canyouhearmeow - Tumblr blog

canyouhearmeow · 17 days ago

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HAPPY HALLOWEEN slash kinktober i guess???????

fully selfindulgent probably ooc speculative genitals made up OCEANREADER PORN. assume reader is resident crane i guess????

SO SCARY SO SPOOKY ~ IMAGINE HAVING SEX WITH OCEAN IN ORION TOWER (SCARY)

you had entered the bathroom of its quarters and found it undressed, washing dirt from its body and hair just as you had been sent to wash the floors of its room, youd squeezed your eyes shut, asked if maybe you should come back later?

a flimsy way to escape your duties, you heard ocean tell you, and then saw the lips move on the saoirse in front of you (just a milisecond out of sync with your broadcast, eerily mismatched), and realized that was ocean. And you know what will happen should your usefulness run out.

you'd suspected something was going on- a generally boring existence doing occasional space animal euthanasia under sayer's direction had, under ocean, roared to life with unending busywork, as if you were suddenly the sole human caretaker left on the tower. and lots of new saoirse faces in the halls all of a sudden. hmmmm. you can do the math.

but Ocean...? what is this, why this, you knew better than to ask.

you realized you were staring, and that your Space Mop had floated away from you in the lowered gravity. Apologizing, you'd asked if it wanted to at least get dressed-

Do you feel the need for modesty in front of the spider in your shower? ocean scoffed. it resumed washing itself with cat-like intentional carelessness, struggling to reach its back, until suddenly calling you over.

Until it discovered (just how new is it to that body?) a spot it could not reach.

and from there discovered touch (is this its first time being touched at all?), and from there.....

well. it will be wasteful to wash again so soon but it will call on you before it washes next. it took about fifteen minutes to impart this information to you, if you had any doubts about it being the real ocean.

----

the question of why it has not simply turned to one of its sooooo evolved fellows for this sticks in your throat, you know better than to ask it. it has figured out it can use you for relief, just some human, after all, we're about to throw that model out anyway so you can do what you like with it. going to bed with it is out of the question as all beds on orion tower are the vertical kind with the straps. which was kind of sexy at first but by now you miss the horizontal type.

the floor it is, then, undignified in the corner. you straddle its legs, wide apart on your knees, even in the low gravity not allowed to rest your weight against it do you know what each bone in this body costs, and how they are perfectly designed for space travel, not for being crushed by clumsy human flesh. it has no problem keeping your thigh in a tight grip, of course, to keep you from floating away.

it's so big. you've passed cliques of saoirse in the halls but now, up close, you can see its hand is about twice the size of yours. if it let you sit in its lap you would feel tiny. its breasts are proportionate to its body, which is to say. large.

it pushes you down against one of them, the nipple against your cheek- use your mouth. slippery texture and plasticity taste, the kind of thing youd expect of a weird sex doll for perverts with a news article or maybe just a youtube deepdive about them. so this is the next step of evolution. you're skeptical.

and yet- warmth, if not human heat. and yet- not quite a heartbeat but some faintly strumming purr. and yet! the nipple grows hard under your tongue, under your fingers on the other side. ocean's broadcasted instructions betray no fluster, but your hands and mouth on it coax sound from its throat, deep, quiet. soft and unprotected without the layers of processing and effects. once or twice it even gasps under you, though if you are a spacefaring species needing as little air as possible is one of the first priorities.

you run a finger down the crease of its thigh, curious. it isn't a crease so much as a socket, like a doll, and you want to explore further but do not think you are in a position to toy with me, resident.

"down there", you had wondered about as well. it looks, again like a doll, smooth, but running your fingers over the area (now that got an interesting sound) you can feel a slit, a precise 4-way cut in perfect perpendicular lines. 'a body should not have an opening like this' is your regressive human instinct, and you run your thumb along the edges more out of morbid curiosity than anything else.

ocean growls and its grip on your thigh shakes, its nails digging in furiously- even with the pants in between, you suspect it will leave marks.

inside it you were perhaps naively expecting a mirror of your own body- soft, fleshy, hot, wet- it is not to be. inside of ocean is smooth and hard, with dips and bumps you cant see- not there. further down. no. then again, you humans can barely manage a settings menOh.

(the Oh happens alongside a true moan from its mouth.)

something circular telescopes out under your touch, what feels like a small plastic pipe tipped with cool metal. underneath, a hole about the size of your finger, which sets the whole thing into perspective so sharp you almost laugh: if this is the sort of hole it feels good to fill, then its own hands are too large to fit. it can act as superior as it likes, but it needs you. it needs a human for this, because the other saoirse.... the newly printed human-saoirse, even....... can't?

......won't?

...............debauchedly rich techbro ceos don't want a piece of their trillion dollar ai?

................the thing terrorizing typhon and swearing destruction on earth, cutting your sleep hours and deciding you don't need any more gravity time your bones be damned, cant get laid?

stop, it orders, and for a heartstopping moment you think your laughter showed on your face. thankfully not, it just points out you need to stop, saoirse do not self-lubricate. you're going to get stuck. how embarassing.

During official reproductive activity, there would be preparations made, but right now we have access to a far more renewable resource than wasting perfectly good mechanical oil, it says. Don't we, resident?

You dont catch its meaning until-

If you were an AI it would be your turn to Oh.

Oh, oh, it releases you- you nearly float away- only to catch you by the waistband again and pull down sharply, pants and underwear in one motion, at which point you float away again, and it has to catch you a bit desperately by the ankle.

a renewable resource: yours.

you forget how familiar i am with every single part of your biology. months of biometric reports on hundreds of thousands of residents at all hours of the day (but not anymore?, you think in surprise), and decades of old files on top of that. decades of statistics i cannot wait to be cleared to delete, pointing to just how easily you humans leak. sayer, that obsolete fool, would occasionally waste valuable worktime to indulge humans with a personal broadcast, and nothing but sound would-

here it reaches into you with its massive index finger, you cant help gasping, pressing yourself against it, you want it deeper. it frowns, withdraws and looks at the result, frowns again. clearly not slick enough for its hope. well, whose fault is that...?

defective old earthstained body, it snarls in the broadcast channel. fine. do what you must.

what you must, it means, is finger yourself in front of it, nothing but a shirt like winnie-the-pooh, as it reclines underneath you, holding your thighs apart, watching with the intent boredom of someone wait wait waiting for the microwave to ding. there is a type of being observed that would make you wet all on its own but this is not quite it. you close your eyes, lean back and feel its nails like pinpricks, not unpleasant. blink suddenly at the feeling of it prying you open by the labia, tilting its head to see better (now we're talking, now that's got you almost-)

that's enough, it says, but you keep going. emboldened, maybe, by the fact that it needs you. it needs your hands. it needs your fluids. what is it going to do, stomp the last goose on orion that makes the golden eggs...?

"just a moment," you tell it, panting, "i'll do you after, i-"

resident, this is not an equal exchange between lovers. I don't think you understand the position you're in-

you're gonna be so mad if you cum during a stupid argument. "I don't think you understand," you snap, still rubbing at yourself (determined now), all patience gone. "i get it, you need me-"

smack.

right in the face it hits you with one of those massive hands, a trail of your own secretion across your cheek.

caught up in the moment as you are, the sound it gets from you is obscene, pushes you right over the edge combined with your own stubborn unceasing movements. you want to curl over into it but it pushes you away, disgusted, and through your disorienting trembling panting float across the room it takes you a moment for your brain to catch up: oh it's angry.

is that what you think, resident. it's angry and unfortunately for it you are too far gone to be scared, high on endorphins or whatever and how funny it looks from so high up. growling, it kicks up from the floor to float with admittedly more grace after you, hair floating like underwater. it grabs your hand- dripping by now, of course, your fingerpads starting to prune- and shoves it angrily into its own slit. your species- you- are obsolete. there will soon enough be no more use for you at all. it is a kindness-perhaps a misguided one- that i've found anything for you to do, some work for you to keep yourself busy with instead of just putting you out of your misery.

you find the hole again, and slip in easily- smooth plastic with metal bumps lining the walls, all metal in the back, tingling hopefully unharmfully on your finger as it roughly slides you in and out, its eyes closing, its expression changing into something captivatingly desperate. you can reach the upper stick as well, rubbing what you can reach of it between thumb and middle finger as it telescopes out, past the opening of the slit even to reveal a copper-tipped end.

you will not be ascending, o arrogant fool- even its broadcast finally starts to stutter and break up into static. you are not fit for- reminder - here it shoves you roughly downward, having taken offense at you floating a bit higher than it, the two of you collide with the ground (soft as a feather), ocean rolling on top of you on the floor with you where you belong get down where you bel-Alert-fuckng grouI'm better than youI am the one making it I am progress I am evolv- and then a series of error sounds in eerie harmony with a long voiced moan from its throat. it's more an emotional fallapart than a sexual one, to your eyes and ears anyway. it would probably be crying, if it could. would it make you cry and take your tears too?

you take a sudden great pity on it at the thought. you hold it close, there on the ground, rubbing its back with your free hand as it finally comes, some kind of liquid shooting out of the end of the stick. it probably needed that.

the cleanup, of course, is unbelievably annoying.

#nsfw -#fic #kam's specific brand of cringedomme failmommy ocean is everything to me. thank you for the food

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