Ch.3) Touching Feeling /k/ edition: The Relewdening

As the bed creaks and her moans reach a feverish pitch, I push on. Her human writhes in exquisite agony, responding to my rough treatment. Through the half-screams as I grind away at her, she can barely speak, much less think, in full statements.

“AH! Ahhh! Uh… rough… you’ll break me! I’m going to break!”

I don’t stop. In fact, I go rougher. In almost sadistic pleasure I continue my rhythmic ministrations. She screams as I speed up. I can’t let up; I keep attacking that same spot. I’ve learned a few things since I first took her in my hands like this. The most important was this:

She may not like it, but she needs it rough.

“AHHH! Master! Mas-UNNN!” She throws her head back as I renew my assault on another part of her. She keeps silent, biting her lips as ravage her body with all my strength. Sweat drips down from my brow, threatening to go into my eyes. I don’t even bother to blink it away; my body is almost giving out from the long session but I endure it. She needs this more than I do. At least, that’s the reasoning I pretend to believe.

I start using long, slow strokes and I can see hear her slowly relax. Her quick, labored breaths give way to drawn-out, lusty moans as I take this time to explore her entirety. She twists under my touch, grasping the blanket and biting her lips as I bring my tool over a heretofore unexplored area. I gently touch and grind this spot for a bit, testing her reaction and memorizing her preferences. The bed creaks ever so slightly as she bucks her hips unconsciously.

The first time I had her like this was a bit of an awkward affair. Her clothes on, my hands always touching gently as if with kids gloves, pulling back as she hissed at unfamiliar sensations. It was our first time, hers and mine, so I treated her like a perfect gentleman, but now I’ve learned over the last few days.

What she needs isn’t a gentleman, but a master. Not one who gives, but one who takes away.

I start scraping at her with renewed power. She gasps as I almost thrust away with my rod with reckless abandonment. She shrieks and screams and I keep going, lost in the cacophonic staccato of creaking wood and her pained exhalations. My body is giving out, but I can tell she’s close. With a last spurt, I give way to complete disregard and I grind it against her in almost bestial ferocity. I look up from where I’m moving against and look into her eyes. They’ve gone blank, she no longer even screams against my violent thrusts but her body just goes limp like a puppet with its strings cut, the only evidence of life still in her are the jagged breaths she takes.

I give her a few last, forceful strokes and let her go. I couldn’t finish, but any more would have had too much of a stimulating effect on her. I wipe off what I could on an old t-shirt turned rag and look at Sylvie. Her eyes haven’t yet regained the luster of awareness, but her heaving breasts and her body reddened at my less-than-artful attentions are enough evidence for me that I gave her exactly what she needed for now.

I get up and stretch myself out. She has been at my mercy for the better part of two hours now, but I’ve been doing all the moving. I crack my back and start heading out of the bedroom to the kitchen.

“Uuuu… master…”

I look over to her and it seems she regained consciousness enough to try to stand up. I walk over to the bed and with one hand push her back down, lying on the bed. She’s tried this a few times before, to serve me after one of our sessions but I can’t let her.

“Stay put Sylvie. Rest up and wait for me.”

She obeys, although with a cute stubbornness that has become routine. I can’t help but smile as I sit down on the bed and feast my eyes on her. Her skin, which normally has a pallid tint to it, has a healthy rose color. I stroke her blonde hair before bringing my hand to rest on her cheek. There’s warmth behind it, an odd fact considering she’s a revolver not a human. I get up and stretch out my legs as I stride towards the refrigerator. I open the fridge door and grab a coke. With a satisfying crack and hiss, I take a deep swig and let the carbonation take the edge off.

Walking back with soda in hand I see Sylvie sitting up, covering herself with a white, almost see-through sheet. This is still something of a new sight to me, so I let my eyes rove through the valleys and peaks covered by that thin cloth, tantalizing my imagination. I take another drink of coke to cover an unstoppable urge to gulp at her body. The body I’ve ravaged and will continue to.

“Master, do you want to do it again?”

Despite the cola, I can taste the uncertainty in her voice. I have to admit, I’ve been enjoying this a lot more than her. What man wouldn’t love to have a beautiful woman twisting, clenching, and moaning for him, responding to his desires? But, I’m pretty sure that she couldn’t handle another session so soon.

“No, not tonight. You’ll need to save your strength for tomorrow’s.”

She pulls her knees to her chest and pouts. “You were rough again.”

“You know damn well you love it like that.” I walk over to my desk and sit down.

“Master, I don’t want to bother you, but when are you going to get a proper brass brush?”

I put away the cleaning kit I had purchased for revolvers chambered for .357 magnum. It was a dinky little thing, bought it without really thinking, but I neglected to verify it had an actual brass brush. It came with a tiny little scraper and brass bore brush that made these nightly rust removal sessions possible. It was very slow going though; my research recommended leaving a rusted firearm in certain kinds of solvent for at least a day before brushing, but Sylvie hates being left in any kind of small enclosure. The first time I put her in a bucket of kroil, she lasted only a few minutes before rushing as fast as her legs let her to stop me from leaving for school and work. Judging from that haunted look she gave me as I pulled her gun body out of the bucket, I had underestimated the severity of the trauma of being left in a box to corrode away.


I finish putting away the odds and ends I used to clean her. For now, I soak a few rags in copious amounts of kroil and wrap them around her firearm form. Then I pour more solvent on her and leave the mass of rags out on the porch in a shady, ventilated spot for a few minutes. I go about my business until she comes to get me for the brushing and scraping portion. I’m still unclear on why she needs to use a pillow that says “Yes” to tell me it’s time to start, but I’ll let her have her secrets.

I feel arms draping themselves around me and two soft, full cups press themselves against my neck. Against my will, my head leans back so I can luxuriate in her care. It’s odd, having her in front of me in gun form, flakes of rust surrounding her forming almost a twisted bed of sickness, and having her in back of me, my mind tracking how the slight sways of her posture brings me to bliss from the resulting cyclical motions of her breasts. A thought flits through my mind, how I need to clean off the rust on my desk and oil her in every nook and cranny I can get to, but that can wait for now. Just a few more moments like this, her warmth and pressure heavenly at my back; I hear a melody softly hummed, reminiscent of saloons and horses and the stringent smell of black powder, the memories of a ghost who had never lived that history.

With a grunt, I pull myself from that embrace despite my desire to stay in it forever. I grab a clean rag and the large bottle of oil that I had purchased; I had spent a good amount of my remaining funds on these few cleaning supplies and now I’m waiting on my first paycheck from my part-time job so I can afford more than the bare basics. I douse the rag with an almost criminally liberal amount of oil and grab her gun form.

“Back on the bed Sylvie. We’re almost done.”

I swivel around in my chair to face the bed again. Sylvie shuffles off to comply and I take this time to examine her not as a man but as her owner. Pallid, diseased flesh is slowly giving way to the reddish glow of health. Progress has been slow over the course of these two weeks but slowly and surely I could see the corrosion give way to her true form underneath. It shows on her human form, especially as I run my eyes all over the curves of her naked form.

I gave up immediately on her original grips. Too much was missing to restore them. However, I came across this conundrum that as soon as I removed them, her clothes vanished until I replaced them back on her. Human clothes didn’t work; judging from how she twisted and clawed at them, they seem to be unbearable irritating for her to wear. I chalked it up to gun girl physics and made a mental note of it. Oddly enough, she can eat human food, but where it goes I have no idea. She eats, can taste the same as I can from what I can tell, but judging by the incident with the steak and eggs at the diner nearby she doesn’t suffer from bowel distress like a human would. She eats, but doesn’t get hungry or is affected by malnutrition if she doesn’t. The more I find out, the more questions I end up raising, like how does she seem to give the laws of thermodynamics a schlonging. The engineering student in me is fascinated, but right now I have other work to accomplish.

I start oiling her with greater vigor, but not with the same force as I had exerted scraping the rust off her. I rub her all over and let the lubricant go deep into each crevice in her body. A stifled gasp breaks my concentration and my head jerks up towards the source. On my bed, with one hand down to her inner thigh and the other trying in vain to silent the moans coming from her mouth, Sylvie shudders from the stimulation. I feel heat and tightness in my loins as a part of me attempts to get a better view of the situation by breaking through the barriers of cotton and denim I placed before him. I hunch over slightly to try to hide it, but judging from how her legs cross over to keep her hand captive down near her deepest parts and how her breasts jiggle as she squirms at my touch I doubt she’s in any capacity to see my hard-on much less judge me for it.

I keep oiling her, relishing how pliable and responsive her human form is. Pity her gun form doesn’t have that same alacrity to accept my oiling. The gun soaks up oil like parched desert ground. I can’t help but grunt in displeasure as I reach out for the oil bottle again. Looking at Sylvie, I can see her almost dripping in some type of lubricant, how she runs her hands all over her body spreading it deep into each pore. I bite my lips.

“Fuck.”

She didn’t seem to hear me, lost in her own world of pleasure, but seeing this every day for the last two weeks has been hell on me. I’ve never been this backed up before; every moment I’m not at work or school, she’s been with me. I’m going mad here; even though she sleeps like a normal person does she always seems to wake up before I can sneak out to the bathroom. I turn my chair away from that damn siren and continue to rub in the oil. The revolver slips from my grasp a tad and lands on my crotch. My whole body stiffens at the contact, but her gentle moaning doesn’t stop. Neurons flash against my will.

Nope. Don’t do it. This is more than just creepy, this is downright degenerate. Put that gun back on the desk. Do your job properly. You are going to take care of her right.

But my hands don’t obey my ego. My id controls them. It begins with a small thrust of the hips. Just readjusting my seating position right? Coincidentally, it brings my tip to her metal frame. The stimulation is dulled by the cloth between us, but my hands bring Sylvie’s frame down to rub more against my crotch. She keeps up her labored breaths and twisting in the sheets on my bed, so I keep going.

More oil pours out on her and the large bottle runs empty. I toss it back on the desk without a care and push down on her with the rags in my hand and up with my groin. I move my hips back and forth, the pressure rubbing down on me driving me insane. I keep pushing and fondling, rubbing the oils into the grooves in her cylinder, into the gaps in her frame, into all her spots rough and smooth. My passion rises up and I can almost feel relief coming. Two weeks of sweet torture is making me quite the quickshot, but I physically can’t care. My hips buck in anticipation and her frame bumps into the desk.

The world stops and silence reigns. I freeze in shame and thank whatever higher being there is that my back was turned so she couldn’t see it.

“Master…” My blood runs cold and runs back from my erection back into my brain. “I felt it.” Oh god, she knows. I’ve used her in the worst way I could think of and now what? I try to think of an excuse or something, anything to explain it all but my mind goes blank and I see white. Off in the distance, I hear something familiar, a shuffling sound but I can’t respond to it. My chair turns without my desire and I come face to face with the woman I had been using for my own pleasures.

“I felt it move, Master.” Her voice was as soft as death and her eyes as expressionless as a tombstone.

“Sylvie, I am so, so…” My words fail me as my mind goes from a dead stop to full throttle to find explain myself.

Without any warning, she sits on my lap riding me cowgirl style and pulls me into her embrace. Odd, usually people don’t act like this when they find out you were grinding on basically their unmoving body.

“My cylinder. I felt it move. It can move again.” She takes my lips with surprising strength and enthusiasm. Ah, now that I think about it and now that she says it, I can feel a little bit of wiggling in her formerly locked shut cylinder. No way it’s able to cycle just yet, but the rust must have loosened off from the… wait isn’t this my first kiss?

Oi! This is my first kiss, what the hell? I let her gun form down onto me, cradled nicely between the meeting of our two bodies and push her just enough to free my lips. Finally able to breathe again, I look her in the moistening eyes. Eye. Her blonde hair she started to twirl into a front braid to cover her bad eye. She licks her lips again, her lips that seem to be on the mend and free from the damage they used to have before my lips are assaulted again.

Electric shocks run down my spine, and I can feel the chemicals rushing into my brain, eruptions of dopamine causing my brain to slow down, cloud over. My hands move off her shoulders and trail down, one to her breast and the other down to lift her full hips to grind against mine. Caught between her crotch and my reinvigorated member, her firearm form was helplessly stuck.

I never knew Sylvie was this insatiable. Her tongue forced her way to mine, flicking here and there before she tore her lips from mine to peck at my neck. Her grinding was rhythmic and unstoppable, growing in strength and frequency. I felt the chemicals kicking in; my hands were all over her oiled skin, grabbing here and feeling there. I couldn’t control myself; my hips were moving on their own. But with a series of thrusts against that metal form and her soft flesh, I hit my limit. Bucking against her, I spent two weeks of frustration and almost instinctively she also slowed down. Against her low, labored sighs next to my ear, I could have sworn I heard a glopping sound as I became uncomfortably aware of the dampness in my pants.

A few minutes passed and we started to come back beyond that dopamine-fuelled ecstasy. I lifted her up by her bottom, this time without lust, to carry her back to bed. As I placed her back on the bed, I could see how much oil I had used on her. As she continued to bask in our petting session, I took a dry rag from my desk and quickly wiped the revolver of all the overly excess oils. A look back at her human form showed me that it worked; she no longer looked like an adult video actress in an oil-massage video but like a healthy, young woman with tight curves and an hourglass figure.

Before she could say or do anything, I marched my sorry ass to the bathroom and started a shower. Maybe she wouldn’t think anything of it, considering how we basically just got each other off during that makeout session, but the shower was just as much to cool my head over fondling her gun body against my dick as it was to wash off the ejaculate. No matter that I’m her master, her owner, it still wasn’t right. At least, not to me.

I look at the clock and see it’s running late. I have class tomorrow and need to cash my paycheck until direct deposit starts to kick in. I walk back to bed, lie down next to Sylvie’s warm form, and struggle to stop thinking. Tomorrow. I’ll explain everything tomorrow and do everything I can to earn her forgiveness.



“Master, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’re forgiven.”

Huh. That was easier than I expected. This morning was a very tense affair; I didn’t have any mystical dreams that foretold a surefire way of regaining her trust. So instead, after a silent breakfast of eggs, I went to class with her in my truck and afterwards to work. The commute would have been quiet but for the crooning of the guy on the radio. I don’t remember programming my truck radio with all country stations, but Sylvie apparently didn’t mind. Neither was she surprised either. She didn’t move at all during the ride except to swat at my hand when I tried to lower the volume. I couldn’t begrudge her that after what I did.

At least, when I thought it was because she was angry at me. I should have figured a single action revolver would like country.

“Sylvie, I used you. When I was supposed to be caring for your needs, I took advantage of that to get my rocks off. Don’t you think that’s a bit reprehensible?”

I desperately try to explain why she should be angry at my behavior. Otherwise, why did I have to suffer from guilt all this time? She cocks her head a tad and puts her finger on her chin. I must be tired; I can physically see the question marks dancing around her head.

“No,” she replies, “why would I when I told you to use me however you’d like? In fact Master, I need to beg for your pardon for my forwardness last night instead.” She starts to kneel, but I pull her back up. Once she gets down like that, she refuses to listen except to an order. Well, except for an order to listen or rise really. She acquiesces, but continues on. “I must be punished for throwing my ugly self onto you.”

I look into her eyes and try to process this. Both of us feel guilt, neither of us blame the other. In all honesty, we should just kiss and make up but judging by that expression she’s making, she won’t accept anything except a judgment decree from me. I really don’t want to get into that though; for a self-described ‘slave’, she’s quite the queen if you ask me.

“Well, Sylvie, I don’t really know. You really didn’t do anything wrong. If I was upset about anything, maybe it would be about my first kiss but…” I was lost in my thoughts for a bit, but I turned around and saw Sylvie crouched down covering her face with her hands. With a noncommittal sigh I try to pull her back on her feet, but she refuses. I try again, a little more force this time, but to no avail as she keeps her hands glued to her face. I feel my eye twitch. So that’s how she wants to play it, huh?

That’s it. No more games.

I grab her around the waist and throw her up over my shoulder. She’s breathing erratically and I’m afraid she’s hyperventilating. I head to the bed and toss her down onto the mattress before straddling her across her chest. With measured force, I grab her wrists and move them to the side so I can see her face. I won’t let her cry, not like… what the hell?

She has the biggest, goddamn kool-aid smile on. Seriously, she’s blushing red like a 120 watt bulb and her smile is as radiant as the city of Hiroshima at 8:16 AM on August 6th, 1945. I purse my lips and wait for her to explain. She doesn’t, she just struggles in vain to keep her lips in check and looks to the side. I bring my hands to her head and try to direct her face towards me, but she averts her eyes. We stay there in silence, tension thicker than the drawings of a certain security guard on that one Macanese calligraphy imageboard I’ve been on. Her face contorts as she exerts inconceivable amounts of effort to keep it schooled. I’m not having it.

“First kiss.”

She twists and turns, but I hold her still. Her smile is widening in small pulses as she tries to hold it back.

“First…”

She’s trembling.

“…kiss.”

She tries to wriggle out but I hold her down on the bed. I keep her face towards me and stare into her watering eyes.

Silence reigns as we remain at an impasse. This girl considers me her master, her owner. What did she say, that I could use her as I see fit and that she would do everything I desired? And yet…

I break the silence. “You’re glad you stole my first kiss, aren’t you?”

And with that, her guard broke. The smile was unleashed, I could feel the heat emanating from her beyond rosy cheeks, and dams broke loose in her eyes as tears streamed down her discolored face. She didn’t answer verbally, but her nodding and hiccups told me all that I needed to know.

I got off her and sat on the bed with my back to her. I’m not even mad about the kiss, it was amazing and something I’d love to do again. It’s just tiring having to draw these answers out of her. I thought being an owner would be easier.

“What are we going to do with you?” I try to reprimand her, but can’t even do it half-heartedly. I tilt my head towards her; even I can’t stop smiling at the absurdity of this little situation. Sylvie is sitting on the bed, kneeling like a proper lady with her feet underneath her bottom. Awfully unladylike, though, is how she’s grinning, touching her lips with her fingertips.

I give up and throw myself back onto the bed. Lying down, I sprawl out, close my eyes, and just relax. Her hands, softened by solvents and my elbow grease, lift up my neck and place me down on soft pillows. But none of my pillows are this soft. I crack open an eye and see Sylvie looking down on me. She’s letting me rest my head against her thighs and she caresses my hair. There’s really nothing to do other than to luxuriate in her tender care. I snuggle up and sigh in contentment.

“Master, I’ll take responsibility for your first kiss.” She doesn’t stop stroking my head and I relax to the point of falling into that twilight between consciousness and sleep. “And I’ll let you use me however you like. Just say the word.” Her voice is so soothing, that little drawl she has. “I’ll take any punishment you desire.”

I don’t really think before I reply. “Bucket.”

She stiffens completely, her hand stopping in mid caress. I better explain fully, right?

“I got the worst of the rust off you, but there’s spots I can’t reach. So I did a little research and I figure we can do something called electrolysis. It should be able to get your cylinder completely free.”

She still doesn’t move. “For how long?” Her voice is robotically stiff, but I can hear the turmoil in it. Her trauma with being stuck in that box carried over to buckets too. I realize this. I hate doing this, but I can’t completely free her without it.

“Up to 12 hours.” Her hand drops from my head and I get up to face her on the bed. I can see her eyes glaze over in fear and her breathing is shallow. “I won’t leave you alone. I’ll be right beside you, okay.” She doesn’t respond, so I grab her shoulders. “Look at me. Sylvie, this is an order, look at me!” She obeys, and I stare into those empty eyes. “Sylvie, I won’t leave your side the entire time. We’ll get through this together.” Without any further words, I embrace her. She still doesn’t move at first, but slowly she hugs me in turn. Tightly, as if afraid I’d vanish.

Internally, I take stock. I have the money to buy everything needed, I’ve looked up how to do it and the steps I need to take afterwards. Everything is perfect on my end, but Sylvie isn’t ready. I need more than just using this as a punishment for an excuse. So, I brainstorm and hit upon a motivating factor for her.

“Sylvie,” I whisper in her ear, “you do this, if you can hold on throughout this, you can take my first time firing a gun.” And with that, I can feel her come back to life. She clutches me tight and her hands move all over my back. It feels kind of odd, offering my first time like that, but I promised to do whatever it takes to get her back to working condition. In all honesty, it was a gambit; I wasn’t certain if ‘first time shooting’ meant anything to these gun girls, but it paid off well. I try to ignore the soft mounds pressing against my chest as I figure out the logistics of this last bit of major rust removal, but I can’t ignore that little fist pump she makes.

I just hope she’s gentle for my first time.