I was given to her as a gift. She was a young thing, all of twenty maybe, and I was twice her age, but she looked at me and her eyes lit up and she took hold of my hands at once.

“He’s real? He’s mine?”

“A real live human male,” her mother nodded. “He was a pretty penny too, so don’t go thinking you can trade him in when you tire of him. And you have to look after him, yourself; no farming him out to your friends.” Her words were not encouraging.

Her eyes flashed. “No one else shall touch him,” she said, and she pulled me close to breathe in my scent. “Is it true they do not feel or think as we do?”

“Yes and no.” Inwardly I sighed, disappointed already. “He’s human, but he’s different from you. If nothing else, his life has been nothing like yours. He was born male, poor thing, and his entire existence has been serving women. There’s too few of them for him to have had the chance to do anything else.” Partially true, but still poppycock. Women’s libidos were not so preoccupied.

“What shall I do with him?”

Her mother leaned in, and said, in a voice that chilled me, “Anything you like, my love. First, give him a name.”

So she gave me a name, without asking.

At first she simply kissed me and explored me with her hands and bade me do the same, and rode my cock with great enthusiasm. Then she discovered she could hold still and let me ride her pussy, and she stayed on that for awhile. She didn’t ask about me, and I kept my inner life to myself.

Until the evening in her private garden that she asked me about cunnilingus. I bade her sit on the reclining chair among the daylilies and lifted her skirts. She grinned and spread her legs wide. I knelt before her and began to explore her with my tongue. She threaded her fingers through my hair and moaned.

“Why have you not shown me this before?” she gasped.

“You didn’t ask.”

“That’s hardly an answer.”

“It is,” I said, and I explained between licks, or with my mouth partially pressed against her clit so she could feel the vibration of my voice, “Ask anything and I will tell you. I told you that our third day together. To this moment, you have never asked, not about what I wanted, or what I could do, or what my mind might hold. Why do you think I would volunteer?”

She pulled my head back to look at me. She didn’t know it, but I liked having my hair pulled. “That sounds very much like impertinence,” she said, but a sly grin hid in the corner of her mouth.

“Do you want a robot, or a human for a lover, milady?” I pressed against her hand, nipped her wrist, and she half-jumped, surprised at the pain and the pleasure it bordered.

“Human,” she said, and brought my face back to her clit. I could feel the pounding of her pulse through the swollen, red skin. My own cock was rigid between my legs. I knew better than to ask for anything. I sucked and licked her, circling with my tongue, flicking and rubbing her. I gauged her reactions and adjusted appropriately. I entered her with my tongue and found the spot she most loved, and rubbed it till her muscles spasmed and her voice cracked on her cries.

She yanked my head back and threw me to the ground. She jerked my pants down (they came off easily) and impaled herself upon my cock. She bounced her ass up and down, pleasuring herself upon me. It felt good – she was wet as a stream, and hot, and gripped me with her inner muscles. But I felt so very little until she locked eyes with me, and for the first time, I felt like it was ME she saw. It felt almost intimate, and she changed her rhythm, her angle, as she watched me writhe beneath her. God it felt good, it felt good to please her and to engage her and maybe do something with her that was closer to sex than it was straight-up fucking. Terminology for the act defined so much about it.

As I came in her she shuddered and cried out again, and milked me with her pussy until I went flaccid. Then she laid upon me, and studied me with the look of one that has discovered they can not only touch the mirror, they can pass through it to the other world beyond.

“Teach me to pleasure you,” she said. “You’re real. You’re in there somewhere.”

“I shall,” I said. “Now that you’ve noticed me.”

She threaded her fingers into my hair again, this time to stroke me. An act of affection, something she’d never quite managed before.

“What’s your name?”

She asked, so I told her.


2 thoughts on “Ask

Leave a Reply to Ask | Writing While Human Cancel reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s