“This should be impossible,” he said, thrusting his cock into her, pushing all the way in, not stopping until his coarse pubic hair scratched her clit and his heavy balls thudded against her rectum. “That we are together like this, fucking each other so sweetly… this is the impossible dream, yet we’ve achieved it. Anything else is only… improbable.”
Fire burning in her cunt, she pushed back against each heavy thrust, legs trembling as she sought purchase, sought to take him as deeply as her body would allow.
He was so thick and long, it seemed he would never stop coming. The blunt head of his cock surged up and in, parting her contracting muscles, retreating only to return with greater power.
She felt every ridge and vein of his heated shaft pulsing within her, plowing her womb with deep, forceful digs that caused fiery streams of excitement to flare up, rising from the depths of her pussy, burning all the way to her tingling nipples.
Heat bathed her torso, washed down her back. Throwing her hips back at him, impaling herself on his cock, she tightened her muscles each time he sought to escape, gripping him and milking the thick bar of flesh almost splitting her in two.
“Don’t stop, Den!” she cried out, collapsing over the chair. “Never stop fucking me!”
He rode her down, hips slamming into hers, balls slapping against her ass as he increased the power and speed of his thrusts. “I won’t, baby! I won’t.” He groaned the promise, one arm clutching her waist, lifting her against his hard digs. The other hand slipped down her slick skin to rub and tug on her clit. His sweat-sheened body touched all along her back, warming her each time he entered her, leaving a breeze-chilled moisture that cooled her heated skin each time he withdrew. “If I could, Lover, I would fuck you forever…”
Marti’s vision blurred as tears flooded her eyes. Her body stiffened and arched, every muscle locking as a grinding orgasm took her, flinging her upward, out of herself. “Oh, Matrix!” she gasped, grabbing her own nipples and twisting as she bucked in his arms. “I’m coming… hold me… don’t let me go!”
A wave of lava-hot satisfaction rose up and overflowed her senses, shaking her apart at the seams. Right behind the pleasure, an insidious fear crept in, shortening her breath and weakening her limbs. Never had she encountered such powerful sensations as the ones flooding her now. Lust, love, and the premonition of loss swirled, swam, and twisted within her, an emotional storm battering her mind and body.
While the storm raged inside her, she clung to the one constant she had -- her growing attachment to Den. She trusted him implicitly, knew with absolute certainty he would allow nothing to harm her. Lost in the midst of her sensual tumult, she calmed, surrendered her body to Denzel’s control and with a glad cry, let ecstasy consume her.
Shaking in stunned reaction to the blistering orgasm that had wrung him out, searing his soul, Denzel eased Marti to the floor and cradled her close, unable to keep his hands and mouth off her. Tucking his head into the corner formed by her neck and the bend of her shoulder, he nipped and licked the soft, secret flesh he found there. Sighing contentedly, he breathed three simple words into the scented hollow, unable to hold them in. “I love you.”
Unwilling to tempt fate, wanting only to bask in the afterglow of the most intense orgasm he’d ever had, he was afraid she’d heard him -- and disappointed when it seemed she hadn’t.
Five minutes later, they both heard the loud, insistent chiming at the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Marti slumped against the shower wall, shivering under the cold, needle-sharp spray. Tears, camouflaged by the water, ran freely down her face as she gave way to her sorrow, sobbing over the vicious cruelty of fate.
How had she let herself fall in love with an android?
Somewhere along the line, she’d forgotten it was all a game. Forgotten. He was not real. For one, shining, Camelot-like moment, she had found paradise with a man who satisfied all her emotional and physical needs. Only, he wasn’t a ma… well, in a manner of speaking, he comprised the epitome of manhood, but he wasn’t human. He wasn’t real -- his declaration of love wasn’t real, and that was what hurt the most.
No matter how wonderfully he made her feel by helping her to free her inmost fantasies, how well Denzel fucked her, he was only a M.A.N. -- a Mechanistic Anatomically-correct Nurturer -- and no matter how capably a unit aped humanity, a M.A.N. didn’t feel emotions, couldn’t give her babies.
With Daiquiri gone and her younger sister Tequila lost in mourning for her newly slain husband, the duty of birthing daughters to carry on the family line fell to her.
Her mother and commanding officer had recently suggested she find an acceptable sperm donor and have him impregnate her. She’d refused, and her mother hadn’t pushed, because the eventual outcome was never in doubt. Her time of personal freedom was limited, for she knew her mother would insist on insuring the line of descent before allowing her eldest daughter back onto the battlefield. Her liberal mother would put up with just about anything, but even she would draw the line at this wrinkle.
It was over.
It meant nothing that she didn’t want the fantasy to end. The courier from headquarters had brought reality with him, signaling the abrupt ending of all her dreams.
The Scarth were on the move, again. The Supreme Commander, General Thalassic Harmon -- her mother -- had unilaterally cancelled all shore-leaves, ordering all unit heads to return to Command Central immediately for briefing.
With a morose sigh, she wiped her eyes, shook off her melancholy and began to wash, her hands brisk while her quick mind sought ways to delay the coming parting. She couldn’t find a one.
Damn it, she didn’t want to leave here, leave Denzel. This time together with him had truly been an oasis from her grim reality, and she wanted more time. They wouldn’t even have the opportunity to say a private goodbye.
The courier had refused to leave, stating his orders were to deliver her to headquarters before the end of the day. She had left him in the hall, stoically ignoring a sulking Denzel, while she went to shower and change.
When she emerged from the bathroom, the courier braced to attention, right arm snapping up into a precise salute. She returned his salute absently, eyes scanning the room for Denzel. “Uhm, where did my… companion go?”
“Sir! He left, Sir!”
Her spirits dropped. Pain radiated from her heart, outward, razor-sharp and corrosive as acid.
After the first, piercing wave of emotional agony, hurt pride came to her rescue. She grew angry that he had snuck away while she cleansed herself.
He didn’t even say “goodbye…”
Deep down, she knew his leaving was for the best, but her anger helped her keep the tears from falling.
She breathed a shaky sigh. “At ease, soldier.”
“Colonel Harmon, Sir?”
She peered at his name bar. “How may I help you, Private Chinn?”
The boy fidgeted. “The person that was here… he told me to give you a verbal message, but only if you ordered me to stand down before you left.”
Marti shook her head. “That arrogant bastard thinks I treat everyone with no consideration.” She sighed, spirits rising against her will. “What is the message?”
She didn’t expect he would convey a declaration of love through a stranger. She certainly didn’t expect what came out of the soldier’s mouth.
“He said, ‘Tell Martini I know she is leaving so I am taking her shuttle back to the office. Tell her she hasn’t said the safe word, therefore I am still loosed. Tell her she will be seeing me again.’
“He took a stalk of dried grass from that room over there and broke into your personal flitter, ma’am. He did something to it and it started right up for him. I thought those things were theft-proof.”
“Not from a brother, obviously,” she murmured half under her breath, shielding her eyes with her hand as she peered toward where she’d parked her flitter four days ago. She kept her hand up longer th
an necessary, until she was sure she had her emotions under control and her face smoothed into a mask of calm.
“Sorry, ma’am, I didn’t catch that.”
“I’m still chasing it, myself.”
The youth’s eyebrows rose, twin question marks. “Sir?”
“Never mind me, soldier… just a little temporary insanity on my part.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Standing in the open doorway, on the threshold of change, Martini took one last, lingering look around the foyer, seeing echoes of Denzel in every nook and cranny, another ghostly presence having joined that of her lost sister. She firmed her jaw and turned away, determined to deed the house over to Tequila, knowing she would never return.
With a resolve honed from years of discipline, she shrugged off her pain and turned her mind to the tasks ahead. Barking a brusque order for the soldier to grab her bag, she shut the door on her dreams and hopes. Duty, in the guise of the war, her unit and her family, called. She’d had her M.A.N. -- now it was time to get back to reality…
When next we see Marti…
Martini sat at the long conference table situated in the main conference room on the Starbase, Geedde Prime, her folded hands resting on the table, eyes glued to the screen showing the approaching Scarth ships. She wondered what Denzel would think about the present situation.
Instantly, she castigated herself. How can you sit here, faced with a horror almost beyond imagining, and still find yourself thinking about him?
She couldn’t help it. She missed him, missed the conversations they’d had, the arguments and quizzes. There was nothing like exploring the mind of a self-aware android.
This morning she had done what she did every day since she’d reported for duty. She’d gotten up early, done her routine calisthenics, then jogged the perimeter of the base. Returning to her cabin, she then spent far too much time in the shower, trying to scrub the memory of Denzel from her stubborn mind. The only thing was… she kept dwelling on all the things they’d never gotten around to.
Recalling how frightened she’d been at the time, she couldn’t believe she was now wishing he’d gotten around to taking her ass. The thought had a nasty leap of excitement tickling her belly, causing her muscles to jump erratically. Her pulse pounded in a frantic rhythm. Nipples, rising against the snug material of her tunic, tightened and swelled. Her womb fluttered, turned liquid with heat that rained down into her vagina, making her wet.
This is insane! I have to stop doing this. I have to get my mind off that fucking robot-boy and focus. Look at that flotilla, will you. The damn thing is miles long.
Gaze locked on the vid screen, she watched the inexorable fate hurtling toward her -- toward the Earth.
What I’m looking at is death, cold and implacable. And it is approaching at warp speed. “Matrix help us.”
stay tuned for the next episode of Women of Steel…
Camille Anthony
A California native, Camille Anthony now lives in the beautifully wild Low Country of South Carolina.. A fertile imagination and a love of Romance fuels her writing, which she has been doing since grade school. Her favorite stories are those of strong, honorable people -- whatever the race, or planet of origin -- who are driven by love and lust to find and hold that one special someone.
Camille likes her heroines feisty, her heroes dominant and her passion red hot!
She loves to hear from her readers. You can Email her at [email protected]. Your comments and suggestions are appreciated.
Women of Steel 1: Marti Gets Her M.A.N. Page 8
