Shadow Seed 1: The Misbegotten (9 page)

Below him, her consciousness was just returning from the brink of heaven when she felt him position himself, felt the layers of her vagina gape for him.  His touch, it was only the tip.  She had never been more willing, though she was certain she’d felt like this every time he was about to enter her.  Only now, she didn’t care to remember,
this
time was all that mattered.  This was all that was important.  She let him open her legs further.  Her eyes still closed.  She wanted to imagine him as the fleshy embodiment of masculinity edged her apart and they became one.

With his hands at either side if her shoulders, he bent his head to look down, seeing himself poised before her tender opening through the sparse tangle of her pubic hair.  He couldn’t wait any longer.  She was ready.  He was ready.  She shook once more.  The moment he saw the last wave of her orgasm hit her, he entered her – slowly, but firmly.  He didn’t stop until he felt his testicles hit the face of her upturned buttocks.

They gasped together as the thickness of him became thicker.  She bore down and gripped him so tightly down there, it was almost as though she held him with her hand and not with the walls of her vagina.  He let the head barely brushed against the firm aperture of her cervix and then pulled out of her, maintaining the same speed.

“Oh god, Effy, you know you make me cum every time you do that,” she breathed into the air between them as he continued to come from her until he was almost free of her.

Then he plunged back in.

“I know, I love to feel you cum on me,” he replied huskily as her hands came up to hold him about the shoulders, her fingers trying to dig into him, but couldn’t.

She applied her nails when he bumped the end of her vagina for a second time.  A shockwave rolled through her form from head to toe, making her arch her back as he pulled out once more.  She ground her butt into the bed.  Her pubic bone rubbed along the top of his penis as the length of him came from her, the angle so deliciously acute, they each felt the other with such exquisite detail.  Their heads seemed to tingle with it.  Every ripple, every vein, and every bump - they felt it all.

He began to pump into her at a faster pace, her body rising and falling in counterpoint to each thrust.  Then, she crossed her ankles behind his back, so every movement forced their bodies to move in unison.  He drove into her faster, harder.  She met each forward and backward motion with an opposite tilt of her pelvis, crazed to feel the whole of his cock.

He dropped onto his elbows, spreading his legs as well, changing his approach, flexing his feet so he could plunge all of himself into her.  She responded at once, and titled further on her back, her moist sweetness forty-five degrees from the surface of the bed, the perfect position, allowing him the deepest degree of penetration.

He took advantage of her eagerness and brought his knees from the bed.  He poised upon the balls of his feet, so he was balanced upon them, his forearms and his manhood.  He plowed into her and out of her with long, deep strokes, driving her into the bed with each slap of their bodies.

She thrashed and writhed beneath him, raking him viciously with her nails, though she didn’t so much as scratch him, when she should’ve drawn blood.  She bit him on the neck with all of her might and held on, wheezing through her clenched teeth, dainty rivulets of saliva running from the corners of her mouth.  She held on for dear life – with her mouth, her legs, her nails - as he continued to pound her flesh, over and over, again and again.

She met him stroke for stroke, amazed as she felt him grow even larger within her.  The confines of her vagina were being stretched by the sheer immensity of him.  She could feel the helmet of its’ head flicking over each and every ripple inside of her.  It made her insane for him.  She dug her heels into the small of his back, afraid to let go, afraid if she did so, she would scream so hard and shred her vocal cords.

Still, he continued to fuck her hard, on and on, pump after pump, until her breath was becoming ragged, her chest began to burn with over exertion.

Still, he pushed and pushed into her.

She was full with him.  He was making love to very marrow of her bones.

Still, the minutes passed and his rhythmic humps passed in and out of her.

Only he mattered, she wanted all of him.

Still, he continued, for how much longer she lost track.  How many minutes or hours had it been?

He was so deep, the breadth of him was becoming too much.

And still, he hilted himself into her, time and time again.

She tried to hold on, but couldn’t.

He didn
’t stop.

She was driven so far past the place of a mere orgasm, she was exhausted.  Her legs fell from his back.  No longer could she move with him.  No longer could she bite him.  She fell onto the bed, spread-eagled beneath him, convulsing in ecstasy, her energy sapped.  All she could do was accept him, let him fill her and un-fill her.  He was the engine behind the bliss drowning her mind.

He went on, taking all that was her and pounded it into oblivion.

Until, sweat poured from every corner of her body.

Until, she could barely keep eyes open.

Until… she heard…

“…I-I-I… I’m g-going t-t-to cummm,” he managed.

She was seared with rope after rope of his semen, so far inside her, she was certain he splashed directly into her womb, because he warmed the middle part of her body from within.

Oh god, so deeeeep…

She continued to twitch and spasm in concert with each contracting pump of his penis for so long
, it felt like an eternity.  She felt tears fall from her eyes, her mouth go slack and somewhere thereafter, she succumbed to the abyss…

…Oh Estefan, that was so good
, she remembered thinking…

…right before she let the darkness take her.

*****

A few hours later, Flavia’s eyes fluttered opened to the sound of light clanking about the kitchen area of the Null-unit.  An odd, muffled buzz was coming from somewhere beneath the covers of the bed.  More curious about the immediate noise, she lifted the blankets, and, from the dim lights surrounding her, she could see a Stym-sheath had been wrapped around her pelvis, from waist to mid-thigh.  She was otherwise, naked.

“Sorry about that, Flavy.  I guess I got a little out of control earlier,” said Estefan near the Compu-cooker at the far end of the kitchenette.

Her movements must’ve alerted him she was awake.

“W-what happened?” she asked.  Her voice was raw and raspy; her hair stuck to her skull, her entire body sticky with a thick layer of old perspiration.  She smelled of animalistic sex.  It was a basic scent, drawn from the earliest memories of humankind.

He smirked, his expression one he’d give to a
small child who’d just asked a naïve question.  “I think you know what happened,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

Flavia blushed.  “No, you dope, what happened down there?” she asked indicating she meant the Stym-sheath.  He had adjusted the varying bands of the flexible material so it appeared she was wearing a pair of skin tight shorts.

He glanced back at her as if deciding to be facetious or not, and then decided against being cute.  “Just some embarrassing bruises I left behind earlier that I didn’t want you to see,” was his answer, his face sheepish.

“I would’ve healed all the same, Estefan.  Our Mutations always repair our bodies you know that,” she informed him, though her tone was kind, appreciative of his efforts.

He chuckled, leaning against the narrow counter where there was a small depression marking a sink.  He was naked except for an apron tied about his waist.  She let her eyes roam over his broad shoulders and thin hips, lingering on the ropey muscles he had developed over the years. 
He’s bigger than he was as teenager
, she thought errantly, noting how centuries of constant training and preparation had honed his body into something stronger, something more lethal and quick.  It was a change not even his Mutation could alter back to its original state.

His dark eyes found hers and again he smiled with discomfort, almost regret.  “I sort of lost myself with you, Flavia, and I felt bad that you’d be in pain for the next day or so.  I didn’t want you to have to wade through it, knowing I was the cause and could’ve done something to prevent it,” he outlined, fiddling with his hands, his face betraying mild sorrow.

It was her turn to be clever.  “It wasn’t just you, my love, I pushed the limits just as much as you did.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the one with the rock hard body that can crush people,” he reposted quickly.

She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth.  “I’ll take a little passion,” then stopped at his raised eyebrows, “Ok – a lot of passion and a shot of recklessness any day of the week…”  she blinked a few times, gazing at him through her eyelashes, “…Especially with you.”

He giggled like a tween, made all the more funny, because he was so far removed from that characterization.

“But, thank you all the same, Effy,” she added throatily.

His smile was huge.  “You want something to eat?” he asked
, glancing at the digital display hovering before the Compu-cooker.  “I know it’s in the middle of the night, but I thought some food after…,” he gestured with his hands, “you know, might be just what the doctor ordered to help us sleep the rest of the night comfortably.”

“You don’t think I’m too damaged to have solid food?” she asked demurely, though her smile was anything but that.

He rolled his eyes.  “It just bruising, Flavia, otherwise you took it pretty good.”  His grin was flat, stretching the skin of his face.

She sat up, feeling a little of the soreness her lover was talking about, but it wasn’t all that bad.  She’d been injured far worse in the past.

“Can I make you some eggs, maybe?” he prompted, his fingers poised before the programing module of the cooking machine.

“Sure,” she replied at once, the thought of warm scrambled eggs was very appealing to her, especially after their exertions a few hours ago.  “Does that thing make Chorizo?” she added somewhat expectantly.

“Of course, it does, it’s been inputted with Synod software,” answered Estefan.  Since most of them were of Hispanic heritage, all Synod menus included some of the traditional dishes they had grown up savoring.  They weren’t as good as the ones his mother – or grandmother – had made, but they were edible.

“Real or synth?”  She was very expectant now.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm.  “Sorry, babydoll, these Null-units only make synth, but I promise when we get back to Luna Prime I will spend whatever amount of money it takes to make sure you get some of the authentic stuff, okay?”

“Why so saintly, Estefan?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Your wonderful skills have numbed some of my memories of the past… for the time being,” he confessed at once.  Then he turned back toward the Compu-cooker, “Still want some?”

“Yes.”  She laid back down upon the covers, listening to him punch in the proper code for their breakfast, her mind mulling over what he had said.

The past… their past. 
Somehow that made her think.

He grabbed two plates from one of the small cabinets and utensils
, so they could eat like civilized people.

“Maybe you should write it down, Estefan,” she concluded and spoke before knew why she had done so.

She could hear him pause.  There was a sudden absence of sound.

“Write what down, Flavy?” he asked tentatively.

Her brow furled, and she wondered if she was about to hurtle them both off a cliff.  “The past… our past,” she forged on, her thought of a few moments before the only thing she could articulate.  She didn’t know how he would react.

“What would that accomplish?” he asked with only a trace of ire in his tone.

She felt herself shrug underneath the blankets, staring up at the low slung, metallic ceiling, its’ surface rough and unfinished.  She could see where its’ builders had scorched it with their molecular-bonding welding torches.  They hadn’t bothered to buff them out of the compounds they merged, it wasn’t part of their work order.  Null-units were fashioned for necessity, not extravagance.  They served a single purpose and a single purpose only – hide its occupants from all Human Celestes for as long as possible.

“There can be therapeutic aspects of seeing your thoughts on screen, of seeing your innermost feelings explained, quantified.  I’ve heard it has a blunting affect, so that issues seeming huge in our minds, aren’t so daunting when we see them manifest before our eyes
, in word form.  They become less conceptual and more or less, mere words, things we can understand, because they are defined, rationalized.”  She looked away from the ceiling, examining instead, some of the bruises on her forearms, more evidence of their burning sexual encounter.  “Maybe if you wrote a journal of our past, of what happened all those years ago, you’d be better equipped to handle your fears in the present.”  She deliberately kept her voice monotone, clinical, devoid of enthusiasm.  She wasn’t sure if he’d take it as condescension.  An iota of that could make him angry I seconds and shut him away from her for weeks.