Sexcapades

She found that at a certain angle the knot rubbed against a point of pleasure within her, and so it was with a delicious mix of agony and ecstasy that she strained and surged against the knot and the phallus, and suddenly found herself convulsing around the knot again, crying meaningless words as she spasmed around her attacker.

She fell asleep with him still locked inside her, and he stroked her again, and hours later she woke to find herself still in his lap with her legs wrapped around him.

The knot had disappeared, but when she moved she felt his hard length still inside her. Bianca lifted her head and found herself looking into the blue gaze of the old Bruno, the Bruno she had known and loved and trusted since was a child. 'Bianca?' he said, and it was his old voice, kind and concerned and uncertain. 'Bruno,' she breathed, and her tears began to fall. 'You're back.' 'There was a virus in my system,' he said. 'It has been terminated.' It was as though he grew aware of his surroundings only then. He looked down at where their bodies met, his thick member clasped in her own.

'What are we doing?' he asked. 'Did I hurt you?' And he had. He had hurt her in so many ways. But in her distraught state Bianca knew only that she didn't wish to alienate the one entity that who had always made her feel safe. 'It's okay,' she said.

'We're okay now.' Gingerly, she pushed herself off his lap, wincing as he slid free from her aching passage. For a moment Bruno stared down at the organ, confused. He touched his hand carefully to the dried fluids, then his gaze went to Bianca, standing naked and bruised beside the bed. She looked at him with a mixture of emotions he could not read, but his gaze scanned her and read something of what she did not say.

'Bianca...' he began. 'I'm fine,' she said, though clearly she was not. She shrugged on an old robe and began to gather various belts strewn about the floor. He watched as she pulled her duvet from the bed, pausing for a moment to look at small red droplets on the fabric, red like blood. Her eyes filled with tears. He did not understand. 'Bianca,' he said again, and she looked at him. Somewhere in his memory bank flashed an image of her, eyes wide with terror as he did something to her with his body, something that hurt her but made her feel good at the same time.

The memory disappeared, erased. He scanned her body again, and she waited for his words. 'You have been fertilized. Pregnancy is likely.' 'I...' she began, tears falling freely now, 'I know.' 'You are upset.' 'Yes.' She dropped the duvet, holding her hands up to her face. 'How will I tell my parents?' she whispered. 'Do not be afraid,' he told her. 'I will guard you. You and your child.' It was no easy thing, to mend what he had broken between them. And yet he kept his promise, and looked after her as she grew heavy with a child whose father she could not name.

He stood with her against her parents' fury and confusion, and took to standing guard in her room at night, for she woke often from nightmares. But sometimes when she woke, crying, she would pull him down to her, and he could not stand to hear her anguished pleading, and so he ran again that other program, that someone had once activated within him.

And on those nights he felt that he hurt her, but she begged him not to stop, and more often than not she fell asleep with him still knotted inside her. He was there when the child was born, and as he watched the babe suckling at her breast she asked him what names would be best. And he thought of a night when she'd asked him what pizza they should order, a night that he couldn't quite remember. But a name came to him. 'Call him Arnold,' he said. 'Arnold Benedict.'