Man, Get Yourself a Woman

She'd found the clever tool that would catch my cum, and had chosen a dildo imposing enough to satisfy Elizabeth's lust and vengeance. She lubed me, prepped me, and then fucked me and milked me like a sissy cow. At first, I was too sad and heartbroken to love it, but then I was too horny to be heartbroken and sad. Then I came; Elizabeth had already gone to her bliss. She'd stopped punishing me; she was only being selfish, not cruel.

Healthee stopped her. I felt her return -- less vengeful, but not sated, and also hungry for something else. Suzy was ready with the toy, which did double duty as a collector and a deliverer. Elizabeth dismounted, turned, and seized it. She feasted. She got higher than high, and collapsed on the bed. Suzy still followed her instructions. She withdrew the dildo, but she didn't touch me anymore. I didn't touch her. She got us some water. I was grateful.

Elizabeth stirred a few minutes later. She was still high, but she was mostly back with us. "Thank her properly, Paul," she said. "Then kiss her goodbye. It's okay."

The look on Suzy's face was too good to be true: friendly, unconcerned, and even slightly amused. Without words, she told me that I didn't have to do anything, and that she didn't mind at all.

"I think I want to, though," I said. "I think I would feel... less bad if I did. But I don't want to make you-"

"It's cool," she said, and she was very convincing. "You're a good-looking guy, and, well, even fucked-up situations can be hot."

I shrugged, conceding the point. I'd cum.

Suzy got herself set up on the bed. She let me stare at her offshoot pussy, surrounded by what was obviously a gigantic, sprawling clitoris. She waited until I was going to ask the questions, and then just skipped ahead and answered them all. The words sounded rehearsed, but her tone didn't.

"Most of us don't want to do the research," she said. "You know, about why we are the way we are. It's not just the mad science from before, now. It's cross-breeding. It's a history of accidents, failures, and the occasional success. The funny thing is, we don't look it up, but we still speculate. Pretty human after all, right?

"We try not to dwell, though. We count our blessings. All you have to do is tease me -- light breath, a hint of your lips or tongue -- and I'll be in heaven. When it's time to give me just a little kiss or lick, you'll know. That'll set me off. Then you should back off and let me ride out the orgasm. It builds on itself, outside and in. It's a feedback loop. It's basically designed so you don't have to do much, or keep doing anything. I call it the participation-trophy-wife pussy."

She seemed genuinely amused at her own joke, and more than a little horny. I sank down to my usual pussy eating position and followed her directions. I glanced up and saw her hands on her breasts. It made sense to me they'd be sensitive too. She also wasn't looking down at me; she trusted me. I didn't understand why she would, but it felt good.

I didn't eat her pussy. I didn't even touch it at first. Her reactions built quickly. I learned that she loved mostly slow, hot breaths with a wide-open mouth, but with a few cooler surprises here and there. I had to control myself when I closed my lips, though. Even that extra air pressure was a little too much, too soon.

She was right that I could sense the next stage. It was a dozen subtle changes. I strained to only brush her throbbing organ with my own wet lips, and to just graze it with the very tip of my tongue. I was sure I failed to make contact at all about half the time. Still, it worked -- quickly, and well.

I sensed the next stage, too, but I was nervous. She finally breathed out the command -- "Do it!" -- and I followed orders. I softly drew my whole tongue from her juice-coated asshole, over her engorged pussy lips, to the beating heart -- the external one, at least -- of her massive, sprawling sex organ.

I didn't have to be told again to move away from her. Her orgasm was stunning in every way -- including visually -- and I pulled back to make sure I didn't kill her with accidental contact. Her clitoris throbbed like it was both veins and heart in one, pumping away during a suicide sprint before hitting arrhythmia. Her ragged breaths turned to moans and groans, and then almost shouts. She bucked like she had a giant cock in her -- a lightning rod during a storm. She had to take her hands off her breasts for fear of destroying them. They slid down and gripped the sheets until her knuckles turned white.

An old-world man, I thought, surely would have been confused and scared. He wouldn't have believed that any body could evince or endure such a thing, let alone enjoy it. I knew better. I knew I was witnessing something violently beautiful -- a defiant bloom emerging from the toxic soil of selfishness and madness.

I didn't know if Suzy went to a similar place as Elizabeth, because her orgasm, though long, was dynamic. It told a story. It had an arc. By the time it was done, my cock was almost hard again, and I was a little bit more in love with a mutie, despite the absence of that primal connection and urge. I knew some of it would fade -- the part forged by sex. I wasn't so sure about the other part -- how she'd helped me get through the worst few hours of my life. I did remember Farah. I did knock that worst moment off its pedestal, or drag it from its pit. I realized more acutely than ever that what Farah had done -- how she'd hurt me -- had been to spare both of us from worse.

When Suzy finally came back, I offered her more water. She downed all of it, plus the next glass I got her from the bathroom.

"So, thank you," I said.

She laughed. Elizabeth stirred again. Suzy pointedly didn't let it get to her. I did. I couldn't help it.

"Thank you, Suzy," Elizabeth said. "Would you please leave now? I would like to speak to Paul alone."

"Sure thing, Lizzy-bear," she said. "But if you ever want to play again, you can call me. Paul has my number, so you do, too. Oh, and, that thing you said. It was art, babe. But uh... maybe switch those last two lines around."

"... Fuck," Elizabeth said. "Yes. Maybe. To both. To everything." She huffed at her own little joke. "You are very pretty."

"Aw, thanks! So are you."

"Well, that's good to hear," Elizabeth said, "since you are partially responsible for my hair and eyes."

Suzy gave me a look that said, Fair enough. I returned it. We shared a little guilt between us; it couldn't be male, obviously. Call it societal. Call it human.

She got her clothes from Elizabeth's room and got dressed. I did the same. I walked her to the door.

"She said I should kiss you goodbye," I said.

"Everything is cool with me, Paul," she replied. "Do what your conscience tells you to do."

I didn't have to think about it very long. I leaned forward and down and gave her a tender kiss on the lips. We both closed our eyes for it. There wasn't much electricity, but there was warmth. We lingered.

"You're amazing," I told her. "Besides Farah, you might be the best friend I've ever had."

"That's really sweet," she said, "but tell you what: why don't I come over at least once when I'm off the clock before we get too crazy?"

"What else could we possibly do that we haven't done?" I asked.

"Whip your ass at some games, obviously," she said. "We'll have to see if your male pride can take it."

I tried to think of some joke about how much I'd already taken, but I couldn't quite put it together. Instead, I just smiled.

"If Elizabeth weren't... you know... you could stay. I'd want you to."

"I know, Paul," she said. "Go talk to her. Keep in touch."

"I will."

She gave me a big hug, and then left. I went back to the bedroom.

"Hey there," I whispered. "Sorry that took so long."

"Clothes off," Elizabeth said. I didn't know how she knew. "Back to back, please. Butt to butt."

I did what she asked. We both shivered at the contact.

"I need time," she said.

"Okay."

"But I also want sex, and I need cum."

"Okay."

"I know we have to keep doing... that. But when I want sex, it'll be how I want it. When I want cum... I know it's wrong to force you. I feel like it should be allowed, but I know Suzy's right. You can do what like on your own. If you want my help, though, it'll be how I want it."

"All of that makes perfect sense, Elizabeth," I said. "That's how it should be. That's how it always should have been."

"I know I was different then," she said. "I remember pieces of what you tried to tell me. You did try."

"I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I should try harder."

"I don't know either," she replied, "so it has to be okay. Even if nothing is fair, we should try to be fair to each other. Light is light, no matter how small and faint."

She stopped, then, surprised at herself again. "Paul... I'm scared."

"I'm not," I said. It was mostly the truth. "I believe in you."

She set the new terms quickly and stuck to them. Sex was my mouth and tongue worshiping her body, and sometimes my hands -- but never penetration. If she wanted a plug, she put it in herself. If she wanted to get fucked, she set it up herself with a dildo. Cumming was her milking me like Suzy had -- like a sissy cow -- except for the one time per day in the extractor for the emergency supply.

She stayed with me. She touched me. In time, she let me touch her, but she was always in control.

I didn't cry anymore. I felt grateful. As far as I was concerned, Elizabeth had found a perfectly sensible new balance between what she wanted, what she needed, what I wanted, and what I deserved.

I kept in touch with Suzy, though sometimes it was more her keeping in touch with me. The very first message she sent was insane and ridiculous:

SueQ@[L2]: I know you don't believe it, but she's doing so well it's unreal. She's so smart, Paul. She's so in tune. The AI triple-checked your cum for magic. No magic, but still. Be strong. You guys are doing great.

In time, I was able to process it, and then occasionally believe it. Then I read it all the time.

Suzy came back occasionally. She and Elizabeth had sex; I was pointedly made the third wheel until it was time to extract my cum, though usually Elizabeth had me service her then. Elizabeth started asking Suzy lots of questions. It turned out that there weren't a lot more answers to give; it seemed like most of the world was on the net, and most everything was run by AI. We had meals together. We watched holovids together. Eventually, we played some games together. Suzy kicked both our asses, but Elizabeth quickly went from terrible to not-so-bad.

The first time Elizabeth made it through the whole hour without a fuss, I had to go back and read that first message over and over again. She stretched the hour to an hour and a half. She found more power, and used it. It hurt; I took it. Apparently, I was a stupid piece of shit who was doing everything right.

That was another very odd feeling.

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

A few more weeks passed. Our next in-person evaluation took longer, but apparently went even better than the first had. It was impossible to deny the bump to my social score, and I discovered broader and longer coverage for a variety of items when I poked around in my account.

Apropos of nothing, I had a clever idea, and my very next thought was to run it by Suzy. She liked it too, but warned me against making it a surprise. That disappointed me a little, but I didn't argue.

"Elizabeth?" I asked. I knocked lightly on the open door to her room. It looked like she was either reading or writing. I didn't know for certain whether she'd taken up the latter again; she wasn't showing me any of her work if she had. She was wearing her collar and little socks, and nothing else -- except, I suspected, one of her anal plugs.

"Yes, Paul?" she answered casually.

"I remembered something you said to me a while back, and I was wondering if I could float an idea."

"Sure."

"How would you feel if we tracked down Elena?"

"Elena?" It was one of those simple, echoed questions whose tone was the lie.

I let it go. "From back when you were at university. I don't know; you seemed to have strong feelings about her. It hasn't been so long. I could help you find her, if you want. I'm sure she'd love to hear from you, even if that's all that happens."

She got quiet and stopped whatever she was doing. "That scares me," she said after a few moments, "and I don't really know why."

"It's completely up to you," I said. "If you decide you want to, I can help, or I can butt out."

"It's a good idea, Paul," she said. "I'll think about it, and if I decide to reach out, I'll do it. Thank you."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

Both our breaths hitched. I gave her the chance to take it back. Instead, she went back to what she'd been doing on the holopad, or pretended to. My heart sang; I still walked away. I knew not to push my luck.

That's how it was for the next few days. Elizabeth warmed up again, and I passively accepted whatever she was willing to give. We started spooning again. My milkings were more intimate; she didn't say much, but she soothed and encouraged me. I was sure she noticed the changes I couldn't hide. I got harder, faster. I reacted more. I came more quickly, and I was halfway convinced I produced more cum for her.

On the fourth day, she used her hand inside of me instead of a dildo. She asked me how she was doing. I took a gamble and told her the truth. I had to assume I'd guessed correctly. She learned fast, and didn't switch back to the dildo.

The other changes were longer-term, so it was probably fantasy that that one conversation gave them boost. That's still how it felt. Elizabeth's cum highs were changing. She was returning to herself more quickly from the impossible peak, but in exchange, she was staying on a slightly lower plateau longer. After her "slip-up," she seemed to give up part of the game. Once on the plateau, she had me spoon her, and asked me to talk to her. I told her I loved her a million times, and she soaked it up. She said it back -- not nearly as often as I said it to her, but enough. We had small, dumb conversations, too. They were wonderful. Her addled state leveled the playing field a little. I could keep up.

"It's time to go to the park," she said one night over dinner. "I imagine it requires advance notice and preparation."

I nodded guiltily. "I'll start the process right after dinner."

She nodded back. "Good. I also want new clothes -- something a little fancier, just for the first time. I have read many stories about the old world where women are coy and oblique about these things, and I don't care for that. I want this to be a small event for us. I want it to mean something. Please also wear something a bit nicer than sweats. Please bring a nice meal that's easy enough to eat outside, and some drinks."

"I can definitely do all that," I said. "Would you like to be in charge of designing or finding your new clothes?"

She gave it real thought. "No," she decided. "You have all my measurements. I would like you to pick something out that you think I would like."

"A test."

"It is," she said. "I didn't think I was being oblique."

"Just wanted to make sure."

She smiled. It was just on the border of mean and nice. The garnish was the hint of a promise -- a sexual one, of course. We finished our meal; she went to the bedroom, and I logged onto the net. I got the distinct impression that heaven and earth were being nudged to accommodate my request. The park trip was scheduled for three days hence.

Sex was the same, as were my milkings. The vibe changed again, though. We were in a holding pattern. Every act and every orgasm carried that same provisional promise from her smile: things could get better if I passed the test.

The next day, that's what I focused on. I was able to piece together the idea that Elizabeth wanted a picnic, so I made all the other preparations and then searched for old-world images of the clothes that women would wear. I found lots of material. Some of it was very old -- paintings, even, rather than photographs. For a while, I was torn between the very old and the merely old. In the end, I settled on a sun dress, a wide-brimmed hat, strappy shoes that seemed nonsensical but were nevertheless the least nonsensical of the bunch, and oversized old-world-movie-star sunglasses. I wasn't smart enough to remember that I needed to account for the harness, but House reminded me. I reluctantly thanked it. Prompted by that same reminder, I made the dress more opaque than they were in all the breathless little net blurbs about them, and gave it a full back with an imperceptible slit. House recommended I give the plug panties a custom dye job to match the motif. I thanked it again, less reluctantly. I chose cottony white with some light blue horizontal stripes.

I felt the merest hint of Male Guilt when I realized how much easier it was to slap together a nice outfit for myself. I spent a few minutes considering light, springtime colors to complement Elizabeth's new dress, and then I was done. It was so easy that I didn't even worry about how easy it had been. In other words, I didn't spiral.

When the day came, I was a nervous wreck, but I even impressed myself with how well I hid it. I pretended the schedule was relaxed, even though it wasn't. Elizabeth got her morning cum, and we worked through the usual routine. She refrained from sex before my second milking, and told me that I should clean and dress myself while she was high. She was in the bedroom, and I closed the door to the adjoining master bath, even though I really didn't want to. Once she came down, she seemed fine -- not excited, but almost regal. She knew we were less than an hour away from her leaving the apartment for the very first time since she'd arrived, and she began consciously radiating the sense that she deserved to be outside just as much as anybody else.

It pained me to admit to her that we were going to have the park to ourselves, but I had to. That would have been a bad surprise.

Elizabeth sighed. "I suppose it can't be helped," she said. "Your reputation and social score have nothing to do with me. The powers that be need to play it safe. This is a test for everyone." She sharply smiled a concession to invisible overlords: well played.

She let me put on her equipment, including the anklet she'd basically never worn since the very first day I'd taken her home. The process became an intimate act, even though neither of us were trying for that. She was curious about the panties' new look, but happy enough. When I brought out her clothes -- her real, proper clothes -- a genuine smile came unbidden to her face. She let me help her get dressed in those, too. I saved the sunglasses for last, and after she tried them on, I caught her preening in the mirror just a little.

"You cleaned up rather nicely, Paul," she said. "We're playing well to the bucolic ideal. Is the pod here yet?"

"Pod?" I asked coyly. "We're walking. I've been told it's an excellent copy of a beautiful day outside."

She stiffened for a moment, but shook it off quickly. "Of course," she said. "I would love to walk to the park for our picnic. Very good, Paul. It is rather close by, after all."

"Who knows?" I mused. "Maybe we'll see some of the neighbors."

"Well, I think that would be a very normal thing to have happen, too."

I was pushing my luck, but I'd decided I was either going to pass the test with flying colors, or learn something by failing memorably. Suzy had recommended that, like a master strategist.

Elizabeth refused to show fear or shame. She walked just ahead of me on the sidewalk, and slightly to my right. The leash hung limply from the collar link, joined also to one lower on the harness. The dress's nearly-invisible slit did its job nicely. Our Healthees were greeted by a general neighborhood AI. It made noises and sent signals approximating friendly cheer, and confirmed its satisfaction that Elizabeth was in compliance with the law. I was, too, but thanks to my high social score, the AI pretended it hadn't checked me at all.