of circuitry from the mid-thigh down, and I’d needed a bypass like this one to make it work. But that was a leg, where I mostly needed sensation to tell me where the floor was and reassure me I wasn’t on fire. This was totally different, designed for pure sensation. I was no bio-engineer, but I supposed it somehow hijacked part of my brain and remapped its sensors to the nerves in my pussy.
With a shrug, Isha ran her fingers up and down the dick’s shimmering sides. “Speaking of pants, take yours off,” she said.
“Why?” I asked. Sometimes I was stubborn just for the sake of it.
“Firmware test,” she said, giving its shaft a squeeze.
I supposed I could have argued a bit more, made it clear that I was doing this because I wanted to, and not because she said so. But what would have been the point? That had been why I’d found myself falling for her in the first place, despite the years between us — she had all the time in the world for me, and none for my bluster or bullshit. I took my pants off.
“On the bed,” Isha said, pointing in its direction.
I didn’t waste my breath pointing out that, yes, I knew where to find the bed in these quarters; they had been my quarters, after all, long before they had been our quarters, and that bed had not, in all that time, relocated itself. I sat back on the bed, propping myself up against a the headboard. Whatever was going to happen next, I wanted to be sure I had a good view of it.
Still dressed, Isha sauntered over, letting her ample hips swing every step of the way as she brandished the pink dick in front of her the whole way. It wobbled with every step she took, like some weirdly firm tower of jelly that managed never to fall over. I whimpered a little as she teased its side with the brief edges of her fingernails, knowing just how much pressure to apply to land between ticklish and painful. Every point of contact sent off another shower of bright lightning that rippled across its synthetic surface and set off a thunderstorm in my brain. I wondered how high she had the sensitivity turned up, then realized it was probably the same as everything else in her life: all the way.
When she got to the bed, Isha set the dick aside for a moment, cradling it in a soft, near-sensationless nest of bedsheets. Grinning up at me, she got on her belly between my legs and pressed her face up against my pussy. Now this was more our usual speed. Parting those pretty, full lips, she ran her tongue around my clit, which was already fully hard and straining up for attention. Then she closed her mouth around it and pressed against me, licking and sucking eagerly. I sighed deeply and reached for her curly hair, stroking it to let her know that this was, in fact, appreciated. I’ve never been a big talker during sex, but I try to make up for it in other ways.
Isha looked up at me and shot me a mischievous wink, then set back to her task, flicking the tip of her tongue across my sensitive skin. I lifted my hips as much as I could, given our positions, trying to encourage her deeper. I could feel the edges of her teeth against the folds of my lower lips, just enough bite to make me moan. For all the fine lines she walked in her life, I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised.
I was surprised, however, at what came next: pressure against my cunt so confusing that for a moment, I all but lost track of my body. I thought it was her fingers, at first, but it felt like her mouth too, warm and wet even as I felt parted and pushed into. When I opened my eyes to sort things out, I looked down between my legs and saw the end of that pink dick sticking out between them. That meant the rest of it was….
“Gives a whole new meaning to telling you to go fuck yourself, doesn’t it?” chuckled Isha as she eased the shaft deeper inside me.
I couldn’t pull together a reply. I was too busy thinking back to being eleven years old, going to my first antigovernment rally with a sign my big sister made for me: THE SHOP IS CLOSED, in her perfect sparkly blue block lettering. That had preceded any sexual activity on my part by about a decade — a late bloomer, this one — but burned forever in my brain the connection between penetration and totalitarian policy. And yet, here I was, orbiting Jupiter while a beautiful woman stuffed me full of what was basically my own dick. I may have been a traitor to the middle-school vaginarchy, but hell, it felt good.
And it felt even better the deeper she got. I was already soaking wet from what she’d gotten up to earlier, so she met no resistance as she slid deeper into me — as she made me slide deeper into myself. And yet she took her time, smiling that wicked little smile as she worked her way in. The fingers of her free hand teased at my clit, making sure I was staying aroused enough to enjoy this. There was no worry about that, though; I was good and even better. I could feel the pleasant pressure of being filled, while at the same time I could feel exactly how warm and wet I was, how tight my muscles gripped and what it felt like every time I shifted my hips. It was a good thing Isha was holding onto that thing, because I didn’t know if I could have managed all that sensation.
For all I was overwhelmed, though, she looked like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. “Relax,” she told me as she tugged my clit between two of her fingers; the contradiction seemed rather obvious, but I was in no place to point it out. I was gasping as I leaned back against the headboard and … moaning? Was that sound something I was doing?
Isha slid the dick out of me slightly, then pushed it right back in, and oh, that was definitely something I was doing. I tried to stop, to regain some level of respectable control, but she moved the dick again and I lost my resolve. “Fuck!” I gasped, which was as much of a word as I could form under the circumstances. The rest was just noise, panting and groans that felt so deep I would have sworn they started even lower than my lungs, maybe my stomach, or maybe whatever parts of me she was now pushing into.
“Shh,” Isha whispered. She took the base of the dick in one hand and resettled herself so she was leaning over me, her body pressed against mine like a mirror. She kissed my ear and jaw, working her way down and around hardware as she continued to fuck me; with her hand against the base of her pubis, it felt as though not only her hand, but her entire body was controlling the pace of this deep fucking I was getting. “I’ve got you,” she murmured against the soft skin of my throat. “I’m right here.”
I could tell she was there; I could feel her whole body pressing down on me like a weighted blanket, soothing and secure even as the sensations between my legs were making me frantic. I whimpered, grinding my body up against hers, but she held me down like a four-point harness, not letting my own anxious reactions make me unsafe. Every thrust into me now made me cry out, a rhythmic moaning that I could hardly believe came from me. I knew from books that sex could sound like this, of course, and had even made a few lovers do the same in my day. But it was a different world when I was the one gasping with pleasure like that, and more so, when I couldn’t stop.
Isha grabbed the tip of my earlobe between her teeth and flicked her tongue across its tip, and of all things, that was what pushed me over the edge. I came hard, crying out so loud that I could hear my voice echoed back off the room’s metal ceiling. I didn’t care, though; it felt good, and she deserved to know how good she’d made me feel. I bucked my hips against her, feeling the sharp sensations of having that dick inside me. They crackled through me like the pink lightning had, starting at the point of contact and branching out to all my extremities.
At last, the sensations abated, and I collapsed back against the pillows. Isha smiled and kissed me, and I kissed her back as much as I could between heaving gasps. That had been a hell of a thing, and I still wasn’t entirely sure where all my parts were located. I squeezed my pussy muscles and felt both the intrusion and the pressure, which got another little orgasmic shiver out of me.
When she pulled back from the kiss, I mustered all my gruffness and looked her in the eye: “If you ever tell anyone–”
Laughing, Isha truncated my sentence with a kiss. “That it turns out the dauntless Anyan Hadjiev likes a good deep dicking? Your secret’s safe with me, Captain.”
I snorted. A civilian, she only used my title like that when she wanted something. “If…?” I prodded, continuing her sentence.
“If,” Isha said, leaning back, “you return the favor.”
I didn’t need to ask what the favor was. If there’d been any doubt about her intentions, that would’ve been erased when she reached back between my legs and tugged the dick out in one sloppy gush, then hiked up her own skirt. The dark rose lips of her pussy were a beautiful contrast to the artificial pink of the shaft as she lay it up against her folds. “You’re going to be the death of me,” I said, shaking my head.
Isha shrugged as she rubbed the head of the dick up against her clit, a point of contact I felt burn across my already-tender post-orgasmic nerves. “Lots of famous people die on their birthdays,” she said with a mischievous grin. “Can you think of a better way to go?”
By way of answering, I grabbed for the front of her corset and pulled her back into a kiss. Even I had to admit, there were worse things in the universe than learning something new about yourself.