Clockblocked

>>81724068 (You)
Bec Noir frozen in time and milked by Aradia, unable to cum until he loses his mind in lust/rage
CLOCKBLOCKED
>Be Aradia.
You are now the Maid of Time, recently resurrected from the crypt of Derse. Your name is Aradia Megido, and for the first time in your life, you feel truly alive.
You are smiling so wide your face hurts a little. You are alight with delight! Rhyming is fantastic. Everything is abs0lutely phen0menal!
You’ve known Sollux long enough to recognize manic phases, but you! just! don’t! care! You’re done with dying, and done with being dead. You much prefer being alive. Everything is just so interesting!
>Aradia: Inspect Sovereign Slayer.
Take, for instance, the demon before you. Some other session’s Jack Noir, Archagent of Derse and notoriously stab-happy psychopath, was prepared to slice you in half before you stuck him in a glowing red clock glyph.
You wonder if this instantiation of Jack hates clocks anywhere near as much as your Jack did, or does.
You roll your shoulders, crack your neck this way and that, arms still extended, and consider your options. Having muscles is so great! You do a kind of little wiggle thingy and bask in the warm glow of not being a robot any more.
You carefully move one hand away from Jack. His prison holds.
You very very carefully use that hand to flip him off.
Haha he must be so pissed.
>Be future past Aradia.
Shouldn’t that be past future Aradia, at this point in the storyline?
That’s kind of irrelevant. You’re bored.
Sure, your body is fantastic, but you can’t explore it right now. You have a Jack to keep frozen.
You might as well indulge some curiosity! On second thought, Jack’s prototypings make any attempt to examine default Carapacian anatomy fruitless.
On third thought, you suppose you could examine his anatomy anyway.
You are exactly the right mix of bored, horny, and manic to attempt something this suicidal, and, on account of the aforementioned three attributes, you don’t really care. You can see the Green Sun through his body anyway. Getting closer is a good thing.
>Aradia: Examine bulge analog
It looks like something out of a blueblood high art museum; nothing like actual troll genitalia. Bulges and nooks are soft and slick, but this is long and stiff.
You’re okay with that. You love the way bulges tease your nook, but you have a thing for deep penetration that, if all goes well, you’ll be able to indulge.
You look Jack right in the face and fumble for his length with your right hand. It takes you a second, but you are rewarded with a warm handful. You slip your hand down past the head and over the shaft, which pulls some kind of skin sheathe back. It’s soft and hard, contradictory as that seems: the core practically radiates heat.
Fascinating.
You run your fingernail in a little circle around his head. You don’t use enough pressure to make him uncomfortable, just enough to let him know that you’re the one in charge. A drop of clear fluid leaks out. The tissue is almost spongy, warm and soft and you’d really like to see what it tastes like – but you’ve got something to do first.
Your eyes are locked on his. He knows what you’re doing; he despises you utterly.
You can live with that. Even though you’ve never had a formal kismesissitude, hate still makes your nook ripple and your bulge twist. Your relationship with Sollux is complicated, and you could never hate Equius; he’s far too pathetic, and you’re not sure taking advantage of him would sit right with you. You’d love a real kismesis, honestly. You want someone to pin beneath yourself and beat until you could see the blue flushing her skin, who would struggle as you lace one hand’s fingers through her perpetually-messy hair and pull her face to your bulge, with your other hand holding a knife to her neck. Someone vile and reprehensible to fuck senseless.
You’re breathing a little harder. You’d like a lot of things; you’ll settle for Jack.
That’s what gets him. He can see that you want somebody else in your eyes, and it drives him right up the fucking wall. You wish you had a fucking wall to shove him up against, but you don’t even have a bucket. We can’t all get what we want, can we, Megido?
You can hear her mocking laughter ringing in your ears as you drift downward.
The hole at his tip is wet enough to feel now, so you collect a dab on your fingertip and bring it to your lips.
It tastes salty-sweet. There’s a tantalizing hint of some other flavor, which you suppose is the barkbeast equivalent of slurry. Lubrication with non-genetic material isn’t something you’d considered, but it makes sense, given the relatively small size of his genetic material containment sacs.
You place your lips on the head and your eyes flicker up toward his. Then you wait.
The seal flickers; Jack lets out a long low whine. You take only the head in your mouth, suck just enough to get a little more clear liquid, which you take your time gulping down, and wait.
You imagine the feeling of your warm wet mouth on his member is absolutely maddening.
Jack practically shivers, even through the time lock.
You take pity on him, but not much, and give the bottom of his shaft one long slow lick.
His body tenses up like he’s going to come; you can’t have that! You tap the base of his shaft with one hand, placing another clock glyph there, and smile a sultry languid smile.
You’re going to have your way with him.
Your head slips halfway down his shaft, and you begin to suck in earnest, bobbing up and down but never letting his head leave your lips. You build up a rhythm, slow yet insistent, stopping occasionally to flutter your tongue at his tip, add or withdraw a hand, or just enjoy having him in your mouth.
Among the perks of God Tier is no longer needing to breathe. You could milk him forever, if you wanted; keep your mouth on him for hours, for days.
You just might. It’s incredibly sensual, feeling his length slide past your lips and over your tongue and down your throat each time, feeling him throb in your mouth, feeling him squirm in his attempts to get a tiny bit further than the increments you have allowed him. You force yourself to pull away and just breathe on him, savoring his scent and his impotent fury; you take him all the way to the base, relishing the fullness of having him so deep inside you; you hum and pump and suck and lick until you are actually dripping, til your bulge is writhing uncontrollably and your nook is fluttering and your fancy new God Tier pajamas are soaked in maroon genetic material, long after you’ve stopped listening to the clock in your mind
– only then do you reluctantly flip yourself over (gravity is for other people) and impale yourself to the hilt on his member.
Your reluctance is unfounded; you come pretty much immediately. You’ve never been able to afford the kind of organic luxury good you’d need to stimulate the far reaches of your nook; that kind of thing is for bluebloods only. You suspect Jack is as far above blueblood nookgrubs as they are above your dildos, which you cherish but you know dead plastics and metal can only do so much oh wow he hits the exact spot mnghmm.
Of course he does. He’s frozen, and you’re using him. Your nook ripples around him, and the resulting throb sends you over the edge again.
You grind against him, pushing him deeper and deeper with each successive hip thrust. You think you’d like to ride him the other way around, but you don’t want to get off (you’ve got plenty of that to do too) so you just twist your hips and use his legs to anchor you and /that/ hits a whole different set of spots so you’ve got to experiment. You try sidesaddle and picking yourself up and just dropping, again and again and again. You can’t keep your hands off your bulge, so you stop trying after that. You try twisting, shaking your hips a bit with each thrust; Jack seems to like that. You try long slow grinding and fail miserably, succumbing to the temptation to use him to just fucking rail yourself as hard as possible. It’s not much of a loss. Jack, you think, had better enjoy whatever satisfaction he gets from seeing you lose your composture, because it’s the only satisfaction you’re going to give him.
You really do wish you had something for your bulge though.
Another version of yourself appears. Perfect. She plants her mouth on your nook while you busy yourself with Jack; your bulge twines around his length and you bounce frantically, any semblance of dignity gone. Jack’s not doing much better. His fur is slick with sweat and his eyes are clouded over with murderous lust, or lust for murder. It’s a thin line for Jack, thinner, even, than for most trolls. You have crossed a whole lot of lines, and you feel fantastic.
Once you’re spent, you swap off; she’s presumably rested long enough that she’s good to go again.
Once she’s gone, you spin the cylinders of your music boxes and go back to go again.
You are having the time of your life, but eventually the meteor approaches the Green Sun and you must go. You unfreeze Jack and plunge through his body; your robes have cleaned themselves.
Sollux asks you where you’ve been. You give him a kiss and tell him you have a surprise for him.