The high‑tension wire finally gave way, but the collapse didn’t end the pressure—it redirected it, coiling tighter into a new phase of raw, unrelenting gravity.
This is the part where I’m supposed to stop, right?
I thought, but my hips didn’t get the mo.
The muscle mory simply played out.
I pulled out with a wet, obscene squelch—splurt—my cock still twitching, veined and glossy with our mixed fluids, ropes of cum dripping from the tip in slow, hypnotic strings.
Her pussy gaped montarily, a creamy flood spilling from her stretched lips, clit still pulsing visibly like a beacon in the dim light—throb, drip, worship it.
I watched it like I was watching code compile.
Except the output was a human body, not a simulation.
If it’s this real, how do I reboot after?
Kyouya’s chest heaved, body limp and quivering on the sofa, eyes half‑lidded in post‑orgasm haze, but her thighs trembled apart on instinct, offering the ss like an altar.
She’s not even thinking like usual, just reacting to my instinct.
We’re both just fucking graphs on a curve we programd ourselves.
Instead, I dove in face‑first, lips sealing over her pussy in a hungry latch—slurp, squelch—tongue plunging deep to scoop the synthetic flood, lapping thick globs of my own load mixed with her nectar, salty‑sweet tang flooding my mouth.
If this is a mistake, it’s the cleanest one I’ve ever made. Almost criminal even.
She bucked hard.
"Mayo—fuck you!"
A guttural voice ripping from her throat, nails raking my scalp as her hips ground against my face—wet smothers, squelching laps echoing louder—slurp, gluck, drip.
I worshipped relentlessly: tongue circling her throbbing clit in tight, edging spirals, sucking the pulsing nub between my lips with vacuum‑like pulls—pop, suck—then spearing inside, fucking her hole with broad thrusts, swallowing the endless cum overflow—throb, clench, gulp.
Over and over again.
It should feel like invasion, but it feels like calibration—like I’m finally reading what desire she’s been hiding too.
Her walls spasd around my tongue, milking more cream into my mouth, clit twitching under flicks that doubled her aftershocks into fresh edges—squelch, slurp, her juices squirting in mini‑jets against my stubble.
How much more can I take of this before I can’t tell her skin from the data on the screen?
[SYSTEM ALERT: LIBIDO OVERLOAD]
The line flickered at the edge of my awareness, not on a screen, but in the way my pulse stopped syncing with my thoughts and started syncing with her breath.
If I’m the first person to ever do this to her, I don’t want to be the last,
the thought flashed, and then I crushed it in an instant with the next move.
"Love, this is too much—gravity’s crushing ,"
She gasped, voice fracturing higher, body arching off the cushions in rigid bows, but her hands yanked closer, demanding the tornt—worship her clit, drink the flood, edge forever.
You don’t just say that and an it, you freak.
I thought, but her hands don’t lie.
I surfaced only when she was a shuddering wreck, chin dripping with our essence, cock raging harder from the feast—veins fatter, tip drooling anew.
No recovery for her. I surged up, gripping her hair in a fist, hauling her mouth to my shaft—still slick with cum and pussy gloss.
If I’m the first person to ever do this to her, I don’t want to be the last,
Instead, I also want to feel sothing like this too...
The thought returned, now superimposed over the system warning like a corrupted overlay, as I positioned my cock in front of her lips.
"Open your mouth,"
I growled, and she did, lips parting wide as I thrust in deep—gluck—face‑fucking her with chanical piston force, balls slapping her chin in wet thwacks—thwack, gluck, slurp.
Her throat bulged around my girth, gagging symphonies resuming—gluck‑gluck‑gluck—saliva and leftover cum bubbling from her stretched lips, cascading down her chin onto her heaving tits.
I held her head steady, hips snapping relentless—throb, choke, drip—tip battering her tonsils, veins dragging against her convulsing walls, edging another load without rcy.
At so point, this isn’t just pleasure, it’s proof, I thought.
Proof that soone can crack her protocols and still leave her alive on the other side.
[SYSTEM ALERT: LIBIDO OVERLOAD]
Override: Continue.
Tears stread from her eyes, but her gaze locked up at , hazy with surrender—worship the cock, choke on it, repeat.
Those aren’t just tears, I told myself.
Those are logs writing themselves.
Checkpoints. Save states.
I hated how much I enjoyed saving her that way. Ruining her.
"Take it all, love—here’s your oxygen,"
I ground out, voice gravel over the squelching onslaught, pulling back to slap my slick shaft across her face—smack, drip—then plunging back in, building that reactor pressure anew.
Spit flew, throat milked, her hands clawing my thighs in an endless oral loop, no escape.
If I ruin her, I ruin a person, not just a handle, the voice in my head hissed.
Good. Ruin her. She’s already the one who’s trying to ruin you.
Now, it’s even.
The room’s hum faded to our symphony—squelch, gluck, throb—data transferring in floods of synthetic excess, the tir ticking irrelevant in our trapped orbit.
Cum‑slicked, throat‑sore, clit still trembling, Kyouya was no longer an idol, no longer a hack—just a body rewired by physics, every pulse tagged with my na, every breath a loop of throb, clench, drip, splash, repeat.
If we’re ghosts, I thought, this is the ectoplasm version of a signature on the contract.
If we’re alive, it’s the safest place to die. And I won’t mind dying with her. Together.
The alert didn’t vanish; it just started counting in the background, like a CPU spike that never quite cooled.
[SYSTEM ALERT: LIBIDO OVERLOAD – STATUS: CONTINUOUS FEEDBACK LOOP ENGAGED]
I kept moving, even while the system quietly catalogued it all like a project log all and all.
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