Man, Get Yourself a Woman

She didn't like that one bit. "You make me happy, Paul. Being with you makes me happy, even when we're not having sex. You're so handsome, and so loving. I don't know what to do to make you understand. I love you."

I seized her and kissed her passionately. I pushed my tongue into her mouth, and she welcomed it. There was no battle, but neither was she completely passive. She used hers to try to give mine pleasure. I broke the first kiss only to gather her up and shower her with more. I let my hands drift down to her ass, and I began massaging it. She groaned out her happiness.

"I love you too, baby girl," I whispered. "I love you so much. I always will. I'll always take care of you. Don't worry about not understanding. Give it time. You will."

"Okay, Paul," she moaned. "I trust you. But what should we do in the meantime?"

I smiled and nibbled at her neck. I had another clever idea -- a little less clever than the last one, but I still thought it was pretty good.

"I'm going to give you two choices," I told her, "and you have to pick one."

"Oh, it's another game," she said. "What do I have to do first?"

"Nothing," I said. "All you have to do is choose."

"Mmmm, easy games. I like those. Those are fun."

"Your first choice is that I eat your pussy."

"Oh! Yes, do that."

I chuckled again. Male Guilt was pounding at the gates, but Elizabeth was my beautiful, loving, horny champion, defending them without even realizing it. She sounded so happy, and I was the reason.

"Your second choice is that I suckle."

"Oh... oh no. Oh no!" She sounded genuinely torn, but I wasn't worried. In fact, I was having fun. Male Guilt screamed through the gate that that was awful, but my Elizabeth was right there, leaning up against the barricade, caught in a tiny, horny tizzy about what to decide. I could picture it, and that image drowned out the noise.

"I... eating my pussy makes more sense, because I can touch my own breasts easily when you do that. Then I can feel both at once. Never as good as when you do it, but still. That's quite sensible."

"It does sound sensible," I replied. "Is that your choice?"

"I don't know," she said. She was starting to grind into me. Her large clit was searching for the ideal patch of my skin. "I love the idea of feeding you. Running my fingers through your hair... feeling you relax completely. It's better for you; I know it is, and that makes it better for me. That's what you don't understand, Paul. It makes it better for me."

She'd fought the good fight at the gate, but she'd lost. I took a deep breath and tried to ignore the familiar bad feelings in my throat, chest, and stomach. "Well, the choice is entirely yours," I said, trying to keep up the facade. "I'll do either one, and as long as you don't get too crazy, and you can do whatever you want at the same time."

"Would you finger me?" she asked.

"I would."

"Would you use lube?"

"Oh. Oh, I'm so sorry Elizabeth. I didn't even think-"

"It's okay," she said. "But would you?"

"Of course. Any time you want. Please, tell me any time you want it or need it."

"I will. Okay then. I choose pussy. Eat my pussy and finger me, please. I would love that. That would make me happy."

I moved away just enough to open the drawer and fetch some lube. Elizabeth turned and did something with the pillows on the bed. When I turned my body again, I saw that she'd placed a pillow under her butt. She was already playing with her breasts.

It was an awkward shift and shuffle to get into the right position, but it didn't take too long. I offered Elizabeth teasing kisses while I lubed up my finger. Her hips were rocking, and I could smell that she was already wet.

When I finally began eating her in earnest, I felt her tense up. I paused and looked up, though that didn't let me see very much.

"No, keep going," she breathed out. "Please. It's so good."

I dove back in gladly. After a few moments, I brought my slick finger to her entrance.

"No," she said. She was straining against the mounting pleasure. I stopped, obviously, and didn't penetrate her, but I was very confused.

"My ass," she said. "Finger my ass. You said you'd finger me. I chose. You promised."

I laughed into her clit, and she shivered. I couldn't see, but I felt her smile.

"Clever girl," I said.

She was smart enough not to reply.

I found her rear hole with my warm, wet finger. It began twitching on contact. Elizabeth released a moan of pure anticipation.

"I'm ready," she pleaded. "I'm always ready. Please. Slide it in. Finger my ass, Paul."

I kept my promise. Penetration was more difficult than into her pussy, but it felt like a game her eager hole was playing with me. When her ring relented, she moaned in a brand-new way. It was lower, deeper, and earthier. It was more primal. It triggered something inside of me. It made me feel like a conqueror. It made me feel like I'd staked a deeper, truer, more permanent claim.

I immediately thought of how badly I wanted to do the same thing, and feel those same feelings, but with my cock.

After that, my clever girl let herself go away. She'd held on long enough to trick and trap me, and that delay made her departure louder and more extreme. As with her pussy, I didn't need to find a spot, because every spot was a spot. Without any more guidance, I simply kept the finger deep inside of her ass and curled it upwards, repeating 'come hither' slowly, over and over. I worshiped her soaked, fiery pussy -- and her clit, so large and engorged that I wouldn't have been surprised if it had shot cum into my own mouth.

She transitioned into orgasm as a state of being. She stayed there for a long, long time. The pure, mindless pleasure she experienced crashed into me like waves. They drowned guilt and replaced it with pride. I let it happen. No matter that her cleverness might've been the cunning of a lesser addiction; she'd been so smart, and it had made me love her even more.

I knew we'd never be done unless I decided to be done -- or until our Healthees' warnings chimed, and eventually crept from yellow to orange -- so I withdrew, detached, and crawled up to join her fully once more. I got to see her return to awareness gradually; it was beautiful. I gave her tender kisses throughout. I also moved some pillows around. I was feeling a little clever myself.

"I love you," she said, even before her eyes opened.

"I love you, too," I replied. "Game over."

"It was a good game," she said with a lazy smile.

"It was. But now it's done. So now I can do this."

I gathered her up, but kept my head lower. I latched on to her right breast, and she cooed out in happy surprise. Her hands went to my head, cradling me, caressing me, and encouraging me to suckle to my heart's content. It wasn't long before she returned to a state of sexual bliss, though not quite the same one as when I'd devoured and claimed her down below. I could feel her awareness; she hadn't slipped away entirely. She knew what I was doing. She was experiencing the act itself, not just the pleasure it caused. I felt myself bonding with her in a new way; it was an unnameable smell and taste that I was taking into my body. I knew she felt the other side of it -- the bond forged by giving. Her noises carried a hybrid truth: sex and love. Underneath those, as the subtlest of flavors, was the idea that our roles had reversed -- not abruptly or extremely, but brushing shoulders as they both crept across a blurry line. For the first time, I think she felt what I'd already conceded to be true of our strange relationship: as surely as I was taking care of her, she was taking care of me.

I didn't remember detaching. I only knew that I'd fallen back asleep once I woke up again the next morning.

*************

The honeymoon was incredible.

I did have to impose a schedule. We ate three meals at set times, and learned to work around them. We spent one hour in the morning, and another in the afternoon, on media. While we rarely kept our hands off of each other, the rule was that we would do our best to focus on something other than sex, and we couldn't orgasm until the hour was up. Elizabeth was relentless, and I was too permissive. Still, we watched holovids together, listened to music, and played games. We would read sometimes, though I liked it best when she would read out loud to me. There was a lot of pornography, but the rule was about actual sex with each other. Smut was a loophole.

The schedule extended to cum as well. One load a day was dedicated to an emergency supply, just in case Elizabeth couldn't get through the night. The AIs were in charge of it if I wasn't awake. She received one upon waking, and one just before bed. The other five were quasi-random, and that meant I needed to give her lots of sex to keep her guessing. Never mind that I wanted her all the time. Chalk that up to happy coincidence.

The sex was as frequent as it was perfect. After only a few days, we were old pros with each other. Before the first time we had anal sex, I worshiped her asshole with my mouth and tongue, and she loved it so much she demanded I get on all fours and let her do the same to me. When I finally claimed her ass, it drove me crazy in a way that I'd never imagined possible. It drove her crazy, too. It triggered something deep inside of her that motivated her to explore every dirty, violent, and perverted fantasy she could think of. I was too weak and too horny to resist. I fell into them with her. We were filthy with each other, and we loved it. It was hard to feel guilty. She would always end up in that same blissful place, even during the sessions when she didn't get any cum. There were many roads to get there, though, and that made our journeys more exciting.

It became clear that while Elizabeth's cunt and rectum were both designed for sex, they weren't exactly the same. I could, of course, make sweet, tender anal love to my precious little girl if I wanted, just like I could pound her cunt mercilessly whenever I felt like it. The two of us together, however, discovered the default dynamic. It seemed embedded in both our DNA. Anal was for making her my bitch, my slave, and my property. It was for completely dominating her. It was for pretending she was humiliated and degraded, even though she suffered not a shred of real shame about sex. Doggy or prone was best; bending her over a table, couch, or countertop was a thrill at the start and an ego trip throughout. Vaginal sex was about connection, romance, and care. Spooning was her favorite, because she loved my hands on her breasts. Missionary was mine, because I'd fallen completely in love; I wanted to see her face, kiss her, collapse down onto her, and pretend to breed her. I wanted her limbs wrapped around me, urging me into her and locking me into place.

Any other position one can think of, we tried at least once. We reveled in the variety. We laughed and joked. I suckled her breasts for hours at a time, and she nursed on my cock in much the same way. It didn't take her long to convince me that all those good feelings I felt while suckling, she felt while cocksucking, and even while worshiping my asshole. When I knew a blowjob would result in cum, I dispensed with the subterfuge and took some time to train her. She was a very fast learner. It wasn't long before she knew exactly what to do with her mouth, tongue, throat, and both hands. She memorized where all the lube stashes were, too. I even caught her making some new ones, and found it adorable.

Elizabeth didn't make any new grand leaps in intelligence, but she got more comfortable. She was confident she'd always get her cum. She knew I wanted her practically all the time. It freed her. She became playful and coy to no particular end. There were flashes of real wit, though no puns or poetry. Even though I was spending most of my day in a haze, I forced myself to notice, and to remember. It was a necessary piece of the equation for me, far more so than for her. I had to know that my selfish pleasure was a part of something truly good for her beyond just sexual bliss and the drug she needed so badly.

After one week, we received our first in-person evaluation. A supremely businesslike mutie in sharp, professional clothing toured the apartment, then insisted she had to interview us both separately. She had to convince me to let her give something to Elizabeth to help keep her calm. My instincts told me to throw her out, but all the AIs sided with her. I relented. With much hindsight, it turned out to be the right choice.

During my interview, I was a nervous wreck. During Elizabeth's, I could barely imagine what state she might be in. When it was done, Elizabeth bolted from the bedroom and practically tackled me; luckily, I'd been sitting on the largest living room sofa. The joint interview was blessedly brief. The mutie told us that everything was just fine. With an uncharacteristic shrug, she told us to take the rest of the month and just enjoy ourselves, and then she left. We'd just been given another three weeks of honeymoon, officially.

Elizabeth accepted that without any hesitation, and very quickly convinced me to do the same.

*************

When the honeymoon ended, Male Guilt made its triumphant return.

Elizabeth took to the collar and leash immediately -- too quickly, and for all the wrong reasons. She loved using them as sex toys, and only our tender, vaginal lovemaking seemed a consistent exception. Whenever it was time to suck me, rim me, or surrender her asshole, she'd raise the possibility of being collared at least, and maybe leashed too.

"You like it, but you don't," she said.

"It's supposed to be for when we go outside," I non-answered. "The law is the law. I don't like it, but I want you to be able to see more than just this apartment eventually."

"I think I might like that, too," she said, "but I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about sex, Paul. You like it when we use the leash and collar for sex -- sometimes -- but you also don't. I don't understand. It was like that a little bit with the plugs, too, actually, but this feels... more. Can you help me understand?"

We were settled in one of our usual positions on the largest living room sofa. It was overstuffed, plush, and practically a bed. Our naked bodies were in constant contact, but I'd learned how to avoid her most sensitive spots so that she'd stay present in the moment. It was the right balance so that we could have real conversations, which had been happening more and more over that past week. Separation was still mildly unpleasant for her; physical contact with me let her focus on other things.

I was conflicted by the progression. I knew it was a good sign, but I also knew it meant that I'd have to start talking to my precious little girl about difficult things. We'd avoided almost all of that during the honeymoon. Nearly all of the memories and preferences she'd retrieved from her old life had been happy and light. Even the stuff she remembered hating -- red onions, for example, or at least the synthesized version of them -- had sparked a little bit of playful joy.

I sighed. "If you like it, I like it," I said, "but that's for sex. If it were just for sex, I wouldn't feel so guilty. But it's not just for sex. I'm training you for when we go outside. I'm getting you used to what you'll have to wear, and to the idea that you can never roam freely."

She shrugged into me. "I know you'll take me anywhere I want to go."

That earned her a kiss. "If I can, I will. Always. It's still shitty. You should be completely free."

"I would have to be someone different."

The video from the shelter flashed in my memory. That almost always brought tears, even though the memory triggered precisely because Elizabeth was reemerging, which was a good thing. It also wasn't, though, because that Elizabeth -- which I still thought of as the real Elizabeth -- would be keenly aware of her dependence and her bondage.

My Elizabeth -- the version that was with me, and talking to me -- was getting more sensitive to my feelings, which was yet another mixed blessing. For three weeks of our honeymoon, she'd been able to let go of her need to constantly scan me and game out my responses. She'd been becoming more of herself the whole time -- attentive, perceptive, empathetic, and generally more thoughtful -- but the changes had crept up on me. They were impossible to ignore any longer. The old burden was returning for a different reason, and she still didn't deserve it.

"You're sad," she said. "You're sad and also something else."

"I am. I'm sorry. I love you, Elizabeth. You're perfect."

That gave her pleasure, but she refocused quickly. "It's what you said to me before. It's because the world is wrong."

"Yeah. That's exactly right."

"Okay then. It's okay. You want things for me that I can't have. You wish you could give them to me, because you love me. That's sad, but it's also romantic. It means you're a good person. I know you don't want me to feel lucky, Paul, but... maybe there's a balance. In some ways, I was very unlucky. In some ways, I suppose I still am, even though I don't really feel that way. So maybe we can say that you're helping to make up for that. Is that better?"

"It is," I said. "You're very smart. You'll be smarter than me very soon. I worry that you won't be as happy, and there won't be anything more I can do."

"But you said we should be a little sad sometimes, so we're not okay with things that are wrong. Shouldn't I become a little sad sometimes? Isn't that good?"

"But you were unlucky," I said. "You were born unlucky. People who were born unlucky shouldn't have to feel sad. They're the ones we should remember. They're the ones we should try to help."

"But you are, Paul. You're helping me."

"But I shouldn't have to. You should just be happy, and lucky, and free."

"So should everyone else."

"They should."

She sat with that for a while. I did my best to surround her with love and comfort without triggering her arousal. Eventually, she coaxed my hands elsewhere.

"I'm not sad we had that conversation, Paul," she said, "but can we please do something else now? Would you please make love to me?"

"Of course, baby girl," I replied. "Do you want the plug?"

"I do!" she said. "It can never compare to your cock, but I like the extra feelings." She kissed me on my naked chest. "I love sex, Paul. Remember that. I love it. It makes me happy."

Male Guilt flared up. I nodded into her and kissed her on top of her head. Her rich, silky, blackest-black hair was much longer than when we'd first met. She could put it in a ponytail quite easily, and I loved it when she did. I loved a lot of different styles, actually; the length was primarily what complimented her face and body type. House and her Healthee had turned out to be expert stylists, and I'd ordered new items for the bathroom to help them out in that new role. It hadn't cost much social score at all. Elizabeth liked experimenting with her hair. Sometimes, for a moment or two, she'd even forget I was there in the bathroom with her and chat with the AIs like they were real people. For an instant, she would preen in the mirror just for herself, before remembering she had an audience that she loved showing off to. When it was time for media, she usually still put her hair up in a messy bun. I liked that, too.

"If only it were just sex," I said, mostly to myself. I was being mopey, and I knew it.

"I know, Paul," she said. "I remember. But you like sex, too, right? Let's do that now. Let's make love, and make each other happy."

"Well, if you're going to twist my arm," I replied.

She smiled. She understood the humor, as lame as it was. A few weeks prior, she wouldn't have. She moved away so I could get up and fetch some lube and a plug. They were never far away. She'd picked out some designs for herself -- same with the leashes -- and I'd had them printed up. The apartment's local printer had been more than up to the task.