by Loki Renard
“I want to touch you, too,” he says, glancing upward for a moment, acknowledging the cameras which watch us all the time. I am used to being observed. It never used to bother me, but suddenly I feel intruded upon, violated somehow.
“Let’s just do it. To hell with that bitch. I want you. I need you.” I reach for him and curl my fingers in the fabric of his collar, pulling the two sides of his shirt apart enough to see the curly dark hair over his chest. He has a thick pelt, like an animal. It is one of the masculine differences between us which I love.
“Please,” I whisper. “Do me.”
He lets out a groan and I feel the hardness which never seems to be all that far away when we are close. I press against his cock, our clothes doing little to stop me from feeling him.
“Electra,” he growls softly. “This is dangerous.”
“Everything is,” I whisper back. “We need to do this. I have to have you. Please.”
I reach down to his waist and I play with the seam of his fly. There is so little keeping the flesh monster caged. He makes a grunting sound as I pull his fly down and reach into the gap in his pants, wrapping my fingers around the thick, throbbing rod, feeling the smooth hardness of his cock.
“You’re going to get us in trouble,” he groans, his dick pulsing with his heartbeat.
“I am trouble,” I tell him. “I was conceived in trouble.”
I reach down my body, I push my pants down and I press up against him. The soft curling hair which covers my pubic mound entangles with his own dark hair as his cock glides between us.
“Fuck,” he grunts with a rare curse, reaching down to grab me by the cheeks. He uses my stinging bottom as a handhold and he hikes me up against his hard body, positioning the tight opening to my tender core above the spear of his rod. I am soaked with anticipation as he holds me there, kissing my neck, my lips, murmured words of censure and desire all mixed up together, culminating in two which make me tingle from my clit to my toes. “Bad girl.”
Tom is the most level-headed man I know, but sex makes all men monsters. I can see the animal inside him surfacing, the look in his eyes giving me a hint of the rough power he has at his disposal.
Day to day, he is always so kind. So gentle. But I sense that there is a part of him which is not kind or gentle, which demands to be fed, which roars with desire as the thick head of his cock finds the soft parting of my lower lips and begins to draw me down on his cock against all orders.
I don’t believe the world can be a civilized place. How can it be, when there is this connection between people, this wild instinct which seems to be common to all of us. I thought my animal madness was something foreign programmed into me, but seeing Tom this way, sensing his wildness, I am beginning to think that I am not strange in any way. I am essentially human, without the burden of socialization.
My moan is carnal as I feel him begin to impale me. He is moving me slowly, but that does not make this act any less brutal. I am tight, but still only one act of congress away from being a virgin. My body knows enough to be consumed with desire, but I am not yet practiced and the distance between the first time he took me and now has made things tighten all over again.
“Slow… slow…” I whisper against his mouth, feeling the tickle of his stubble against my much softer skin.
He makes it slow. He makes it excruciatingly slow, letting my body descend on his dick a fraction of an inch at a time. I feel myself adjusting, my inner wall spreading and relaxing, embracing the heat of his hard cock as he goes deeper and deeper, deeper still until finally I am fully penetrated, yet not entirely satisfied.
Tom lifts me up, drawing me aloft again, denying me his cock before he returns it to me again, long, slow, controlled strokes which are accompanied by the wet sounds of my sex. I produce the liquid which makes our bodies flow, my wetness coating his cock more with every stroke until I feel him so deep and so perfectly joined with me that it seems as though we are just one beast.
He lays me down on the couch, lets the softness claim me and envelop me as he begins to plunge and pound inside me with faster, more dominant strokes. We are still clad in most of our clothing, but that does not matter. His big hand yanks at the shirt I am wearing, pushes it up, exposes my breasts to his gaze and then to his grip. I am so soft, and he is so hard.
I am writhing, squealing, panting. I forget myself. I lose the ability to tell where I end and he begins. I am freed from this prison, from the tight little space I have inhabited since before I was born. Tom’s thrusting cock turns my body into a conductor for a kind of joy which goes so deep inside me it reminds me that I do have a soul of some kind buried under all the cruel programming which makes me cold.
I am crying. Hot tears roll down my cheeks as we cross an unseen barrier, something which was holding me from humanity. He kisses the tears, but does not stop thrusting. He knows I need him. This connection is essential for my redemption. It is the only thing we have, the only truth in this world of lies.
But it has to come to an end. We cannot ride this crest of pleasure forever. It rises between us in the fast slapping of flesh, in the wet pounding of cock in cunt. It takes hold of us and draws us up ever so close to the barrier between life and death and after that moment of perfect endlessness… it lets us fall.
“No,” I moan softly in the aftermath of orgasm, the cold lies of the world rushing back in on all sides. I burrow into him, try to keep them away, but I know I cannot hide forever. Tom holds me and he kisses me. His seed is cooling on my belly, separating from the thick goo state in which it hit me, and becoming more translucent, running over the curve of my flesh.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?”
I look into his face. “No. I won’t be okay until we’re out of here. I need to be free.”
“I know,” he says, running his palm over my hair. “I know, and I’m going to make it happen. I promise.”
Tom
We should not have done that. I should not have done that. It was defiance of a direct order and it will no doubt earn the Head’s ire. I try not to let on to Electra that I am worried. Sex is so much more than sex to her. It is to me too, but I sense that for her, it is a lifeline, a connection to the reality of her humanity. She is never so soft and so comfortable as she is in the post-orgasmic haze. Twice now, I have seen her truly happy. She is relaxed. I don’t see the hardness in her eyes, the invisible armor she keeps around herself most of the time.
But we don’t hear from her. There are no summonses to her office. I wonder if we got lucky, if nobody happened to be watching that time. It was only a few minutes. Maybe we were in a dead zone. I can come up with dozens of thoughts as to why and how we got away with that, but in the end, I know the truth is that we could do that because she allowed it. The Head still rules us, and that has to change.
Graduation
Tom
“You’ve done very well,” the Head smiles. “Truly an exceptional job.”
It has been three months of captivity, and this is the third visit the Head has made to us in the place which has become home. Electra has changed a lot in these twelve weeks. In the beginning, she was unable to function in a domestic context. Now she can cook, occasionally clean, when she’s prompted, though she’s still paranoid about the ‘watching’ machine. She has even managed to master the art of dining without resembling a small animal. This very moment she’s sitting at the dinner table and has managed to eat an entire meal in a proper way, without using her steak knife to stab at what’s on her plate, or the Head.
“I think you’ve earned something special,” the Head says with a smile which barely reaches her mouth, let alone her eyes. She is a void of emotion, this woman. I don’t trust her. I think she knows that Electra and I have been making love, forming a bond which goes far beyond the original scope of our relationship, and I suspect she will try to use that to her advantage.
We have been isolated all this time. I have not spoken to my brother at all. I wonder what she
has told him, if he even knows where I am.
I don’t trust the woman, and neither does Electra. Her suspicion is palpable, though she keeps her mouth shut, which is another way she’s showing immense personal growth. I’m so proud of her. I love her. Deeply. I haven’t told her that, but it is true.
“We have? What?” Electra takes the bait of the question.
“An evening out.”
“Out? You mean you’re going to let us go into the garden?”
“I mean you’re going to go out into the city,” the Head says. “And stay the night, if you like.”
“You’re lying,” Electra says bluntly.
We have spent twelve weeks under a microscope, forbidden from engaging in sexual congress aside from the times we did it anyway. We have been two insects inside a jar, and now the Head tells us to take the night off and head into the city? I’m not buying it either.
“I mean it. You can leave tomorrow night. There will be a gate pass issued so you are not set upon by… what did you call them, Doctor Ares? Thugs?”
Electra and I exchange looks. We know better than to accept anything from the Head. I haven’t been home in three months. I've been relying on Ken to water my plants, and I’m fairly certain they’re all dead by now.
"Thank you,” I say. “That’s a very generous offer. We look forward to it.”
“I hope the two of you enjoy yourselves. You've been working very hard. Relentlessly, some might say,” she says, turning to me and giving me a significant look, one that tells me trouble is brewing.
“Thank you, we have,” I agree blandly. “We will enjoy the evening. Which you have generously offered us.”
“What was that?” Electra is laughing at me as the Head leaves. She moves her arms and head in robotic motions. “I am thank you for your generous offer of human nourishment.”
I can’t help smiling. She’s developing a wicked sense of humor. She always had one, but absent any culture to reference, or people to talk to, it was limited. That’s why I’m so torn, why I haven’t gone mad in captivity. Because I am seeing Electra become the woman she was truly born to be, not the machine they shaped her into for all those years.
“I don’t think we should go,” Electra says.
“I think we should.” I want to say I think we should take the opportunity to leave and literally never return again, but I don’t want to put that notion in her head. “It’s an important step in your education.”
“Uh huh. It’s probably a trap. She’s fucked up. She doesn’t do nice things to be nice. She does nice things so she can do something worse later.”
“Maybe,” I agree. “But that’s… well, that’s sometimes what life is like. You have to take the nice things when they’re on offer, because the bad ones are coming regardless.”
“A doctor and a philosopher,” Electra smirks. “Fine, we’ll go to dinner.”
Big Wide World
Electra
I was afraid to go out, but Tom made it easy. The car we left the facility in had blacked out windows which kept me from seeing the terrifying world outside, and we were delivered to a door in a back alley which immediately put me at ease.
Inside the restaurant is a different matter. There are people here. Normal people. Civilians, not agents. I’m surprised at how different normal people look, how much more they range in size, appearance, and age. Walking into this place feels like walking into a zoo where all the inhabitants are people, including me. I’m glad Tom is here. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if he wasn’t. I’d probably have to kill someone just to feel like I was doing the right thing.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs in my ear, distracting me from picking out the person I’d stress-kill first.
“Thank you,” I say. “You look beautiful too.”
He does. Tom looks incredible in a suit. I’ve never seen him wear one before, and I like it. The clean lines of the charcoal gray jacket and pants emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and the length of his legs. All his manly attributes are accented by his clothing, much like the low-cut little black dress I am wearing makes the most of my hips and breasts. We are on display here, at this place where people eat, and I am not entirely sure if it is for ourselves, or the world at large.
A waiter in a dark suit leads us to a table, where we sit. Tom reaches for my hand, grounding me, connecting me to him. I don’t understand this world I’ve found myself in. It doesn’t feel right, or real. But he does.
“Electra,” he says, getting my attention. “I have to tell you something.”
“What? Is it bad? Are you leaving?”
“No,” he reassures me, cutting off the torrent of scared questions. “It’s good. I think it’s good. I don’t know how you’ll feel. I hope you feel the same.”
“Just tell me,” I beg. I’m so nervous. There are people around us on all sides. Any one of them could stick the short serrated knives they're merrily sawing their food with into us. This isn’t safe. People shouldn’t do this.
“I love you,” he says, looking deep into my eyes, making me forget all the people surrounding us with knives instantly. “I think I’ve loved you from the first moment I met you, and I can promise you now, whatever happens, I’m going to be there for you. You're my girl. Not because the Head gave you to me, but because you gave yourself to me.”
“I’m going to get face water here,” I whisper. I don’t like to say the word cry. It makes me feel weak. But there are tears rolling down my cheeks and I can’t stop them. I’m not sad. I’m so happy I can hardly contain myself.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m sorry. I should have told you somewhere private, but this is a special evening, and you’re the most special thing to me. I love you, Electra.”
“I love you too,” I whimper, hiding my face behind the tablecloth until Tom redirects me to the napkin which is more fit for the purpose.
“Good,” he smiles. “Then we’re in agreement, and in love.”
Is that what has been happening to me? Giving me the aching feeling in my belly and chest, making it all go away when I look into his eyes and return full force when I think of ever losing him? Is this what love is? It is amazing and terrible all at the same time, if it is. I never had anything to lose before, only my life, and I never cared about that.
The tears dry themselves and suddenly I cannot stop smiling. Every breath tastes like freedom, and Tom is by my side, the man who loves me.
I need him. I need him to plunge himself inside me and take the last bit of innocence I have. I need him to spread me open and thrust deep. To consume me and let me consume him. But the waiter is giving us menus and I can make an educated guess that fucking is one of the things people don’t do in restaurants. At least, not before they’ve eaten.
Tom
“Appetite-zers,” she says. She picked up reading fast. I think she had actually been taught to read at some point, perhaps when she was quite young, but then she was deprived of anything to read until she thought she’d lost the skill. It is impossible to be around Electra without sensing the losses of her life, but I am going to spend the rest of mine restoring what should always have been hers.
“This food all sounds weird,” she says, barely looking at the menu.
I order a few small dishes while she’s distracted with gawking around the restaurant. They come not very long after, prawn cocktails, and two bowls of soup of the day. Electra shows no interest in anything there is to eat. It wouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t eat at all. She’s too busy scanning everybody else in the place.
I know she is worried about the others in the restaurant, innocent civilians who certainly don’t deserve to be exposed to the darker side of her, but I am not concerned about that. I know she is trying her best to restrain her animal instincts, to be civilized. She has a deep desire to be part of the world she has been denied. But she knows she’s not part of it yet, at this moment she is still a thing apart. So many complex emotions are running through
her, but she’s not panicking as she used to. She’s letting them be, drinking them in, and I am proud of her.
“Holy fuck,” Electra exclaims, a little too loud, but impressively, not at full volume.
“Language…” I say, my voice dropping into silence as I look in the direction Electra is looking and see the Head herself gliding between the tables. Her presence precedes a cooling sensation. I know the temperature could not have dropped a dozen degrees just because she walked in, or if it did, it’s probably because the opening of the front door sends a gust of cold air from the street all the way through the restaurant. There has to be a logical reason. She’s not an actual ice queen.
The woman couldn’t let us have a single night to ourselves. She has some kind of obsession with Electra and me which borders on the bizarre. I hope she finds another distraction soon, because this is not helping.
My stomach sinks as the Head draws closer, especially when I see Electra’s expression. She’s still afraid of this woman. I think she always will be. Some fears are deep, so deep they get into your bones, seep into your DNA. Electra was not made to fear, but the Head has ensured she has learned.
“Hello Doctor Ares, Electra," the Head introduces herself with a polite ease which belies the strangeness of seeing her out here, in the world. I never imagined her in any context outside her office, or the facility where she reigns supreme. Out here, she is simultaneously so much more and so much less. Other diners don’t even look up from their meals. They don’t notice her. To the average person, she is just an average person. Electra has gone white as a sheet. She’s clutching at the table cloth with one hand, her fingers inching toward her steak knife with the other. I reach out and cover her stabbing hand with my own, hoping the gesture calms her down.
