I’m sitting in Daddy’s lap. We’re in the front seat of a stolen car, parked in the lot of a rundown Hawaiian fast food place about a mile from the ocean. It’s been just us for the past thirty-six hours, since the attack on the compound where my handlers had kept me locked up for as long as I can remember. For most of the last thirty-six hours, Daddy and I have been on the run, bouncing from safe house to safe house, always just one step ahead of what feels like a never ending stream of assassins hell bent on removing my blackened soul from my genetically engineered little body.
This is the first chance we’ve had to rest since the attack. Neither of us has slept. I’m fucking exhausted, but Daddy doesn’t appear to feel the strain of all the running and killing. He doesn’t seem tired, but neither does he seem at ease. I’m everything to him, he’s told me this a hundred million times before, but it wasn’t until just a few hours ago that this abstract concept was able to finally form itself into something that made sense to me. I really am everything to him. The things I’ve seen him do in the last day or so have been… disturbingly intense. I’ve never known anyone capable of such violence, not even myself - and I’m pretty fucking hardcore.
In some ways, this knowledge, this reality that I mean so much to another human - or whatever we are - is a little intimidating. I know that I’m valuable to the government, and I know that 7713 is fond of using me as a fuck doll, but this thing with Daddy is different. There’s no judgement, there’s no expectation. It’s just me and him. There’s nothing else in all the universe. I mean everything to him. I am everything to him. It’s intimidating, but it’s also amazing. I’ve never been as happy as I am right now at this very moment as we trace the edge of oblivion together.
I take a bite of katsu chicken and remove the bandage from Daddy’s eye. The cloth is completely soaked through with blood.
“Well,” I say to him, examining the gory hole where his eye was earlier in the day, “it looks pretty fucked up. It’s still bleeding. And that was the only pair of panties that I had.” I hold up the blood soaked rag that was once my favorite lingerie. As I look at his face, I can feel his cock throbbing against my sex, like there’s a python trying to burst through the fabric of his pants. I feel my cheeks flush and turn my eyes down so that I don’t have to look him in the eye, but when I look down I see the wet spot I’ve left on Daddy’s clothes and I just blush even harder.
“Why isn’t it healing,” I mumble, trying to change the subject away from how badly I want him to fuck me.
"It takes a lot to heal up," he says. "I haven’t slept and I haven’t been eating. My body is having a harder time fixing up all the holes that they’ve been putting in me." I can feel his eye on me, caressing my skin with his desire. It feels so good I want to scream.
I look into Daddy’s face and run my fingertips over his stubbly, scarred chin. The moment our skin makes contact, I’m suddenly riding on top of that amazing feeling that I get whenever we touch. I press my nails into his flesh and brush my thumb over his lips. It’s like someone has turned the volume knob on life up a notch. An electric serpent slithers out of the bottom of my skull, twisting itself around my spine and winding its way down into the hot space in between my legs. I give a shiver, leaning in toward Daddy’s face. The heat of his breath washes over me, making my head feel light, as if I’ve taken a hit of pure oxygen. My tenuous grip on reality is deteriorating. The temptation to just give in, to let it carry me away like a pebble in a tsunami, is so strong. I know in my heart that I’ll never be able to resist it. I start to let go.
In the moment when I’m about to give in, Daddy catches me and pulls me back from the edge. "Ride it," he tells me. "Don’t give in, don’t let it take you away. Control it, direct it and it will come back ten times as strong."
I bite my lip and do as he tells me. We’ve been working on this since the attack, mostly out of necessity. We’ve been in such close contact, we’re touching almost constantly. It’s incredibly hard to fight killer android assassins when I’m having a mental orgasm (which is almost always tied to an inconveniently strong physical one). Daddy’s instructions are simple, and I’m able to follow them - sometimes. Other times, I just want to give in. I want to be carried away. I want to die in his arms. I just want to melt into his skin, soak into his body, and be a part of him.
This is the first time that I’ve had the freedom to experiment with controlling the rush that comes whenever we touch while not dodging a hail of bullets or narrowly escaping some sort of exploding projectile. I push my fingers into the wild tangle of ecstasy that is flowing all around us. The blue-white surge tickles my fingertips and buzzes in my palms, up my forearms and into my breasts so that it feels like my tits are being licked by a god made of carbonated electricity. I straddle this thing, this primal delirious thing, and my body lights up like my veins are filled with neon. I let myself sink into the flow, let myself become a part of it so that I’m not being carried by it, but I am it.
My lips are pressed against Daddy’s. His hands are on me, all over me, hot and wonderful. My nails are ripping into his shoulders, his teeth are biting and teasing my nipples. The world has exploded into a white hot nothingness with us at the center of everything, a singularity made up of all things and all time. I cry out in pain as he enters me, then shudder uncontrollably as he begins fucking me. My body goes limp as I come, but Daddy doesn’t stop. I bury my face in his chest, my fists pressed against his body, dying over and over until I’m convinced that I’ll never ever wake up from this dream. Just then, when I’ve accepted my new life in a heaven I never believed existed, I feel Daddy thrust into me and explode.
When my vision clears, I look up to see Daddy looking at my face, his one-eyed expression soft and warm. Pookie, he whispers, caressing my hair.
“Daddy,” I mutter, pushing myself upright. My brain feels fuzzy. My hands are hot. My whole body is hot. But my hands are hot with a wet heat.
“Oh my fuck,” I scream. I jerk my arms back, ripping the arm-length blades from Daddy’s torso. Blood gushes from the wounds, spurting out across my naked body. “Oh fuck,” I stammer. I must have lost control in the heat of the moment. That’s never happened before. I didn’t even know it could happen. “I’m sorry, oh, Daddy! I’m sorry. I… I didn’t… oh no, are you…?”
"I’m fine," he laughs unconvincingly. "But I’m losing a lot of blood. I need to sleep. Maybe something to eat. I'll just take a short nap."
“Food, ok, I can get you food,” I proclaim, though I really have no idea how I’d do that.
No, it’s fine. Just put those things away and let me sleep, he tells me.
I take a deep breath to calm my mind and the blades retract. I feel a mix of embarrassment and horror. I can’t believe I stabbed him during sex. My mind skitters down a rabbit hole and I shiver with horror as I imagine this happening while I’m with 7713. He can’t heal up like Daddy. He would die.
I turn my attention back to Daddy, eying the wounds on his body. “I don’t know,” I say futilely. Aside from the gaping holes that I put in him, his eye still looks bad and he’s peppered with half-healed bullet holes.
"I’m fine," he tells me again, but the more he says it, the more worried it makes me. I kiss his lips, but he doesn’t kiss me back.
“Daddy?” I slap his face, but he doesn’t respond. “Daddy? 835! Wake up!” I’m suddenly choked with fear. “Oh, Daddy! Don’t do this, wake up! You need to stay awake!” I jam my fingers against his neck and find a slow pulse. “For fuck’s sake,” I swear, climbing from Daddy’s lap. As I do so, Daddy’s seed dribbles down the inside of my thighs in a thick, sticky mess. I can’t help but feel a pang of regret that it isn’t inside me anymore, as if a really beautiful moment has come and gone. I wonder drearily if we’ll ever have another moment like this again.
