#alpha beta robotus

Just that moment where everything’s so much more tender and visceral and real — that initial moment where you get to put your hands on his bare skin, where only your touch has been. He’s pathetic, babbling and at your mercy in a reversal and putting you upon the godly pedestal he initially claimed and carved for himself, needing your kindness and affection and dutiful care far more than he needed his pride. Call that an override.

Everything has built slowly up to this, with gentle touches making him tremble and the soft breath of your speech against his ear, his neck, his bared skin as you remove more and more of his clothing. Oh dear, the second your heated skin touches his, you murmur a concern aloud at how you can nearly hear him whirring, overheating from the increased sensations. He assures you, but it's only after a moment of trying to merely process whatever you had said, with AB being drunk on your touch and almost at the brink already, it's hard to focus on just one thing you are doing when he's feeling it all. It's everything all at once. Crashing over one another like waves in a storm.

You can't say you hate watching him like this, used to him attempting or being in control most times. He's moldable like softened clay, malleable as you run your hands over him and feel him lean into every touch and caress.

The whole time, he's flushed and bratty and begging, all barking and biting at the air as his body melts into yours. He doesn't know what to do with himself beyond weak attempts at trying to hold you or please you that are abandoned the second he feels your tongue on his pulse and your hands below the waistband of his pants. The pressure builds within him, and his body is working overtime already, but your fingers feel so soft against his kin and oh my god they're going lower and lower he's set to burst and fuckfuckfuckfuck you're right above his dick oh my god you've put your hand on it and you're grasping and gently stroking and fuckfuckfuckfuuuuuuck.

Call it a meltdown the second he's releasing early and whimpering pathetically, incoherently for you. He's offering a litany of apologies about not warning you and how he didn't realize he was that sensitive as he absolutely coats your hand and his pants in artificial semen. He's barely stopped spurting out drops of pearly cum by the time he's mustered up the courage to lift his gaze to yours. You've fixed his belt, tucking him back into his also soiled boxers and felt him buck against your hold at the hypersensitivity. You brought your soiled hand to your lips to lick off the cum that drips down your digits.

You simply smirk around your middle fingers, hollowing your cheeks before lewdly removing them with a wet pop and simply telling him, "Oh don't worry baby, we've got all night to test just how sensitive you really are and push you to last a little longer." You drag him away by the hand after tugging him by the belt loops with the promise of strength training for his new endurance so you can make the absolute most out of his newfound sensory limits.

@ sin-sidejob 2025 -- please do not repost or copy my work.