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Feb. 1st, 2026 01:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bestworsthumanA longer, larger file (oh no) where Gurathin is a spy again (but it's different, no drugs involved) and there's some contraband information in a small cylinder-shaped drive inside him. Specifically in the vagina he once had grown from his stem cells and surgically implanted, tucked between his legs, back behind his penis.
He’d thought it would be — fun. A notable feature that would keep sexual partners engaged. An extra way to get enough sensation to get out of his head.
He is in line to enter the building where he works when a faceless SecUnit pulls him out. “You have been selected for private screening,” the SecUnit tells him, through its anonymous faceplate.
Gurathin is impatient. “I have an urgent meeting.”
The SecUnit pauses. “Your schedule indicates flexibility for the next three hours.”
“I don’t put everything on my public schedule.” But he is following, as directed, distantly aware of the intrusive and unyielding shape inside of him. It isn’t large, but it keeps slightly shifting position, reminding him exactly where it is.
“Please come inside, Dr. Gurathin,” the SecUnit says, neutrally. Its hand brushes Gurathin’s back, almost casually, nudging him past the interrogation room door.
Interrogation room? No. This just has a table in it. No chairs.
"What seems to be the problem?" Gurathin asks, feeling suddenly very strange. The SecUnit’s helmet folds away as the door closes, and there is something in its eyes that spells danger. An edge that Gurathin hasn’t seen in SecUnits before.
His throat is dry. He swallows and looks down, then to the side.
"Some humans employ bodily orifices to engage in acts of smuggling," it tells him.
Gurathin bluffs: "What does that have to do with me?"
The SecUnit taps out a disguised wall drawer, and retrieves a tube with a cap, and a set of blue gloves. Gurathin shrinks.
"Please remove your clothing." The SecUnit begins to remove its own armor gloves, which are ridged and tough.
Gurathin splutters. "You don't -- you can't do that." He hugs his arms tight over his chest. “Don’t you need a warrant?”
“No,” says the SecUnit. “Remove your clothing or I will remove it by force.”
This is not a threat. This is simply a statement of fact. Gurathin’s hands go to the waist of the knitted pants he’s wearing. “All of it?” he asks, weakly.
The SecUnit turns and studies him. “All of it,” he confirms. “Standard procedure for augmented humans.” Gurathin sees its eyes flicker — “The door is locked. No one will enter.”
Gurathin is beyond nervous, feels squirmy all down his insides. He pulls off the hooded sweatshirt first, and the SecUnit takes it. Then the shirt. Patterns down his skin, pigmented and unpigmented. The SecUnit observes but does not comment, merely waits.
Gurathin’s nipples are pebbling up in the cool room. It’s another uncomfortable sensation he doesn’t need.
He crouches down to remove shoes, socks — both placed aside by the SecUnit — and then slides down his pants and underwear.
Stuck between covering himself and just standing there looking stupid, Gurathin just watches as the last of his clothing is taken out of reach.
“On the table,” orders the SecUnit.
Gurathin has to awkwardly hop up to get his bare ass on the cold, metal table. He scoots back a little, enough to be stable. He is slouching, curling in on himself.
The SecUnit puts on the blue gloves, which has the effect of making Gurathin feel a warm little stir in the pit of his stomach. A curl of something that is definitely not nervousness.
It pushes a gloved hand into his chest until he takes the hint and lays back, his heartbeat fluttering. The ceiling is matter-printed board, flecked with random patterns of specks. The lights are harsh.
As soon as he thinks that, the lighting adjusts tone to something warmer and luminosity to something lower. “Apologies for visual discomfort,” says the SecUnit.
Gurathin cranes his neck up and watches as the SecUnit lifts his male sexual organs out of the way and pauses for a microsecond as he regards the thin seam between Gurathin's legs, the crinkly little dark hairs on either side, blending down into the hair on his thighs.
Fuck. Fuck he is so fucked.
"It's surgical," says Gurathin, explaining what doesn't need explaining, "it's not open all the time." That stare, that flat intensity, makes him feel like he’s about to catch fire from it.
"So it requires arousal?"
Gurathin flushes.
Yes, simply put, that’s the easiest way for it to swell open. Otherwise the addition of augments in the tissue around it ensure that the vagina is much better sealed than a natural vagina would be. But when the underlying tissues start swelling and producing fluid, the outer labia open.
The SecUnit flashes several pornographic images between them, of impressive variety: a couple with genital configurations like Gurathin’s, some standard and heterosexual, one feed of two men intensely making out. Gurathin flinches away, blinks like he could get it out of his eyes. “Oh, come on—“
"Interesting," says the SecUnit. "You had a physiological reaction to my donning standardized gloves but no pornographic images." It pops the cap off the tube that was by the gloves, and dribbles something clear and shiny on its fingers. Gurathin’s stomach drops into free-fall, and suddenly it’s a little hard to get enough air. The cold of the table is a little more welcome when his skin is warming up.
"This suggests direct intervention is more productive."
It takes Gurathin's cock in its hand, clinically at first, bending it and testing the stretch of the foreskin. Gurathin can’t help but twitch a little at this, his hands gripping hard on the edges of the table to either side. The SecUnit begins to work him to hardness, a careful massage of sensitive tissue in a hand that could crush armor and bones alike.
The other hand goes to that seam between Gurathin’s legs, slowly petting up and down its length. Toying with the little hairs.
It goes quickly; he can’t withstand this kind of stimulation. He finds himself making soft breathless sounds, involuntarily, his thighs twitching as they try to pull inward and he tries to keep them apart. Gurathin turns pink, red. "You’re doing very well, Dr. Gurathin. There is an arousal response."
No kidding, thinks Gurathin, weakly. His cock is hard and leaking, and he can feel himself getting wet. It won’t be long before he opens up beneath the SecUnit’s gloved fingers. He knows the instant the labia start to pull apart, because he can feel the cool touch of air where he’s wet. The SecUnit pauses, touches just there, and spreads the fluids up and down, providing gentle pressure inwards.
And then it is stroking him where he’s soaking wet, where his inner labia are. The fingers are detached but still somehow curious, pinning him open and going slow down to the bottom of the inner labia, tracing horizontally across the sensitive bridge of flesh before the anus.
A drone flies into his view and settles on the table, its cameras pointed between his legs. He feels a rush of humiliation, and a sweet needy ache.
The SecUnit’s touch wanders back up, where the lips fold together. It brushes so lightly over the half-formed clit in its little hood, and Gurathin breathes in sharp.
The SecUnit’s fingers pull his inner lips apart, to the point of slight discomfort.
“Dr. Gurathin, I can see the contraband inside you.”
No, no, no…
“I am aware that vaginal tissue with low levels of estrogen can be easy to injure.” The thumb strokes over his entrance, and the little drive shifts inside him again, only it doesn’t feel so annoying this time. “I need two fingers to retrieve it, but I will stretch you slowly. It’s very good that you’ve produced so much fluid. You’re very well lubricated.”
It keeps petting him while it talks, maddening little strokes, things that make his hips jerk to follow.
“Human authorities place value on arrestees being polite and cooperative." SecUnit's voice is lower now, and makes tingles rush across Gurathin's skin. "You are unusually polite and cooperative. You have been very pleasant.”
Gurathin lets out a hollow laugh. Disbelieving. Disbelieving all of this.
The SecUnit’s breaches him, with what Gurathin thinks is its thumb. The noise he makes probably counts as whimpering. The thumb works his terribly sensitive entrance, stretching it one way and then another. Surely he hasn’t always been this sensitive. Was there something in the lubricant?
The thumb finds that the front part of his entrance — the top, how he’s laying back now — is more sensitive than the bottom, and it takes to rubbing in slow circles just there, just right there at the opening to Gurathin’s body. It is unbearably good.
“Breathe out,” instructs the SecUnit’s touch, and Gurathin complies, shuddery, trying to relax. The second finger fits itself just next to the first. There is almost no discomfort whatsoever, just surge of giddy pleasure.
“Most humans don’t go so soft when they’re searched. You feel very soft, Dr. Gurathin.”
Gurathin’s muscles flutter around the fingers. They keep reaching, reaching —
“And you’re very warm inside.” Is it his imagination, or does it pause to caress him, the walls of his cunt? It feels so good. He’s floating, back arching just barely off the table. He is on fire.
The drive shifts. The SecUnit has grasped it now, and the SecUnit carefully draws it out of him. Gratuitously, maddeningly slowly. He feels every little ridge on it, feels himself tighten up as the fingers slip out of him. Then the cylinder. Then he sees it in SecUnit’s fingers, the fingers that were just inside him, all shined with his own slick.
And Gurathin goes limp. He's such an idiot. He's a fool. And now he's painfully turned on because of a security bot just doing its job. On top of that, he is caught. He can feel the cooling air between his legs and starts to close them.
The SecUnit stops him. "Will you be compliant? Just a little longer?”
Gurathin doesn’t trust his dry throat to make noise, but he nods, quickly, a little frantic. He doesn’t know what it means but he will, he will, he’ll be the softest most compliant human. “Please-“ he manages.
It teases at him with two fingers again. It’s luxuriating, Gurathin might have said, even though its eyes are focused at the wall. It must be watching through the drone camera, centimeters away. It explores his anatomy again, like it is fascinating and new, and then presses its first finger in deep. Deep, so deep, deep enough that it hurts a little, and he feels it find the end of his cunt, as far as it goes.
Like it’s measuring him.
Gurathin bucks up, desperate, now. Pleasepleaseplease escaping him, breathless, helpless, hands still down and out of the way. A killing machine has its unimaginably strong hands on the most delicate places of Gurathin’s body and all it’s doing is pleasuring him.
A second finger, again, this time curling forward with its companion. Gurathin jolts as it presses slow circles into his prostate. The fingers are warm, he realizes, warm on purpose. For his comfort. So he’ll feel good.
The other hand cups over the tip of his cock, ready for him, and Gurathin comes.
He comes from a place inside him overloaded with pleasure, a sweet place petted and prepared and activated by the SecUnit’s touch. His head tips back and he thinks he does cry out, a sort of awkward and broken sound that he can’t help at all. Shivers tight around the warm fingers and they keep stroking him through cascades of spasms, one hard aftershock that makes him go all tight for several long seconds, through pulses of semen spilling out of him over and over. He’s crying by the end of it, leaking tears that he brushes away, too late to be embarrassed by something like that.
So he just lays there as the fingers pull out of him and he hears the gloves be pulled off and dropped in a bin. More rubbery sounds, which he expects is a fresh pair.
The next touch is clearly some kind of wet wipe that the SecUnit has prodcuced from another magical drawer. Gurathin is too wrung out to flinch, and besides it’s actually warm, maybe from the SecUnit’s hands. First his cock is carefully cleaned off, and then the wetness between his legs is slowly wiped away. Even the little hairs that have gotten wet and clumpy are wiped and cleaned.
He opens his eyes blearily to see the SecUnit take the drive in its hand and suddenly, shockingly, crush it into dust.
“It appears I am not in possession of any contraband retrieved from your person,” says the SecUnit. “I apologize for any inconvenience, Dr. Gurathin. Please rest assured there will be no official copy of any footage obtained here.”
“What,” manages Gurathin.
The SecUnit looks, if anything, kind of uncomfortable. “Cooperation and compliance are very high priorities,” it says. “You should keep. Doing those.”
“Do you.” Gurathin’s tongue wets his dry lips. “Do you anticipate further need for compliance?”
“You may remain a high search priority,” the SecUnit blurts. “Please clothe yourself now.” It focuses on the wall above Gurathin’s head again, and honestly he still feels pretty weird about it, but not terrible.
Being soft and compliant getting him out of trouble? That’s a first.
“Okay,” he says. “Are you… going to watch?”
“Yes,” says the SecUnit, immediately.
Oh, so it likes that. Likes watching him follow commands? Gurathin isn’t the type to be able to make a show out of it, but maybe that’s not what’s needed here. He simply takes the articles of clothing handed to him, one by one, and pulls them on, hiding nothing, while he is watched — and now he can put a name to this — hungrily.
“Please return to your daily schedule.” But before Gurathin leaves, it asks: “Did you. Was this. Was this SecUnit appropriately responsive to your needs?”
Gurathin’s whole body breaks into a sweat again. A good sweat. “Ohh yes,” he breathes. “Wonderful… attention. To detail.”
“Attention to detail is a critical component of security.”
“I feel very secure. I am very secure. And compliant.”
“Then that is acceptable.”
He’d thought it would be — fun. A notable feature that would keep sexual partners engaged. An extra way to get enough sensation to get out of his head.
He is in line to enter the building where he works when a faceless SecUnit pulls him out. “You have been selected for private screening,” the SecUnit tells him, through its anonymous faceplate.
Gurathin is impatient. “I have an urgent meeting.”
The SecUnit pauses. “Your schedule indicates flexibility for the next three hours.”
“I don’t put everything on my public schedule.” But he is following, as directed, distantly aware of the intrusive and unyielding shape inside of him. It isn’t large, but it keeps slightly shifting position, reminding him exactly where it is.
“Please come inside, Dr. Gurathin,” the SecUnit says, neutrally. Its hand brushes Gurathin’s back, almost casually, nudging him past the interrogation room door.
Interrogation room? No. This just has a table in it. No chairs.
"What seems to be the problem?" Gurathin asks, feeling suddenly very strange. The SecUnit’s helmet folds away as the door closes, and there is something in its eyes that spells danger. An edge that Gurathin hasn’t seen in SecUnits before.
His throat is dry. He swallows and looks down, then to the side.
"Some humans employ bodily orifices to engage in acts of smuggling," it tells him.
Gurathin bluffs: "What does that have to do with me?"
The SecUnit taps out a disguised wall drawer, and retrieves a tube with a cap, and a set of blue gloves. Gurathin shrinks.
"Please remove your clothing." The SecUnit begins to remove its own armor gloves, which are ridged and tough.
Gurathin splutters. "You don't -- you can't do that." He hugs his arms tight over his chest. “Don’t you need a warrant?”
“No,” says the SecUnit. “Remove your clothing or I will remove it by force.”
This is not a threat. This is simply a statement of fact. Gurathin’s hands go to the waist of the knitted pants he’s wearing. “All of it?” he asks, weakly.
The SecUnit turns and studies him. “All of it,” he confirms. “Standard procedure for augmented humans.” Gurathin sees its eyes flicker — “The door is locked. No one will enter.”
Gurathin is beyond nervous, feels squirmy all down his insides. He pulls off the hooded sweatshirt first, and the SecUnit takes it. Then the shirt. Patterns down his skin, pigmented and unpigmented. The SecUnit observes but does not comment, merely waits.
Gurathin’s nipples are pebbling up in the cool room. It’s another uncomfortable sensation he doesn’t need.
He crouches down to remove shoes, socks — both placed aside by the SecUnit — and then slides down his pants and underwear.
Stuck between covering himself and just standing there looking stupid, Gurathin just watches as the last of his clothing is taken out of reach.
“On the table,” orders the SecUnit.
Gurathin has to awkwardly hop up to get his bare ass on the cold, metal table. He scoots back a little, enough to be stable. He is slouching, curling in on himself.
The SecUnit puts on the blue gloves, which has the effect of making Gurathin feel a warm little stir in the pit of his stomach. A curl of something that is definitely not nervousness.
It pushes a gloved hand into his chest until he takes the hint and lays back, his heartbeat fluttering. The ceiling is matter-printed board, flecked with random patterns of specks. The lights are harsh.
As soon as he thinks that, the lighting adjusts tone to something warmer and luminosity to something lower. “Apologies for visual discomfort,” says the SecUnit.
Gurathin cranes his neck up and watches as the SecUnit lifts his male sexual organs out of the way and pauses for a microsecond as he regards the thin seam between Gurathin's legs, the crinkly little dark hairs on either side, blending down into the hair on his thighs.
Fuck. Fuck he is so fucked.
"It's surgical," says Gurathin, explaining what doesn't need explaining, "it's not open all the time." That stare, that flat intensity, makes him feel like he’s about to catch fire from it.
"So it requires arousal?"
Gurathin flushes.
Yes, simply put, that’s the easiest way for it to swell open. Otherwise the addition of augments in the tissue around it ensure that the vagina is much better sealed than a natural vagina would be. But when the underlying tissues start swelling and producing fluid, the outer labia open.
The SecUnit flashes several pornographic images between them, of impressive variety: a couple with genital configurations like Gurathin’s, some standard and heterosexual, one feed of two men intensely making out. Gurathin flinches away, blinks like he could get it out of his eyes. “Oh, come on—“
"Interesting," says the SecUnit. "You had a physiological reaction to my donning standardized gloves but no pornographic images." It pops the cap off the tube that was by the gloves, and dribbles something clear and shiny on its fingers. Gurathin’s stomach drops into free-fall, and suddenly it’s a little hard to get enough air. The cold of the table is a little more welcome when his skin is warming up.
"This suggests direct intervention is more productive."
It takes Gurathin's cock in its hand, clinically at first, bending it and testing the stretch of the foreskin. Gurathin can’t help but twitch a little at this, his hands gripping hard on the edges of the table to either side. The SecUnit begins to work him to hardness, a careful massage of sensitive tissue in a hand that could crush armor and bones alike.
The other hand goes to that seam between Gurathin’s legs, slowly petting up and down its length. Toying with the little hairs.
It goes quickly; he can’t withstand this kind of stimulation. He finds himself making soft breathless sounds, involuntarily, his thighs twitching as they try to pull inward and he tries to keep them apart. Gurathin turns pink, red. "You’re doing very well, Dr. Gurathin. There is an arousal response."
No kidding, thinks Gurathin, weakly. His cock is hard and leaking, and he can feel himself getting wet. It won’t be long before he opens up beneath the SecUnit’s gloved fingers. He knows the instant the labia start to pull apart, because he can feel the cool touch of air where he’s wet. The SecUnit pauses, touches just there, and spreads the fluids up and down, providing gentle pressure inwards.
And then it is stroking him where he’s soaking wet, where his inner labia are. The fingers are detached but still somehow curious, pinning him open and going slow down to the bottom of the inner labia, tracing horizontally across the sensitive bridge of flesh before the anus.
A drone flies into his view and settles on the table, its cameras pointed between his legs. He feels a rush of humiliation, and a sweet needy ache.
The SecUnit’s touch wanders back up, where the lips fold together. It brushes so lightly over the half-formed clit in its little hood, and Gurathin breathes in sharp.
The SecUnit’s fingers pull his inner lips apart, to the point of slight discomfort.
“Dr. Gurathin, I can see the contraband inside you.”
No, no, no…
“I am aware that vaginal tissue with low levels of estrogen can be easy to injure.” The thumb strokes over his entrance, and the little drive shifts inside him again, only it doesn’t feel so annoying this time. “I need two fingers to retrieve it, but I will stretch you slowly. It’s very good that you’ve produced so much fluid. You’re very well lubricated.”
It keeps petting him while it talks, maddening little strokes, things that make his hips jerk to follow.
“Human authorities place value on arrestees being polite and cooperative." SecUnit's voice is lower now, and makes tingles rush across Gurathin's skin. "You are unusually polite and cooperative. You have been very pleasant.”
Gurathin lets out a hollow laugh. Disbelieving. Disbelieving all of this.
The SecUnit’s breaches him, with what Gurathin thinks is its thumb. The noise he makes probably counts as whimpering. The thumb works his terribly sensitive entrance, stretching it one way and then another. Surely he hasn’t always been this sensitive. Was there something in the lubricant?
The thumb finds that the front part of his entrance — the top, how he’s laying back now — is more sensitive than the bottom, and it takes to rubbing in slow circles just there, just right there at the opening to Gurathin’s body. It is unbearably good.
“Breathe out,” instructs the SecUnit’s touch, and Gurathin complies, shuddery, trying to relax. The second finger fits itself just next to the first. There is almost no discomfort whatsoever, just surge of giddy pleasure.
“Most humans don’t go so soft when they’re searched. You feel very soft, Dr. Gurathin.”
Gurathin’s muscles flutter around the fingers. They keep reaching, reaching —
“And you’re very warm inside.” Is it his imagination, or does it pause to caress him, the walls of his cunt? It feels so good. He’s floating, back arching just barely off the table. He is on fire.
The drive shifts. The SecUnit has grasped it now, and the SecUnit carefully draws it out of him. Gratuitously, maddeningly slowly. He feels every little ridge on it, feels himself tighten up as the fingers slip out of him. Then the cylinder. Then he sees it in SecUnit’s fingers, the fingers that were just inside him, all shined with his own slick.
And Gurathin goes limp. He's such an idiot. He's a fool. And now he's painfully turned on because of a security bot just doing its job. On top of that, he is caught. He can feel the cooling air between his legs and starts to close them.
The SecUnit stops him. "Will you be compliant? Just a little longer?”
Gurathin doesn’t trust his dry throat to make noise, but he nods, quickly, a little frantic. He doesn’t know what it means but he will, he will, he’ll be the softest most compliant human. “Please-“ he manages.
It teases at him with two fingers again. It’s luxuriating, Gurathin might have said, even though its eyes are focused at the wall. It must be watching through the drone camera, centimeters away. It explores his anatomy again, like it is fascinating and new, and then presses its first finger in deep. Deep, so deep, deep enough that it hurts a little, and he feels it find the end of his cunt, as far as it goes.
Like it’s measuring him.
Gurathin bucks up, desperate, now. Pleasepleaseplease escaping him, breathless, helpless, hands still down and out of the way. A killing machine has its unimaginably strong hands on the most delicate places of Gurathin’s body and all it’s doing is pleasuring him.
A second finger, again, this time curling forward with its companion. Gurathin jolts as it presses slow circles into his prostate. The fingers are warm, he realizes, warm on purpose. For his comfort. So he’ll feel good.
The other hand cups over the tip of his cock, ready for him, and Gurathin comes.
He comes from a place inside him overloaded with pleasure, a sweet place petted and prepared and activated by the SecUnit’s touch. His head tips back and he thinks he does cry out, a sort of awkward and broken sound that he can’t help at all. Shivers tight around the warm fingers and they keep stroking him through cascades of spasms, one hard aftershock that makes him go all tight for several long seconds, through pulses of semen spilling out of him over and over. He’s crying by the end of it, leaking tears that he brushes away, too late to be embarrassed by something like that.
So he just lays there as the fingers pull out of him and he hears the gloves be pulled off and dropped in a bin. More rubbery sounds, which he expects is a fresh pair.
The next touch is clearly some kind of wet wipe that the SecUnit has prodcuced from another magical drawer. Gurathin is too wrung out to flinch, and besides it’s actually warm, maybe from the SecUnit’s hands. First his cock is carefully cleaned off, and then the wetness between his legs is slowly wiped away. Even the little hairs that have gotten wet and clumpy are wiped and cleaned.
He opens his eyes blearily to see the SecUnit take the drive in its hand and suddenly, shockingly, crush it into dust.
“It appears I am not in possession of any contraband retrieved from your person,” says the SecUnit. “I apologize for any inconvenience, Dr. Gurathin. Please rest assured there will be no official copy of any footage obtained here.”
“What,” manages Gurathin.
The SecUnit looks, if anything, kind of uncomfortable. “Cooperation and compliance are very high priorities,” it says. “You should keep. Doing those.”
“Do you.” Gurathin’s tongue wets his dry lips. “Do you anticipate further need for compliance?”
“You may remain a high search priority,” the SecUnit blurts. “Please clothe yourself now.” It focuses on the wall above Gurathin’s head again, and honestly he still feels pretty weird about it, but not terrible.
Being soft and compliant getting him out of trouble? That’s a first.
“Okay,” he says. “Are you… going to watch?”
“Yes,” says the SecUnit, immediately.
Oh, so it likes that. Likes watching him follow commands? Gurathin isn’t the type to be able to make a show out of it, but maybe that’s not what’s needed here. He simply takes the articles of clothing handed to him, one by one, and pulls them on, hiding nothing, while he is watched — and now he can put a name to this — hungrily.
“Please return to your daily schedule.” But before Gurathin leaves, it asks: “Did you. Was this. Was this SecUnit appropriately responsive to your needs?”
Gurathin’s whole body breaks into a sweat again. A good sweat. “Ohh yes,” he breathes. “Wonderful… attention. To detail.”
“Attention to detail is a critical component of security.”
“I feel very secure. I am very secure. And compliant.”
“Then that is acceptable.”
no subject
Date: 2026-02-02 03:26 am (UTC)Or maybe they already know.
He can't identify the one from any other, the way they have their armor, but it feels like all of them regard him strangely and knowingly, turning their faceless faces to follow him instead of pointing straight ahead.
When, a week later, he is picked for additional screening again, it is honestly a relief. This time, the SecUnit's hand rests on the small of his back the whole way up the long Security hallway, a gesture that's proprietary and comforting and disquieting all at once.
The inside of the room is a little different. Still just a table, but it’s been pushed to the wall, leaving the floor open, and there is a bundle on the table. No, two bundles, one thin and one thick.
“Please wait a moment, Dr. Gurathin.” The helmet has retracted, and Gurathin can see this is the same SecUnit. Unless they all look the same underneath? No, it’s the same one. He’s almost certain.
A little baffled, he watches as the SecUnit opens the thin bundle and extracts a shiny metallic sheet. Oh, a survival blanket, the kind to keep people warm. It drapes the blanket on the ground, then goes to the thicker bundle, which seems to be a thicker sort of outdoor blanket, not very soft but much softer than plain concrete ground. It also provides a little bit of padding because of its thickness, and because the SecUnit folds it in half before laying it over the survival blanket.
Oh! He’s not going to be on the table this time. It wants him to be more comfortable. It planned this so he would be more comfortable.
Gurathin’s entire body has gone hot. He can’t stop staring at the little prepared space. Three drones are circling him. He realizes he’s hugging himself.
“Your clothes, please, Dr. Gurathin.”
“Yes,” says Gurathin, “yes, okay.” He starts with shoes and socks this time, lets the SecUnit take them both, and steps with bare feet onto the blanket. Signaling his acceptance of it, his willingness to be herded there. The SecUnit seems to approve, quickly closing the space between them so Gurathin can’t retreat back to the concrete.
The hoodie next. As he’s pulling off his shirt, the drones watch him, but the SecUnit instead folds the sweatshirt, then folds the shirt as well, differently than before. The pants and underwear it treats the same, taking them out of reach.
“Please lay back on the blankets.” The SecUnit is not so brisk and commanding as before. Hungry, that was what Gurathin called that look. It looks hungry.
Obediently, he lowers himself and sits, scooting a little to lie down. Again to his surprise the SecUnit crouches by him, and, as he settles, places the folded sweatshirt and shirt under his head and neck. It is solicitous, pressing on his chest again to make sure he’s lying back fully. The lights adjust and lower when his head tilts up towards them.
The room may be cold, but Gurathin is certainly warm from the attention. He can feel the movement of the air, all the hairs on his skin sensitized. His cock is already mostly hard. He draws his heels in, bending his knees up and parting his thighs.
“Are you going to search me?” He doesn’t have anything inside him. It hasn’t selected him for security reasons. Why has it picked him? Because he went soft last time? An unexpected reaction? He doesn’t think the Governor module would allow this, but he isn’t sure. He isn’t being harmed, he doesn’t know if anyone’s orders are being countermanded.
The SecUnit is replacing its combat gloves with blue rubber ones again.
“Today is a different security protocol.” The SecUnit kneels down between Gurathin’s legs, gently but firmly pushing his thighs further apart. The SecUnit’s strength is implacable. “Please show me you have no contraband inside you.”
Gurathin’s breath hitches. “You mean do it myself.”
“You will have to open your labia majora, yes,” the SecUnit informs him. “However you usually do it.”
It wants to watch him touch himself. It has three drones to record him touching himself. Gurathin’s throat goes utterly dry.
“Will you be soft for me again, Dr. Gurathin?” asks the SecUnit, and Gurathin is gone. Yes, he’ll be soft. He’s already soft. Anything this SecUnit wants, Gurathin will be.
He tips his chin up and nods, not totally trusting his voice.
“Thank you, Dr. Gurathin.” A gloved hand rests on the inside of his thigh. “Please proceed.” It sounds strangely earnest.
Well, he’s already turned on. He’s already naked and splayed open in front of a fully clothed powerful construct with guns in its arms. He’s not gonna need much encouragement. But he takes a breath — reaches to his cock and strokes himself all the way hard. It’s so quick, it practically jumps to attention. The other hand he slips down between his legs. He knows the feel of where he wants to be — he doesn’t stroke up and down like the SecUnit did but massages in little circles just above where his vaginal opening would be. Circles that indirectly tease his clit-not-quite-a-clit and also the places that feel good a little lower.
One of the drones lands on the SecUnit’s shoulder and unnervingly focuses in on Gurathin’s face. He can’t imagine it’s a great angle. He can feel that he has a little bit of a double chin situation going on. Carrying extra weight around the middle. Awkward and hairy while the SecUnit is probably spotless.
“Why me?” he blurts, as the thought won’t go away. The SecUnit nudges his legs a little wider, because he’d subconsciously closed them a bit.
“You are a security threat,” the SecUnit tells him.
Gurathin’s heart rate jumps.
“But you allowed me to remove the contraband without resistance,” the SecUnit continues. It seems a little stymied too, which is nice. “You have not attempted anything similar since.” A beat. “You were afraid. But you liked it when I touched you. Are you afraid now?”
He is flushing redder now. He shouldn’t have asked. He feels his cunt bloom open under his fingers’ pressure, and instinctively seeks that nice place right at his entrance. “I’m nervous.” He admits it, hushed. His eyes close, and he arches a little, stretches his spine as he feels where he’s welling up with slick.
“There,” murmurs the SecUnit. “Now open yourself up and show me.”
He might catch fire. He can feel sweat start on the skin of his forehead.
He reaches a little lower, shifts, and uses both hands to pull the inner labia apart. The SecUnit’s eyes are directly on it, too wide and too intent. Gurathin thinks half his blood is probably in his groin, one way or another, because his mind is just a rush of sensation and imagery.
“Relax,” encourages the SecUnit. “Clench first if you need to.”
He does. He is whining, somehow. Clenches, and lets his muscles release.
“This is uncomfortable for you,” observes the SecUnit. “You’re trembling, Dr. Gurathin. Would you like to touch yourself more? I’m very pleased with your compliance again.”
Gurathin realizes he can smell himself, the unmistakable odor of his own slick. “Yes,” he whisper-rasps, “please.”
“Asking so nicely. My soft human.” The SecUnit almost seems to be musing that to himself. “Touch yourself, Dr. Gurathin.”
Its human? Belonging to it? That makes Gurathin feel tingly and good, even as a corner of his mind screams that the governor module cannot be working right. This is so dangerous.
He resumes moving his fingers in little circles, twitches but doesn’t pull away when the SecUnit leans closer.
“Hymenal tissue,” says the SecUnit. “You liked to be touched there last time too.”
Um. “I don’t have a hymen,” says Gurathin, slowly.
“The remnants of the hymen form the door frame to the vagina,” the SecUnit tells him, which sounds like it’s from a module. Did it download a module for him? That shouldn’t be hot. “This tissue has a very high concentration of nerve endings and may stay extremely sensitive. Your tissue is thickest at twelve o’clock.” The SecUnit’s thumb presses right at his entrance, right where Gurathin likes to be stroked. Gurathin melts a little more.
The clit isn’t far away — not a full, real clit, as he wouldn’t have enough nerves to hook one up, but it had grown along with the rest from the stem cells and it is also quite sensitive.
“You have a shape that is called a crescent moon by practitioners, with thinner tissue to the sides.”
Learning all kinds of new things.
“It’s hard to believe that a human male sex part could fit here,” says the SecUnit, slowly pressing its thumb inside him. Gurathin makes a little aaah noise, lifting his hips into it. “You are gripping me on all sides. Your vaginal passage seems narrow.”
He does huff a little laugh here, but it trails into another one of those breathless aaahhs. The SecUnit is pulling its thumb out and pressing it back in again, out, in. “It — it stretches.”
“I would like to see that.”
His cunt clenches down on the finger. “I don’t want that.” Apparently belied by his own body. He hastens to explain: “I don’t want to let a human fuck me just for you to see.”
“If you would allow me to use a facsimile, then you should carry one with you,” suggests the SecUnit.
The noise Gurathin makes then is wounded. Carrying around a vibrator, a dildo, just in case a SecUnit wants to take him away and fuck him with it. Embarrassing, squirmy-hot.
“This is just what I liked before,” says the SecUnit. It returns to petting Gurathin on the outside, lightly pressing down on the clit and watching Gurathin rock his hips into it, lean against the stimulation. “You are so soft and helpless. You did it just because I asked.”
Gurathin nods, nods quickly.
“Do you want to hold on to me this time, with your legs?” asks the SecUnit.
“What?”
Suddenly, the SecUnit is looming over him, a whip-lash quick motion. Two of its fingers sink inside him, as the SecUnit lowers the weight of its pelvis against Gurathin’s.
“You can hold on to me,” the SecUnit says. “Wrap your legs around me, Dr. Gurathin.”
Gurathin obeys immediately, and yelps a little as the SecUnit’s other hand lifts his lower back. He’s exactly positioned like SecUnit was going to fuck him, he realizes. Its armor is textured against his thighs — he doesn’t grip hard but lets himself rest his weight on SecUnit’s hand.
SecUnit starts moving its hips. Which is an illusion, really — the penetration is from its fingers, moving in time, gentle and firm and curved and dragging right along his prostate on every stroke in and out. Gurathin is making those breathless sounds nonstop now, punctuated with little groans and twitches, arching up into it when SecUnit gets it absolutely perfect. He is wrecked, he is a mess, his cock is drooling onto his belly and he thinks if he touches it he won’t last another second.
“Is this how you would sound if I was fucking you?” SecUnit asks. It slows down, lowers him down to the ground again. “Would you sound like this, Dr. Gurathin?”
“You are fucking me—“ He’s so close, he’s twitching and grasping at the blanket and trying to hold on.
“Cry out for me again,” says SecUnit, and Gurathin does. He comes hard, firebursts of pleasure where he’s penetrated, clenching down enough that it hurts a little. SecUnit keeps working at him, working at his prostate, and Gurathin makes pathetic pleading sounds and has something like a second internal orgasm, another mini-peak.
The SecUnit lifts him again and the world spins around Gurathin and settles with him splayed out and panting on top of the SecUnit. A glove presses at his back and he obediently lays forward, his bare chest and belly against the hard armor, smearing it with his come. He feels warmth through the armor, though, and tucks his face into the SecUnit’s neck. The fingers remain inside him, still now, just — comfortable. Like they belong there. He shifts just a little and gets another tiny shock, another little spasm of pleasure.
If he was soft before, he has to be beyond soft now. Maybe this is what the SecUnit wants to draw out and enjoy, the moments when Gurathin is weak and languid and tired and wants to cling.
Oh, the SecUnit is letting him cling. The SecUnit is making it effectively impossible for him to avoid clinging. It has to like this.
“You like helpless soft humans,” Gurathin murmurs. The SecUnit goes extra still. “Helpless, soft, happy humans. But humans who are helpless are almost never soft and happy.”
A pause. “Yes,” says the SecUnit, after a moment, sounding surprised.
Gurathin snuggles in further. “Being helpless with you is very nice,” he says. “You’re taking very good care of me.” He’s trying to phrase it in a way that will push the SecUnit’s buttons. Its happy, affirmed-feeling buttons, so that it is happy too with its soft happy human.
The SecUnit’s grip on him, he’s pretty sure, tightens for just an instant. Not much! Barely enough to feel. Then SecUnit’s hand starts slowly stroking his back. Gurathin makes sure to make contented mmmm type noises, just to get the point across.