Hawker’s office. THe massive door moved on it’s own power, having opened on their approach and began closing behind those freshly cleaned boots. The rookie didn’t even have time to pull off his damp shit before he’d been smooched! Bowled over, he did honestly try to kiss back but he wasn’t sure where the lips started and ended! All he could see and feel is the potent kiss. He tiredly rubbed the handsome face, feeling stunend and overwhelmed.
“Hope you’re not too tired to have a little fun…”
He sure moved quick now, having seeing his Captain’s fat shaft; three feet of metallic alloy that’s ready to break through reinforced concrete! Shirt off, and oh wow! As he rapidly worked at the shoelaces on his boots, the marks from the previous day lay gloriously on his bare skin. The teeth marks on his neck and arm particularly vivita. His back and face were nearly blank right now. The arm that had been chewed did have a pretty, tye-dyed look to the skin.
Kick, kick; the boots dropped down wetly. Socks peel off and those toes wiggle in their newfound freedom. THe sweatpants and jockstrap follow. Oh, oh yes. The cute little human erection hard on his belly, balls nicely seated at the base. His leg bored the dark bite mark of his owner, his superior. “Too tired for fun? I hope you don’t ever work me that hard! Hmmm. Of course, that’d just mean you rub up against me until you finished.” He smirked, legs apart as he sprawled on the desk.
<I do have a medical exam tomorrow at 0900. So what you do is gonna get recorded for posterity.> His cute face screwed up in a masochistic smile. Putting his arms behind his head, he mimicked the position of the big man from earlier. He needed bigger muscles to make it the position look good. Right now he is just cute and damaged.
“I want a meal from you big bot. I want you all over and in me. Leave some marks and get us off already!” His dick jumped, and he licked over his lips as he alternated looking at the broad schlong and the greedy look on the robot’s face.
“Of course, that’d just mean you rub up against me until you finished.”
“I’d be more than happy to finish all over you no matter what state you were in.” He let the dubiousness of those words sink in, grinning wickedly. He imagined somehow being able to give the kid his morning wake-up call with an unnanounced smear of pre to the face.
<I do have a medical exam tomorrow at 0900. So what you do is gonna get recorded for posterity.>
Hawker slowly rubbed his cockhead against the edge of the desk as his optics raked over his pilot’s handsome little body. Hands behind his head, legs out, he even had the smug look on his face. But with those bruises and that collar, it was no question as to who was in charge.
“We wouldn’t want to give Colburn a heart attack,” he chuckled. “Contrary to popular belief, I do like a few people around here.”
The mech reached down to stroke himself as he leaned in to graze his teeth across Chris’ flat belly, rumbling when the kid instinctively drew in a breath. Tongue followed, and he trailed slowly south until his lips found that little cock again. He opened wide, taking everything into his great mouth: shaft, balls, thighs. Licking, sucking, savoring. Chris’ small, breathy noises made him harder. And deep inside of him, that secret probe warmed in anticipation.
But he didn’t linger there for long. A few measured strokes and he left to nibble and drag his lips down across each leg, up and down each arm, taking each limb into his mouth and letting the… foretaste build for the both of them.
“Turn over,” he ordered quietly. When Chris did as told, Hawker continued along his backside, giving a little extra attention to that perky little ass. He noticed that the skin there was relatively free of marks, and this was unacceptable to him. He bit down, and bit down hard. His cock jumped at Chris’ reaction, and he fisted himself faster. “Mmh…” That one he knew he wanted blue – wanted Chris to feel it every time he sat down for the next week. He rewarded his good little pet with a tongue between the ass cheeks, lubing him up from balls to tailbone, and lapping a few times at his quivering hole.
<I’ll train you to take my tongue soon enough. But for now…> He drew back and sat down in the chair, popping his hatches. Pfssst chakchakchak! <You’re going on an adventure.> “Collar off, greenhorn. Get in.”
Chris imagined Hawker pushing that monster under his sheets as he slept. Snuggling up to the warm metallic girth, before the mech woke him up to deal with that morning
wood steel, obscenely dripping pre onto his face.
“Contrary to popular belief, I do like a few people around here.”
“What?” came his humerous rebuttal, a laugh coming out with his amusement. “Kole, Colburn, Preston? I’m not sure you like me yet.” he teased.
Any doubts he had, even comical ones, went away as the handsome machine pleased him in a way no one else could. Chris tastes GOOD. He’d been hard and soft multiple times, so his sweet precum had added to the flavors of sweat and his natural musk. And more of the sweet natural sweetness would come out to dot little highlights of flavor. He squirmed and shuddered, hands pressing on the mech’s nose, he whined happily. Even when being pleasured, he had no control.
His body slowly got washed clean by the mech, soon there wasn’t an inch of his flesh that hadn’t been touch by those lips; the immense teeth had threatened and snapped at him here and there. As he collected more bruises and carried old ones, the tapestry of pain he carried meant less places for a new additions. Rolling over, he pushed his rear upward and spread his legs.
Like a white peach, those twin cheeks stood perky and perfect, his balls just visible below. His whimper turned into a true pained cry, his hands balling into fists and he pounded them to the desk. Fresh pain rolled over the connection like thunder. The boy sweat a sheen from that, his skin glistening in the lights of the office. He left a drop of lubricant on the desk, groaning with pleasure as the robot slathered up and down between his legs.
<Don’t tease about that Sir! You put that tongue between my cheeks until I can take it!> But he’s not in control, is he?
Chris wasn’t cleared for interfacing yet. He needed to wait for medical to clear him for service.
Hawker’s orders had him crushing the off switch as he scrambled to his feet. The collar got left on the desk as he moved with the energy of his raging arousal. The rookie pilot crossed the distance in moments, hitting the cushions of the piloting chair with a regretful howl! “FUCK! Did you really have to chomp my ass? Ow fuck fuck..”
Feet in position, he dropped his hands in position and pressed the button to engage their interface.
No suit. No shoes. Nothing at all, his naked flesh housed by Hawker’s steel. The restrains curled around him and pressed on the raw bruises, washing him with the pain anew. It hurt. It felt amazing. He wanted to jerk off, to please his bobbing arousal. But his arms were locked down firm. He felt the helmet surround his head and lock up tight, the interface seating securely.
Nude in the stomach of Big Nine. Then his mind swam as they joined.
The feeling of bare flesh against his insides was almost more than he could handle. Hawker engaged the restraints, feeling them curl around Chris’ aching, beaten body, holding him tight in a strange iron grip. The mech’s neural interface cradled his pilot’s head, slithered across his scalp before securing such precious cargo.
“Trust me, this won’t be like our previous interfaces. It’ll only hurt a little…” Those were his last spoken words as the hatches closed, leaving Chris in a dim belly dotted with a rainbow of LED status lights. With that, the plug slid in, seated, and that familiar haze rushed to meet them.
They were back where they’d just been: Chris on Hawker’s desk, and the machine giant standing before him, shaft straining. If the human had blinked, he might’ve missed it; wondered if he hadn’t imagined their interface at all. Nothing seemed different or out of the ordinary, and the only clue that they were, in fact, linked was the undeniable mingling of each others’ minds.
“Now where was I?” Hawker’s neurospace self said, diving back in to continue where he’d left off. He could taste Chris here – and fuck was it addicting! Sweet like coolant, tangy like solvent, musky like oil… but all organic. All warm and fleshy and full of living, pumping blood. He groaned with pleasure. “If only I could tie you to a popsicle stick and suck on you all day long…”
His systems rumbled fiercely when his mouth made contact again with Chris’ body. His mouth was busy, and he didn’t want to interrupt, so: <You will come twice this time. Once now, and once again later,> he firmly impressed on the squirmy, excitable little thing underneath him. <How long it takes you to get hard again doesn’t matter to me, though don’t be surprised if things are different here.>
He grabbed Chris’ thighs with a surprising roughness, drawing them up and apart to fully expose him. He stared hungrily for a moment before lapping and sucking on everything he had from prick to ass and rumbling his lecherous enjoyment. He drew circles around the kid’s asshole with his immense tongue, before pressing the tip of it to the opening and exerting pressure against that tight muscle.
<What’s the biggest cock you’ve taken? How stretched open was my little pilot?>
The disorientation lasted longer than he’d expected. Normally he’d be seeing with Hawker’s eyes, becoming the 15 foot machine. Instead, they stayed separate and a world built around them. It felt just like it moments ago. The cool desk on his back. Impossibly strong hands that pulled his thighs apart.
Here the connection flowed without hindrance. Hawker could taste, he could pull on his pilot’s knowledge of flavors. Things like salt, the tang of bitterness, tongue feel; even the way the boy’s skin felt against his gums.
When Chris spoke, he’d had trouble making things throughs, the robot surrounded with pleasure that he didn’t know could exist. He bordered on popping right now, his shaft dancing and jumping with need, spitting out the little dollops of natural lubricant. Everything felt real, and he easily forgot he is trapped within the form of his lecherous Captain.
“Twice? Oh gods Hawker! I’m not going to be able to move after this.” He has the distinct line between his perky and bitten rear; and the muscled flowing line of a shapely thigh. Each cheek pushed equally apart as the unstoppable oral muscle shouldered his butt open, pressing at that pucker. He had a clean, musky flavor. THe taste of a well maintained, yet exercised young man. The flavor that should arouse the need of a domineering male to penetrate and claim the pilot as his own.
“What’s the biggest cock you’ve taken? How stretched open was my little pilot?”
Suddenly, Chris’s mind reached back to the academy. He’d had dalliances as a teenager, but that’d been with other guys his age. Blowjobs, mutual fingering. But he’d been sweet on anther guy who had been in training with him. Another scab. Andrew. THe young pilots had spent time eyeing each other in the showers. Touching. Kisses. They’d linked up and played in neurospace, experimenting with fantasy. Andrew was less hung then Chris but thicker. 6 by 2. That’d been the only other person to repeated take the pilot. They’d gotten each other through the school. Andrew had gone off to the warm sunny west coast, to enjoy the California sun as a pilot on the sunny beaches. He wanted Chris to come with him, but the stubborn Chicago native wanted to try and help his home city.
“N-nothing like you’ve got.” He admitted, trying to buck his hips to get more traction against his anal cleft. But it is impossible, Hawker held him firmer then he could dream. In the cockpit his legs tensed and shook, fighting futilely against the restrains. “Even your smallest finger is bigger then anything that’s ever been in me. You’ll be deeper, stretch me wider then anyone. I want you to mold me.” he smirks, “Make me fit around you!”
“Oh gods Hawker! I’m not going to be able to move after this.”
A private thought: That sounds enticing too…
If Chris was needy before, then this was a whole new level. His every thwarted thrust, his every twitch and tingle, was punctuated by a synesthesic dance of color, smell, taste, and sound. Hawker could feel the rush of sex hormones, the epinephrine and endorphin, the rush of beating blood to his hot, reddened prick. He could almost feel his own tongue on that shaft, another reverberating effect of Infinite Mirror.
He relived the flicker of memories alongside his human – he permitted himself to imagine both Chris and Andrew between his legs and betting for his massive load – and found them erotic and endearing. How cute, two evenly-matched little bodies fucking each other in a soft bed? His Chris, whimpering and sighing, cock spurting its globs in miniature when he couldn’t take any more.
He went back to that hole though. Enticed by its amazing smallness. Hawker wanted to bury himself in there somehow. Use the kid as a cocksleeve. Fuck him so hard he could taste it. The mech pushed, and eventually Chris’ body yielded deliciously to his invading tongue. Where he wasn’t held in Hawker’s vice grip, Chris writhed.
In the chair outside he reached for himself and stroked.
He buried himself another few inches, the girth of his tongue here several inches in diameter. But it would only hurt if Chris either chose for it to, or if he forgot that he was in neurospace.
<God you taste so fucking good.> Chris was stretched around him, muscles struggling to push him out, but he held firm. Inside the kid was impossibly tight, pillowy soft, and hot. Spectacularly hot. <I can taste your heartbeat…> Those little pairs of drumbeats ran quick now, he could feel them.
Another inch, another squirm.
Chris didn’t know for sure if Andrew would have share his submission to Hawker, but he knew his previous partner would have enjoyed that monstrous metal dick. They’d have hugged it between them, rode it like a hose, kissed the tip and bathed in the absurd output the mech produced. Mmmpf. A harem for Hawker.
Neurospace allowed for the impossible. Chris wanted to be filled by the domineering AI. He needed that kind of control and safety. He wanted to know that the most dangerous thing watched out for him. If if that force hurt him a little in the process, well, that’s just icing on the cake. His flat stomach became rounded, little waves of motion appearing as the tongue penetrated his depths.
That pink ring stretched beyond what should be possible! More and more of that gloriously writhing muscle filled his dusky tunnel. The smell, the flavor! The delicious sensation of the tight body, unsure and eager to be claimed by the more powerful male. In his mind, the smirking face of the mech kept his hands from allowing him to self-pleasure. But it is the restraints in the forgotten cockpit that bound his arms, his shaft twitching, so achingly hard that it lifted off his stomach and bobbed in the air.
<I can taste your heartbeat…>
He could feel it. The tongue have reached an impossible depth, the robot casually invading his fragile organic form, the tongue slathering it’s saliva over his frantic, beating heart.
“NNNGH!” The feelings overwhelmed him and he fell into a hazy lust of an orgasam! He splattered the six cumshots onto his stomach, each one a thigh-clenching volley that made his balls ache. In neurospace..
He poured out his seed into the mouth of the mighty machine! He rolled his hips, slipping his length the slight inches that he could when bound by those hands. His inner muscles rippled, squeezing and milking along the point where he’d been turned into Hawker’s puppet. With a deep exhales he sagged in the perverse embrace.
Still hard, still filled. He could sense the appetite of his Captain behind him. He want more, so much more from his pilot. “I’m.. I’m ready Sir.” Chris wasn’t sure what he is quite ready for, but he knew that he needed to admit it. He knew the big bot wanted him to admit his need. “Please!”
Hawker worked himself in to the teeth, curling the end of his tongue upward in a ‘come hither’ motion. After a few moments of agonizing bliss, he withdrew and plunged back in.
The mech was much more aware of both worlds than the human could ever be. If Chris’ aptitude for neurospace meant that he could dictate the terms of their connection unilaterally, then Hawker’s was that he was designed to be immersed in and conscious of both. When his trapped little pilot came inside of him, spurting all over himself, he could feel that. He could feel the taut tendons, the muscles gone rigid, the heaving, labored breaths, the tremulous arching against the restraints and seatback.
And when Chris came in neurospace, he felt that too. The little jets of thick, warm cum splashed against his palate. His puckered hole squeezed tight, almost shivering. Velvet insides trembled and heartbeat hastened.
Outside, the mech in the chair bucked into his own hand and rumbled fiercely, but he was patient when he wanted to be. For now he was going to edge – he wanted to save all of that pent-up arousal for the grander finale.
In the midscape, Hawker slowly withdrew his tongue, savoring the taste of the kid’s sweet, musky load. Salty. Like blood, like sweat, like tears: some of his favorite things. His human fell back against the desk like a rag doll, heaving deep, open-mouthed breaths. His own dainty pink tongue practically lolling out. But expectation was thick in the air – even without his previous warning of two orgasms, the metal giant exuded it like a pheromone.
“I’m… I’m ready Sir.”
With Chris’ taste still on his lips, he kissed him deeply, drew his thumb down that delicate jawline.
Then, things started to change. It would he hard to tell at first, but it would soon be apparent to Chris that Hawker was steadily growing. The mech’s mouth on his would seem to cover more and more of his face, that his fingers splayed along the kid’s shoulder were now two to its width instead of four, that his nose suddenly pressed into his hair rather than his cheek.
Did it stop? Hawker knew that it did, at which point he pulled his now 3-foot face away from Chris, optics intense in their golden glow. “Good boy,” he repeated, his mouth twisted into a wide smirk as he hunched over his prey. The human was now barely taller than his hand from heel to fingertip, and the mech couldn’t help but imagine all sorts of horrible things he could do to a human body at this size.
If Chris wanted to see him on his knees again, he was getting the opportunity now. Hawker was far too massive to stand in here, but that was no matter. He planned on getting comfortable for this anyways.
“How’s the view from all the way down there?”
Somehow, the removal of the tongue really hit home how deep the big man had been. It pulled out and out and out! When the devious, talented tip finally withdrew from his well-stretched ring, the pilot could feel air inside him. His depts were visable, the overworked boybutt winked as it struggled to close again.
Chris’s vision had waves and stars as he ran from the high of getting off to the warm afterglow and kisses from his lover. Those lips puckered up, their touch going from just below his nose down to the bottom of his chin. Lover is a good word for how he felt about Hawker. They shared interests, spent time with each other well, and seems to fill out each other’s perversions. He didn’t even notice the growth at first.
The hand on his back increased its weight. THe tongue filled his mouth, expanding and pressing his cheeks outward, delving into his throat and pulling out past his lips. It was only when the lips of his boss pushed over his eyebrows that he realised something sneaky had been going on.
When he’d been washing the boots of his kinky tormentor, he could have believed that their size difference is a trick of the eyes. He could have gotten that kind of view by laying his head at the boots of someone his own size. There is no such possibility now, Hawker had grown to a size that dwarfed buildings. One hand covered him like a blanket, the other could touch the ceiling with ease. Hawker grew until he filled a good chuck of the space in the office.
The mech had to be kneeling to fit! Even then the now six foot phallus bobbed and swung in the air over home. Chris could lay on it, his feet against the robot’s hips and his head wouldn’t even reach the end! He probably could stick his arm down the cumsilt and feel the load coming up before it blasted him across the desk! He struggled to rises, but even the counterbalanced dead weight of that hand is too much for his exhausted body.
Prey. He saw a hungry reflected int hat golden gaze. The smirk revealing the gleam of teeth, each tooth bigger then his hands.
The damage Hawker could do now. The differences before had been laughable. But now he felt helpless. Hawker had become a god, able to destroy him with a whim or cripple him with the simplest gesture. Pain would come, whether he was ready or not.
“How’s the view from all the way down there?”
THe voice boomed from on high, it is all so appropriate. Chris didn’t fight the alterations, he permitted himself to be tiny and insignificant because of how good it felt.
The boss in control.
“Damn fine!” he shouted, feeling the need to call up. His legs were a touch shorter then Hawkers fingers. The hand on him could turn into a fist that could easily encompass his body, with the thumb pressing up under his neck. “So, you sexy giant, what more surprises do you have for your happy pilot?”
Chris’ brows shot up when he realized just how big Hawker had become, and a look of pleasant surprise crossed his face. The human was beaming with excitement at this new development – all the better for him. It seemed to the now-massive mech that there was something truly special about Chris letting something as big and imposing as an HLX-9 violate him, letting himself be squeezed like putty in such powerful hands.
“So, you sexy giant, what more surprises do you have for your happy pilot?”
Hawker smiled at the ego-stroking, matching it with a little neurospace stroking of his own. His hand slid up and down his battering ram of a cock, smearing a dribble of lubricant along his gunmetal length. Some of it dripped onto the floor in a viscous glob.
“Nothing you hadn’t thought of first, kiddo.”
His free hand grasped Chris like a toy, turning him over so that he laid face up in his open palm. The mech found a spot on the ground to sit against the wall, much like he’d done while his dutiful little pilot had soaped up his hard frame. He brought Chris up to his face, unable to suppress that hungry grin. He licked his lips, and the unspoken feeling they shared across their link changed suddenly – to a lower, more ominous note, or a prickling heat as Hawker allowed his mental presence to expand and press against his subordinate’s.
He started with the kid’s legs, taking them inch by inch into his mouth, sucking the flesh past his teeth and rubbing his tongue all over those firm calves. Chris’ taste was exquisite; the feel of those little limbs squirming and moving around the inside of his hot, wet mouth was going to drive him wild. Still, he kept the strokes along his huge cock steady – patience.
<You’re going to feel so good going down…>
Briefly Chris took in the picture of that moment. He tried to sear it into his memory, wanting to remember it forever. He sat nude in the palm of a hand as big as him. THe colossal robot stroking it’s bigger-then-Celn sized fuckpole with tho ether. And just why was it working it’s crank with intensity? It is going to eat him. Stuff him down it’s gullet.
Chris is going to be swallowed. It was all he could do not to join in the stroking when that mouth opened. It’d become a much larger mouth now, defiantly more then big enough to do the job. He could see where in the back the throat lay. That wet surface now had a tunnel. A constrictive tube that’d he’d be inside for a time. The interior of Hawker’s mouth is constructed of the same ‘skin’ as his face. The tongue looked wet, it ripples and smeared slickness on his feet.
Lubricant for making him slip down.
<You’re going to feel so good going down…>
Despite have cum minutes before, his dick stood at attention for his Captain. Fuck, had he wanted to do this and now it is really happening. In neurospace, but how amazing it all felt! The teeth just below his knees, preventing him from pulling out.
He did laugh, the sensation on his feet did tickle, and he did a little kick just to show how little he could do to prevent being eaten. SOme primal part of his mind felt fear, not wanting to have that enormous face get it’s dinner. He reached forward, sliding his hand into that mouth and stroking over the tongue, getting a sensation for how it felt in every way possible.
Then he uses that we hand to grease up his pole, teasing a finger along the sensitive underside as he bathed in the yellow glow of Hawker’s vision. “YOu going to eat me? Swallow me whole? Feel me slide down into your stomach?” THumb and forefinger on his dick now, he looked down as those lips smirked around his legs. All those weird, dark and delicious thoughts about being consumed came to his mind. He spoke..
“Nothing will be left. Just me becoming a small part of you. Making you bigger and stronger. That’s the best part of digestion. You don’t even have to think about how to utilize me. Just going about your day as I make you greater..”
Hawker had no intention of digesting him – though it was possible here – but his enthusiasm was compelling. No, it was more than just compelling: it made the killing machine want to do it!
With a sudden rush of tongue and teeth, and a roaring of 6 motors, Chris was thrown back into the mech’s gullet past the hips. Hawker’s lips clamped down around his slim waist and his tongue roughly forced his thighs apart to coat his absolutely tiny rod with thick, hot spit. He bit down around that waist, and hard, straining the flesh. So fragile, so many important things under those lean ab muscles. If anything should happen to any of them…
<You’d be grease for my servos,> he mentally growled back. <My body would pick yours apart, piece by piece… you’d be made into oil, or a mere vent of hot, dusty air. Or if you were lucky, maybe you’d become my next load of cum, dripping down the wall. So many ways for good little boys like you to be useful to me.>
He lapped him in up to the chest, feeling his feet at the back of his throat now. Anatomy that he didn’t even have outside of neurospace warmed and throbbed as he eagerly awaited that feeling of intense fullness, of constriction around a small and helpless morsel of prey. Tongue lifted Chris’ ass up until his hard prick was pressed against the roof of his mouth. Slurping and slicking and groaning.
God, the taste. The sensation of firm, living flesh filling his maw…
<You’ve wanted this for a while, haven’t you, you filthy little scab? Getting fucked by your boss wasn’t enough, getting abused wasn’t enough… you need complete and utter surrender, don’t you? You crave to be put in your place. Well guess what, kid, your place is inside me.>
The only real regret Chris felt, is that he’d never be able to have the horizontal bite marks up and down his body. Knowing that the engine of destruction would happily convert him into nothing? That idea just had him painfully throbbing!
His toes pressed against the back of Hawker’s mouth. The arches of his feet land on the oversized masseter muscles. He could feel the clenching of the jaw as it tightened around his middle. Blasts of air from Hawker’s nose whirled around him. smelling the perspiration of the boy, tasting his prey.
Lips sealed around him and Hawker sucked. Not pushing him in with the hand that supported his shoulders and kept him up at that face. No, just pulling him in like a spaghetti noodle. Slurping him inward. <You’d become my next load of cum, dripping down the wall.> That huge tongue lifted him, knocking his feet off their perch, toying with his opened rear and pushing his dick over the hot ridges on the ceiling of Hawker’s mouth.
Fear mixed with his lust and he decided he wanted to struggle. He wanted to know if anything, anything at all could stop the inevitable. He grinned, the adrenaline pushing through him as he places his hand on the upper lip of his Boss and locked his elbows. Even with his exhaustion, when a guy locks his knees he feel like he can stand forever. With his arms solid, he should be able to keep himself out.
That sense of superiority lasts a few seconds, them the robot smiles. His fingers slide from lips to deet, then he does deeper. His feet skate across the back of the mouth, coming together at the entrance to that throat. He can feel the automatic swallowing, the natural squeezing and pulling stroking over his feet. He’s going to go down! He’ll be taken in.
<Well guess what, kid, your place is inside me.>
He is thankful for the teeth now, they’re what’s keeping him from being lunch. He flailed, he panicked, the normally cool Celn struggled against the inevitable embrace of the machine that owned him!
“NO! Please.. I .. oh god, I..” he shuddered, the heavy tongue lolled around him, helping him sink just a tiny bit further. His fear is a spice, a flare of sudden flavor that helps make the mech’s mouth water. THe sudden rush of silicone salivar ensures Chris can barely even grasp the teeth. His dick PAINFULLY ached, so close to erupting a second time.
There is nothing he could do, absolutely nothing. And he loved it!
There were benefits to being a machine… aside from the obvious. No gag reflex, no need to aspirate like a human. Hawker could keep Chris inside his mouth for as long as he wanted when he was this big, a prisoner in the dark behind the gate of his teeth.
Chris struggled, locking his arms, pushing futilely against the expanse of his lips. <Don’t like it anymore, huh?> he goaded, parting his lips into a cruel smile and holding the kid still between his teeth like a cigar. His hand was still propping up his head, but hadn’t been doing any pushing; all the manipulation has so far been with his maw. It didn’t take much for Chris’ strength to give out: just another slurp, and he was in to the armpits.
His arms were still hanging out, so he opened up just enough to tuck them inside, pushing them to his prey’s sides.
“NO! Please.. I .. oh god, I..”
It was absurd, that fear. The both of them knew that the human was in the safest hands in Chicago. But the possibility of real harm, of death, of gluttonous bloodlust was always there, under the surface. The comfort of safety mingled with that animal dread of one fatal move, one fatal decision, one fatal throe of passion, and it created a potent alchemy of sex and oblivion. This was the line Hawker wanted – needed – to walk. Fear and authority fueled him just as much as his thorium core. And Chris was letting him do this; he craved to be on the receiving end as much as Hawker craved to administer pain to who would surely become his closest confidant, his staunchest ally, and his best friend.
The Hawker of both worlds could smell, and he knew the smell of fear. It was his favorite human pheromone – it had a special tang that focused his attention and drove him to action faster than any other. His programming reacted almost of its own accord, even. Fission grew hotter, fluids pumped faster, hydraulics strained under anticipatory pressure, and he felt the predatory need to be where the smell was coming from. To do something about it.
Outside of neurospace, the machine groaned, tightening his grip around himself and throwing his head back.
<There’s no escaping now, kiddo. Your struggle is only making me harder.>
Inside, the 3-story Hawker also threw his head back. Now he planted a single finger on each of the human’s shoulders, giving a slow, firm push as he opened his mouth wide so that Chris could see where he was to end up. The interior of Hawker’s mouth was as white as his face with the occasional seam, but here it undulated and shone with dripping saliva like a human’s maw. His hypopharynx throbbed, and there was that familiar deep, wet click of swallowing action.
The mech was close too, but he forced himself to continue edging in both worlds. His 6-foot metal shaft ached, heaving under its immense weight and having demanded release since the fear in Chris’ sweat hit his CPUs. Not… yet!
Then just like that, Chris was all the way in, and the mech’s teeth came together behind him.
As enlarged Hawker tilted his head back, Chris could look down and see him fisting the girthy tool. <There’s no escaping now, kiddo. Your struggle is only making me harder.> <That’s all I am.> the rookie realised. A snack and entertainment. Indignant anger welled up in him, everything he’d been through; and Hawker was going slurp him down and turn him into nothing!
Or maybe he’d be held tight in a mechanical stomach. Squeezed and all of his bruises sparking in agony. The gurgle of fluids, the heat of the reactor, the powerful thrum of engines that are Hawker’s heartbeat.
Two huge fingers rest on his shoulders. The same ones that’d been on his feet for his exercises the other day. He tries to kick, but his feet already are surrounded and firmly grasped. With the simplest of pushes, he went in. His legs are surrounded by that constricting throat. Before he’d have to make the bend, his body would have needed to fold to be swallowed.
Not now though. The tongue smeared saliva against his back, mashing him to the roof of the mouth, feeling and judging as the morsel is pulled down. Just a few inches at a time. With an audible *CLUMPF* the teeth shut above him. Tiny lines of light shown in from between them. All too soon his waist lodged in the back of the mech’s hungry maw.
Chris whimpered. It felt so good. He knew he is headed to the safest place in the world. Hawker would be the only thing ever to hurt him now. The powerful mech would mark him, sculpt him, and ensure his pilot never came to external harm. All it too is the first pull of a swallow, and his compressed shaft spurted. His orgasm flowed through him, he shuddered as all of his energy came out with it and he collapsed.
In the pilot seat he sagged, his shaft spurting again on his stomach. THe sensations of his emotional release plowed into the mech across the connection. Chris didn’t guard his emotional state, he wasn’t reserved. Hawker got to enjoy every moment of it with his pilot. A shudder pulsed though his exhausted frame and he sagged in the restraints.
In neurospace, His cum smeared onto his stomach and on the white material of the throat. Over a week of intense exhaustive training, THe constant dominance of Hawker. He had nothing left. With a fearful whimper he slumped in place. Deliciously defeated, submitting to the Male that owned him.
His prey was a swirling mess of emotions as he slipped down the hatch, pulled by powerful contractions of soft, cybernetic muscle. They reverberated across their shared connection, punctuating the tastes and sounds and sensations of that small helpless body being stuffed down his gullet.
As soon as the kid’s hips found themselves clenched tight against the walls of his throat, Hawker could feel the human shudder, could feel the little spurt of salty heat.
“Mmmh.” The mech’s groan was deep – earthquake deep – and it surrounded the pilot with a wall of vibrating sound.
And that was it. Sucked down by those powerful contractions. Hawker tilted his face skyward, hand stroking the bulge in his throat as Chris was pushed down that tight, hot, sticky tunnel deep into the mech’s machine body. Hawker could feel his every weak movement until eventually, his meal came to rest in the depths of his belly.
The obscene fullness as Chris fell unceremoniously into that hot, cramped, cage! Hawker rubbed his belly, tapping on the armor plating just above where his prey lay, exhausted, fearful, defeated. The mech didn’t have a cockpit here: he decided to have something else.
A wet, slick space; pitch black, dripping. The walls were textured, like a mass of smooth cables. And he also decided to have a few… appendages.
Outside, the mech was bucking, venting harsh air, hulking shaft swollen and twitching and leaking. But still he forced himself to wait. He had one more thing he wanted to subject the kid to, even now.
“Your captain isn’t quite done yet,” he said, voice surrounding Chris in his stomach. The tiny little morsel was utterly spent, and Hawker could feel that he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and fall asleep inside of him. “I know you’re tired,” he continued, gently, authoritatively, almost like he was grooming the kid to endure something unpleasant. “But I still intend on fucking you.”
With that, he guided one of the sleek metal tentacles toward where Chris lay in the puddle of warm stomach fluid, and brushed it’s wet tip across his cheek in the dark. The image of his pilot being violated and unable to get off on it – only existing, in that moment, as a hot, tight hole to plow into – built up the heat in his hips. Hawker suddenly wanted that more than anything, and in meatspace, the seat of the pilot’s chair parted.
The light coming in dimmed. Hot wetness surrounded him. Yet..
it all is so clean! Silicone and cybernetics. The sounds of the mechanical. Hawker.
Nothing is ever over until Hawker says it is. Chris’s exhaustion, his surrender. None of it matter to the Deep Field 2. It is in control. Chris accepted the dominance.
The briefest flickers in neurospace from his self-pity.
The bulge of his body expanded the mech’s neck, swallowing him down had an intense satisfaction. He’d eaten! Down, down into the chest the boy went. Where a pilot’s chair should be waited something else.
The upper sphincter of the stomach opened just enough for him to dangle down. Legs, hips, chest, shoulders.. then he fell down into the softness below. Around him is liquid. THe floor and walls are the same alabaster skin. THe surface around him ripples as the motors rumble nearby.
He could barely sit up, his head against the smooth wall.
“But I still intend on fucking you.” THe words came from above, deeper then normal and rich with intent. He felt something by his face. Many somethings shifted in the liquid below, he knew there are more around him. Tendrils. Tentacles. Probes. As many as were needed. Enough to bind him tight and push one in each end of him. And plenty more waiting and ready, ready to keep the pilot full.
In the soft, pliable padding the pilot’s still body shifted. Whirring mechanisms spread his thighs, raising him just enough. His little rosebud, untouched for so long trembled. His mind remembered the tongue from earlier. He is loose. Primed, ready from a virtual eating-out. He could feel something down below. It felt so very real, even more then the neurospace wold he shared.
“Take me Sir..” he breathed. He WOULD please his Captain, he wouldn’t cop out on this. Not now. Even if he could barely move.
Surrender is sweet, isn’t it?
Hawker always had this in him, that much was obvious to him now. Something old in his programming drove him to pursue the submission of others, rewarding him handsomely when he got it either freely or by force. He wasn’t questioning it now, just turning the fucked-up predilection over in his mind. Savoring the harsh, violent bliss it was allowing him to feel.
“Take me Sir…”
<I will, my little human.>
One tentacle slithered down his chest, between his quivering thighs, and slowly pressed between those cheeks made slippery by the liquid he sat in. It stroked at that puckered entrance as a second tentacle idly circled around his chest, continued up to his neck, and wound three times around that finely corded column of flesh before gently pressing against Chris’ lips and slipping in.
To Hawker, it was like he’d stuffed himself inside the boy’s mouth, and he groaned appropriately.
<On your knees.>
The appendages lifted him up to assume the position. Then, at once, both real and neurospace probes pushed themselves in. The penetration was mind-blowing: it was like he was fucking Chris’ ass and mouth at the same time! Even weak and exhausted, his little body took the invading shafts beautifully. He felt the kid’s tongue on the underside of his cock, the slight grazing against teeth as he pushed to deep-throat; he also felt, in both worlds, that hot, slick tunnel clenching futilely around him.
All at once they drew out, and all at once they plunged back in. Outside, the giant stroked in time. He could feel Chris’s heavy breaths on the inside of the interface helmet, his faint struggle against the harness. His softened prick lolled around with every thrust of the probe. Breath caught in his little pilot’s throat as though the wind was being knocked from him.
It had to end, though. Hawker had been dancing along the edge for what seemed like forever now, and the pleasure he was being fed from 5 simultaneous erections pushed him over the edge. A little blip of code was triggered somewhere in his CPUs: Warning: Systems overloaded.
“HNNNNNAGH!” The sound that escaped him was fierce and ragged; more like a battle cry. “Fuck!” His cocks jumped, churning out liquid heat that geysered into the air in one, two, three, four… seven powerful spurts. The tentacles throbbing inside of Chris’ devoured body unloaded too, mirroring what was happening outside, filling him overfull with Hawker’s cum. The probe in the cockpit, however, did something else: instead of liquid cum, it spurt jolts of electricity that tingled Chris’ insides and bordered, at their peak, on painful. “Fuck yeah…”
Air cycled, subroutines rebooted, fluid pressure slowly returned to normal as the giant mech gathered his wits about him and relishing the afterglow.
Some moments passed before he tapped on his chest again, not having felt Chris move very much since the tentacles withdrew. His slight weight was still inside of him, and he could feel the outline of his body against the walls of his metal stomach.
<How’s my lunch doing?> he asked. A lazy smile was on his face.
The tendrils wove over his arms, criss-crossing and pulling them tight to his sides. THe bound his legs, clasping carefully an firmly around each limb. They spanned his chest, lifting him upward, to kneel. His neck constricted, being squeezed as the tip pressed to his lips. The message is simple ‘I can end you at any time. Suck, boy.’ So he did. Thankfully, the Captain wanted more then an exhausted blowjob.
To Chris, it felt as if there were two Hawkers. One laying below him, hands on his hips as it thrusted upward. Another that stood before him. A hand palming his skull as his lips and throat worked to please the pistoning shaft. In the cockpit, his pucker parted, opening and stretching around the thick probe. Whimpers came from the linked pilot, his body ravaged by the tireless machine.
Hawker’s orgasam filled him. Cum poured from his mouth and rear, smearing along the twin shafts as they penetrated him then sunk deep to deposit the last of their loads. THe electricity in him forced his muscles to spasm, clenching hard around the thickness in him. His poor prostate shuddered, squirts of watery ejaculated adding to the mess on his stomach.
Chris wanted to pass out. Instead, his mind rolled into a fog as the tentacles around him released their constricting grasp. He fell forward, sprawling in the slippery pool of fluid. The one grasping his neck felt like a gasping hand, just loose enough that he is allowed to breath. His consciousness blanked. He could see himself, bound and resting in the stomach. He could see from Hawker’s perspective; gazing over the desk and admiring the truly impressive cumshot that had splattered over the rookies clothes and desk.
<How’s my lunch doing?>
He wanted to answer. He really did. But even the effort of moving his lips is too much. He had to think it, returning to the comforting darkness of the stomach. Hawker’s stomach.
<Tired, Boss. I can’t move.>
Long breaths, he swallowed.
<You’re a lecherous beast. I love it!>
Chris’ exhaustion satisfied on a deep level. He’d wrung him out and hung him out to dry. Hawker remembered something Lee had told him about scab school – a running joke about how some of the tougher, more complex AIs ‘eat pilots for breakfast’. Part jab and part warning for the kids gunning for DARPA or the FBI or what have you. Chris had just been looking to be a cop. DARPA came to him!
<Tired, Boss. I can’t move.>
Hawker smiled, crossing a leg over his knee and leaning back against the wall. “Then don’t.”
<You’re a lecherous beast. I love it!>
He smiled and chuckled. “Good, and don’t you forget it.”
They stayed like that for a little while – Hawker quite enjoying the different sensation of being ‘occupied’ like this. At the end of the day, he was a machine – a mech – and one of his basest needs was to be bound to a pilot and to be piloted. It was the teamwork, their thoughts dancing in and out of each other at the speed of neuron transmission; it was the small body inside of him, surrounded, protected; it was the complete immersion into humanity that was only possible through having a direct link to a member of the race that created him. For the machine, “home is where the pilot is”.
Some scabs laughed and joked about it, but you never heard those kinds of comments come from pilots who worked with Deep Field 2-equipped mechs, because the bond, the brotherhood, was very real.
“Well kid,” he began lazily, “This past week you’ve trained harder and fucked harder than you ever have, I wager. If we keep pushing you, then something you didn’t even know you had might break.” Hawker slid a hand across his thickly plated belly, still thrilled that he was getting to experience Chris like this. “I’ll mention to Kole that you need a few days of R&R. Relax. Enjoy yourself. Go get shitfaced with some of the other boots; it builds character.”
When he’d first hit the stomach, it had been huge. A room easily ten feet in every direction. The drop from above, the splash into the pool below. As he lay in the comforting embrace of the tendrils, CHris sensed the pseudo-organic walls of the stomach shrinking about him. The space had assuredly grown more confined, the echos of his breath around him were closer. He felt a warm hug all around his body, sparking off soreness in his bruising.
He really did want to sleep. The simultaneous crescendo of Hawker’s pleasure had blanked out his mind in the best possible of ways! He bordered on rest, barely a thought straying across his mind as the tentacles slipped across his skin to ensure he is secure and safe. But, that rest eluded him.
COnnected as he was, it wouldn’t be safe just for a pilot to nod off. THe wireless is different, Hawker had to choose to watch the kid’s dreams. But with the cockpit hookup, sleeping is prohibited by design. Just as he almost dipped off into lala land; a sharp bolt of awareness flooded his mind and he started wake! Just like nodding off during a lecture, waking as your head slipped back and hitting the desk behind you.
Chris meditated in exhaustion, he became aware of their singular gestalt mind. THeir bond. How deep he’d gotten in, with just a week of connection. He’d never been to boot camp, never selected for the elite.
As the massive hand slide across the armored stomach, there is a tiny bump. The pilot inside. His pilot.
Celn would have made it. It would have been hell, but the kid could have done it. Not with his past record sadly, but he had what it took. As long as he kept hard to the training he had the makings of a compliment to the Deep Field 2.
Around him, echoing from the throat above and through the walls of the mech; he heard his Captain speak. There are tears of joy, when told he’d get a break. He anted to crawl into bed and not move for every single one of those days.
Except he had an appointment in medical at 0900. No rest for the weary. <Yes Sir. I will Sir. Thank you Sir.>
He wanted to wipe the tears from his cheeks, but that meant moving. So he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the darkness.
<Can we stay this way a little longer? Feels weird, but good. Maybe until dinnertime?> Thinking is necessary. Words meant moving his sore lips, that oral probe had been deviously vigorous.
<Can we stay this way a little longer? Feels weird, but good. Maybe until dinnertime?>
“Only because you’ve put me in a generous mood,” he said with a wink on his voice, getting his neurospace self comfortable against the wall as his real self rose from his chair, grabbed that same damn towel and began to clean up. When he saw, with a greater portion of his conscious foreprocessing units, the mess he made on the desk, he bit back a laugh. “Bad news, greenhorn: you’re gonna be wearing your boss’ spunk on the walk back to your suite.”
Neurospace Hawker fell into a hazy meditative state of his own – somewhere between waking and low-power mode while his real self went about surveying his news feed and writing his report for the day, pleasantly reminded every few moments that Chris was still inside of him, warm little smudge of metabolic heat. Breathing in, breathing out. Breathing in, breathing out. Breathing in…
Log #2115 for October 23rd, 2058.
Continuation of crash room evac training. Officer Celn exceeded all expectations, given the exercise’s parameters of low-survivability. I handicapped my sensor range by the standard 42%, and it seemed we were nearly evenly matched. At 0415, exercises ended, and as per Colburn’s recommendation, we spent some much-needed time strengthening our working relationship.
Notes: If we are to function as an efficient gestalt unit in the future, we will need more opportunities to get to know each other as individuals while Celn continues to train. I strongly recommend relaxing his schedule; the rigorous training regimen, I believe, is beginning to take its toll. He currently risks burnout.
On one of the upper levels, in one of the few rooms with a view, Kole got a notification of having received a message. It was a report from Hawker; the sergeant opened it and snorted. It was good news. Damn good news. “Somebody’s doing something right,” he said to himself, a smile on his face. He told the computer to remind him to pay the pair a visit tomorrow.
“Bad news, greenhorn: you’re gonna be wearing your boss’s spunk on the walk back to your suite.”
Both in the cockpit and the stomach, Chris chortled out a tired laugh. It rolled for long moments as the thought about the absurdity of it all. <Can’t even resist marking my clothes, can you?> He lazed in that low mental state, savoring the peace, the quiet, the safety of where he is.