The heavy linen "modesty slip" was a crime against engineering. It was designed to hide, restrict, and suppress. So, with slow, deliberate movements, I grabbed the hem and pulled it over Eleanor's head, tossing it onto the cold stone floor.
When I looked back down at the bed, my breath caught in my throat.
Even in this backwards world where physical beauty was ignored in favor of mechanical duty, Eleanor was a masterpiece of structural perfection. Her skin was incredibly smooth, glowing pale against the dark, heavy furs of the bed. Though she was twenty-nine—a discarded, "barren" woman by this society's standards—her body had the untouched, pristine firmness of a virgin.
Her breasts were full and perfectly sloped, the soft weight of them settling naturally against her chest, tipped with delicate, pale pink peaks that were already tightening in the cool air of the room. Below that, a slender waist flared out into wide, child-bearing hips and long, sculpted legs.
It was a flawless system. And it had been left to rust in the dark.
"Is... is my nakedness offensive to you?" she whispered, her voice trembling. Her amethyst eyes darted nervously around the room, swimming with a mix of shame and confusion. She crossed her arms, trying to cover her chest.
"Offensive? Eleanor, you are the most structurally perfect woman I've ever seen," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I crawled over her, straddling her thighs. "It's a tragedy that you've been forced to hide this."
"Please," she choked out, her cheeks burning a furious red. "Stop mocking me and just finish your duty."
Duty. That word pissed me off.
"I told you, I'm fixing the system tonight," I murmured. I reached out and gently grasped her wrists, pulling her arms away from her chest and pinning them loosely above her head.
With her defenses removed, I let my gaze slowly drag over her bare breasts. Then, I lowered my hands and cupped them.
"Ah...!"
A sharp, sweet gasp slipped from her lips the second my palms made contact with her soft flesh. I squeezed gently, testing the weight and elasticity. They yielded perfectly to my touch, molding to the shape of my hands.
"So soft," I muttered, my thumbs brushing deliberately over her tight pink nipples.
"Hnnngh...!" Eleanor jolted, her back arching off the mattress. Her eyes widened in absolute shock at the electric jolt of pleasure shooting through her nervous system. She had never been touched like this. No one in this world masturbated, and no man had ever bothered with foreplay. Her body was a high-performance engine that had never been turned on.
Panicking at the sudden rush of sensation, she wrenched one of her hands free and clamped it hard over her own mouth, desperately trying to stifle her moans.
"Eleanor," I said, my tone shifting into the authoritative, calm voice I used when directing a lab team. I gently pried her hand away from her lips and intertwined my fingers with hers, pressing her hand back into the mattress. "Don't mute the feedback. I need to hear your voice."
"I... I shouldn't be making those sounds," she stammered, tears of sheer embarrassment prickling in the corners of her eyes. "It's shameful. It sounds... broken."
"It's not broken. It's data," I told her, lowering my face until my lips were hovering just an inch above her left breast. "Your voice tells me exactly how much pressure to apply, and where the system is responding best. Let me hear it."
Before she could argue, I opened my mouth and drew her nipple inside, sucking hard.
"Aaahh! Victor!"
Her hips bucked wildly beneath me. I swirled my tongue around the tight bud, scraping my teeth lightly against the ultra-sensitive nerve endings. She squirmed and twisted, her fingers digging fiercely into my hand. The heat radiating off her skin was spiking rapidly. Thermal buildup was well underway.
I spent the next ten minutes mapping every inch of her upper body, leaving wet, red marks across her collarbones and the underside of her heavy breasts. Her moans, initially stifled and frightened, were turning into breathless, needy whimpers.
Once her chest was thoroughly calibrated, I dragged my tongue down the flat plane of her stomach, swirling around her navel.
"W-wait, what are you doing?" she gasped, her hands instinctively flying down to grab my hair as I settled between her spread thighs. "You can't go down there! It's dirty! It's—!"
"Hush," I commanded softly. "Nothing about you is dirty, Eleanor. You smell incredible."
And she did. The scent of her arousal was heavy and intoxicating in the enclosed space of the canopy bed. I gently pushed her hands away and grabbed her pale thighs, parting them wide to inspect the core of the system.
It was a beautiful sight. The contrast of her silver hair against the flushed, pink folds of her pussy was mesmerizing. But more importantly, the "barren" ice queen was absolutely soaking wet. Her natural lubricants were already flowing freely, glistening in the dim candlelight.
"Please don't look at it," she sobbed quietly, completely overwhelmed by the exposure. "Just put the salve on and—"
I didn't argue. I just leaned in and dragged my tongue right up her slick slit.
"HIIIEE—!"
Eleanor shrieked, a sound of pure, unadulterated shock. Her hands gripped the bedsheets so hard her knuckles turned white.
I ignored her frantic squirming and locked her hips in place with my hands. I dove back in, licking and slurping at her dripping folds. I found the swollen little nub of her clit, tucked neatly under its hood, and focused my attack there. I flicked it rapidly with the tip of my tongue, applying steady, relentless friction.
"Victor! Victor, please! Ahhh! I can't—my head is spinning! Something is—!"
Her internal pressure was redlining. She was thrashing like a wild animal, her breath coming in ragged, hyperventilating gasps. I sucked her clit into my mouth and applied a sharp, vacuum-like pressure while slipping two fingers inside her slick, tight pussy.
"Ah! AHHHHHH!"
Her entire body went rigid. Her toes curled violently, and she screamed, a beautiful, unrestrained sound that echoed off the stone walls. Her vaginal walls clamped down on my fingers like a vice, pulsing and spasming as her very first orgasm ripped through her system. Copious amounts of sweet, hot nectar flooded out, soaking my hand and chin.
I let her ride out the tremors, slowly pulling my face away to watch her. Eleanor lay there panting, her chest heaving, her eyes rolled back slightly in pure, exhausted bliss.
"W-what did you do to me?" she whispered, her voice barely functional. "I felt like... like lightning struck me from the inside."
"I told you. I'm fixing the plumbing," I chuckled, shifting my weight so I was kneeling between her thighs again.
I pulled my fingers out of her, holding my hand up so the candlelight caught the thick, syrupy slickness coating my skin. I rubbed my thumb and index finger together, letting a viscous string of her own juices stretch between them.
Eleanor's face burned crimson as she stared at the undeniable physical evidence of her own lust.
"Look at this, Eleanor," I said, keeping my tone analytical but thick with raw desire. "This is your body's natural coolant. When the system is properly heated, it lubricates itself. The Church and those idiot nobles have been forcing dry friction, damaging the machinery and blaming you for it."
I reached down and gripped my aching, rock-hard dick, aligning the blunt head with her slick entrance.
"We don't need their artificial salve," I told her, my eyes locking onto her hazy, completely subservient gaze. "You're already perfectly primed for me."
"But... without the salve, won't it tear?" she asked, her voice trembling—not with fear this time, but with a desperate, heavy anticipation.
"Let's test the hypothesis," I growled, and pushed my hips forward.