what about scissoring with the ken doll mound hmmmmmmm
cw (18+) : switch (sub-leaning) android!art, switch (dom-leaning) afab!reader, skin-to-skin humping, art has ken doll anatomy down there, “scissoring” with robo art
“like this?” he shudders, shaking on the elbows that keep his upper half propped up opposite you, “is this right?”
you tip your head back when he shifts, his left leg on top of your right one and his right one under your left one—slotting your bodies together perfectly so that your naked arousals finally meet and press, a moan spilling from your wet lips.
“god, y-yeah.. that’s good, just hold that for a second.. let me try to—“
you grip one of his calves, nails digging into his artificial flesh as you attempt to get even closer. for a moment, you almost worry about breaking the skin there and causing his cobalt blood to seep out from the crescent-shaped marks that would surely be left behind, but you’re far too blissed-out to remain concerned with that for long.. and anyway, he can’t feel pain.
he does feel your grip tighten, though. he sucks in a quick breath of air at the pressure before his hips jump and cause his mound to smush further against your own. the warmth of his skin is crushing, all-consuming, and you feel his silicone-like anatomy become slick with your wetness. the vacant port that can be used to attach optional appendages at the very top of his pubic region bumps your swollen clit repeatedly. it stings pleasantly, like the throb of a fever, and sends a burning ache through you that you’ve never quite felt before; it’s like you’re being kissed all over from the inside-out.
“ohh—!” he whines involuntarily, his eyes fluttering. his hands curl in the sheets as he begins to realize what he’s supposed to do. each roll of his pelvis against yours elicits lewd, squelching noises from where you two connect, the friction beginning to quickly build a tidal wave of pleasure in your gut. you tense up. your back arches. you let him service you.
he can handle it, you’re sure of that. it’s what he was made for.
“is this how it works? i’m—haah—supposed to move like this, right? i—“ art swallows around a whimper when his body reflexively curls inward and then relaxes with the mounting heat in his systems. the words die on his lolling tongue. he’s ‘orgasmed’ before, many times now that he’s figured out how to work his accidentally (and intentionally) engineered erogenous zones with you, but this one feels.. different. there’s something primal about the sudden instinct he has to rut against your cunt like he’s nothing more than a depraved animal—when in reality, he’s anything but. he knows he shouldn’t be able to perform this sort of intimate act with you and get anything from it, it’s not really a part of his programming to receive, but oh wow.. he’s never felt so happy about the prospect of his imminent deviation..
the LED ring on his temple flicks from blue to red.
you nod, releasing your grasp on his limb to mimic his actions and tug at the bedding underneath your sticky body. in the midst of your panting, you get a good look at the android in front of you. his eyes squeezed shut, and his lips parted deliriously, and his muscly abdomen convulsing, and his thighs beginning to quake against yours. how could a being made from metal and plastic and polymer look so human in the throes of ecstasy? it makes your toes curl while you watch him frantically chase his climax. you wonder if he even knows how amazing he is.
“fuck,” you gasp, the coil in your stomach pulling taut like a stretched rubber band, about to snap and spill over, “fuck, fuck, fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop, i’m going to come..!”
your head is spinning like you’re tipsy. you see art’s face crumple with what you can only assume is mutual agony. he rubs himself against you quicker, sloppier, losing his rhythm in record-time as he feels the metal ring of his empty port, and the sensitive hill housing it, swirl with sensation.
more, more, more, almost, almost, almost..!
something about those warning words coming from your mouth always send art into a spiral. he mewls at first, like he’s in pain, and then he’s crying out desperately; it trails off into something staticky and unlike him near the end—no longer indicative of the reserved, calm, kind robot you got to know, him now dissolving into something borderline pornographic and crude. you want to stick your fingers in his mouth and play with his false spit. you want to watch the way his eyes roll back as you fiddle with the back of his throat, the absence of a gag reflex making it easy to feel it tighten around your digits. he’d love that. maybe next time. right now, you’re about to tip into something dangerously close to death.
“i’m so close,” he beats you to the punch with a sharp and urgent whine, pulling out a phrase he learned from you, a signal to declare his descent into the welcoming bath of release, “i’m close, can i come yet?”
it’s easy to say yes, easy to nod and groan and whimper along with him. you’re certain that you will not be a mere second behind him.
“yes—come with me, come for me, i don’t care, i just want to feel you let go,” you seize up, teetering, your frame locking and nearly vibrating, “i’m right here with you—“
his right hand flies up; he groans gutturally as he searches blindly for something that takes a moment to articulate. his cognitive systems are short-circuiting. they usually do when he’s a hair’s breadth away from it all.
“hold my hand? please? hold my—m-my—ha-hand, please—“
your fingers are interlocking with his instantly, and he squeezes like he’s being pulled apart. he humps you like a rabbit. it’s incapacitating.
“shit!” you squeal.
“aaagh!” he keens, “put your finger in my—“
he doesn’t even have to finish the sentence before your free index finger is plunging into the port and pressing into an exposed bit of wiring hidden inside. the metal is scorching, it almost sizzles against your skin, but you hardly perceive it.
and that’s all it takes, truly.
he breaks.
his entire lower body bears down against your own as his electronic insides fire overwhelmingly with an orgasm that is almost powerful enough to forcefully shut him down. he lets out a long, wet, jagged wail that morphs into a sob and a yelp when he feels your fluids squirt over him, and it only fuels his rapture.
your own finish syncs with his, tethered by his aggressive movements, your bundle of nerves being viciously rubbed up and down. you feel yourself pulse and contract with every thrum of it. the synthetic skin of the hand of his that’s holding yours begins to deactivate from how tightly he clutches you there, and you watch through your low lashes as pretty, white chassis is revealed. you love when that happens because it really just means he’s feeling too good to stop it.
“i’m coming!”
“me too—“
“don’t fucking stop..!”
“everything’s happening, i feel so—i can’t, i can’t, i can’t—“
you both writhe against one another until the nice feelings border on painful from overstimulation. your digit slides out of his opening and lazily drags over his spent mound, which makes him twitch and whimper. the sound of your bodies collapsing back down into the mattress, accompanied by the dual, greedy intake of oxygen, signifies that the satisfaction is shared. your hands slip apart, but it’s okay because you’re both still intensely aware of the others’ presence. you need each other right now, that’s how it always is after sex.
his white fingertips—synth-skin still deactivated—play absentmindedly with yours. he seeks out your comfort; a shiver runs down your spine.
“i think i came really hard,” he breaks the verbal silence, his voice barely above an exhausted whisper, “did it look like i did?”
art always wants some confirmation after you two get physical that you liked what you saw. he prides himself on being nice for you to look at, and loves that his appearance helps you get off.
how could it not when he always looks so gorgeously indecent?
you laugh breathlessly.
“yeah.. looked like you did. did it look like i did?”
a contemplative hum leaves his heaving chest. a blonde ringlet of hair clings to his flushed face.
“i.. i’m sorry, i think i was too—.. i think my eyes were closed too tight.. i wanted to see you, but everything just went dark and..” he bites at his bottom lip.
the sound of his internal fans going makes you laugh again. you brush your nails against his wrist.
“i’m just teasing, it’s okay.”
“.. okay.”
a long beat of quiet passes, but there’s not even an ounce of unease between you.
“how do you feel?” you murmur.
“good, yeah. really good.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
another beat. he gently squeezes your fingers in his, sucking in a soft gasp.
“i think i might need to reboot.”
a third, affectionate burst of laughter is all that he hears before his eyes close peacefully, letting him melt into the afterglow. you know he’ll be back online the moment you try to slip out of bed.
guys I swear to you I made this over a month ago and then didn't post it because I thought no one would find it funny. WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, PAST ME????????
Imagine you are up on a stage yelling about how you're slaves down there, you're mistreated, you have nothing and you are considered nothing, it is all up to you to save your friends - your FAMILY- and an instant later you are drowning in icy water
