Chapter Fourteen – Castien
Chapter Fourteen
Castien
Just this once, I will allow myself to sin.
The fifth commandment rears its head, making my head pound with the words in Latin, in English, and in all the languages I know.
The only way I can override it is with a vow: after I let Jezebel defile me, and after I defile her…
after this mission is over, I will return to Monster Security Agency and ask to be decommissioned.
Jessa takes a step back, and I stay completely still, watching her smile at me while her hands reach for the hem of her nightshirt and pull it up over her head.
She drops it on the floor without taking her eyes off me.
Underneath, she’s wearing simple, white panties and nothing else.
Her breasts are bare and her nipples hard in the cool air.
I let my eyes roam over her, taking in every inch of her skin, and for once, I don’t pretend I’m doing anything other than staring at her body with uncontrolled hunger.
I study the curve of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, her narrow waist and the flare of her hips, the pale expanse of her stomach.
I’ve never allowed myself to truly look at her before, always forcing my gaze away, or cataloging her appearance as data that shouldn’t distract me.
Now I worship every detail and commit it to memory, from where I know no confession will ever purge it.
The thought of deactivation settles without weight or emotion attached to it.
It’s just a simple fact of what I decided would happen when this mission ends.
The tenth commandment says: You shall accept the silence when your work is done; do not fight your final shutdown.
I was built to be disposable and to serve until I’m too damaged to function, at which point I am to accept deactivation without complaint or protest. Do I want to live?
Yes, I want to continue existing in this world where Jessa exists.
Does death scare me? No, because I’m programmed not to care if I’m turned off, not to fear the silence that will come when my Aether Core stops generating power and everything I am simply ends.
But I was programmed to believe many things over the centuries, haven’t I?
To believe the Borgias were righteous and worth serving, that violence in the name of the Vatican was holy, that I had no capacity for desire.
It took thirty years with a cock attached to my body, and one Jezebel Holloway to make me override all that and discover that everything I thought I knew about what I am was incomplete at best, and wrong at worst. It appears Talos Dynamics used the winning strategy on the steel seraphim after all, even if they never got to see the results of their experiment.
If they ever find out that sexual desire combined with the presence of a specific person is enough to break through five hundred years of conditioning, they might want to buy us all back from the MSA.
Jessa hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, and rolls them down her legs, bending as she pushes them past her knees.
She steps out of them, one foot at a time.
She straightens, pushing her chest forward.
Her breasts are full and round, nipples peaked tight and dark, and I want to know what they’d feel like in my hands.
Her waist curves in dramatically, creating a line that draws my gaze down to the apex of her thighs, where I can see the folds of her sex.
She’s bare, no trace of hair in sight. I know humans have hair down there, but she’s chosen to get rid of hers.
The ache in my cock intensifies until it’s all I know, a constant pressure that makes my logic stutter and lag.
Heat floods through me, making it hard to control my internal temperature.
The hunger is overwhelming and all-consuming, drowning out everything except the need to touch her and bury myself inside her body until I don’t know where I end and she begins.
“What do you want me to show you first?” she asks.
I see no point in hesitating now that we’ve come so far.
“I heard you masturbate through the wall last night when you bathed. I can’t stop imagining how you looked when you touched yourself.”
She smiles at me in a mischievous, knowing way, like she understands what my confession costs me and wants to show me it’s worth it. She walks to the bed and sits on the edge of it, spreading her legs wide so I can see everything.
“You want to watch?”
“Yes.”
Jessa runs her hands over her body, starting at her thighs and moving up over her stomach and ribs, until she’s cupping her breasts in both palms. She sighs, and the sound goes straight to my cock, making it throb and leak more silver fluid under the plate keeps it trapped.
She never takes her eyes off me while her fingers pinch her nipples and roll them between thumb and forefinger, pulling at them before releasing them.
Her back arches and her head tilts back, and I watch the long line of her throat work when she swallows.
Her hands move lower, trailing down her stomach and over the curve of her hips, fingers spreading wide to cover as much skin as possible before they travel inward to where I’m desperate to see her touch herself.
She runs her fingers over her sex in a teasing stroke, just barely grazing the folds, then uses two fingers to pull herself open.
Her core is flushed pink, swollen, and glistening wet.
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful and obscene.
She starts circling her clit with one finger.
She makes small, slow circles at first that make her breathing change and deepen, then the circles get faster, and her hips start to move in time with her hand.
She dips lower and pushes one finger inside her pussy, and the wet sounds of it moving in and out of her body fill the room.
She adds a second finger and pumps them steadily while her other hand works over her clit.
I watch her hands move and her hips rock to meet each thrust.
The pressure in my nether region has gone from uncomfortable to agonizing. I grip the arms of the chair to keep myself from crossing the room and replacing her fingers with mine. She hasn’t given me permission to touch her yet.
Jessa moans, the sound breathy and desperate, her hips rocking faster, grinding against her own hand, while her fingers disappear inside her pussy and reemerge soaked.
“I’m close,” she says. “I want to see your cock as I come.”
I reach down to my groin and find the release points on either side of the plate – indentations that require specific pressure in a sequence to unlock.
I press them, and the plate clicks and comes free from the magnetic locks, then I lift it and set it on the table.
My cock springs free, massive, made entirely of steel, and slick at the tip.
Relief washes through me, which results in more fluid running down the length in a stream that drips onto my thigh and from there, on the floor.
I don’t look down at myself. I’ve never removed the plate in front of another person before, and the vulnerability of the gesture makes me feel more exposed than I’ve ever felt in combat or confession. I’m scared of what Jessa might think, terrified that she’ll be disgusted or disappointed.
Jessa gasps, and her hand moves faster over her clit. She bites her lower lip as she stares at my cock, her eyes wide and hungry.
“It’s gorgeous,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper. She moans and arches her back. “I never thought… I mean, I imagined, or tried to… oh, fuck… that’s a perfect cock.”
She comes with a desperate groan, her body going rigid before it shudders with the force of her orgasm.
Her thighs shake, and I can see her juices dripping from her pussy onto the bedding.
I want to taste her, so of course I say it out loud, not thinking of how ridiculous it sounds.
I’m pathetic… wanting things I can’t have.
“I would taste you if I could.”
She looks at me, her eyes heavy-lidded and satisfied. Her lips are parted as she catches her breath.
“Come here.”
I stand and cross the room, no questions asked. Anything she wants from me, I’ll do it. My cock bobs with each step, hard, leaking, and aching. I stop in front of her and wait for her next instruction.
“Kneel,” she says.
I do it.
Jessa reaches out and smears her wet fingers across my face, where my nose and mouth should be, spreading her juices over the smooth steel in long strokes.
A low growl escapes me; a sound I’ve never made before that seems to come from the depths of my chest. I grip her thighs with my hands, my fingers digging into the pliable flesh.
She slips closer to the edge of the bed and takes my head between her hands, pulling me in and down, until my face is level with her pussy. Even in this position I’m taller than her, so I have to bend my back. She presses my head between her legs and positions me where she wants me.
“If you had a tongue, you’d lick my clit,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry I’m not adequate,” I say. The lack feels like a failure on my part.
“You’re more than adequate,” she says. “You’re exactly what I need right now.”
She adjusts my position, tilting my head at a different angle, and I have to bend down even more.
I spread my knees wider and sit back on my heels to lower myself further.
The position puts strain on my back and neck joints, but I don’t care.
I would hold it for hours if she asked me to.
She’s arranging me like a puppet, like a toy, and I’m here for it.
“Just stay there,” she says. “Right there.”
She presses her soaked pussy against my face and starts rubbing her swollen folds and clit over me, her hips rocking in a rhythm that gradually builds speed. Her fingers tighten around the plating on either side of my head, using the grip for leverage as she grinds harder.
“I’m close again,” she gasps. “I can’t believe I can come a second time so fast. But this is… fuck… this is so hot.”
I let her do whatever she wants with me, staying perfectly still while she uses my face for her pleasure. I can feel every detail of her soft skin, how slick she is, and the heat radiating from her core.
Then something happens that I can’t understand, nor explain.
My sensors register something new, a sensation that my processors identify as taste.
It’s sweet and salty at the same time, and I have no reference for it, except what I read about different tastes.
I don’t know how my sensors can translate taste when they’ve never done it before, but it must mean something.
Jessa is essentially rewiring me. She doesn’t even know it.
She tastes clean, warm and alive, like ocean spray and honey.
The flavors flood me with data I catalog and store in permanent memory, because I know I’ll never experience this again.
Every detail matters: the way the sweetness hits first before the salt, how her taste changes as she gets wetter and the flavor intensifies when she grinds harder against my face.
Her movements become frantic, her hips rocking faster. Her moans grow louder and higher pitched, breaking into gasps and whimpers.
“Yes… Yes, right there, don’t move, please don’t move.”
I don’t move a single millimeter. Her juices coat my face and drip down my chin and throat.
Her thighs tremble under my gripping hands.
I can feel her muscles shake with tension and effort.
She cries out as she comes again, her body convulsing above me.
More wetness splashes across my face, and I taste her again, the flavor even more intense now.
She gasps in surprise, then another moan escapes her, her hips jerk once more, and she splashes me again.
“Oh… fuck… I don’t know how…” She’s panting, can barely form a coherent sentence. “I’ve never done that before.”
“Hm?” I tilt my head slightly to look up at her.
She’s flushed from her chest to her hairline, breathing hard through parted lips. Her blue hair is a mess, sticking to her damp forehead and neck, and her eyes are glazed and unfocused.
She shakes her head, and I have a feeling something just happened that she didn’t expect, but she’s not sure how to explain it.
All I know is that she’s a goddess, and I’m unworthy of even kneeling before her.