Problems in the Hail Mary
Pairing: Ryland Grace x fem!reader
Warnings: Content for adults over 18, explicit sexual content (smut), fluff, mdni, affection, plot-driven porn, established relationship (they are married), breast stimulation (breastfeeding + light nipple play + computer that extracts), use of pet names (sweetheart), mention of abortion and baby loss, reader masturbation with a strange sex machine from space?, Ryland's masturbation, many mentions of milk and Grace's sperm, sperm injection, Ryland crying and screaming (so hot), the reader is slightly dom.
Summary: You wake up in space in trouble, your legs and hips are fractured… but most of all: your breasts are engorged and full of milk, and maybe you have a parasitic infection in your uterus? Ryland will have to help you while the machine roughly heals you, although you seem to be enjoying it.
Author’s Note: This was very… stimulating for me and I hope you like it. I love Ryland with all my heart.
Your eyes were large and expressive, but now they looked much more bulging and frightened. Your brown irises were darkened by the dim light of the spaceship. In Earth's sunlight, they would have appeared lighter, almost honey-colored, and Ryland remembered that. Your black pupils dilated as you stared at the unknown man in front of you who, despite your complete lack of memory, exuded confidence and intellect, his glasses giving him a terribly nerdy look. Your heart was racing, and that's when you glanced down to notice the marks on your breasts. They were swollen, adorned with two painful red circles. You had to continue scanning your surroundings to notice the wet cups hanging above you next to the funnels. The sight frightened you; it seemed ugly and fetishistic… suddenly, the person next to you no longer seemed so trustworthy.
It was difficult to form words after being asleep for so long, practically in a coma. Your hands try to rise, but you can only move them as if you want to grab something… but you only manage to touch the air. Your gaze drops to the floor, where the tubes have fallen and there are several drops of blood. All your medical equipment hurts… a lot.
Ryland immediately recognized the expression on your face and what it meant. He knew what you were thinking: that you were confused and scared and couldn't remember anything. Your gaze shifted from his face to your body, and he followed it, noticing the red marks and circles on your bare breasts. Your expression told him everything. He didn't want you to think the worst, so he spoke calmly and gently.
"No, no, no, wait… no, it's not what you think."
You tried to speak, but the word stuck on your lips. You kept staring in disgust at the funnels above you—a strange contraption that looked like some space-age version of a breast pump or a conventional extractor. The real question was: Why did you need it? Where were you? Who was that man? Who were you?
Your naked body looked too good—you were even quite well-developed and strong. The blanket Ryland had wrapped you in out of respect had fallen to the floor. You didn't look particularly athletic or anything like that, but you were too well-built to have been in a coma. You touched your lower abdomen. You had to take several deep breaths to focus, and that's when you felt how strange your uterus felt—not how you remembered it, not how it should be. It felt empty. Tears welled in your eyes and rolled slowly down your cheeks. You tried to speak again.
"Help…" you pleaded with a sharp moan.
Ryland's heart broke when he saw your tears. His immediate instinct was to go and hug you, but he knew that would only increase your doubts. So, instead of touching you, he bent down to pick up the blanket from the floor and carefully placed it over you, making sure to cover your nakedness. His face was a picture of concern as he looked at you.
"It's okay, it's okay, everything's going to be alright…" He managed to speak calmly, though he was far from feeling at ease.
You repeated it again; it seemed to be the only word you could manage. You wanted to wake up from this nightmare soon… and be back in your bed in your little house with your husband. You wanted to wake up and tell him about the crazy dream you'd had. But the image of the same man who was asking you to calm down came to mind. It seemed to be him: the same one from your memories of your life on Earth.
You wanted to get up abruptly, sitting on the strange bed, or rather, cot. However, your hips ached instantly… they felt a little wider. Your body didn't feel like your own. Your bottom hurt. Your breasts were swollen and too big… you noticed that your nipples were leaking small drops of milk. Your crying intensified.
Ryland froze for a moment, seeing how much you seemed to be suffering. His first impulse was to reach out, wrap you in a hug, and reassure you that everything would be alright. He couldn't bear the fact that you didn't remember him and that your first encounter was marked by trauma. But he also knew his intentions would be misinterpreted. He bit his lip and continued speaking calmly, still crouched in front of you. His gaze shifted from your tearful eyes to your body.
"Please, calm down. I'll explain everything, just… breathe…"
You said again. It bothered you that he wasn't coming closer. You assumed (based on your memory) that this man was your husband, so it bothered you a lot that he wasn't coming to comfort you. You were on the verge of losing your mind. Your hands left your stomach and you tried to open your arms, as if to show that you wanted to be hugged. The blanket only covered your legs and your sobs didn't stop. Ryland had been working with you there for days, asleep and wrapped in the blanket. He knew waking you was a risk, so he decided to wait until you woke up eventually.
Ryland couldn't hold back any longer. With a sigh of resignation, he quickly approached and enveloped you in a soft but firm embrace. His hand gently stroked your hair as he murmured,
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I know you don't recognize me now, but I'm here." His voice was husky with emotion. "We'll work this out together."
With his other arm, he pressed your back against him to ease your trembling.
"I know who you are… my love, but I can't remember your name. I'm sorry."
Your voice softened slightly despite your panic. Your tone was sweet, low, and maternal. You couldn't quite put your finger on why maternal, but you guessed the milk in your breasts was trying to tell you something… Your weak arms rested on his shoulders, and your hands touched his back. Your whole body ached. Even though you'd been in a coma, your hair was styled, clean… perfect. As if something, or rather, someone, had brushed it.
Your words were music to his ears. Knowing that you at least somehow remembered that you were husband and wife brought him some comfort, even though you couldn't recall his name. His embrace tightened as your hands rested on his shoulders and your head tilted toward him, pressed against his neck. His fingers gently slid through your hair, stroking it tenderly.
"It's okay, sweetheart, don't worry. I'll explain everything."
You didn't know when you'd fallen back asleep. However, you suppose you were too tired to know. You're lying in bed again… but now there's no strange tube or funnel attached to you. In a way, you're grateful.
You stay quiet and still… your breasts don't hurt as much anymore. Your hand grips the lilac blanket and you lift it slightly to see underneath: there's cream on your breasts… covering the painful marks left by the pump. It's traumatic… apparently, all this time you were asleep in your induced coma, that machine was extracting milk from you as if you were some kind of cow. Apparently, a space cow.
You take a deep breath and look around carefully: this place feels like a spaceship.
Ryland had been sitting a few feet away in a small chair, watching you closely, trying to make sure you were okay and calm. Your movement alerted him, and he looked up. He saw you lift the blanket and look at your body, especially your breasts, with concern and confusion.
"I… I put cream on you. So it wouldn't hurt," he said awkwardly. "I've been pumping your milk since I woke up."
Ryland swallowed hard at the look on your face and sat up, taking a few steps to the edge of the bed to be closer to you.
"Your body was producing milk, so we had to express it," he explained carefully. "If I let it accumulate, it could cause pain, inflammation, or an infection."
He sat on the edge of the bed beside you, keeping a few inches away to give you space.
"Did you touch my breasts?"
The bluntness of your question made Ryland's cheeks flush. He glanced to the side, uncomfortable and embarrassed, and rubbed the back of his neck.
"Ah, uh… yes, well… yes," he admitted reluctantly. "I had to… milk you."
Little Grace felt embarrassed by the whole thing. She wasn't trying to be a pervert, she was just looking out for you. However, you couldn't stop noticing her defined biceps in that short-sleeved shirt with the Project Hail Mary logo. Then, your tone changed:
"…Touch me again, please. It hurts…"
The request suddenly took Ryland by surprise. He turned to you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, a look of confusion on his face.
"Um… wait a minute. You want me to milk you?" he asked. His tone reflected a mixture of surprise and concern. "Not that I have anything against it, but… why?"
"Aren't you my husband, you idiot?"
The insult made Ryland's brow furrow even more. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms, adopting a more serious expression.
"Yes, I am. But that doesn't mean I should touch you like that just because you ask me to."
His expression wasn't one of anger, but rather of caution. He didn't want to take advantage of your confusion without your full consent.
“Ryland, please…” You had remembered his name.
Upon hearing his name from your lips, Ryland visibly softened. His serious expression lessened slightly, though he still seemed a little uncertain.
"Fine, fine…" he sighed. "But only to ease the pain, okay? It's for no other reason."
He sat up a little more, standing in front of you and gently reaching for your breasts.
“I remember you’re a freak and you like my tits, Grace. Don’t try to hide it.”
Ryland's cheeks flushed even more at your comment. It was true, he liked your breasts, but it felt inappropriate to admit it so directly in these situations.
"I'm not trying to hide anything," he replied, trying to sound as serious as possible, as his hands gently rested on your breasts. "I just… I just want to make sure it's the right thing to do."
“Yes… it’s the right thing to do, they hurt…”
You said with a hint of sadness, his hands on your full, tender breasts bringing some relief. This whole breastfeeding thing was so new… even more so after a space awakening. Having his hands playing with your breasts helped a lot, a great deal, to be honest.
You turned over in bed, lying on your side, and your soft breasts fell to that side like firm drops, which Grace continued to caress. He played with them like a child, patting them up and then down. You closed your eyes to bear the pain, and your expression was adorable as you moaned softly while Ryland’s hands pampered you. The pads of his fingers caressed the cream-covered skin, bringing you relief. His hands were an obsession for you; you had noticed the veins on the back of his hand… how large and strong they were… how he typed or moved them, making innocent gestures.
Ryland watched as you turned over in bed and lay on your side. His heart melted at the sight of your pained yet tender expression as your eyes closed. His hands began to gently caress your breasts, with soft, gentle movements.
"I'm sorry, darling…" he said in a soft, compassionate voice. "I try to be as gentle as possible."
You keep your eyes closed as Ryland strokes you. A few drops of milk leak from your breasts, falling onto Grace's hands and down your abdomen. Suddenly, the computer buzzes:
"y/n Grace, case 769071. Anomaly detected. Initiating process, searching for stability."
Ryland froze at the sound of the computer's voice. His hand stopped in its tracks, and his face showed a mixture of confusion and concern.
"What…? Anomaly?" he muttered to himself. "y/n, don't move."
With quick but controlled movements, he carefully released your chest and turned to the computer panel. His fingers clicked rapidly as he searched for more information about this "anomaly."
"I don't understand what's happening…"
Your eyes snap open, but you're too tired to panic right now. Your expression turns weary, and you let out a sigh. Obviously, you're not going anywhere. Meanwhile, the panel displays a medical report detailing some of your "anomalies": engorged breasts, a hip injury, fractures in both legs… a parasitic infection in the uterus? Great. Who would put you in a coma like that? (You're starting to think you were dragged here.)
Without warning, the computer arms move to support you. You tilt your head to the side in confusion.
The robotic arms position you on the bed, which looks more like a gurney or a gynecological chair as it moves and expands. Suddenly, the machine opens your legs and holds your thighs.
Ryland's heart pounded as he watched the robotic arms grip you mercilessly. His face paled, and his voice came out almost as a shout.
"NO! Don't touch her!" He lunged forward, trying to block the machines' movement. "y/n, don't look—"
But it was too late. The gurney had already transformed beneath you, forcing your legs open against your will as cold, metallic sensors began to slide between them.
"STOP RIGHT NOW!" Ryland frantically pounded on the computer panel.
Ryland's panic is endearing and makes you feel protected even in this delicate situation. You try to close your thighs but can't; the system seems to be holding you firmly.
The cold sensors between your legs make you feel a little better, easing the pain. The computer's arms placed ice packs on your hips. Meanwhile, the machine turned on some lights to observe your private parts. The computer speaks again:
Ryland struggled to control his own despair and terror as he watched the scene unfold before him. The machine's calmness, compared to the chaos in his mind, irritated him even more.
"Calm, you say!" he hissed, through gritted teeth. "You're… you're abusing her. She's my wife…"
He couldn't tear his gaze away from your spread thighs, held by those emotionless machines. With every passing second, his heart broke a little more at your vulnerability. His eyes were wet, his expression one of anguish and fear. He was a baby.
A tender smile touches your lips when Ryland says those words; it's so sweet of him. One of your hands reaches out to find his. Actually, what the machine was doing… as disturbing as it was… had made you feel a little better. You don't want Grace to cry.
“I'm… okay, Ryland… sweetheart…”
Before you can say anything else, a new sensation arises between your legs. The computer inserts… whatever tool it is into your entrance as if it were an easy task. It even feels lubricated. It's as if someone meticulously programmed all of this. It's a rather strange tool: it's shaped like a small dildo, but the tip has a tiny, long, and pointed needle. When it goes in, it's not painful… it even makes you feel somewhat relaxed and aroused.
Ryland froze as he watched the tool enter you. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes flicked from your face to the thing penetrating you with such… precision. Then, he let out a sharp little yelp.
"What the hell—?" His voice was hoarse afterward, almost a growl. "y/n… you shouldn't feel good about that. It's a damn machine!"
He tried to grip your hand tighter while his other palm frantically pounded the computer panel, tears streaming down his cheeks:
"TURN THAT DEVICE OFF RIGHT NOW! WHAT IS THIS? WHO PROGRAMMED YOU TO DO THIS?!"
"The system was programmed by y/n Grace."
The computer repeated your name in that cold, monotonous voice, as if it were simply confirming a routine task.
The tool continued working on you with meticulous precision, moving in and out of your input as it carried on with its programmed task, completely ignoring Ryland's pleas.
He turned to the computer, despair and anger etched on his face. "Damn it, what the hell are you doing? This is harming my wife!"
The words from your mouth made Ryland freeze again, in surprise and confusion. His gaze returned to you, and he noticed… noticed the way your body seemed to respond to that strange instrument. Your expression was a mixture of pleasure and relaxation… something it shouldn't make you feel, but… it did.
"y/n, sweetheart…" Ryland whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. "This… no… shouldn't feel good… it's… it's a fucking medical instrument…"
“And y/n Grace programmed this system to provide the user’s comfort throughout the entire process.”
The computer spoke again. You didn’t remember creating that program… you didn’t remember much. However, you assumed the machine kept a record of all your preferences because it subtly altered the rhythm to make you feel good. Your hand presses Ryland’s. At this point, it wouldn’t surprise you if the dildo inside you was an exact replica of Ryland’s cock. In fact, the thought of putting a mold of it in there sounds good.
Suddenly, the device inside you stops… it seems to be planning to do something different this time. Your walls hold it in place, and it gently stretches them as it enters again… deep, all the way to the limit. You feel the needle starting to prick you and you moan softly.
“Antidote injection in progress. Remain still and breathe.”
Ryland couldn't help but gasp again when he heard the word "injection." His body tensed instantly, and his hand gripped yours tightly.
"ANTIDOTE?! WHAT KIND OF ANTIDOTE?!" he exclaimed, staring frantically at the device.
But it was too late. The needle had already pierced your inner skin as that thing continued to move inside you… as if measuring every inch to make sure it reached exactly where it needed to go. Ryland felt a shiver run down his spine when he heard your moans—they weren't just from the pain.
“Antidote for parasitic infection, Dr. Grace.”
The computer kept talking, but you weren't paying attention. You let your head fall back onto the pillow, panting. Your hand gripped Ryland's tightly as the liquid was injected inside you. Then you held it a little more gently, lovingly stroking the back of your hand. A few minutes later, the antidote had been injected, but the device still hadn't come out.
“Do you want Dr. Grace's sperm? We have several doses available.”
The machine's words left Ryland stunned. His gaze flicked from the device to you and then back to the computer, disbelief and confusion etched on his tear-streaked face.
"My sperm… what the hell…?" he murmured, still gripping your hand tightly, though now with less tension.
He couldn't help but glance down at where the device remained inside you, then looked back at you, his cheeks even redder. "What… what would they want that for?"
“Computer… What is Grace’s sperm used for?”
The machine processed your question with a brief buzz. Its response came in the same neutral tone, as if it were reading from a manual.
"Dr. Grace's sperm is on file for:
Assisted reproduction, case 769071.
Intrauterine fertilization following parasite removal.
Hormone relaxant dose (see 'Relief' protocol, page 45)."
Ryland paled at the word "reproduction." His eyes flicked across the screen, then back to you—as if searching for some sign that this was a joke.
"…y/n." His voice was hoarse. "Did you… program this?"
“Apparently so… explain relief protocol on page 45.”
The computer buzzed briefly before responding, its voice cold and mechanical:
"Relief Protocol (page 45)
Direct injection of sperm into the uterus via intramuscular device.
Effect: Immediate relaxation of the female nervous system + increased endorphins (87% effectiveness).
User y/n Grace Note: 'Works best if Ryland is present.' Signed: y/n G."
Ryland opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
"…y/n." His tone was a mixture of horror and indignation while wiping away her tears. "You… YOU put me in a jar like I was a damn cookie?!"
"Ry… Ry, I promise I don't remember programming this… I'm sorry, but it's brilliant."
You can't help but laugh at how absurd this is; it just seems like something you'd dream if you'd gone to sleep drunk. You relax a little. If your note says it works better if Ryland is present, you're going to listen to it. Your hands find his, you place him on your chest and stroke him.
"Computer, can we activate that protocol?"
Ryland let out a frustrated groan and gritted his teeth, still trying to process the whole situation. But he couldn't resist the tenderness of your laughter and the gentle caress of your hands on his palm.
Then the computer buzzed again, a reminder that the conversation wasn't over yet. Your cold voice broke the silence, followed by a faint activation beep.
"The 'Relief' protocol will activate in 30 seconds, Ms. Grace."
It was endearing that you were thanking a computer that was created to obey orders. You allow yourself to rest calmly on the examination table, your thighs still restrained and spread. The strange device that had injected the antidote earlier was still inside you; you could feel a trickle of excitement run down your thighs, and your cheeks flushed.
Ryland tried to remain calm as well, pulling a high chair up to the side of your bed to sit beside you.
As the protocol was activated, Ryland took a seat in the chair he had pulled up next to you, watching you intently, a mixture of concern still evident in his gaze. His eyes moved from your face to your open body and back again to your face.
He could see the drop of fluid slide down your folds, and his throat moved as he swallowed. His hand lightly squeezed yours, as if it were his anchor in the midst of the confusion.
"Sweetheart… you have to participate, please."
Ryland froze, his eyes widening behind his glasses. He swallowed hard and felt his pulse quicken.
"Participate… how?" he asked, trying to sound firm, but his tone failed him completely. "And… this is a machine. It's not me inside you."
Even so, he couldn't help but glance down as the device began to vibrate gently—as if it were preparing for something more.
"Well… but they're going to inject me with your…"
Ryland swallowed again, his gaze still fixed on your crotch. His voice grew a little huskier as he spoke again.
"I guess… I guess that's true."
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his pants were starting to feel a little tight. Despite everything, he tried to remain calm, and with great difficulty, he looked you in the eyes again.
"Can you pet me?… just cuddle me."
Ryland exhaled a sigh of relief mixed with nervousness. It was something he could do without feeling like he was crossing a dangerous line.
"Yes… yes, of course," he replied, his voice softer now as he extended his free hand toward your abdomen.
With slow, careful movements—as if afraid of hurting you—he began to trace small circles on your skin, moving up to your ribs. His gaze remained intense on you; he didn't want to miss a single detail of your reactions.
The sensation of his hand touching your belly made you feel uneasy, but also comforted. Then a new memory came to mind… but your belly wasn't flat and empty like it was now… it was full and round. You sighed and tried to focus on Ryland's caresses moving up to your chest. Your own hands rested on his forearms and you gently pulled his body against yours to embrace him. Your lips found their way to his.
Ryland leaned forward at your request, drawing his body closer to yours. His eyes were still filled with concern, but something different was also beginning to emerge as he gazed at you: tenderness and desire.
When his lips touched yours, his heart leaped. His caressing movements were no longer innocent; they now moved with a subtle purpose, moving higher and higher up your torso, tracing the sides of your breasts.
When your lips part, you breathe heavily… the device between your legs is still doing its job. However, it doesn't seem to change its actions much. You're still worried about what's happening to you and where you are.
"Computer… so the machine extract milk from me while I was in a coma?"
The computer buzzed, and after a moment, it responded in the same monotonous, mechanical tone:
"Yes, Mrs. Grace. Your body was producing milk during your sleep. It was regularly expressed using an automated procedure."
Ryland continued to caress your body, but his gaze remained fixed on the computer. His expression was somber as he processed the information.
"Reason for breastfeeding?"
"It's not necessary," Grace said, trying to sound calm.
But the computer processed the question with a brief buzz, then replied in its neutral, cold tone:
"Reason for breastfeeding: Postpartum programming. Your uterus was prepared to receive artificial embryos after awakening. Records indicate you were pregnant prior to the induced coma (see file 769071-B). The fetus did not survive the process."
Ryland let out a stifled sound, as if he'd been punched in the stomach, and began rattling off affectionate nicknames to distract you. "My love, my wife…"
"Computer, be more specific."
The computer buzzed again, processing your request. Then it responded with more details:
"Mrs. Grace was 12 weeks pregnant when she went into a coma. The fetus was female. There is no evidence of previous miscarriages or births."
Ryland's hands trembled involuntarily as he tried to keep you steady. His gaze returned to you, his mind filled with unspoken fears—and a touch of affection.
Your voice was sad and as low as a whisper, like a cry for help. Your palms covered your face shyly as you sobbed. Before all this madness, you were pregnant, and you didn't even notice? How could you put your baby in danger like that? You feel so guilty.
Ryland's heart broke with each of your sobs. With a groan, he moved closer to you and wrapped his arms around you in a hug, cradling your body against his as best he could in that position.
"Psh…sh, sh…it's okay. It's okay, I'm here." He tried to comfort you, though his own voice cracked with emotion. His hand returned to your abdomen, but this time with a much gentler, more tender gesture.
As tears streamed down your cheeks, you pulled your palms away and tried to breathe slowly to avoid hyperventilating. Your body trembled against Ryland. When you spoke, all you wanted was to fix everything: your tone turned serious.
"Computer… What exactly happened to my baby?"
"Ms. Grace, you don't need to know those details right now. Just relax, stay still, and focus on the protocol."
The computer's words made Ryland tense up even more, his embrace becoming more protective. He leaned closer to whisper in your ear, trying to calm you and control the urge to confront the computer right then.
"Shhh… it's okay, sweetheart. Ignore that damn thing. It'll drive you crazy."
His hands slid from your hips to your thighs, a gentle touch to soothe your body.
"Ry… I'm sorry… I really didn't know."
The sensation between your legs changes as the device pulls out slightly and then roughly thrusts back inside you. The needle pricks you again, and it hurts. You moan softly.
Ryland gritted his teeth at the sound of your moans, his body tensing with each whimper. His fingers slid to your hips and tightened their grip in a protective gesture.
"y/n… look at me. Relax. Just… just focus on me." He whispered, his voice firm yet gentle. His gaze returned to your face, his expression anguished but filled with a desire to distract you from the situation.
Ryland's hands on your hips, along with the ice packs, made you feel a little better. It was probably a great idea for your aching hips, and you thank your past self for creating this system. You thank it even more when you feel the needle slowly inject something inside you, a slightly thick liquid that gradually fills you. Without realizing it, you feel more energized and calm… as if you've had an orgasm. You assume it's Grace's sperm.
Ryland noticed the difference in your reactions. Your complaints seemed to lessen as the thick liquid was injected into you, giving way to soft moans and small shudders. His gaze intensified, and his pulse quickened again. He could sense the change in you, the desire that seemed to be growing… and he was experiencing something similar, too. He gritted his teeth again, trying to control his rising desire as he held your hips firmly.
The computer spoke again:
"Dr. Grace, it seems he's feeling horny."
Apparently, your past self knew this was likely to happen. A robotic arm extended a roll of toilet paper to him as if they were mocking him.
Ryland's cheeks flushed dark red at the computer's comment, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. His gaze shifted from you to the roll of paper the machine dispensed, and he took it with a hint of shyness and embarrassment.
His voice was huskier, and his gaze returned to your body… especially to your open thighs, held in that position by the examination table.
"Dr. Grace, you have an erection. Would you like to masturbate so we can collect another dose of your sperm?"
Ryland's face turned even redder, and his jaw clenched as he gritted his teeth. The fact that the computer had mentioned that, in such a clinical and emotionless way, was… unsettling. Yet the urge he felt was growing stronger by the moment. His gaze traveled back over your body, and his right hand moved to the zipper of his pants.
"Damn it… you and your past you."
"Thank you for agreeing, Dr. Grace. y/n will be very pleased that you cooperated. You see, the doses of his sperm are important to her. Please proceed it in the next vial."
One of the robot arm handed her a lab vial with a note from the old y/n that read: Ryland's milk, with some hearts drawn on it in marker.
Meanwhile, you could only watch him with a somewhat wicked yet tender smile as you continued to be injected with his semen.
Ryland let out a groan, somewhere between frustrated and embarrassed, clutching the vial with the note. His gaze lingered on the drawn hearts—as if he'd been slapped with ironic tenderness.
"God… my wife was a damn sadist," he muttered, but his hand was already clumsily unbuckling his belt.
Though he tried to maintain some semblance of composure, he couldn't help but look at you as they injected you with more of himself. Your expression made him swallow hard—that wicked, sweet mixture he knew so well…
A soft smile touched Ryland's lips, though he was still trying to process the situation, and the computer wasn't helping matters. But when he heard you say those words, his expression softened. His hand remained on his zipper, but he paused for a moment to smile at you tenderly.
"And I love you too, silly."
His tone was affectionate, but also a little irritated. He felt him getting harder and harder. Finally, he lowered the zipper and freed his erection from his underwear. He placed his fist lengthwise and began rubbing it up and down, pulling his cock out and pushing it back in.
"You're adorable when you masturbate…"
Ryland smirked at your words, his face flushed red and his eyes half-closed. He threw his head back. His glasses fell onto his jaw and dangled behind one ear.
"Shut up… you make me like this." His tone was breathless and desperate.
He held the bottle, fulfilling his duty.