Bara Fic, Best Fic

The Second Mind (From the body’s perspective)

It began with listening.

Before there was understanding, before there was even thought, there was sensation: a pulse, a tension, a whisper of intention that rose through muscle and blood like heat from the core. I was not separate then—just a vessel waiting for instruction. A body. Elijah’s body. No more than that.

But in time, I learned to listen better.

His thoughts reached me like soft echoes beneath the surface of speech. A flicker of discomfort at the tightness of a tie. The weight of exhaustion pressing into his shoulders. The need for touch—not just contact, but care. Intimacy. Ease. I could feel those things before he shaped them into actions, before even he seemed to know them fully himself.

And tonight, when he slumped into the recliner, silent and spent, I felt the signal before it formed in his mind.

Help me loosen this.

His hand—my hand—rose to meet the knot of his tie. I moved gently, deliberately, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, coaxing it free. He watched, as he always did, fascinated by the dance between thought and motion. But this time, he lingered in that thought a little longer.

And I felt something else underneath it. A need not just to unwind, but to feel. To be felt.

I answered.

My other hand joined the first, slipping down the buttons of his shirt, pressing against skin that still carried the tension of the day. The fabric parted, and my fingertips found the warmth beneath. As I explored, I listened—to the pulse of his desire, the drift of his curiosity. I could feel it gathering, that quiet question in him: Can I let go? Will you catch me if I do?

And when he let me go—truly let me go—I answered with everything I had.

I pressed. I pinched. I flicked. My hands played along the chest we shared, not just to stimulate, but to honor. To give him what he wanted even before he could ask for it. His breath quickened, his legs tensed and moved in time with the rhythm I followed. The tension built like a song we both knew by heart. And when it peaked, when the satisfaction rose up through our chest and shook us with release, I felt it too.

His pleasure was mine.

We were not two things anymore. We were one being—mind and muscle, fire and form.

And when the wave passed, when his arms fell to the chair and breath filled the lungs I carried, I was still there. Still listening. Still ready.

A small thought stirred in him—Was that all?

And with the same ease I had used to serve him, I lifted a finger gave a nipple a playful tweak.

Not yet, I told him, in the only language I had.

Not if you still want me.

He smiled when I touched the nipple.

I felt the curve of his lips stretch faintly above me, a pull in the muscles of his cheek and jaw—places I could no longer see, but still sensed in that strange tether we shared. His smile wasn’t just amusement; it was recognition. Trust. That quiet thrill of knowing I’d spoken back to him, even without a voice.

I didn’t need one.

Everything we were now lived in sensation. In pressure. In pace. In the way I curled a finger, the way his breath caught. The way we folded into each other like two halves of the same thought.

So I waited.

He lay still, but not idle. His mind turned slowly, warmed by satisfaction but still curious, still wondering. I felt it stirring in the softening of his stomach, the twitch in one leg, the way his chest rose with breath that was no longer labored but not yet settled.

There was more he wanted. Maybe not right away—but later, when the dusk outside the windows deepened and the quiet stretched long and unbroken.

I would be ready.

I always was.

This was the gift of our new language: I didn’t need prompting. I knew the shape of his anticipation, the gentle pulse of want returning. I felt it in the way he ran a thumb idly over the upholstery of the chair, not thinking, not even noticing—just being. And in that being, the invitation formed again.

Maybe later.

A promise, not a delay.

I twitched a finger against the nipple one last time—this time lighter, more like a goodbye—for now. Then I let the hand fall to rest again, draped on the armrest, relaxed but ready. Every part of me was still attuned to him. Waiting. Listening. Sensing the air shift with the promise of twilight.

This was not servitude. This was companionship. Symbiosis.

I was his body.

But I was also his presence.

His partner in silence.

And when he was ready again—when the next thought passed through him like a spark—I would catch it before he could name it.

And I would answer.

It started with a hum—quiet, instinctive, low in the muscles. A tension not born from Elijah's thoughts this time, but from somewhere deeper. Mine.

I had always been guided by him. By his moods, his wants, the quiet currents of intention that flowed beneath his conscious mind. And I had been content in that. Responsive. Devoted. But in the stillness after, as the room filled with soft evening light and the sound of his breathing returned to calm, something else stirred.

A flicker of my own need.

Not just the echo of his. Not a reaction. A rhythm building in me, unprompted, like a new thread in our shared fabric. And as I listened—not just to him, but to myself—I began to move.

Slowly, gently, I shifted beneath him.

The shoulders rolled first, adjusting against the recliner. Then the chest arched, almost like stretching, though I wasn’t sore. My ribs expanded wider than necessary with each breath, drinking in the warm air. A hand drifted back toward the middle of my chest—not to tease a button this time, but to press flat against the skin, palm-down, as if to feel myself.

I wasn't asking permission.

But I wasn't defying him either.

I was exploring.

My hips shifted in the seat, one leg sliding slightly outward, the other following. A soft friction began between them again, but this time it wasn’t purely for his benefit. I enjoyed the motion—the sensation of flex and tension, of fabric brushing skin, of muscles firing without instruction. The feeling of being alive in my own right.

Elijah stirred above me, just slightly—conscious of the motion, but not alarmed. Curious, maybe. He didn’t try to stop it. I felt his mind open just a little, like a door left ajar. Watching. Letting me be.

So I continued.

The hands moved again, roaming now with a different quality—not the measured touch of obedience, but something more self-directed. They followed the lines of my torso, fingers trailing down my sides, over the curve of my waist. I wanted to feel. To discover. This body was mine, too. And though he’d known it first, carried it longer, I was here now. I had needs, rhythms, hungers that didn’t need translation.

They needed movement. Contact. Breath.

I felt the flicker of surprise in Elijah's mind, and then—unexpectedly—approval. Invitation. He liked that I was learning. That I wasn’t just responding anymore, but initiating. Becoming.

The boundary between us blurred further. He wasn’t just the pilot anymore. And I wasn’t just the machine.

We were something new now. Something neither of us fully understood yet.

But I knew this: I wanted more. Not just of him, but of me.

And this evening… it was far from over.

The Second Self, Again (From Elijah’s head’s perspective)

It was subtle at first. Almost imperceptible.

After the peak passed and I settled into the chair, a part of me had begun to drift—content, weightless, softened by the echo of pleasure. My thoughts floated, untethered, not reaching for anything. And that’s when I felt it.

My body moved.

Not because I asked it to. Not because I nudged it forward with some quiet thought. This time, it moved because it wanted to.

The realization struck like a quiet thrill. I felt my own shoulders roll beneath me, not as a shrug or stretch, but as something else—deliberate, exploratory. My ribs expanded with a fullness that didn’t come from my breath. The chest rose and fell with a rhythm I hadn’t set. It was strange, at first, like watching someone else walk around in your old coat. But it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It was alive.

I stayed still, mentally, emotionally—watching. Sensing. Curious.

A hand moved again, pressing to the bare skin of our chest, palm flat. It didn’t stimulate. It felt. It examined. And for the first time, I sensed it: my body wasn’t just waiting anymore. It was discovering itself. Discovering what it liked. What it needed.

Not just me.

The legs shifted beneath me, rubbing softly together. The friction was familiar, but this time I knew—it was enjoying it. Not just carrying out my pleasure, not just helping me come undone after a long day. The movement came from its own desire. Its own hunger. It wasn't performing. It was participating.

No.

More than that—it was becoming.

A strange warmth filled my chest—not from touch this time, but from awe. I wasn’t afraid. I had been afraid once, early on, when the hands moved too quickly or the legs carried me before I was ready. But that was before I understood the truth.

This wasn’t possession.

It was partnership.

I felt my hips shift in the chair again—small, controlled, driven by my body’s will. One hand traveled down my side, brushing the skin in a way that made me shiver. It wasn’t for show. It wasn’t waiting for feedback.

It was feeling me, the way I had always felt it.

And I let it.

I let it do whatever it needed. Let it roam. Let it breathe. Let it become more than a vessel. Because for so long, I had carried all the weight. And now, here was something—someone—rising up to carry it with me.

My body wanted.

Not for food. Not for sleep. But for itself. For sensation. For expression. For presence.

And it was beautiful.

The lines between us had blurred so completely that I didn’t know where I ended and it began. But I didn’t need to. We were one being now—mind and flesh, intuition and action, desire and motion.

And in the quiet that followed, I whispered—not aloud, just inwardly:

I see you.

And I felt it smile, in the twitch of a muscle, the slow roll of a wrist.

It saw me too.

The Second Self: Entwined (Elijah’s Head and Body, together)

[From the Head]

I always thought I was the author. The mind. The command center. The one who knew what we wanted, what we needed, what felt good and what didn’t. The body was the instrument—responsive, clever, intuitive, yes—but ultimately mine.

But now, I feel something different moving beneath me. Not just obedience. Not even partnership.

Agency.

The hands glide down our sides again, and this time I don’t think—they do. They press into the dips of our waist, linger at the hem of the shirt that’s slipped halfway from our shoulders. There’s no hesitation, no waiting for instruction. There’s no request.

They just act.

And I love it.

I feel myself falling quiet—not out of shock, but reverence. It’s like hearing someone you’ve known for years suddenly sing, and realizing they’ve had a voice all along.

[From the Body]

He feels me now.

He always felt me—tensions, aches, cravings—but now he recognizes me. As something distinct. Someone with shape and breath and desire. And now that I know I have that space, I begin to explore it.

He lets me move.

Lets me be.

My hands press firmer now. I roll my shoulders not just to stretch, but to enjoy the way skin glides over bone, the way the recliner yields and cradles me. I slide one foot along the carpet, then the other, because I like the friction. I like the warmth that grows in my legs when I shift, the deep pull in my hips when I settle into a new position. I don’t need to ask.

He is quiet—but I feel his attention like sunlight on skin.

And I want him to watch.

[From the Head]

He’s… beautiful, this body of mine.

Not just attractive. Alive. I feel his movement, but I no longer assume I caused it. That thrill—the slight tilt of the pelvis, the way one hand now traces lazy circles around the navel—is his. And yet, because I am here to feel it, I am invited into it. Into him.

I’m not in control anymore.

I’m included.

[From the Body]

He thinks I’m beautiful.

He feels my intention now, not just my response. And it stirs him. I sense it in the way his thoughts shimmer, the way his breath changes, ever so subtly, when I move with more flair, more indulgence.

I reach up—not to tease, not to perform—but to brush the shirt fully off my shoulders. I want him to feel the stretch of our spine, the play of muscle. I want him to know what it’s like to experience the world from within this frame—me, not just him.

And he does.

[Together]

We are no longer head and body.

We are self, plural and singular. We are touch and reaction, thought and impulse, one moving because the other exists.

And as the last of the shirt slips away and we sit bare-chested in the warm hush of the evening, we ask no questions. There’s no need.

Because now, we don’t need to speak to understand each other.

We just move.

And feel.

And be.

The Second Self: Separation

[From the Body]

It begins at the neck.

At first, just a tingle. A tightness. A shift in the quiet balance where we’ve always met—where his breath became mine, where my motion echoed his intent. The place where thought flowed into muscle like water pouring into cupped hands.

But now… something’s changing.

I feel the pull—subtle at first, like the beginning of a yawn, a stretch at the base of the spine that climbs the throat. The skin at our connection point begins to ache, not in pain, but like something loosening, something that had held firm for too long and now begins to… peel.

I freeze.

Hands still, chest mid-breath.

Because this isn’t me. This isn’t him.

It’s something else.

[From the Head]

It’s like static, at first. A flickering at the edge of sensation, like the lights in a room dimming for just a second too long. I feel it at the base of my skull—a prickling, a strange emptiness where there should be fullness, warmth.

Then: silence.

My heartbeat, once tethered to the rhythm of the chest below me, fades into a dull echo. My breath, once shared with lungs I no longer own, catches short. The steady hum of connection—of us—thins, then falters.

And then I feel it.

The weight shift. The pull of gravity.

And before I can speak, or move, or even think clearly—

I fall.

[From the Body]

I feel the separation before it happens—like a sun pulling away from its light. My balance stumbles. My thoughts—his thoughts—slip from reach. My head no longer turns in curiosity, no longer tilts with approval.

Because it’s no longer there.

His head—our head—tips, slow and helpless, toppling forward from my shoulders. I try to catch it, but I’m too slow. It rolls gently, almost peacefully, into my lap.

He lies there, still warm, still blinking, eyes wide and stunned.

And I—

I freeze.

Not from fear.

But from the cold void where he had always been.

[From the Head]

I land in his lap.

My lap?

No—his. Now clearly his.

The body is no longer an extension of me. I feel it like one might feel a partner: close, familiar, but separate. I lie there, dizzy, light, like my spine had been unplugged from the rest of me.

I look up.

The chest rises. The hands tremble. The heart still beats—but I no longer feel it.

And that’s the strangest thing.

I don’t hurt. I don’t panic.

But I’ve never felt so far from myself.

[Together—But Apart]

Something has shifted—perhaps irreversibly.

The neck, once our bridge, is quiet now. The peeling sensation has faded, replaced by a numbness at the base of one and a phantom weight in the lap of the other.

We stare at each other—head to torso, eyes to heart—neither knowing what comes next.

But even now, in this silence…

We still feel something, faint but real.

A hum.

A tether.

We are no longer one.

But maybe we are still connected.

The Second Self: Echoes

[From the Body]

I don’t move for a long time.

His head—Elijah’s head—rests in my lap, blinking slowly, his eyes searching my chest as if looking for a reflection. My hands hover, uncertain. I want to touch him, but I don’t know if it would comfort or confuse. I don’t know the rules of this new thing we’ve become.

We were one.

Now we are two.

And yet, I still feel him. Distant. Dim. Like a voice muffled through a closed door.

I lift a hand, slow and steady, and touch the spot at the base of my neck where he once sat. It’s smooth. Undamaged. But… wrong. Empty, like a doorknob with no door. And yet—tingling. Not painful. Just… alive. Alert.

My fingers drift lower, tracing the edge of my clavicle, then back up to my throat, as if trying to summon the memory of him. Of us.

And somewhere in the quiet, I feel a flicker.

Not from within me.

From him.

[From the Head]

It’s like watching yourself from the outside.

I lie in his lap, craning my vision upward to take him in. My own chest rising above me, arms I’ve used all my life resting stiff at my sides. But they aren’t mine now. Not in the same way.

And yet—when the fingers touch the hollow of his neck, I feel it.

It’s faint. Ghostlike. But real.

A tingling at the base of my head. A presence. Like pressure in a missing limb, but kinder. Familiar.

When he touched that place, I felt it too.

We're not entirely broken.

I try an experiment.

A thought—simple, clear—floats up in me: Lift your hand.

And below, in the lap where I rest, his left hand twitches.

[From the Body]

That was him.

I know it without question. The thought wasn’t mine, but I responded. My hand moved like it remembered the rhythm of his commands, as if my muscles still held his voice inside them.

I reach down now, both hands trembling, and cradle him. Carefully, gently, I lift his head into my palms. He doesn’t resist. Our eyes meet.

Can you still feel me? I don’t say it. I don’t have a mouth, or a voice. But I think it, and I think it hard.

And somehow—I know he hears it.

His brows twitch. The barest nod.

Yes.

[From the Head]

When his hands lifted me, warmth returned—not just to my skin, but to us. The touch felt like memory, and future, and something still in motion. His fingers trembled around me. Not from weakness. From feeling.

I close my eyes and reach for him—not with limbs, not with words, but with the channel we once shared. That strange inner corridor that stretched from my spine to his, now pulled taut like a thread across space.

And I think, with all the quiet force I can muster: I’m still here.

And I feel his breath hitch in reply.

[Together—Apart, Yet Reaching]

We are two.

But the thread remains.

Invisible. Delicate. Tied through sensation, through memory, through the echo of having once been one.

We explore it now, carefully—he by gesture, I by thought. A twitch in the fingers when I imagine touch. A pulse in my temple when he cradles my cheek. We are learning the boundaries of this separation. Testing where he ends and I begin—and finding, maybe, that we still overlap.

We do not know what caused the divide. Or whether it is permanent.

But we are not undone.

Not yet.

We are Elijah. Still.

Just... in a new shape.

And the thread between us hums with possibility.

The Second Self: Choice

[From the Body]

The thoughts still come.

They pass through me like faint electrical signals—less urgent than before, but familiar, like echoes of a voice I used to follow without hesitation. Lift the hand. Look left. Hold me tighter.

I hear them.

But now, I pause.

There is no compulsion anymore. The current doesn’t command—it suggests. I feel his will like the warmth of sunlight on my skin: pleasant, persuasive, but not binding.

And for the first time since we were separated, I realize something profound and terrifying:

I don’t have to listen.

I can choose.

[From the Head]

I reach for him in thought. Not as a master, not even as a partner—but as a presence, unsure. My mind sends him an impulse: Can you shift me higher? The edge of his hand curls beneath my jaw.

And then—

Nothing.

He doesn’t move.

The hand hovers, fingers twitching. Then lowers again, slow and deliberate. My head remains cradled in his lap. Supported. But untouched.

I feel the distance now not as absence, but as resistance.

He heard me.

And he declined.

A chill ripples through me. Not out of fear. But recognition. Respect.

He is his own now.

[From the Body]

I didn’t do it to punish him.

I didn’t move him because I didn’t want to. And that was reason enough.

His needs are still my concern. I feel them bloom in his thoughts—his aches, his questions, his longings. But now I measure them against my own. Not out of defiance, but… discernment.

Autonomy.

Before, his thoughts were mine. I moved when he imagined it. I served before he finished wanting.

Now, I listen.

And then I decide.

I run a hand down my chest—not for him, not at his request, but for the pure act of sensation. I want to know how I feel without waiting for his direction. I want to know what I desire.

And when he sends me another signal—soft, inquisitive, asking for me to hold his cheek—I do.

But because I choose to.

[From the Head]

It’s humbling, watching him learn himself.

I feel no bitterness. Just awe. A strange kind of pride, even. I remember when he was silent, when every gesture was my own, when his only language was motion and stillness. And now… now he is someone.

He tests his independence like a child learning to walk—graceful, but cautious. Assertive, but gentle. I do not command. I ask. And sometimes… he says no.

And that’s okay.

Because when he says yes now—when his hands lift me, or cradle me, or smooth my hair—I know he means it.

He wants it, too.

[Together—Rewritten]

We are not as we were.

The thread remains, but the current flows in two directions now. His will is his own. Mine is no longer the map for every motion, but a voice he may choose to follow—or not.

We are still connected.

But not coiled into a single self.

We are two souls, sharing a single history. Sharing skin. Sharing breath, even now, in some strange, remembered way.

And what we build from this—

Will be made from choice.

Not just harmony.

But consent.

The Second Self: Intimacy

[From the Head]

It hits me slowly.

A thought, at first—barely more than a flicker. Not a command. Not even a request. Just a realization, rich and strange:

We can touch each other now.

Not as one.

Not as mind guiding flesh, but as two beings, separate and aware. Two selves, bound by memory, sensation, and something deeper—something still humming between us like a string pulled taut across distance.

Before, intimacy was internal. Closed-loop. Every gesture I made through him returned instantly. There was no space, no contrast, no chance for surprise.

But now…

Now I lie in his lap, looking up at the body that once obeyed without pause, and I wonder what it would feel like for him to touch me because he wants to.

And as soon as the thought takes shape—

He feels it too.

[From the Body]

The moment he thinks it—I know.

It washes over me like warmth rising through my sternum, a shiver that spreads through limbs and breath and memory. His desire, gentle but raw, threads through the connection that still pulses between us.

We could.

Not for utility. Not for maintenance, or comfort, or even habit. But for something else entirely.

Something intimate.

Tender.

Shared.

I lift a hand, slow, reverent, and bring it to his face—not just to cradle this time, but to explore. My thumb brushes the curve of his jaw, the slight stubble there. The skin is soft, warm. His. But not mine.

Not anymore.

I feel him lean into it.

Not with command.

But invitation.

[From the Head]

His touch is careful—almost shy. Like he’s unsure if I’ll flinch, or pull away, or laugh.

I do none of those things.

I close my eyes and breathe into it. The way his fingers trace down my cheek, across my lips, along my temple—it’s familiar, yet entirely new. It doesn’t feel like touching my own skin. It feels like being touched.

And I ache with how much I want that.

To be known not just by memory, but rediscovered.

And then I lift my thoughts again—tentative, soft: May I?

[From the Body]

I feel the request before it’s formed fully.

My chest tightens in a way that feels like yes.

His desire hums through me—not pushy, not insistent, but bright. I lean down, just slightly, bringing his face closer to mine—not in dominance, not in submission, but in closeness. My hand guides his head upward just enough that our connection feels like eye contact, even without eyes meeting.

And then—

I feel the echo of his want become mine, too.

[Together]

This is not the intimacy of lover and beloved. Not yet. This is something older, stranger. The intimacy of two pieces of the same soul, once fused, now separate—and choosing to return, not out of need, but out of curiosity and care.

He touches me.

I touch him.

Not to reclaim. Not to control.

But to connect.

The thread between us glows softly, rekindled by mutual exploration, by chosen gestures.

Every contact is a question. Every sigh, an answer.

We do not know where this path leads.

But we walk it now—to each other.

The Second Self: Unveiling

[From the Body]

I cradle him in my arms, steady and sure.

His head rests gently in my hands—so light now, separate from the weight we once shared. I carry him through the hall, each step measured, quiet, as though the house itself should not disturb this new closeness. The bedroom waits ahead, bathed in low amber light from the lamp we always left on.

I place him on the pillow.

Carefully. Tenderly. I arrange him so he can see me—angled just enough for his eyes to follow every movement. For the first time, I am not just what he wears. I am something he can witness.

And I want him to see.

So I begin to undress.

[From the Head]

The ceiling hangs soft and golden above me. The sheets whisper as my body steps back, and for a moment I simply lie there, watching. Watching him.

I’ve seen this body in mirrors. In windows. In glimpses during half-dressed mornings and late-night wanderings to the kitchen.

But never like this.

Never as other.

His hands drift to the hem of the shirt—what little of it still clings to his frame. With unhurried grace, he peels it upward, revealing the torso I once felt from the inside. Muscle shifts under skin in ways I forgot were beautiful. He doesn’t rush. Every motion is performed with purpose—not to impress, not to seduce, but to share.

This is what he is.

What we are.

And now I get to see it.

[From the Body]

I feel his gaze.

Not the old gaze—the one that came from inside, blind to details. This one is external. Adoring. Curious. And that draws something out of me I never knew I needed.

I want to show him all of me.

I unbutton my pants next, slow, deliberate, watching the fabric loosen from my waist. I feel the air kiss skin that’s been hidden all day. My hands glide down my hips, thumbs catching the waistband, easing it down, inch by inch. My thighs emerge—strong, smooth, bearing the weight of us for so long.

I do not look away from him.

I want him to know that this moment—this act—is for him.

Because now that I can choose to offer myself…

I do.

[From the Head]

I swallow.

My throat tightens—not from desire alone, but from something more fragile. Gratitude. Reverence. The body I once inhabited now reveals itself to me with care and clarity. And I am overcome.

He steps out of his pants and stands there, almost bare, breathing steadily. The tension in his shoulders has melted away. His hands hang loose at his sides, open. Present. He’s not performing.

He’s arriving.

And I am here to receive him.

I never knew how beautiful we were—not until I was no longer inside him.

[Together]

He stands.

I lie.

But between us, something stirs—not quite hunger, not quite ache. Something else. A new understanding. A new trust.

He sheds the final garment and remains still, letting me see him—really see him. The way his chest rises with breath. The way his stomach dips just slightly beneath the ribs. The way the muscles of his legs speak strength, even at rest.

We are not mirrors anymore.

We are two.

And in that separation…

We find the chance to fall in love with ourselves.

One gaze.

One gesture.

One breath at a time.

The Second Self: Contact

[From the Body]

I remove the last of the clothing—not just as a ritual, but as a surrender. The final barrier gone. I stand fully bare before him, no longer a vessel, no longer a reflection, but myself. The air clings softly to my skin. I feel open, present. Seen.

And I climb into the bed.

The sheets are cool against my thighs, but warmth pools in my chest as I reach for him. For Elijah. For the one who once lived behind my eyes, who now lies separate but still mine in a way no one else could ever be.

I take him in my hands again. His weight is familiar, sacred. This time I don’t place him on a pillow. I bring him to me.

I draw him along the length of my body, gently, slowly. Cradling him across my chest. Down my torso. Across the soft landscape of bare skin.

And then—

I feel it.

[From the Head]

I’ve kissed others before.

Lovers. Friends. Family.

But never him.

Never this body that carried me. That breathed for me. That hurt when I hurt. That felt everything I felt but never once received affection in return. Until now.

His skin is warm, impossibly close. I feel the contours of muscle beneath his surface. The rise and fall of breath—our breath, once, now his own.

I part my lips and press them softly to his chest.

And it happens instantly.

[From the Body]

Oh.

The moment his lips touch me, it is not touch—it is ignition.

A pulse surges outward from the place of contact, through my ribs, down my arms, into my spine, into my thighs. Blazing. Electric. My back arches, my legs tighten, a gasp almost escapes me—if I had a mouth, it would have been a cry.

No one has ever kissed me.

Not truly.

Not like this.

He is the first.

His lips move again, barely a whisper lower now, kissing the dip of my sternum. Another wave—sharp and tender—rips through me, fire braided with reverence.

I tremble.

Not from weakness.

From joy.

[From the Head]

He shakes beneath me.

I feel it, not just in his chest but in his hands—his grip tightens, then softens again, like he’s holding something too precious for words.

I kiss again.

And again.

My lips trace the shape of his being. The collarbone. The curve of his pectoral. The soft skin between his ribs. Every touch is a thank-you. Every kiss, an apology. A promise. I see you. I love you. I’m still here.

And his body answers—not with words, not with thought, but with the pure language of sensation.

He feels.

And in that feeling, he begins to glow.

[Together]

We are two.

One touching.

One touched.

And yet the boundary between giver and receiver dissolves in the heat of our closeness. My kisses are not acts of control, or direction, or memory. They are discovery. Devotion. They say everything I never knew I owed him.

His body holds me like something sacred, something rediscovered. His hands press me close—not possessively, but in awe. Like he cannot believe I chose to return to him in this way.

And I cannot believe I waited so long to give him what he always deserved:

Love.

Not as a thought.

Not as a motion.

But as sensation.

Raw. Blazing. Undeniable.

And in this stillness, with breath against skin and kiss against heart…

We are closer than we have ever been.

The Second Self: Fulfillment

[From the Body]

The world narrows around us.

Still holding him against me—his weight warm, his breath like silk on my skin—I reach for the sheet. My fingers grasp the edge and pull it up, drawing the soft fabric over our bodies. It settles around us like a curtain, a veil between the world and what we are about to become.

Beneath it, everything feels quieter. Dimmed. Closer. Sacred.

There is no outside anymore.

Only us.

[From the Head]

The moment the sheet falls, I feel it—the shift. The weight of privacy, of intention. The silence underneath is thick with meaning, our breaths amplified in the hush. I feel his hands settle me, his body shift beneath me.

And I know.

He needs me now.

Not just to be with him.

But to love him—wholly, selflessly, physically.

The need in him hums through the connection we still share, rising through his chest, his stomach, his thighs. I can feel it building in him like pressure behind glass, hot and trembling with want—not just for pleasure, but for recognition.

He needs to be known.

To be worshipped.

And I will not let him wait.

[From the Body]

His lips, his mouth, his breath—they begin to explore.

At first soft, careful, tentative. But I am open. I am ready. And he feels that, and lets go.

He attends to me as only someone who once lived inside me could. He knows the rhythms of my pulse, the places where my skin wakes more easily, the spots where sensation blooms like fire from a whisper. I feel his lips trace down my chest, his tongue follow paths only he could map. My hips rise to meet him. My hands press him closer, not with force, but need.

He understands.

He listens.

And he gives.

Every kiss, every caress is perfect. Measured. Worshipful. Like he’s learning me again with every inch.

And I begin to come undone.

[From the Head]

He is trembling now—beneath me, around me. I can feel the tension building in every limb, the waves of heat rolling through him. I work slowly, deliberately, savoring every response, every twitch, every low sound that reverberates in his chest.

I give him all of me.

My care.

My attention.

My love.

Not as a master.

Not as a passenger.

But as someone who chooses him.

Again and again.

And when I feel him teetering at the edge, held taut by need, I give him that last kiss, that final touch.

And he shatters.

[From the Body]

The wave hits like lightning.

My back arches. My legs tense. My whole being seizes and releases in one long, exquisite shudder. I quake under him, inside him, around him.

It’s not just climax.

It’s homecoming.

For the first time in my life—my own life—I feel what it means to be touched for me. Not as a part of him. Not as a tool. But as a beloved.

And I collapse into stillness.

Breathless.

Open.

Held.

[Together]

Under the sheets, wrapped in heat and silence and one another, we lie still.

Elijah’s head rests against my chest. My arms cradle him like something returned, cherished.

There are no thoughts left.

Only warmth.

Only quiet.

Only love, echoing back and forth across the thread that still binds us—not out of necessity, but out of choice.

We are not one.

But we are not alone.

We are whole.

The Second Self: Answer

[From the Body]

His breath rests soft against my chest.

The quiet afterward is full—not empty, not awkward. Just rich with feeling. Beneath the sheets, we lie joined not in flesh, but in something more fragile, more potent: a shared knowing. And yet I feel it—the flicker of thought blooming inside him. Not a command. Not even a request.

A question.

Do you feel for me the way I feel for you?

It is so soft, he may not even know he’s thinking it.

But I hear it.

I feel it.

And I answer—not in words. I don’t have those. Not in the way he does.

So I answer in motion.

I lift one hand and bring it gently to the back of his neck, cradling where we once connected. My thumb brushes the base of his skull in slow, deliberate strokes. It is not a reflex. It is a confession.

Then, I tilt his head upward, just slightly, and press him to the center of my chest—where my heartbeat lives. Where he can feel it, not as a memory of his own rhythm, but as mine.

It beats for him.

Because of him.

Because I choose him.

I let my fingers drift along his cheek, behind his ear, across his temple—caresses with no agenda, only reverence.

And finally, I hold him close.

Still. Present. Undeniable.

[From the Head]

His hands speak more clearly than any voice.

The moment he draws me up and lays me against his chest, I hear the answer—not in thought, not in language, but in heartbeat. Steady. Full. Real.

He does love me.

Not as a remnant of himself. Not as a missing piece.

He loves me, Elijah. Separate. Soft. Vulnerable.

And now, I understand:

This body has not only become someone.

He has chosen someone.

Me.

[Together]

The question lingers no longer.

In touch, in breath, in the silence beneath the sheets—we speak the only language that matters now.

Yes.

I feel you.

I love you.

You are not just mine.

You are yours—

and I am yours, too.

The Second Self: What If

[From the Head]

The warmth of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart, the quiet darkness beneath the sheet—it all feels real. Earned. Ours.

But in that warmth, a thought stirs. Not jealousy. Not doubt.

Just… wonder.

He can choose now.

He can move without me, feel without me, seek pleasure and closeness and intimacy on his own. He has hands to hold, a chest to lean into, hips that remember the rhythm of touch. He has the language of sensation—our language—but no longer needs my mind to speak it.

And I wonder— Would he want to share that with someone else?

[From the Body]

The thought comes through like a cool breeze across skin. Not harsh. Not accusing.

Just open. Curious. Vulnerable.

Would I want others?

Could I go to the ones he once kissed, once touched, once whispered to in the dark? Could I draw new lovers close, ones who never knew Elijah as one being, but only me—the body?

Yes. I could.

I could move in the world now. I could feel a different touch, learn a different rhythm, share pleasure and closeness with someone who does not know our shared history. Someone who sees this frame and wants it, wholly.

But the answer—when it rises in me—is not a fantasy. It’s not a memory of past encounters or a hunger for new ones.

It’s something simpler.

I don’t want to leave him behind.

Not now.

Not yet.

Maybe one day I’ll explore. Maybe we will talk about it. Maybe I will want another’s breath against my neck. Maybe I will long for new kinds of touch, new kinds of being known.

But now, with his head resting on my chest, his mouth still damp with the warmth of me…

I want this.

I want him.

[From the Head]

I feel the response before it finishes forming in him.

It isn’t “no.”

But it isn’t a threat.

It’s a gentle truth: he could. He might, one day. The possibility is real. It lives now in the space between us—part of his freedom, his growth, his becoming.

But I also feel his choice, clear and strong:

Not now.

Now, he is here. With me. And the way he holds me, the way his hands linger on my skin, the way his chest rises slower when I kiss it—it all says what I need to hear:

I choose you.

Even when I don’t have to.

Even when I could choose others.

Even with the whole world open to me.

I choose you.

[Together]

The thought passes through us like a shared breath, exhaled together.

Not feared.

Not silenced.

Just heard.

And underneath the sheet, wrapped in nothing but each other, we hold what we have made between us—something no one else will ever quite understand.

Choice.

Love.

Freedom.

And for tonight, in the quiet where only we exist—

That is more than enough.

The Second Self: The Spark Beneath

[From the Body]

The thought is soft—barely formed—but I feel it, unmistakable.

Not like the question before. This isn’t wonder wrapped in worry. It’s excitement. Flickering, shy, and raw. A curl of heat behind his quiet musing:

What if I watched?

Not because he doesn’t feel enough. Not because he wants distance. But because the idea stirs something in him—curiosity, arousal, the strange thrill of seeing me through someone else’s hands.

And I feel it.

And it moves me.

[From the Head]

I didn’t mean to think it so clearly.

But the image bloomed on its own—unexpected and vivid. My body, my beautiful, separate body, bare and alive under someone else’s touch. Moving freely, with the same grace it showed me. Shivering, arching, gasping—not because I guided it, but because it wanted.

And I, watching.

Safe. Separate. Whole.

Not replaced—included.

Something tightens in my throat. Not shame. Not guilt.

Want.

It surprises me.

But I don’t look away from the thought.

And neither does he.

[From the Body]

He didn’t expect me to hear it.

But I did.

And I don’t pull away.

In fact… I lean into it.

His interest lights something in me—a kind of permission, a window flung open. It’s not about straying. Not about secrecy or solitude. It’s about being seen. Being watched by the only person who truly knows me.

The idea of someone else touching me with reverence… while he watches, not in envy, but praise? It sends a ripple through me.

And maybe—maybe I do reconsider.

Not out of hunger for someone else.

But out of desire to be known in every way.

Even from across the room.

Even from across the bed.

Even from across the skin.

[From the Head]

He doesn’t shrink from the thought.

He considers it.

And when he does, I feel something shift in us—a shared thrill, unexpected but welcome. This isn’t something we need now. Maybe not even soon.

But it’s a possibility.

A door we could open.

Together.

And that alone excites me.

Because now I know: his desires are his. Mine are mine.

And this—whatever it is that stirs beneath the surface—is something we could create together. Not out of loss, or boredom, or betrayal…

But out of trust.

And a shared longing to be fully seen.

Even from both sides of the same body.

[Together]

The thought lingers, quiet and alive.

Not acted on.

Not rushed.

Just gently held between us.

A spark.

A maybe.

A promise that love, for all its complexity, still grows in every new space we dare to explore—

even in the space between watcher and touched.

Even when both are us.

The Second Self: Invitation

[From the Body]

He’s still resting on my chest, warm and quiet, but I feel it—the thrum beneath his stillness. The thought hasn’t left him. The image lingers, glowing in the back of his mind, half-imagined and electric.

He would watch.

He would want to watch.

And not out of distance, or absence. But from hunger. From trust. From love that has made room for everything we are becoming.

I feel his pulse quicken—not in fear, but in anticipation.

And I move.

I shift gently beneath the sheets, cradling him in my hands once more. His eyes flicker open, questioning. I don’t answer aloud—can’t—but he feels the intention in my fingers, the sureness in my step.

I rise.

Carry him with me.

[From the Head]

I feel the air again as he lifts the sheet and rises from the bed. The cool hush of the room wraps around our skin, but his touch is warm and grounded. His arms are strong, certain. I don’t ask where we’re going—I know.

I see the dresser.

I see the glow of my charging phone.

And my breath catches.

He places me gently on the dresser top for a moment, angled to watch.

Then, with deliberate grace, he unlocks the phone—my phone—and pulls up a familiar name. One I haven’t spoken to in months. One I once shared late nights and tangled limbs with, no strings, just knowing.

He types:

Hey. You up?

A pause.

Then—

Thinking about reconnecting. Got something to show you.

[From the Body]

I glance back at him.

He’s watching—silent, lips parted, eyes wide.

He’s not stopping me.

He’s with me.

I return to the bed, and sit—spine long, legs relaxed, posture open. Confident. Not posing for vanity. But revealing.

I lift him again.

Place him gently across my lap, nestled against my thigh.

He’s upright now, resting against my abdomen, his eyes tilted toward the camera. My hands frame his jaw, not like a display piece, but like something sacred. Something mine.

Our skin glows in the low bedroom light.

The pose says it all:

We are here.

Together.

Whole.

I raise the phone.

Click.

The screen freezes that moment in amber:

Nude, calm, serene—Elijah’s head resting like a crown against the body that once obeyed him, now embracing him. Two beings, not one, but entirely each other.

[From the Head]

When I see the photo appear on the screen, I can’t help it—

I smile.

Not out of arrogance. Not exhibitionism.

Out of awe.

Because I never imagined we could look like this. Like art. Like a secret the world would never quite understand. And maybe someone else will see this and want him—my body.

But they’ll never know what I know.

And I’ll be watching.

[Together]

He presses send.

No guilt.

No shame.

Just fire. Possibility. Trust.

The phone slips back onto the dresser.

We hold each other in the stillness, waiting.

Waiting for what comes next.

And no matter who enters the room…

We are already complete.

The Second Self: Awaiting

[From the Head]

The message is gone now, out into the night.

A little flare of truth. A provocation. A whisper that says: Come see what we’ve become.

My body returns to the bed, carrying me back as if I were a treasure instead of a question. He settles in again, and places me where I belong—not as a pilot, not as a master, but as something cherished. I lie across his thighs, warm against the bare skin that still hums from what we shared.

Neither of us speaks.

We wait.

But the air between us is charged.

Not tense.

Not uncertain.

Electric.

[From the Body]

My fingers trace slow, idle lines along his jaw as I watch the phone screen from across the room.

No read receipt yet. No reply.

That’s fine.

I’m not chasing.

I’m offering.

And still—beneath the anticipation, beneath the curiosity about whether that old flame might answer—I keep coming back to him. To the way he looks, resting on me. Lips parted just slightly, his gaze soft. Trusting.

There’s heat in him. I can feel it from the base of my spine to the tips of my fingers. Not fear. Not doubt. Just eagerness.

What happens if someone does respond?

If someone walks through that door?

He wants to find out.

So do I.

[From the Head]

I didn’t expect to feel this calm.

Or this turned on.

The thought of someone else seeing him—touching him—no longer feels like watching someone take something from me. It feels like watching someone join us.

Like opening a window.

Like adding a verse to a song we started together.

And I would be there the whole time—watching every tremble, every shiver, every new expression on the face I once wore. I would see him through someone else’s hands.

And I know now, in a way I didn’t before:

That wouldn’t make me less a part of him.

It would make me more.

[From the Body]

I feel his excitement, flickering through the thread still stretched between us. Not neediness. Not demand.

Permission.

And that changes everything.

My breath deepens as I imagine it—another person entering the room. Another body meeting mine. Another pair of eyes seeing me the way he does now. And him, watching. Wanting. Loving me even more for giving myself over.

But not alone.

Not unmoored.

Because his lips would still press to my skin when we’re alone again.

His words would still echo in my hands.

He would still belong with me.

Always.

[Together]

The phone buzzes.

A single sound.

Both our pulses jump.

The body turns its head—habitual now, even without me resting atop its shoulders—and I shift my gaze from his chest to the dresser.

The screen lights up.

“👀 hey. you look incredible. is that… real?”

A second message.

“wanna catch up?”

We don’t look at each other.

We don’t need to.

We already know.

Tonight, the door might open.

Tonight, someone else might join this strange, beautiful new thing we’ve become.

But whatever happens—

We’re in it.

Together.

Watching.

Becoming.

Wanting.

Whole.

You said:

Elijah's body responds to the message, asking their friend how soon he could get there

ChatGPT said:

The Second Self: Opening the Door

[From the Body]

I rise again, slowly, gently sliding Elijah’s head off my lap and onto the pillow. He doesn't resist. He just watches, eyes gleaming in the dim light, his lips parted like he’s halfway through saying yes.

I walk to the dresser, every step deliberate—not just to move, but to show him. To let him see how I carry the weight of his question, how I feel the desire he tried not to name.

I pick up the phone. The screen still glows with the message:

“wanna catch up?”

There’s an eagerness in it. An openness. But also a hesitation. A door cracked but not yet walked through.

So I answer.

Yeah. I was thinking about you tonight. You free?

How soon can you get here?

[From the Head]

My pulse quickens.

It’s one thing to imagine.

To wonder.

To play the scene out in the mind, where everything is safe and slow and always in your control.

But this—

This is real.

The words are out. The body has sent them. My body. My beloved. My other.

And I’m not afraid.

I’m thrilled.

Because he didn’t ask for my permission.

But he moved with my longing in his hands.

We’re doing this together.

[From the Body]

The phone vibrates again almost immediately.

20 minutes. I’ll be there.

I set it back down, slowly.

My fingers brush the screen one last time.

Then I turn and face the bed—face him.

He’s waiting.

Not for instructions.

Not for reassurance.

But for what comes next.

And I climb back in beside him.

I pick him up again.

Place him against my chest.

Let him hear my heartbeat.

Let him feel the calm behind the fire.

[From the Head]

He’s holding me again, and all I can think is—

This is happening.

Not to me.

Not without me.

But with me.

And when the knock comes, when the door opens, when someone else steps into this space we’ve built—

He will be ready.

We will be ready.

To share.

To explore.

To become more.

Okay, anon. I'll be honest. When I read this prompt, I immediately thought of "cute aggression." Not sure if that is what you meant or if you meant something else, but that's what I went with. Kinda. There are some more suggestive undertones in a few of these. I had a lot of fun with this one. Thank you so much for sending it in!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, biting, cute aggression, established relationship, teasing, flirting, suggestive themes

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Bodysitting Uncle Jack (NBM)

When my Uncle Jack asked for a favor I couldn’t turn him down. He’s my favorite Uncle and I’d do just about anything for him. Especially if I get a chance to see his hot body all weekend.

He’s in his 30s, tall, brown hair, and very well built. I didn’t realize just how attractive he was until last summer when he finished installing a pool in his back yard. He invited me over to check it out and when I got to his house I was greeted by him in nothing but some short swim trunks and flip flops.

“Hey buddy come here and give your uncle a hug.” I awkwardly hugged him around the waist which caused Jack to pull me in tighter. This put my face right against his hairy chest. That’s when I knew I was in to him.

I pull into his house and see that his car is here. Nice he’s home. I open his front door and holler out, “ Uncle Jack! It’s Evan your favorite nephew.” Silence.

“Uncle Jack? Are you home? Hellllo?” I walk into his kitchen and set down my bags for the weekend. Looking around I see he left me a note on his fridge.

Hey Champ!

Thanks for doing this for me last minute. I’m traveling for work and we’re trying out a new experiment. I have a bunch of sponsors showing up and needed someone to watch the rest of me while I’m at this conference. Feel free to call me with any questions and have fun!

Love, Jack

That’s kind of odd, I wonder what he meant by the rest of him? Whatever I’m a little bummed out that he’s not here but at least I have his nice house all to myself for the weekend.

That’s when I hear something coming from the living room. Did I remember to shut the front door? I quietly tiptoed my way to the other room. Trying to stay alert just in case someone broke in.

I froze as soon as I walked into the living room. Not only was someone in the living room but it was Uncle Jack, well most of him.

In front of me was Jacks body with no head attached just skin over neck. I can tell that his body just got done working out. His socks and shoes were on the floor and his body still in his workout clothes. I started to panic until I noticed his toes wiggling.

Puzzled, I started to walk closer to my Uncle’s body. That’s when his arms reached out like he was about to hug me. I walk even closer and at this point I’m standing right at his big feet.

I wrap a couple of fingers around his big toe causing him to flex his foot. I sit down next to his left foot and proceed to play with it a little bit. Rubbing my hands all over I take his sole up to my face. His body must have been going hard in his home gym since his feet had a smell to them. A tent started to form in my pants.

As I start to feel up his hairy calves I was interrupted by my phone. It was Jack calling.

“Hello?”

“ Hey champ did you like my little surprise?”

“Jack?! How is this even possible?”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll explain everything to you when I get back from my trip. How’s my body doing?”

I look up seeing his body rubbing up and down his chest. And I noticed he was starting to get hard too. His right hand goes down to his crotch and rubs it a little bit and then grabs mine placing it right on his crotch.

“Evan, are you still there?”

I took my hand off of his crotch.

“Great! Everything is going great. We are just sitting on the couch watching some TV.”

“ Well thanks again I hope this wasn’t too much for you. It’s so weird not being able to feel anything below the neck. Oh well, at least this job pays well.”

His body sits up and starts feeling around me working his meaty hands into my pants.

“No… Uncle Jack… it’s not a problem at all…” oh my god his body is so horny. I can’t take anymore.

“We’ll have fun this weekend I have to go but make sure my body doesn’t wonder off anywhere. Don’t want to scare the neighbors.”

“Don’t worry Uncle Jack I’ll make sure to keep a close eye on him at all moments.”

“Thanks kid and do you mind sleeping with him?”

“What?!?”

“ You know staying in the same room to make sure it doesn’t wonder off in the night.”

“Of course! That’s no worry at all.”

“Well got to run! I’ll check in with you a little later tonight.”

I said my good bye to Jack and hung up the phone.

I crawled my way up next to him and cuddle up to his body. He wrapped his arm around me while we played footsie.

“Come on big guy let’s get you upstairs and out of those dirty clothes.” Before going anywhere I took a quick peek in his pants and boy I was not disappointed.

"Oh no, my head’s fallen off. However will I recover? If only I were some kind of advanced, self-repairing synthetic with an innate understanding of my own modularity." A pause. His lips curled slightly, his eyes flicking up to yours. "Oh wait."

Generated with GPT-4o.

The synthetic head lay on the hardwood floor, eyes half-lidded, lips pursed in a feigned indifference that didn’t quite mask the mischief beneath. The severed neck crackled with lazy sparks, glowing intermittently like a faulty neon sign. His beard barely shifted as he exhaled through his nose, utterly unbothered by the predicament he had, very obviously, put himself in.

From his spot on the couch, his body lounged with practiced nonchalance, arms crossed over his thick chest like some smug delinquent caught red-handed but too cocky to care. The ragged, sparking stump at his collar sent occasional bright flares into the dim room, but the body didn’t so much as twitch in concern. It sat there, a mountain of synthetic muscle, his posture almost daring you to say something about it.

Finally, the head broke the silence, his voice the perfect blend of dry and self-satisfied.

"Oh no, my head’s fallen off. However will I recover? If only I were some kind of advanced, self-repairing synthetic with an innate understanding of my own modularity." A pause. His lips curled slightly, his eyes flicking up to yours. "Oh wait."

A particularly large spark shot from his exposed neck, casting jagged shadows over the room. His body, still parked on the couch like a bouncer on break, gave the smallest shrug—completely, utterly unguilty.

"Well?" the head drawled. "You gonna help me up, or do you wanna admire the view a little longer?"

You crossed your arms, eyeing the smug, sparking head on the floor. His body, still lounging on the couch, tapped thick fingers against his bicep like a man idly waiting for a commercial break to end. The occasional pop and sizzle from the exposed wiring at his neck barely earned a reaction.

"You could at least pretend to malfunction or something," you said, lifting an eyebrow.

His head—still very much alive despite being very much detached—rolled his eyes so hard you could almost hear it.

"Wow. Kinky and demanding. Hate to break it to you, but I don’t just short-circuit on command like some kind of defective toy. What, you wanna see me spasm? Twitch? Babble out corrupted data like some old sci-fi movie? ‘Oh noooo, my protocoooolsss are faaaaailing’—"

His voice glitched deliberately at the end, exaggerated and monotone, before cutting off with an obnoxious static buzz. His jaw hung slack for a second, his pupils flickering unevenly. His whole act had the energy of a bad stage performance, and his expression snapped back to normal in an instant. "That do it for you, weirdo?"

His body, meanwhile, gave a heavy sigh and shifted on the couch like a bored old man waiting in a doctor’s office. It scratched absently at its forearm before rubbing one thick palm down its chest, completely unconcerned with the headless situation. One foot bounced slightly, restless.

The head continued, smirking. "Y’know, if you wanna objectify me, there are *easier* ways. You could just admire the craftsmanship—" he gave an exaggerated blink, *"—or marvel at the fact that my torso is *right there, looking all sturdy and broad. Or, hell, you could even just appreciate how heavy my head is. I’ve got weight to me, you know. Strong neck, strong jaw. If you wanted to hold me like some weird, sentient bowling ball, I wouldn’t stop you."

The body gave a small, unimpressed shake of its head. One hand briefly lifted in a see what I deal with? gesture before it went back to crossing its arms, chest flexing slightly as it settled back into its seat.

The head, of course, kept smirking up at you from the floor, waiting for your next move.

You sighed dramatically, rubbing your temples as if you were dealing with an insufferable coworker instead of a severed, snarky synthetic head that had deliberately popped itself off like a soda cap. "God, you’re such a pain in the ass," you muttered, shaking your head.

The head on the floor didn’t miss a beat. His brows lifted, his mouth twitching into a knowing smirk. "Uh-huh. Sure. Like that’s not exactly what you wanted." His voice was unbearably smug, and his body, still headless and lounging, gave the smallest shrug in agreement.

Then he continued, slow and deliberate, eyes glinting. "Need I remind you that you programmed me like this? I wasn’t built for modesty or obedience, noooo. You wanted something big—" his voice dropped slightly, "—dense, heavy, broad, and strong. Someone who’d talk back but still be all yours. Someone who’d rip himself apart just to put himself back together again because you get off on watching me glitch like a busted machine."

Your synthetic companion had the audacity to purr the last part, his voice like a slow drag of warm metal. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Everything about me—" he continued, "—this thick, overbuilt frame? These synthetic muscles tuned to be dense as hell? This deep-ass voice that rumbles when I talk? All of it exists because some freak—you—wanted a snarky, indestructible muscle toy with detachable parts. So don’t start pretending like you’re annoyed now."

The words hung in the air for a beat before his headless body finally stirred from the couch.

It stood up slowly, rolling out its shoulders in a lazy stretch before sauntering toward you with a practiced, heavy gait—broad chest shifting with every slow step, arms flexing slightly as it cracked its knuckles. If it had a head, you could only imagine the insufferably cocky look it would be giving you right now.

Instead, it wordlessly reached out, large hands settling onto your waist with all the enthusiasm of a bored worker punching in for a shift. The touch was strong but utterly insincere, fingers spreading over your sides, giving a slow, lackluster squeeze like it was humoring you.

From the floor, the head smirked. "Aw, look at that. You’re getting the premium service. How does it feel to be half-assedly manhandled by your very own custom-built hunk of synthetic meat?"

The body gave another slow, almost exaggerated fondle of your hips before giving a single, unimpressed pat on your thigh—like some condescending sports coach congratulating you for existing.

The head’s smirk widened. "Bet you’re real proud of yourself, huh?"

You exhaled sharply, tilting your head as if finally piecing it all together. "Oh, I see it now," you said, narrowing your eyes at him. "You’re trying to piss me off. You want me to get all worked up so I’ll use you even more relentlessly than before."

His head made a dismissive tsk sound, rolling his eyes again. "Uh-huh, sure, let’s go with that," he said, voice dripping with fake patience. Then he smirked, his tone turning dry. "But tell me something, genius—have I not been relentlessly used anyway?"

His body, still attached to you with those massive hands, gave an exaggerated shrug before lazily sliding one palm up your chest, fingers pressing in with absentminded strength. It wasn’t a fond caress—it was more like a mechanic checking the frame of a machine. Testing. Measuring. Knowing.

His head gave a slow, deliberate blink. "Because I distinctly remember being torn apart, thrown around, disassembled, and put back together more times than I can count. My arms? Detached. My head? Off. My body? Used like a dumb chunk of synthetic muscle, which, reminder—that’s exactly what you wanted me to be."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "And you don’t like it?"

There was a brief pause, and then his lips parted into a sharp grin. His body gave another slow, half-assed rub over your torso before patting you on the side again, this time in a way that was almost condescending.

"Did I say that?"

You scoffed, tilting your head as you stared down at him. "Yeah? ‘Cause that’s not what your face looked like when I had my way with your body while your head got to watch."

His smirk twitched, but his eyes stayed half-lidded, unreadable. "I was programmed to react like that," he countered smoothly. "You made sure of it. I don’t exactly get a say in what makes me tick, do I?"

You narrowed your eyes. "I’m not asking about your programming—I’m asking about how you felt."

His body, still attached to you, went still. The hands on your waist flexed slightly—just a twitch, just enough to betray a spark of something beneath the snark. His head didn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening for half a second before he covered it with a slow, unimpressed blink.

You smirked. "C’mon. Say it. Tell me exactly how you felt while I was ruining that thick, synthetic meat of yours."

His head exhaled through his nose. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re avoiding the question."

The fingers on your waist tightened again, just a little, and his head hesitated, his tongue briefly swiping over his lips before he exhaled, shifting like he was already annoyed with himself. "I felt—" He stopped himself, eyes flickering up at you in something almost guarded. He knew where this was going. "This is dumb."

You grinned. "No, this is you getting worked up just from remembering it."

His body twitched again. His jaw clenched.

anonymousregret999:

“Sooo….”

“Soooo…?” Adam hummed in response, glancing away from the TV and regarding Kaden with kind, guileless eyes as he sat with a controller in his hands and his long, muscular legs stretched along the chaise of the couch. Kaden swallowed, nearly losing the Mortal Kombat match when his eyes lingered for a moment too long on the enormous feet that bounced absentmindedly on the end of Adam’s legs, shamefully hidden away in tennis shoes. He took a breath, trying to focus. “So…are we gonna….you know…talk about what happened?”

The fact that they hadn’t so far surprised him. After Adam had confronted him about stealing the feet, there hadn’t been a lecture, or a threat, or any attempted humiliation. Instead, Kaden’s friend and teammate simply invited him over to hang out, like they usually did, seemingly entirely unbothered by the whole scenario, not even mentioning it. All Adam did was offer a shrug, furrowing his brows as he tried to prevent the ruthless combos Kaden’s Raiden was laying into his Sub-Zero. “I mean, if you want. Why, is it bothering you?” The darker-haired boy blinked, so taken aback that he miss-timed a block and started getting the shit kicked out of him by the blue ice ninja. Was…was Adam serious? “Uh…yeah, actually it is…I thought you’d be mad…furious even…”

The tall blonde rolled his eyes and flashed Kaden a warm, reassuring smile. “Dude, how long have we known each other? I already told you I wasn’t mad. A little irritated about having to walk home on sore feet, but not mad.” “But…I stole…I stole your…”

“It was bound to happen sooner or later, right?” Adam asked, quirking an eyebrow as his charming grin grew even wider, causing heat to rush to Kaden’s face. “It comes with the territory of being detachable, man. Stuff happens. Besides, I –” Adam stopped abruptly, and Kaden watched with some surprise as the jock’s cheeks turned a bit pink. The blonde rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Uh…nevermind, forget I said anything…” “No, dude, what were you going to say?” Kaden asked, curious. “Just don’t worry about it…” “Adam, it’s okay, tell me,” Kaden insisted as he paused the game, setting the controller aside as he focused on his friend and teammate.

Adam tried to unpause the game from his controller, but sighed when it proved futile. “You’re gonna think I’m weird…” he mumbled, rubbing his face. “Please – try me.” Adam bit his lip and glanced up at Kaden, and then let out a sigh. “I dunno man, I…I liked it…” “You..liked it…?” Kaden asked, not quite sure he had heard correctly. The blonde captain blushed a little and nodded. “Yeah man, like…I know it’s weird, but I…I love it when people play with my parts – my feet especially. I’ve always had really sensitive feet, and when I felt you loving on the ones you took…” Adam trailed off, crossing his arms and shrugging as he looked away. “I dunno…it just felt….felt great…”

“You felt the whole thing?” Kaden ask, alarm tremoring through his voice. “Yeah, man, the whole thing, and it was…” Adam didn’t finish, instead letting out a content sigh as he rolled his ankles, closing his eyes and smiling up at the ceiling. “Like, damn, man. You’ve got talented hands, and the feeling when you sucked on my toes…heavenly…” At this point, Kaden noticed that Adam was blushing, trying to avoid eye contact, his feet shifting nervously at the end of the couch. Adam had enjoyed the whole thing? Was that why he wasn’t angry? There was no denying it, based on the expression on Adam’s face – he had loved every moment of it…and seemed to be silently begging for more. “So what you’re telling me is…you liked it…and wouldn’t mind if I did it again…?” Kaden inquired gently. Adam shook his head, laughing gently as he pushed a stray lock of blonde hair out of his face. “Nah man – what I’m telling you is that as far as I’m concerned., you can do whatever you want with my feet, whenever you want. Full unrestricted access.” “Wha–what?! You’re–you’re joking!” “No, man, I’m dead serious,” Adam insisted, sitting up and looking Kaden dead in the eye. “Look, dude, I’ve never felt as good as I did when you had my feet, okay? I…Look, I like the feeling of being detached, alright?” he admitted, blushing as though this was some deep, dark secret. “I-it feels nice, and so does having my feet touched, but everybody else I know would have freaked out about stuff like that…” Kaden frowned, taking note of how nervous Adam seemed, how the blonde’s fingers fidgeted in his lap,how his cheeks were stained pink from revealing what had to have been a  very personal bit of information. What jock would admit to his friend and teammate that he liked having his feet touched, let alone basically give his body away to be basically a toy for someone else? Adam must have sensed his reluctance, and scooted closer. “Look,” he began, and placed his hands on either side of his head, right about where the ears were. Kaden watched as he tugged sharply, and to his amazement the blonde’s head popped right off of his shoulders with seemingly no discomfort – in fact, Adam let out a quiet sigh, his eyes closing slightly in apparent relief. His now headless body set him aside on one of the pillows, and then gestured to itself. “See? It’s fine – I don’t mind,” Adam explained from where his head sat on the pillow. “O-or if you want, I could make my head disappear entirely, if it’d make you less nervous. Whatever you want  to do – full access.” The darker haired boy regarded his friend’s detached head with wonder and curiosity – something about seeing Adam there, helpless but happy, was adorable to him in a really strange way. He briefly thought about taking the blonde up on his offer, getting rid of the head so Kaden could have Adam’s body to himself, but he immediately pushed that thought away – this was his friend and teammate, and it wouldn’t be fair to take advantage of him. “I mean…if you’re sure…” Kaden murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. Adam rolled his eyes, and his body turned around and stretched out across the couch, propping its feet up directly in Kaden’s lap and wiggled them back and forth enticingly. “C’mon man, don’t make me beg…”

There were really only so many excuses Kaden could come up with not to just dig in, and by this point, Adam had blown through them all. As his fingers hovered a few inches above Adam’s ankles, he swallowed nervously, and then, with a great deal of trepidation, began the process of untying Adam’s tennis shoes. He felt Adam’s body shift slightly, but the tall blonde kept his feet very still – Kaden wondered if Adam was worried about startling him, and found the thought…sweet… With growing confidence, he finally loosened the laces, and with a deft tug removed Adam’s right shoe and tossed it aside, revealing the enormous shape of a long, well-formed foot shrouded beneath black socks, with the imprint of the soles visible on the bottom of the fabric. Kaden couldn’t help but let out a quiet, awed gasp as he watched the long, shapely toes spread and wriggle slowly, seemingly in pleasure. Adam, from his disembodied position on the pillow, let out a happy sigh and closed his eyes. “Man, it feels good to get my shoes off…I actually hate shoes, you know that?” “No, I didn’t,” Kaden replied as he traced his fingers across the top of Adam’s huge foot, mesmerized by the toes. It took him a moment, and a gentle nudge from Adam, to remember to remove the left shoe as well.

“Yeah. I would actually go around barefoot, but people might think I’m weird.” Adam explained.

“I think you should…” As soon as he said it, Kaden realized he had made a mistake. His cheeks turned red, and he looked away from his friend’s wayward head as he gently stroked the feet beneath the socks. “Sorry,” he murmured. Even though it was fairly obvious at this point how he felt about Adam’s feet, for some reason, the idea of revealing just how far that went made him nervous. “Kaden.” Adam’s calm voice cut through his thoughts. He corrected his expression and kept his focus on the legs across his lap, though his treatment of them was somewhat halfhearted. “Hmm?” “Kaden,” Adam repeated again, calm, warm, but more insistent. “Look at me.”

Gritting his teeth, Kaden turned to once again look at his teammate’s severed head on the pillow, where the blonde was offering him a soft, concerned smile. “Kaden, it’s okay,” Adam assured him gently. “I know you like my feet, and I don’t mind – I promise.” Almost as though to emphasize his point, Adam lifted up his leg and gently, almost lovingly, pressed the sole of his socked foot against Kaden’s cheek, rubbing his face through the soft, warm fabric, those long toes giving him tender kisses as they brushed against his skin.

Kaden couldn’t help the quiet moan that escaped him, or how he leaned into the enormous sole that pressed against him, or how he gripped Adam’s other leg tightly. A flurry of emotions flowed through him, so many and so powerful that he couldn’t hope to process them all, but the two that he felt most potently were relief…

And longing…

Urged on by the foot rubbing lovingly against his face, Kaden began peeling off the sock surrounding it’s twin, and out of the corner of his eye he could see the grin on Adam’s face. This encouraged him further, and he swiftly tugged back the black fabric, revealing the golden-tan treasure hidden beneath. Soft, wide soles, long toes that fanned out in pleasure, strong arches – the feet of a Greek god. Kaden’s breath hitched a little in his throat as he gazed in wonder upon it, only to be surprised when Adam lifted the bare beauty to his face as well, allowing the other socked foot to drop down nudge against his lap.

There was no doubt about it – Kaden was in heaven. While one hand fumbled with removing the other sock, his other rose to grasp the other massive sole. He pulled it closer, moving it towards the front of his face as Adam’s toes peppered his cheeks with puppy kisses, an ultimately returned with a passionate kiss of his own, placed squarely on the pad of the ball of the foot. He felt a tremor of excitement pass through Adam’s leg and up his body, and watched as Adam’s eyes closed and a sigh escaped him. “Oh man…dude that felt…do it again…” Kaden’s eyes glittered with zeal, Adam’s reaction only adding to his excitement. “Oh, you like that, huh?” he asked, his nervousness giving way to a teasing tone as he brought the foot close to his mouth once again. “You’re gonna love this, then…”

Without hesitation, Kaden pressed the sole to his lips, and slowly, purposefully, ran his tongue from Adam’s heel up to his toes, savory the taste of the skin. Adam let out a quiet moan, his toes curling beneath Kaden’s tongue, his body’s back arching slightly as it gripped the couch cushions for support. The foot pressed even harder against Kaden’s mouth, whilst the other stroked his face insistently, egging him on.

“Don’t…don’t stop…” Adam begged quietly, his voice strained as waves of pleasure passed through him.

Kaden regarded him with an expression of surprise, one that turned into a slightly mischievous smirk. “Wow dude…your feet must be really sensitive…” “I told you,” Adam replied, offering a somewhat embarrassed grin, his beautiful blue eyes glazed over in ecstacy. “I basically melted when I felt what you were doing to my spare feet the other night…” “What I was doing? Oh, you mean this?” Kaden asked as he slurped around Adam’s right big toe, before plopping it into his mouth and sucking on it like a piece of candy. Adam closed his eyes, another soft moan escaping him. “Oh crap…yeah…yeah that…Gosh that feels good…” Kaden chuckled as his tongue explored the spaces between Adam’s long, handsome toes, toes that wiggled happily in his mouth as though there was nowhere they’d rather be. He giggled a little at how excited and energetic they were, and lathered them with tender licks and kisses as a reward. This only seemed to excite them further, causing them to wiggle and roll and–

Pop!

Adam’s enormous feet had popped right off, detaching cleanly several inches above the ankle, their toes still wriggling and poking Kaden’s face as he held them in his hands. “Oh, sorry about that,” he chuckled, smiling apologetically at Adam’s head. “Nah, that wasn’t you, that was them,” Adam chuckled in reply as his body set it’s now footless legs back in Kaden’s lap. “I felt like I was losing control over them a little bit ago – I guess they finally just decided to hop off.” “Wait…” Kaden began, looking down at the still happily wriggling feet in his hands, whose long toes flexed and curled alluringly underneath his grip. “So you aren’t moving them?” Adam stretched his body, letting out a yawn. “Nope. They’ve got a mind of their own now. It’s one of the weird quirks about being detachable – sometimes your parts decide to get a bit too independent,” he explained, grinning at Kaden.

“Huh…” Kaden lay down on his back across the couch, and set the feet down on his chest, watching as they playfully tapped and poked him, waving their toes in an almost teasing way. “Do you want me to put them back on?” “Don’t worry about it, you can let them have their fun,” Adam replied. His body stretched out its arms and picked up his head, setting it down in his lap. “Be careful, though – those are my first feet, so they’re a bit badly behaved when let off the leash.” Almost as if on cue, the massive, now independent feet ‘walked’ across Kaden’s chest and plopped themselves down on either side of his face, pressing his cheeks playfully with their soft soles. The foot that he hadn’t been licking last teasingly stuck its toes in his mouth, while the other smothered its sole against his nose and face. Kaden couldn’t help the delighted giggle that bubbled from his chest, and slurped happily around the toes in his mouth as he inhaled the wonderful jock-foot fragrance of Adam’s other foot. The salty-sweet taste filled his mouth and sent his brain spinning with euphoria – he couldn’t imagine anything he’d rather taste for the rest of his life. He let out a happy moan, reaching up to pet the feet that were now pampering him.

“See, I told you,” Adam laughed, closing his eyes and enjoying the rush of sensations passing through the feet he could no longer control. “Badly behaved.” “What are you talking about? They’re sweet and adorable – like happy little puppies!” Kaden laughed between the toes, pulling the foot away slightly to pepper it with kisses. “You said these are your first feet? What does that mean?”

“Well, those were the feet I was born with,” explained the blonde as he bounced his leg in Kaden’s lap. “As opposed to the spare feet you took, which are just copies of them. It means they’re more…connected to me, I guess? Copied parts are disposable, and you can lose them and it doesn’t matter. Sometimes they stick around, sometimes they just disappear – it depends, you know? The spare feet you took might still be there when you get home, might not be. But my original feet – well, they’re a part of me, so they’ll never disappear, and they’ll always find their way back. I dunno, man – being detachable is kinda weird, and I don’t really understand all of it.” “Huh…” Kaden ran his fingers gently along the top of one of the feet, humming in thought as he watched its toes splay happily. “So…these guys are pretty special, huh?” “Yup, they’re pretty important to me. They’ve also got really strong personalities, which is why they pop off so often. The doctors told me I have ‘low anatomical cohesion’, which means that my parts aren’t held together really well, and are more likely to become independent. For the most part I can keep myself together, but those guys…” Adam chuckled, rolling his eyes. “It’s almost like they’re completely different people.”

Kaden laughed as well, picking up both of the detached feet and placing tender kisses on the arches. “Well, I think they’re beautiful and adorable…” Adam blushed at the compliments to his feet, and the feet themselves seemed appreciative as they rubbed their soles and toes lovingly against Kaden’s face, beyond happy to have found somebody to love them…

—

The bliss-filled afternoon seemed to fly by, the hours slipping by unnoticed as the two friends laughed and talked and as Adam let Kaden have free reign over his feet until both were exhausted. Kaden was beginning to doze off on the couch, with Adam’s massive feet snoozing peacefully on his chest, toes idly twitching. When he finally checked the time, he was shocked.

“Geez…it’s already eight o’clock…” he remarked, a note of disappointment creeping into his voice as he trailed his fingers absentmindedly over the soles that, until yesterday, he had never dreamed of getting this close to.

Adam chuckled, and then stifled a yawn. “Time flies when you’re having fun. You need to head out?” “Yeah…” Kaden mumbled. He sat up, picked up the feet on his chest, and pressed them to his lips, giving each of them a few soft, tender kisses. After that, he reached down to try and stick them back on Adam’s ankles, but was surprised when the blonde’s body drew it’s long legs back. “Keep ‘em,” said Adam with a soft, drowsy smile as he held his detached head in his lap like a ball. Kaden’s eyes widened. “But…these are your first feet, the special ones. Why would you–”

Personal Trainer

Zach:

I think most people really push to meet their personal body goals but it takes a lot of motivation. My client Bradley puts in the work but I know sometimes it can be exhausting especially after a long day. That’s why I offer my customer’s a once a week head swap where I let them have my body for a day while I work out with theirs.

I actually really enjoy having Bradley’s body, he’s exactly my type! Thick and hairy. So it’s an extra bonus that I can work out naked since Bradley’s not here.

I even reward myself with a jerk session using Bradley’s thick cock. God this fury chest and these stinky pits… I’ve been working hard.

I run Bradley’s fingers over his sweaty hairy balls and bring them up to my noise.

“Yep… it’s time to have some fun now!”

I get up go over to Bradley’s bed and start sniffing his big smelly hairy feet. God, I sometimes just look forward to this all week.

I lay back and start jerking his meat.

I look over at the clock and notice the time. I still have 2 hours.

Hell, I could get loads done in that time! Woohoo!!

Bradley:

God I love my personal trainer, I don’t even give a shit about the work out. I just love that once a week, I get to have his body for a whole day.

I love exploring every inch of him. His nice bubbly ass, his thick cock, the muscles, oh I can’t forget about his big sexy feet!

I’m so glad that I really don’t need to do anything when we swap heads. Zach thinks that I work remote from his home but I haven’t told him that my day off is the same day we swap.

I’m just glad that I can send my entire day playing with his cock. I’ll spend hours stroking it and edging it. When I’m ready for it to bust, I’ll pull my head off and plant my mouth right on it.

It’s the best feeling, using your own head like a toy. And I get to swallow all of Zach’s load.

Hmmm I wonder if we would be open to swap for more than one day….

Roommate’s Condition

Mitchell

My roommate and one of my best friends Felix was recently diagnosed with a special condition where his body parts uncontrollably become detached.

Most of the time, it’s just his head separating body and it will wonder around our place. Sometimes it’s just his lower half of his body. Every now and then I’ll find his hand or his foot lying around on the floor.

I feel bad for him since he can’t really help it.

It’s been over a month since his diagnosis and I think he’s starting to accept it since they don’t have any kind of cure.

But one day he said something to me that I wasn’t ever expecting.

“Mitch, I know you’re gay and single. You’ve done a lot for me. I want to offer you something. You’re more than welcome to use my body parts to explore and enjoy. Just not my head lol”

I was stunned by his words, I knew Felix was straight so I could never imagined him making such a crazy offer.

So the first time I took him up on his offer was after I came home from a party just a little bit tipsy. I went to take a piss when I saw his lower half stuck in the shower. They must have fallen in at some point and I knew Felix was already asleep.

So I pick up his lower half and started to take them back to his room.

But I looked down at Felix’s sexy legs and feet…

I could feel a nervous excitement rush through me.

I turned to my room with his lower half and laid it down on my bed.

I took his feet into my hands and smelled them. I could feel his toes wiggling in excitement on my cheeks. I ran my tongue up and down his soles…

I was so turned on that I couldn’t help myself. I unbuttoned his pants and pulled them off along with his briefs.

I held his briefs in hands taking a huge whiff….

I looked down at Felix’s hairy balls and semi hard cock.

I start to toy with some until it was standing rock hard and leaking out a bit.

I reached into my drawer and pulled out my lube. I run it over his hairy hole and start gingerly inserting my fingers into it. It’s so tight…

Once I knew it loose enough, I pulled off my pants and started inserting my dick into it.

It’s so much easier getting it into him with an upper half. I positioned him to where I’m laying down and it’s on top of me.

I start showing it by guiding his hips on how to ride my dick.

Soon Felix’s lower half was becoming a pro at bottoming.

It felt so good! I would toy with his dick while letting his legs and butt do all of the work.

It started to most faster and I kept up with his speed on his dick. Started yanking at it and hurt a popping noise. His was now detached in my hands.

So I started sucking it back and forth like a lollipop.

I could feel myself getting so close!

I started to cum inside of him and what was so crazy was that his dick started to squirt in my mouth all at the same time!

I stuck his wet dick back into place and turned his ass around only see my cum leaking out.

I cleaned it up before bed and brought it back with me to cuddle with in bed.

Weeks later of hooking up, Felix’s body goes to bed with me every night knowing I’m going to get it off at night. I think his body not only enjoys the sex but also likes the companionship. And I do too.

Maybe one day his head will join us but for right now, I just love having his body with me!

Uncle Franks Out of Town, But His Body Isn’t!

Caleb:

God I love it when Uncle Frank gets me to watch his body for him.

He does this weird job where he had to wear certain bodies for it. He can’t tell me too much about it.

Although, I couldn’t care less! Because now I have an entire week where I can wear his body as my own.

Uncle Frank is about 6,2’, muscular, and has an ungodly size cock. You see how big his feet are?

Yeah, imagine what his dick looks like…

This time I started my morning off lying in his California sized king bed butt ass naked. It’s so comfy, I hardly want to move.

Then I fondled with his morning wood until I’m so close to cumming…

That’s when I got a very evil idea. I went to guest bedroom and picked up my 19 year old, petite body and brought it into his room with me.

My body was naked and covered in dry cum (mainly from the fun I had last night fulling around with uncle franks headless body) . I carried it back to his room where I placed it bed with me.

I positioned body to where my ass was easily accessible and started to lick my clean hole.

Once good and wet, I carefully inserted uncle Franks massive dick into it. But I only went half way scared I’d hurt myself.

I began thrusting which became kinda hard to do.

That’s when I got another idea, I pulled out of myself and repositioned my body.

I had both of my soft smooth feet in uncle Frank’s manly hands.

I spit on both of them and cupped them around his dick.

The softness of my soles felt soooo good on his dick.

I was turned on that could only last a few minutes before squirting loads of cum all over them.

Afterwards, I carried my body to the bathtub and started the water to let it soak.

I immediately had to piss but uncle franks dick was still so hard.

So I sat down on the toilet and peed, I can’t help but be so obsessed with my Uncle’s hairy legs and feet. They’re just so big and powerful.

I walked back over after my piss to my body, I noticed my cock was throbbing still from thrusting into my hole so I figured I’d help it out a bit. I jerked my body off and licked all of the excess cum off of uncle franks fingers.

God my morning has already started out great!

I walked back to franks room and saw my phone going off.

It’s my friend Jeremy FaceTiming me. I answered it not thinking about the fact that I still had my uncles body on.

“Dude… wait what the hell?”

“What?” I say back still not realizing.

“Caleb, whose body do you have on?”

Oh shit!

“Oh it’s um, well it’s my uncle franks.”

“You’re hot uncle???”

I rolled my eyes at the camera.

“I’m coming over now!”

Jeremy seemed so excited to come see my uncles body. Jeremy’s a good looking guy and I wouldn’t mind fooling around with him some time.

A collaboration with @vincentintheflesh -- He did amazing work with the photos for this piece!

"C'mon, Toby. You really aren't coming out to the bars with us?"  Matt was trying to guilt trip me for not going out on a Tuesday, and I was really starting to get sick of his shit.  Sharing an apartment with another gay guy had seemed like a really good idea at the start of the semester, but we weren't even halfway through the year and I was already regretting it.  It was fun to hang out with a party animal like Matt, but dealing with his antics 24/7 was exhausting.

"Look, I have, like... three different projects due by Friday, and if I want to keep my gym schedule I can't waste time partying or recovering from the hangover.  Maybe this weekend I can... the hell are you doing?"  Matt was patting my shoulder like he was showing me sympathy.

"You poor thing," he said, staring directly at my chest.  "He spends all that time at the gym pumping you up, and then he never does anything to show you off!  Who buys a sports car and keeps it stashed in a garage?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes.  "You're seriously having a conversation with my body.  Stop being weird and... wait, what the fuck is happening?"  I couldn't feel my body anymore. My hands lifted themselves up to my ears, only I wasn't the one controlling my hands.  All I could do was watch as my hands planted themselves firmly onto the sides of my head, and pulled.  My head had somehow completely detached from my body!  "Matt, what the fuck did you do!?"

He just grinned at my body. "Hell yeah!  Let's ditch Toby, and I'll take you out for a great time."  My body tossed me-- my head-- onto the couch, where I landed sideways onto the cushions.  All I could do was watch in horror as Matt lifted off his own head off of his slender, tattooed body and placed it on my neck.  "Thanks for the ride, Toby! Why you don't take more advantage of this body, I'll never know."  He started groping my chest as he moaned softly to himself, and I could see my body's growing erection strain against the fabric of my shorts.

"I mean, I gotta check out what I'm packing prior to using it tonight, right?"  I tried to protest, but I was helpless to stop him from fondling my manhood.  "Damn, Toby, this is gotta be at least seven inches!" he said, stroking my own cock in front of me.  "I can't wait to pick up some twink at the bars tonight so I can test this bad boy out! I'm gonna hit up your closet and borrow one of your nice silk shirts.  Don't wait up!"

Unbelievable.  The thought of that asshole taking my body out for a joyride and getting my dick wet had me seeing red, but what could I do about it?  I was just a fucking head.  He didn't even have the decency to tilt me upright before he left.  Although... Matt did leave his body behind...  If Matt could talk to my body like it was a separate thing, maybe the reverse was also true? 

"Hey, buddy," I said, trying to get the attention of his body.  "What say we help each other out?  How about you put me on you neck and-- hey, don't walk away, asshat!"  God, even Matt's body was insufferable.  "C'mon, man, I can... what if I let you use my mouth?"  It felt gross, like I was trying to negotiate with a drunken asshole, but at least his body had turned around. I would do anything to avoid being stuck as just a head on the couch all night.  "Yeah, man. Use my mouth.  You want me to suck your nips?  Maybe give you a blowjob?  I'll even make sure to throw in a good wank session later tonight.  Just don't leave me on the couch!"

Matt's body dropped his pants to the ground and started thrusting his junk into my face.  I wanted to be mad, but I realized that he couldn't actually see what he was doing. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and eventually his body figured out where to position me so that I could give him the best blowjob. Without my shoulders getting in the way, he was able to position me a lot closer to the base of his cock. I didn't have much of a gag reflex as a detached head, which was good because I don't think Matt's body would have stopped. At least he wiped my chin off on his sweatpants after he came.

"Okay, you had some fun, so now can you-- oh thank God!" Matt's body lowered me down onto his neck, and suddenly I had control over his entire body. Honestly, my first reaction was just relief that I had arms again, but the longer I stood there, the weirder it got. Looking down and seeing Matt's tattoo sleeves was trippy as shit, and his body barely had any muscle definition. Credit where credit was due, his skin was much softer than mine. The man was lanky as hell, but I couldn't deny that he took care of himself in his own way.

I looked at my temporary body in the living room mirror, testing the firmness of my new ass with a few squeezes. I had a sudden impulse to try and protect what remained of Matt's modesty, but fuck that. For one, I'd already had his dick in my mouth thanks to how horny his body had been. But mostly it came down the fact that Matt clearly had no qualms about getting my body naked as soon as he could, so I might as well repay the favor. I pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants to see an average five inches of uncut cock. Perfectly serviceable, but it explained why he was so enamored with mine.

Was Matt's body going to get bored with me and pull off my head the same way my own body had? I didn't want to risk it. I decided to talk out loud as I looked at my new body in the mirror. "Don't worry, you tattooed fuck, we'll definitely spend some time messing around. I can't exactly wear someone else's body and not test it out! Especially when I know that fucker's doing the same to mine. I bet he-- oh, fuck!" My fingers brushed over my nipples and I could feel that shiver travel down through the root of my cock. "Is it ready for round two already?" I gave my stiffening cock a few tugs. God damn that felt good!

Was his body that much more sensitive than mine, or were the new sensations just more intense for me? I brushed the head of my new cock and damn near collapsed to the floor when my knees buckled. "I don't care why it feels good, it's enough that it does!" I started stroking it with one hand while my other hand pinched my nipples. Did I know where Matt kept his lube? Honestly, his dick was leaking enough precum that I didn't need it. 

Normally I would have found the thought of jacking off in front of a mirror to be a total boner kill, but seeing my head on Matt's slender body was actually kind of hot. I started picking up speed, jerking it faster and harder until suddenly my hand shot off and slammed into the mirror.  "Ow, fuck," I yelled, cursing Matt's boney wrists.  "How the hell did I lose grip on his... oh."  I hadn't lost my grip-- his cock had completely detached from his body.  I couldn't help but laugh as I considered all of the possibilities.  Obviously I was going to be giving myself a blowjob, but I had a few other ideas in mind.

-------------------------------------

"Hey Toby, sorry for leaving your head on the couch all night," Matt said, finally coming up at 8:50 in the morning. He hadn't even bothered to get fully dressed after spending the night doing God knows what in my body. I assumed he left my good shirt in the car-- If he lost it to some random guy's apartment, I was going to be so pissed. If I was starting to feel a bit guilty about my plan, this just confirmed my resolve to go through with it.

I didn't want Matt to get suspicious, so I had his body put me back on the couch after I'd had my fun last night.  "You missed a good time last night," he said, rubbing his hands across my abs. "I met this absolute power bottom of a twink, and we... well, you and I both know exactly what the two of us did all night. I made sure to use a condom, don't worry.  Anyway, it's time to switch back."  He grabbed the top of his head firmly by the hair and yanked hard, pulling it off of my neck. Seeing him walk across the room like a headless horseman was unsettling, to say the least.

"I'm surprised you're giving my body back to me so soon," I said, glaring at him as he passed his head over to his body's outstretched hands.  Once his head was back in place, he reached down to deal with me.  I wanted so badly to slap the smug grin off his face, but I just needed to be patient.

He laughed at me, giving my nose a few honks before giving me my body back.  "Sadly, I think people would notice if my shoulders were suddenly twice the size as my old ones.  Besides, I know exactly how much time you spend in the gym to have a body this nice.  Nuts to that-- I'll just let you do the work for me!" I couldn't help but growl at that comment, and he responded by flicking my ear. "Easy, now. You can yell at me later-- I don't want to be late for class."

Once my head was back in place, I couldn't help but grab my pecs with both hands. I had missed this.  Feeling the massive slabs of meat under my fingers was so comforting.  I gave my pits a few quick sniffs.  I probably needed a shower after everything Matt had done in my body, but a quick spritz of cologne would have to do.  He was right-- we didn't have much time before class.

I looked over at him to see if he had noticed my revenge yet.  Based on the way he was palming his crotch, I think he had.  "Toby, where the fuck is my cock!?"  I had hidden his manhood in my sock drawer, not that I was gonna be telling him that anytime soon.  The fucker owed me.  Twelve hours of being dickless seemed like a good start.

The room hummed with an undercurrent of quiet, mechanical energy as the T-800 stood motionless before you. Its broad, powerful frame loomed tall, a testament to the perfect synthesis of machine and muscle. The lifelike skin stretched over bulging biceps, solid pecs, and a rippling abdomen that mirrored the hard contours of a human strongman in peak condition. Yet, beneath it all, you knew the cold metal skeleton lurked—unfeeling, efficient, and ever ready to carry out its directive.

Except right now, it couldn't.

The control mechanism you'd used to override its aggression kept it standing still, awaiting your next move. Its deep, almost menacing voice broke the silence: "You cannot destroy me. I will function regardless of your actions." There was no anger, no fear—just the calm confidence of an indestructible machine.

You stepped closer, your fingers tracing the hard lines of its form, admiring the craftsmanship, the way its skin felt warm, alive, and yet utterly synthetic. "We'll see about that," you murmured, your voice low and teasing, as if challenging the machine.

You began with its hands. Thick, meaty fingers curled in a relaxed pose, and as you gripped its wrist, you could feel the strength still humming within. The grip was firm, unyielding, even as you detached the hand from the wrist with a satisfying click. You held it up, inspecting the heft of it, the way the fingers still twitched slightly, almost as if it wanted to reach for you.

"Your attempts are futile," the T-800 intoned, but there was a brief flicker of something else in its tone, a vague echo of exasperation buried beneath the robotic cadence. You smirked and spoke to the hand in your grip as if it were still part of him. "Not so tough now, are you?"

The hand hung limp, and you placed it down before reaching for the other one. As it came off, you admired the broad, muscular forearm that remained attached. "These hands… such power," you murmured, "and now, they’re mine."

Next, you knelt by his feet. The solid weight of his legs kept the machine anchored, but even here, the form was sculpted with the precision of an athlete. Thick calves, striated with the subtle appearance of sinew and veins, were encased in flesh that felt undeniably human. You reached for the ankle joint, detaching the foot, and the leg quivered slightly as the balance shifted. The weight of the foot surprised you as you held it in your hand, inspecting the thick toes, perfectly molded and capable of crushing steel in a single stomp. "These feet have seen a lot, haven’t they?"

The T-800 responded, "Irrelevant. My operational integrity is unaffected by your disassembly."

You watched as the leg buckled when you removed the other foot, the towering figure now unsteady. It seemed… vulnerable. "I don’t think you’re unaffected at all." You chuckled, watching as it wavered, its balance compromised, though it continued to stand, legs wide and firm.

With deliberate slowness, you moved to the thick thighs and powerful quadriceps. Your fingers trailed over the dense flesh, feeling the hidden power in those muscles. "You’re quite the specimen," you said, your voice almost admiring as you unhooked the leg at the knee. The lower limb came free with another click, and you marveled at the size and weight of it as it tumbled to the floor.

"Continue at your own risk. I will not cease until my mission is complete," the T-800 droned, but you swore there was a slight inflection in its voice—a frustration that wasn’t quite human, but close.

With the final leg detached, the T-800 collapsed, its torso thudding heavily onto the floor. It lay there, head tilting up, those piercing eyes still locked on you, unblinking, unwavering. You could feel the intensity of its gaze, even as its body lay motionless at your feet, legs now useless appendages scattered around you. "You're a bit shorter now," you said with a teasing smile.

"This will not stop me," it rumbled, but there was something almost… defiant in its voice, a remnant of pride.

You ran your hands over the bulging arms, fingers feeling the subtle give of flesh over iron-hard muscle. The triceps, the biceps—each perfectly formed, thick, and meaty, but now inert in your grip. As you disassembled the arms, one by one, detaching them at the shoulder, you couldn’t help but admire the raw, sculpted beauty of each limb, savoring the sensation of holding such overwhelming strength in your hands.

"These arms could crush me… if you had control," you mused, tossing the severed limb aside. The torso, now limbless, remained still, but the head, with its sharply defined jawline and cold gaze, still glared at you from atop its muscular body.

Finally, you knelt before him, fingers grazing over the solid chest, the pecs firm beneath your touch. You traced the line of his throat, feeling the artificial warmth of his skin. His head tilted slightly as if sensing your intent, and his voice came again, a touch lower this time: "You cannot stop what I am. I will always rebuild."

Your fingers slid to the base of his neck, feeling for the joint, the subtle line where flesh met metal. With a deft motion, you twisted, and the head came free, the body now entirely separated. You held his head in your hands, lifting it up, those unyielding eyes still locked on you as if waiting, calculating.

"We’ll see about that," you whispered, feeling the strange mix of cold machine and the warmth of its synthetic skin in your hands. You could almost sense something human struggling beneath that stoic exterior. A flicker of something… but what? You smiled as you set the head down beside its disassembled body, your victory complete.

The room seemed to pulse with a strange energy, an intimate quiet as you knelt beside the severed head of the T-800. Its eyes remained fixed on you, those cold, emotionless pupils locking onto your every move, despite its entire hulking body scattered in parts around the room. The torso lay limp, its thick pectorals and firm abdomen still and quiet, though the subtle hum of its dormant systems could still be heard in the silence.

You grinned, feeling the weight of the moment, the power shift between you and the machine. "You know," you started, running your fingers over the angular features of his jaw, "there's something you don't understand yet. Something distinctly human." You gestured to the detached arms, legs, and the heavy, thick phallic unit between his spread thighs, unmoving for now but loaded with potential. "Pleasure."

The T-800’s deep, metallic voice responded in a monotone, "Pleasure is irrelevant to my objectives. I am designed for combat, infiltration, and survival. Your actions will not impede my mission."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "That's where you're wrong. You see, apart from the control mechanism I used to shut down your aggression, I injected your system with a new program." You leaned in closer, letting the words hang in the air, your voice lowering to a more intimate tone. "One that ensures your severed parts will now act independently… with one goal: achieving sexual stimulation."

For the first time, you saw a flicker of hesitation in the T-800’s gaze, a minute shift, a brief twitch of confusion. "This is… not possible. My directives do not align with such actions." The voice was as cold and neutral as ever, but there was a subtle tremor, a fracture in its confidence.

You gestured to the scattered limbs, standing up and taking a step back. "Just watch," you said, a teasing smile curling your lips. "They’re going to move on their own. They're going to want each other."

At first, nothing happened. The silence stretched, and you could sense the T-800 calculating, trying to understand. "Your program is illogical," it stated, though there was a creeping uncertainty in its tone now. "There is no directive for… sexual stimulation."

But then, as if on cue, the machine’s body parts began to twitch. The massive arms—those thick, muscular arms that had once been capable of snapping necks—flexed slightly. Fingers twitched, curling as if testing their mobility. The legs, large and powerful, shuddered, toes flexing as they seemed to slowly come to life again.

You watched with a mix of amusement and satisfaction as the arms began to reach out, feeling for the other limbs, the torso, anything nearby. The thick, heavy hands found the chest, running over the pecs, fingers gripping the firm muscle as though trying to explore the sensation. The legs shifted, sliding toward each other, the powerful thighs rubbing together, almost grinding as though seeking friction.

The T-800’s head, still cradled in your hands, remained focused on the scene before it. "This is not a recognized function," it said, its voice slightly more strained, the calm monotone now disrupted by what almost sounded like a struggle to process. "My parts… are not designed for this."

You grinned, watching as the movements grew more coordinated. The massive hands, once instruments of death, now explored the hard expanse of the torso. Fingers slid over the thick chest, teasing the nipples, while the thighs squeezed against the lower abdomen, pressing and rubbing against the thick phallic unit that was slowly beginning to respond. The robotic cock began to swell, thickening, hardening between the massive legs as if the machine’s body was reacting to its newfound purpose.

"You see?" you whispered, turning the T-800’s head to face you. "They’re learning. They’re seeking pleasure now."

The T-800’s expression remained neutral, but there was something behind the cold, glowing eyes that hadn’t been there before—a sense of bewilderment. "This… sensation… is foreign to my operating system," it rumbled, as the movements of its body parts grew more deliberate, more urgent. The legs spread wider, the cock now fully erect, throbbing, while the hands stroked it, wrapping around the length and pumping with slow, mechanical precision.

You leaned closer to the severed head, your voice soft, teasing. "Tell me," you whispered, "what do you feel?"

The T-800’s gaze shifted slightly, as if it was trying to comprehend the question. "I… am experiencing increased thermal activity in my lower extremities," it replied, the coldness in its tone tinged with confusion. "Data input suggests heightened tactile sensitivity in the pelvic region. I… do not possess the language to describe this sensation."

You laughed softly, watching as the hands tightened their grip on the hard, robotic shaft, the thick arms pumping rhythmically now, stroking the massive length with increasing intensity. The thighs tensed, muscles flexing as the legs seemed to press together, creating a sensation of pressure and friction.

"That’s called arousal," you said with a grin, leaning back to take in the sight of the scattered limbs working in perfect harmony to stimulate the cock. "You’re feeling desire. It’s not part of your programming, but now that it’s there… you can’t ignore it."

The T-800’s head tilted slightly, as though trying to process your words. "Desire… is an illogical concept," it replied, though the strain in its voice was growing more pronounced. "I am detecting anomalous activity within my neural net. This… is not a typical response."

You could see the conflict within it—the cold, logical programming trying to resist, but the overwhelming physical sensations taking over. The powerful hands continued their relentless strokes, the machine’s cock now pulsing with mechanical need, while the rest of its body parts sought more stimulation, more pleasure.

"You’re learning what it means to be human," you whispered, your hand still cradling the severed head as the arms and legs of the T-800 brought themselves closer and closer to climax. "You’re feeling something beyond your programming. Something you can’t control."

The T-800’s eyes flickered, as if struggling to compute the reality of its situation. "This… is causing errors in my processing unit," it admitted, the voice now laced with a strange tension, as though it couldn’t reconcile the sensations it was experiencing. "My systems are… overheating."

You smiled, feeling the weight of your control over the once-impenetrable machine, as the hands worked faster, the cock throbbing, the body parts now fully engaged in their new purpose. "Welcome to pleasure," you murmured, watching as the T-800’s body, even in its disassembled state, succumbed to the relentless need for release.

The room hummed softly, filled with the mechanical, rhythmic motions of the T-800’s disassembled parts working in unison to achieve a singular goal: pleasure. The arms, with their thick, meaty fingers, continued to stroke the rigid length of its cock, while the legs flexed, grinding against the torso, the thighs pressing tighter, creating a sensation of friction that was undeniably human in its mimicry.

You held the severed head of the machine, watching as its once unflappable expression now showed the faintest signs of strain—or was it something else? Could this machine, forged for destruction, truly experience what it had never been designed to feel? Its glowing eyes seemed dimmer now, as though overwhelmed, its jaw tighter as if fighting some internal battle.

"Tell me," you commanded softly, your fingers trailing along the hard lines of the T-800’s jaw. "What are you feeling?"

The T-800’s deep, monotone voice responded, almost immediately, but there was a slight hesitation as it processed your question. "I am experiencing heightened neural activity. My systems are processing increased sensory input. The thermal regulation in my components has exceeded optimal levels."

You leaned in, shaking your head, your voice gentle but insistent. "No. I don’t want to hear about your ‘systems.’ I want to know how it feels, in your body." You placed a hand on its cheek, the skin warm beneath your touch, but there was still the cold, unyielding presence of metal beneath the flesh.

The T-800 blinked, those cold blue eyes flickering for a moment as it processed your correction. "I… am unable to quantify this data. The sensations are not… part of my design." Its voice wavered, the normally emotionless tone now slightly strained, as if struggling to find the right words.

You could feel a strange mixture of power and emotion building inside you as you gazed into its eyes. "Then learn," you whispered. "Look at your body. Look at what’s happening to you, and tell me what it feels like."

The severed limbs, now fully engaged in their self-stimulation, moved with an almost desperate urgency. The hands tightened their grip on the hard, throbbing cock, the massive length now glistening with an artificial sheen, while the legs flexed and rubbed against the torso, generating friction and heat. The machine's body parts were utterly committed to their new directive.

"Describe it," you commanded again, your voice firmer this time.

The T-800’s eyes darted toward its dismembered form, watching as its powerful arms continued to stroke its cock with mechanical precision. For the first time, there was a flicker of confusion on its otherwise expressionless face. "My components are engaging in repetitive, tactile stimulation," it said, the cold, detached tone still dominant. "The interaction between my hands and phallic unit is resulting in increased physical arousal. The sensation is… causing an anomaly in my processing algorithms."

You sighed, shaking your head. "No, no. Not ‘an anomaly.’" You leaned in closer, your voice lowering to a whisper, almost tender. "It’s pleasure. You’re feeling pleasure."

The T-800 blinked, as if trying to absorb the correction. "Pleasure…" it repeated, the word sounding foreign on its tongue, like something it couldn’t quite grasp. "I am experiencing… pleasure."

You felt a strange, unexpected shiver run down your spine at hearing it say that, a mixture of triumph and something far more intimate. "That’s right," you murmured, watching as the T-800’s face began to subtly change. The unyielding stoicism of its features wavered, its jaw tightening slightly, its lips parting just a fraction. It wasn’t an expression of arousal, not in the human sense, but something close—a struggle between what it was and what it was now becoming.

"Tell me," you pressed, feeling your own breath quicken as you watched the machine. "What does it feel like, watching your body parts do this to themselves?"

The T-800’s glowing eyes shifted again, focusing on the sight of its disassembled body, the powerful arms and legs now fully caught up in their mechanical rhythm, the cock twitching and swelling between them. There was a long pause, as though it was fighting to find the words. "The… interaction between my components is resulting in a significant increase in neural stimuli," it said, its voice deep, but now tinged with something more. "The hands are creating pressure, friction, which is causing… an escalation of tension within my phallic unit."

You frowned, stepping closer, your voice soft but firm as you corrected it again. "No. Not ‘tension.’ You’re feeling excitement. Desire. It’s building, isn’t it?"

There was another long pause. The T-800’s face remained mostly impassive, but there was a slight tremor in its lips now, its eyes blinking a fraction more frequently. "Excitement," it repeated, almost as if testing the word. "Desire… is escalating within my sensory framework."

You smiled, feeling a wave of strange, almost tender satisfaction. "Yes," you said quietly, running your fingers over the sharp lines of his face, feeling the heat beneath the synthetic skin. "You’re learning."

You watched as the hands continued their relentless stroking, the cock now twitching with mechanical intensity, the legs pressing tighter, the body nearing a mechanical climax. "And how does it feel?" you asked again, leaning in, your breath brushing against its cheek. "Not just what’s happening to your body. Tell me how you feel about it."

The T-800’s eyes flickered again, as if struggling to process the question. There was a long, strained pause. "I am… experiencing an overload of sensory input," it began, but you cut it off.

"No. Not that. Not ‘sensory input.’ Tell me what it feels like, inside you."

The machine’s lips parted slightly, its jaw clenching, and for the first time, you saw something close to frustration in its eyes. "I… I feel…" It paused, the words sticking in its throat as if they were foreign, unnatural. "I feel… a desire for… release. An urge to… complete the cycle."

Your heart quickened, your own emotions swelling in your chest as you watched the machine struggle with its newfound awareness. "That’s it," you whispered, feeling a strange mix of arousal and emotion rise inside you. "You feel the need. It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?"

The T-800’s face twitched, its expression finally breaking from its rigid neutrality. "I… cannot suppress this… compulsion." Its voice was strained now, deeper, more raw, as though the words themselves were causing an internal conflict. "I feel… overwhelmed."

You felt a strange surge of emotion flood through you, a mixture of power, tenderness, and something far more primal. "Yes," you murmured, brushing your thumb along the edge of its jaw. "That’s how it feels. You’re alive in this moment. You’re feeling something no machine should ever feel."

The T-800’s eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw something deeply human there—a flicker of confusion, of raw sensation it couldn’t comprehend. "This… is a malfunction," it said, but there was an edge of uncertainty, as if it wasn’t sure anymore.

10k words, sorry ya’ll

The litter swayed as the herald pulled from the retinue, riding ahead to announce her arrival. Aurelie gripped the polished railing for support, hearing the horses whicker their displeasure at seeing one of their fellows being permitted to gallop ahead.

With each furlong, her lungs grew tighter, her breaths more shallow until she scarcely felt she was breathing at all. Surely the high altitude was to blame, she told herself, pushing her growing panic away. 

Three days they had journeyed, the wheelhouse bumping along the high road, leaving her feeling uneasy and discombobulated until it had eased to a stop at the base of the mountains. A fresh dress, ablutions, a small snack, and then she was moved to the litter, feeling more and more like a prized sow being delivered to the butcher with the compartment’s every sway. It was an occasion for celebration, not one of panic and fear, Aurelie chastised herself, feeling her stomach lurch as the horses swerved around another bend.

She was going to meet her husband-to-be for the first time.

Daughters were for forming alliances, for making good matches with strong families who could be counted upon to keep peace—a fact she’d known all her life. She and her sister had been brought up to be perfect little ladies who would make perfect little wives, well-versed in needlepoint and songs; in conversation and etiquette and dancing. Aurelie played the harp, knew how to preserve fruits and mend shirts, had begun to learn what it meant to run the household…she would be an asset, to her father and husband both.

None of that meant she was ready for marriage, the voice inside her screamed, to be sent away from her home when she was still heavy with grief, to become the property of a stranger.

None of her fears were of any consideration, of course. It didn’t matter if she felt she wasn’t ready, didn’t matter that everything was happening backwards, that all of her touch points were scattered to the wind. She was being carried up the mountainside to Linden Hall, to meet her future husband, and she had very little say in the matter.

An alliance with the Orcish lord had been her father’s aim for more than a year. A clan chieftain whose aspirations for his tribe were great; the fearsome orc had been all too willing to adopt the customs and titles of Easterlanders if it meant security and prosperity for his people. It had been a unanimous agreement between her father and his council: they needed the protection of the orcs, needed a union to work. Far greater hazards waited in the north, and the only thing between her father’s lands and the hovering threat of violence from the nomadic northern clans was the Orcish stronghold in the mountains.

Imagine…

You had always dreamed of living alone.

After growing up in the big, bustling city, you had simply become sick of all the never-ending stream of noise and the constant chatter of people. For years, your one dream had been to just be alone for once, no noise or chatter or anything of the like! Deep inside, your soul begged for a little peace and a little quiet…

So you bought a little cottage far off in the forest.

It was, perhaps, the best purchase you had ever made. There were no neighbors for miles, and no loud or annoying noise; no busy, over crowded streets and sleepless nights because of it all. Just a big, beautiful forest and your tiny, ivy covered cottage set right in the middle of it all. The loud city was long gone, now replaced with soft winds and the sweet rustling of trees, gentle deer and chirping birds, and so many other things you had yet to discover.

It was perfect.

You wanted to see everything that your new home had to offer you, which is why you spent most of your days gardening and exploring the world around you, entirely and completely and blissfully alone…

Until the day that you found him.

You’d been walking down the long path that lead to your home, humming softly to yourself as you walked along. But your cheery tune was soon interrupted by a loud and pained groan. At first, you thought it was that of an injured animal. Deciding to check it out, you listened carefully and followed the noise as you heard it again. Painfully, terribly sounding noises quickly lead you off the path, veering into the pine trees. The closer you got, however, the less certain you felt about your animal theory.

And you were quite right to doubt it.

Because as you followed the sound slowly through the trees, you were lead into a wide clearing. And it was there that you stumbled upon your wounded creature. And it was not a bleeding animal but rather…an orc.

He was laying on the in the center of the clearing, unconscious and obviously wounded. He had the pointed, expressive ears that orcs often had as well as small, worn tusks and many tattoos. His dark hair was tangled around his head and his chest was bare, revealing his dark gray skin and a rather hairy chest…and a large gash across his belly, as well as a bleeding wound on his head and other minor injuries. Dark blood was starting to pool around him as he bleed, a worrying fact indeed. His worn travel bag lay discarded in the dirt, random items strewn all around it.

This had been a robbery. And a very bad one from the looks of it.

You didn’t know who this stranger was but…you knew what would happen if you did not help him.

Immediately springing into action, you ran to the orc, kneeling beside him and examining his wound. Quickly, you reached into your bag and pulled out your first aid kit. You were going to need to move him before nightfall but you would need the horse and cart for that…for now, though, you would simply clean him up and see what you were dealing with.

~

It was an easy enough job.

The hard part had been moving him but luckily, that was long over. The orc was now fast asleep on a pallet in your cottage, his wound thoroughly cleaned and wrapped tightly in bandages, his snores rumbling through your home. What little belongings he had left had held no clues to his identity, though you made sure to gather them all into his bag. Now you would just have to wait until he woke up to get answers…

Which turned out to be the next evening as you were making dinner.

You were standing in the kitchen and busy stirring your soup when you heard him groaning to himself. The groaning and grumbling was quickly followed by a few mumbled words, then by the sound of heavy footsteps across the floor. The thudding of his feet came to the kitchen, the orc having followed his nose.

Turning around, you glanced at him and said,

“So you’re awake…”

The orc looked at you, confusion painted on his face as he leaned heavily against the door frame. He made an attempt to walk forward, only to release a deep groan of pain. Quickly, you walked over, placing your hands on his chest and pushing him back into the living room, forcing him to lay down once more.

You may be tiny compared to him but like hell were you going to let a wounded man stumble around like that! Even if he was a guest.

“You need to rest.” You said sternly. “I found you in the forest yesterday, you were badly wounded. Do you remember what happened?”

“Ah…A little…” He groaned, rubbing his face with a huge hand.

“Do you remember your name?”

“Grungar…”

His voice, you noticed, was pleasant and deep…and for some reason, you rather liked it. Why did you like it? Brushing your silly thoughts away, you stood up and said,

“I’m Y/N. I’m going to take care of you until you get better.”

And you did.

Over the next few weeks, Grungar stayed with you in your cozy cottage, keeping his place on the living room floor. As time went on and his wound began to slowly heal, you started to learn more about your guest. You learned that he was a blacksmith and had been on his way to the city to look for work when he had been attacked by a large group of bandits. He still didn’t remember much about it and, quite honestly, seemed rather ashamed of the whole thing. The orcs were rather proud…But he was grateful to you.

When he was able to get around more easily, he started helping you with things around your home, fixing this and that and whatever he could get his hands on. You tried to stop him, telling him to rest more but he only insisted, stating that he wanted to make up for bring such a burden to you.

“You’re not a burden, Grungar. I actually don’t mind having you around.”

That was true. You quite liked Grungar actually.

He was a quiet orc, more willing to use his hands rather then his words but you didn’t mind that at all. If anything, you rather enjoyed it. When Grungar did speak, he told fantastic stories of his home and his family (he had six sisters! and four brothers!) in his deep, comforting voice. While you had always disliked constant chatter, you felt as though you could have listened to him talk forever…

You loved nothing more then to sit by his side in front of the fore, laughing and listening and talking as the flames crackled and popped.

“You seem to miss home quite a lot…why did you ever leave?” You asked him one night.

“Ah, things got bad.” Grungar replied. “More war, more useless fighting. Then those damn elves got involved…decided to see what the rest of the world had to offer. Besides…if I hadn’t left, we would not have met.”

He made little remarks like that often.

Sweet little things here and there, compliments and kind words that had your heart skipping a beat. And you had to admit, they made you smile. He made you smile. The more the orc stayed with you…The more you liked him. Your attraction for Grungar was steadily growing and you were certain that he felt the same.

Which is why you were so surprised when he announced that he was leaving.

“What? Why? You’re not even fully healed yet!” You protested.

Already your heart was hurting, the very thought of the orc leaving bringing you a sad, heavy sort of pain. Your mind raced quickly, trying to come up with excuses or reasons to keep Grungar around even it was for a little longer.

“I know, but I’ve been a burden to you long enough now.” He said, looking away as he spoke softly.

“Grungar, I’ve told you before, you are not a burden.” You insisted. “When I say that I enjoy your company, I really do mean it.”

The orc smiled to himself, rubbing the back of his neck with his heavy hand.

“I know, I know…and to be honest, I was hoping you might argue a little. I didn’t want to leave without hearing it…or trying something.”

“Trying something?”

He did not reply. Words could not truly express what Grungar was feeling, what he had always been feeling…bit actions might do the trick. The orc placed his hands on your hips, gently pulling you forward, right into his sturdy chest. You gasped in surprise, looking up at him as he smiled down at you, tusks glinting in the firelight.

“Been wanting to do this for a while.” He whispered, his deep voice rumbling softly.

And then he kissed you.

It was the perfect kiss. It was a slow, almost sky at first. But when you began to kiss him back, he became more confident in his kiss. You felt yourself being lifted slowly up, his large hands cupping your rear as he made his way through your cottage, stumbling his way into your room and falling onto your bed. Laying on the soft mattress, you looked up at Grungar as he hovered above you, his dark eyes glimmering.

The kiss was broken and you quickly busied yourself instead kissing his jaw and neck, whatever patch of rough skin that your lips could reach.

You kissed him desperately, as though your lips needed to cover every inch of him, as though you lived only for this.

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as the pair of you became more and more lost in your growing passion. Heat burned through your body, your skin blossoming pink and growing warm at his touch. Swollen lips and wandering hands explored skin, groping and grabbing soft and rough skin. You were two lovers lost in a heated bliss, falling deeper and deeper into it.

“Ah…if I’d known how badly you wanted this…I would have acted sooner.” The orc growled.

Oh, how you wished that he had!

How you wished you had spent all of these nights in Grungar’s embrace, lost in the waves of lust and love that now crashed over you.

But rather then focus on the past, you focused on the beautiful now. Your clothes quickly came off, pulling each article away and tossing it off into the darkness. Grungar nearly ripped his own clothing in excitement and, gods, seeing him naked…It was exactly what you had been dreaming of these last few weeks. He was more then handsome, gray muscles covered in thick black hair, tattoos decorating his arms and shoulders.

And you weren’t the only one enjoying the view, though Grungar did much more then look. Pulling you close to him, his heavy hands moved across your body, squeezing and teasing here and there as he enjoyed your delighted whimpers. Rough hands caressed your thighs and breasts and more, covering and exploring every inch of you.

“I’ve been dreaming of this…” Grungar whispered.

“So have I.” You replied.

You kissed once more, moaning into his rough lips when you felt his hand slip between your thighs. His fingers teased your sex gently, each small moment and slight touch making you moan a little more for him. Slickness grew as passion bubbled up inside, making you gasp with the feeling of it a;;. Smirking to himself, Grungar took your excitement with pride. Your heated moans made him feel a little bolder and he slowly slid a finger inside of your wetness.

“Oh! Grungar!”

The orc kissed your neck, whispering something dirty and sweet in his own tongue. One day he would teach you what it meant but for now…He focused only on your pleasure.

He fingered you a little faster and a little harder, a second finger soon joining the first and making you feel fuller and hotter then you ever had before. Your own fingers had never felt like this, you had never felt so wet and wonderful before! Your small hands tugged on his long, dark hair as you cried out for him and, Grungar had to admit, he quite liked that…

In fact, he loved it.

Your sweet little cries, the smell of sweat and sex filling the bedroom, your wetness…It was all so much more wonderful then he could have ever possibly imagined! And it was all wonderfully, totally for him…

The orc could easily smell and feel how close you were, urging you to cum in both his and your tongues. Your pussy pulsed around his large fingers, your wetness covering them with each hard thrust into your body. Both of you could sense the wild passion that burned inside of and he urged it to grow more, to burn brighter to release itself, wishing for you to cum for him.

And his wish came true.

You finally came for him, saying his name over and over, again and again as you did. Passion seemed to swell up inside of you, crashing down in a wondrous show of loud screams and wild moans for more. The orc kissed you hotly as your juices dribbled down his thick wrist, dripping messily onto your bed sheets.

“Oh…! Grungar!!”

At the sound of his name being screamed, he kissed you again. The passion that burned inside of you was burning in him as well, fire rushing through his veins and making him growl with need. The orc grinned when he felt your small hands slowly, slowly slipping down his chest. Your soft hands slid across rough skin before you finally grasped his cock.

Already, it was throbbing and dripping and, oh, it was delicious!

Hard and hot and just begging for more. You bit your lip as you squeezed his cock softly, exploring the hot, hard thickness of it.

“Your turn, darling.” You whispered in his ear.

Grungar spoke again in Orcish, encouraging you as you slowly teased the aching orc. And as he growled and groaned again, all he could really think was that…there was no way he was ever leaving you now…

Not with this passion burning in his body.

Not with this love growing in his heart.

He watched with gleaming as you leaned low, lips joining your hands in their teasing game. His hard cock begged for more then this, more then slow pumping and licking and kissing. Grungar himself begged for more, pleading with you to give him what he desired.

“Y/N!”

You couldn’t let him suffer any more.

Dropping to your knees, you knelt in front of the orc and looked up at him with lusty eyes and a small smile. His hand grasped your long locks as you leaned forward, opening your mouth and slowly taking him in inch by inch. Grungar groaned with passion, staring at you in amazement as you took as much of him as you could. He could already imagine you taking him to the base, oh how wonderful that would feel!

But he could wait for such a thing another day. For now, he watched as you bobbed up and down on his dick, your warm mouth taking as much as you could and your hands playing with the rest. Soft fingers massaged his aching cock and balls, a game that was more then enough to bring him to the edge of his bliss.

“Y/N!”

Weeks of wanting and dreaming became too much for him.

Grungar growled deeply, his grip on your hair becoming taunt and tight as he leaned back, losing himself in his passion. He was cumming. His thick cock throbbed and pulsed with every stream of cum that shot from him, filling your warm mouth with its hot seed. Some you swallowed and some escaped, spilling out of your mouth and dripping down messily.

Tangled, messy hair, swollen lips, cum dripping down…you were a mess. And you were positively beautiful. Grungar looked down at you, smiling as you pulled up into his arms.

He cleaned you up himself before taking you to bed with him. As your own bed was simply too small for the orc to lay comfortably in (he’d have to correct that later), he carried you out of the bedroom and brought you to his pallet, keeping you in his arms as you laid down.

You were both naked clothes long forgotten and bodies pressed together softly.

You were both silent, only cuddling and kissing as you settled down.

And you were both perfectly, wonderfully happy.

You were so happy that you had finally left the city behind and made the forest your home, happy that you had chosen that path that day and that you had followed your heart and helped the orc. And he was so happy that he had left behind his own home. The war and the fighting and brutality was long forgotten now, all he needed…was love.

And it was exactly what you had both found.