Legacy Code Ch. 02

Morning brings a thousand questions that demand answers -- but, first, it brings Roland the scent of eggs and bacon.

The bacon isn't real, of course. Outside of fish, actual meat is a rare delicacy for the colonies. But by Roland's estimation, the synthetic stuff isn't half-bad.

Neither is his view of the chef. He peers out of the padded nook where he'd been sleeping, straight into the kitchen. Penelope's back is to him; she's standing atop a small stool, working diligently to pry up a pad of scrambled eggs and fold it. The scrape of a spatula across stainless steel is accompanied by the lazy sizzle of bacon grease.

Penelope is wearing one of his tops -- a ridiculously large, absurdly bright Hawaiian shirt that nearly swallows her whole. But when she leans over the stove, the hem slides up to expose the back of her coltish upper thighs.

Her long charcoal black hair is pinned up. He can see the umber-brown surface of her nape. His eyes linger on the slightly lighter trace of a surgery scar -- where the neural chip was inserted ages ago.

Memories of last night flood his mind. Penelope, moaning and squealing, her mostly-bare figure undulating over his lap. Penelope, in his clutches. Hyperventilating. Crying out--

"Breakfast is ready." She's finished up, setting several piles of scrambled eggs and a plate of bacon on a tray. There's two tins of coffee, too. Her sweet face is split apart by a huge smile. That childhood gap between her two upper front teeth has mostly closed, but Roland can still see it. He probably always will.

He sits up atop the makeshift bed and realizes he's only wearing his boxers and a thin blanket. His chest is exposed; broad and thick, coated in a thin layer of dense, dark hair. Some of the hairs have gone silver. "...hey, um..."

"I don't know how you like your eggs, so I just scrambled them. I hope that's okay?" Her big brown eyes flash up to him as she sets the tray down on the nearby table. That look tells him everything. She's trying very hard to make this feel normal. She wants it to feel normal. She needs it to feel normal.

Roland slides out of bed. He keeps the blanket wrapped around himself like a toga. The sight makes Penelope's smile nearly graduate into a laugh.

He plucks her up, an arm curling around her waist. "I'll scramble your eggs," he announces -- and before either of them can dwell too long on the phrasing, he's dragged the now-giggling girl back into the nook.

Her back is up against his chest, again. He can feel from the way the shirt's fabric slides against him that she's not wearing anything underneath. She keeps squirming, right up until he grabs her throat. Just like that, she goes limp. A shiver sweeps through her.

Roland kisses the side of her jaw.

"We need to talk about this," he whispers. Her body tenses. He kisses her jaw again.

"Relax... it's okay." The tension lingers, then melts away.

"Okay," she relents. A sliver of anxiety creeps into her voice.

"I don't know exactly what this is." He nuzzles against her jaw, his other hand possessively sliding around her waist. It slips under her shirt and drifts up to her left-most breast. Her heartbeat quickens against his palm. "But whatever it is, I need to know that... You'll be safe."

She shimmies closer, her buttocks grinding against his hip. His swollen shaft twitches. "I trust you."

"I know, sweetie. But this is new for me. And I'm not sure I trust myself." Roland takes in her scent. Sea salt. Coconut oil. Lingering traces of breakfast.

"You're not going to hurt me," she murmurs. There's an edge of brattiness, there. "I want this."

He scrapes his teeth across the side of her neck. She sucks in a sharp breath and mewls.

"Like I said: I don't think either of us even know what 'this' is. Not yet."

"I... I want to find out," she whines.

"So do I."

As soon as those words leave his lips, her body slumps with relief. She was worried I was going to leave her, again. She's terrified of being left alone... Just the thought is enough to make his heart ache. He tightens his grip on her, his palm flattening her breast. Her nipple tightens and crinkles into a point against it.

"I want this," he tells her. He's suddenly taken aback by the strength of those words; as if saying them aloud uncovered some deep, unspoken truth. He does want this. Maybe more than anything he's ever wanted before. "I just need to make sure... Wherever this goes, whatever this becomes... You'll be okay."

"...okay." Her eyes flutter closed as she squirms to make herself comfortable. "But... that goes for you, too."

"I'll be fine, sweetie. I'm--"

"Lonely," she cuts him off. "I know you're terrified of hurting me. But I know how lonely you are, too. And... I don't want you to be. I don't want you to be some sad, grouchy, lonely old man living by the beach. I want you to be okay, too."

He closes his eyes and kisses the spot where he bit her. "Okay," he relents. "So... we need to set some ground rules."

Eventually, he manages to release Penelope long enough for them to sit down and eat. Over coffee, eggs, and synthetic bacon, they hammer out the basics.

"Red means stop, and so does tapping my hand or rapidly blinking my eyes," she explains.

Roland takes a long quaff of coffee. As the conversation continues, it becomes increasingly obvious that Penelope has more experience with this sort of thing than he does. "That works, yeah. Did you just come up with that now?"

She blushes and shakes her head, picking her eggs apart with a fork. "Ever since that day with the tree, I've been really into, um... like, my first partner didn't work out because I wanted her to take control. Eventually, I found someone who was really into that. They weren't -- aren't -- looking for anything long-term, just a fling now and then. But... they introduced me to a lot of this stuff. I've had a few partners since who are into it, but..."

"Damn." Roland laughs. "It sounds like you've had more experience than me."

Penelope looks down. Her blush intensifies. "That... that's okay, right?"

He reaches out with that enormous hand and takes her chin into it, tilting her face up. "Of course it is, sweetie."

Relief washes over those big brown eyes. She's embarrassed -- maybe even a little worried that Roland would think less of her for having experience. He doesn't. If anything, the thought that the moment of control he exerted over her had such a momentous impact that it's shaped all of her relationships since... It's both deeply flattering and kind of hot.

Maybe that's a little fucked up. He's not sure.

"I -- I want you to take even more control," she suddenly blurts out. "Like..." She bites her lip, nestling her chin against his hand. "I -- I really like the idea of you just... Molding me."

That familiar desire -- the one that overpowered him last night -- stirs in the pit of Roland's chest. Before he even realizes what he's doing, he feels his mind pressing against hers. "When we're alone, you will call me 'Daddy'."

Her eyes open up like two yawning pits that lead down into the depths of her being. Her lips part; her chest heaves. For one long moment, the room goes quiet -- the only sound is the distant crash of ocean waves.

Then, at last:

"...yes, Daddy."

"Good girl." He pulls his hand back and resumes eating bacon. After a few bites, he stops to look up at her. Penelope looks dazed. "Was that okay?"

"Y-yes," she stammers. "That was -- yes, Daddy." Her voice is low and breathy.

"Good. I... really want to do that to you, too," he admits, finishing his bacon. "I don't want to... erase you. But I kind of... do? I..." He feels like a man who has come upon a chest filled with a lifetime of his own hidden fantasies. And now, upon discovering that these fantasies are shared, they all surge to life at once -- leaving him paralyzed by choices.

"I want to shape you, mold you, turn you into my deepest fantasy. But... I also don't want you to stop being you. Maybe in the heat of the moment, I want that to happen, but I want you to still be Penelope. Even after I've... turned you into something else."

Penelope's eyes have that dangerously glassy look. She nods, the motion stiff. She's trying to hide her excitement. "You... want to transform me into a thing...?"

"Yes." Just saying the word fills Roland with a complicated bouquet of emotions. Excitement. Desire. Shame. He's staring at Penelope, unabashedly; finally acknowledging the twisted desires he felt the moment she came to his door. The fact that she's not recoiling from them -- the fact that those desires excite her, too? -- it's like dumping napalm on a grease fire. "But... I still want you to be a person."

She nods again. "We -- we can do both, Daddy."

It suddenly hits him: In the heat of the moment, she'll let him do whatever he wants. She'll let him push past every limit, every boundary. She'll let him turn her into nothing more than a toy. She'll let him erase her mind, her past, her memories; she'll let him alter her until no trace of Penelope remains. She'll let him destroy her.

And he realizes how much that excites him. Not the thought of destroying her -- but that she would permit him to do it.

His heart hammers hard in his ears. He leans back. "Are you finished with your food?"

Her fork hovers over a mostly-empty plate. "Yes, Daddy."

He nods. "Focus on my voice."

The fork slips from her fingers and clinks to the plate. Her entire body -- her mouth, her eyes, her arms -- slackens. As if she's being unspooled, the woven fabric of her psyche unraveled. When he speaks, his voice is the only thing that exists. He is the heavens, the earth -- the center upon which her cosmos spins.

"Listen to the waves. The slow, rolling crash; the silence as they pull back. Let the sound move through you..."

Her breathing eases to match the sound of the waves. With every crash, her breasts lift; with every silence, they fall.

"That's right," he tells her. "In... and out."

"In... and out."

Her hands drift down from the table and into her lap. Her body sways in time with the ocean, with her breathing.

Roland continues: "With each wave, you feel my control pushing farther... You feel yourself drifting deeper. In... and out."

Her lips move. She mouths the words.

"With each wave, I push deeper into your mind. Stretching you. Hollowing you out..."

"In... and out."

Roland's boxers are straining. The fold at their front has already been forced aside, his shaft jutting out across his thigh. He drops his hand down and strokes it.

"Stand up. Remove your shirt and kneel in front of me."

Penelope rises to her feet, her arms crossing as they dip down to grasp the shirt and slip it over her head. He sees everything -- that sleek, supple form. The trace of stubble directly above her tender little slit. The swell of her hips; the constriction of her waist. The way her ribcage arches back to present her plump, malleable breasts, each capped with a dark coin-sized nipple. And her eyes -- smoldering brown. Obedient.

Roland grunts and shifts back to give her room. She strides forward and sinks down on her knees before him. His cock, hard and throbbing, juts out below her chin.

He takes her head into his hand, combing his fingers through her hair. Then, he guides her down -- bringing those soft lips to the tip of his shaft.

"Deeper and deeper," he whispers, pressing her mouth down upon him. He watches with fascination as her lips conform to his crown. She sinks atop of him. Her eyes stare up. Docile. Almost doe-like.

"Each push strengthens my control. Each thrust weakens your mind." He groans, feeling the wet heat envelope him. It isn't long before the tip of his shaft makes contact with the back of her throat. There is a spasm of muscle. Her eyelashes flutter. Then, she relaxes, easing the tightness at the back of her mouth.

Roland groans again. His next thrust presses her deeper... Deep enough so that he feels his cock slipping into her throat. Muscles twitch and squeeze around him. It's incredible -- how far she's taking him. He's not small, not by any measure. Yet her lips sink down all the way to his root, kissing the fabric of his boxers.

"Fuck..." he whispers. He slowly reels her back. Her throat constricts as she splutters and coughs. Her eyes are watering; saliva glazes her lips. A thread of it connects her mouth to the tip of his spit-slathered shaft. Still, she stares at him -- ready and willing. Blank. Mouth open. Waiting.

"Each thrust puts you deeper under my power. Each thrust leaves you unable to resist me... leaves you deeper under my control...

"In..."

schlrrrrrrrrrrrrk--

"...and out."

--lrrrrrssssssssshk--

Her eyes roll back. Oxygen has become a luxury. Deprived of it, her thoughts are retreating -- not into panic, but into a deeper, more primal form of submission. With each thrust, the pretty little thing drifts closer and closer to becoming nothing more than a happy, blissful, mindless toy.

Her breasts flatten against his thighs, nipples scraping across skin. She has given him complete control -- he guides the motion of her head, paying close heed to the squelches of her throat to ensure he doesn't break something.

This beautiful girl made him breakfast, and now, as a reward, he's slow-fucking her throat. Using her like she was his personal sex-toy.

Roland groans and moves faster. Starts pumping her mouth, her throat. Her eyes get bleary. The constricting clench of her mouth and throat intensifies. One of her hands clings to his hips; he feels her fingers tighten as the motion becomes more aggressive.

He wants to fuck her throat. Wants to rape it. Each and every dark fantasy he's ever had comes surging up all at once. He wants to keep going until she passes out. Wants to continue even after that. He wants --

glrk glrk glrk glrk--

He feels the tiniest twitch of motion against his pelvis. It's only through the haze of his own lust that he recognizes it -- Penelope's hand, weakly yet desperately patting him.

Roland instantly pulls out. Penelope snaps her head back, drool and precum forming thin lines of froth that splatter across her breasts. Her eyes flutter as she wheezes, gulping at the air like a suffocating fish. "...a-aah... aaah... aaah..."

"Nngh. Fuck. You okay...?" He gives her a moment. She needs several -- it's almost a full half-minute before her breathing slows. Her breasts glisten with her own spit, her eyes rimmed with tears. Her nose is running.

"...haaah... m'shorry, couldn't..." she mumbles, her words slurring. "...s-shh... sorry Daddy, I..."

He squeezes her head. "Hush. You were amazing." Tilting her face back, he leans down to kiss her forehead.

"...hnh... but you didn't..." she starts, but he cuts her off by guiding her still-spluttering face against his thigh. She buries herself there, still sniffling.

"We'll take care of that later, when you're ready." His cock still juts up above her. "First, take a breather..."

Penelope recovers gradually. The naked girl is soon quietly nuzzling at Roland's thigh, breathing in his scent. "...hah. Thank you, Daddy..."

He strokes her hair, stretching his arm all the way down to her mid-back. "Shhh... Good girl. Did you enjoy that...?"

She nods her head quickly.

"Good."

"You're... you're not angry that..." She sucks in another breath. "I wasn't able to keep going...?"

"Of course not. I'm glad you were able to tell me to stop."

She sighs and nuzzles right below his shaft, like a cat curling beneath the shade of a familiar tree. "Mm..."

"I still want to cum, though," he murmurs. "Are you ready for that?"

She immediately shivers. "...yes, Daddy."

He reaches down past her hair and delivers a slap to her buttocks. "Go start up the shower. I'll join you in a minute."

Still flustered, she wriggles up to her feet and makes her way to the bathroom. That bare ass sways with every step. Roland's hand drifts back down to his cock, stroking.

Fuck. Just... fuck.

Roland has had lovers, before. He's even had a few who enjoyed it when he took charge. But nothing like this. The way she responds to his roughness... as if she wants to coax forth his darkest urges. As if she wants to draw out his most fucked up fantasies -- suffer them, experience them, soak them up like a sponge.

He's worried that this is moving too fast. They've gone from zero to sixty in the span of a single day. There's history there, sure, but... not this kind of history.

What are you worried about, old man?

He doesn't know. Relationships... He's never been very good at them. Eventually, he decided to just avoid them altogether. And yet -- this little minx has driven her tiny claws into his heart.

His introspective monologue is interrupted by the sound of water hitting tiles. The thought of Penelope, nude and glistening beneath the spray of the shower, is sufficient to delay his concerns. For now, he'll focus on the positive.

Sliding out of his boxers, Roland stands up and heads off to join her.

Penelope's lithe, nubile form is visible through the shower's bubbled glass -- a golden brown silhouette. Her body arches back, breasts swelling into the water's spray. She slides her hands through the slick tangle of her hair. Strips of it are plastered to her back.

Roland growls and steps in behind her.

His body contrasts with her -- a pale, harsh topography of masculine edges and dense stubble. His cock juts out from a thick forest of curls salted with gray; his crown points toward her backside like a lodestone pulled north. He feels his bare feet splash against the tile underfoot.

He grasps her throat from behind and reels her in. She squeaks and arches harder. That sleek body twists against him; her buttocks squeezes up on his shaft, pinning it against his belly. His head drops down as he bites into her shoulder. All at once, she goes slack -- helpless and whimpering.

"...D-daddy..."

That's all it takes. In an instant, he's spun her around and pinned to the wall. Her chest heaves. He squeezes her throat, pushing her back so hard that her toes barely reach the floor.

Stepping in close, he drops his other hand down to his shaft, stroking it. She wraps her arms around his neck. Her head dips down; she's left to watch as he guides that thick spear toward her needy little slit.

"Relax," he whispers. The tip presses against that tender slot. She trembles as he applies a slow, building pressure. "Shhh... mmnh..."

"Oh -- oh... oh, oh fuck--" Her voice hitches up. Strips of wet hair are plastered across her throat and breasts. Roland grunts; his ass clenches. He pushes harder. Penelope quails, clinging tighter.

schhhlrk--

Her folds yield to him. Roland grips Penelope by the neck, keeping her head tilted down. He wants her to see this. He wants her to watch as her cunt slowly envelopes him, inch by excruciating inch. "Watch," he growls down to her. "Watch as Daddy fucks you."

That lithe, golden body twists in need as his pale cock plunges up inside her. With each inch, he pauses. Lets her adjust. Then, he pulls back... and pushes in deeper.

Again...

And again...

And again...

schhhrlk...

Penelope's quailing cries reach their zenith as he feels his shaft sink in all the way. Like a sword plunged into its sheathe. At last, his hips lock against hers; he feels his swollen balls pressed to her pelvis. Her breasts are flattened against his chest, their bodies making contact with a brief, wet smk. He kisses her forehead and slowly pulls back... then, just as his tip is about to slip out, he tightens his grip on her -- and slams forward.