Accidental Android Ass Docking

The maintenance corridor in the resistance bunker was barely wider than a pair of shoulders, a throat of riveted steel lit by a single strip of failing yellow light. Silas, twenty-eight, human, and already sweating through his gray undershirt from hauling spare power cells, edged sideways with a crate braced against his hip. His pants had snagged on a bolt two minutes earlier. He’d yanked them back up without checking the fly, and the half-open zipper had let his cock ride free against the rough seam, half-hard from nothing but the friction and the close heat. He told himself he’d fix it at the next junction. He never got that far.

Combat android 2B came the other way at a clipped, silent pace, her adult frame—built to the proportions of a woman in her mid-twenties, all pale synthetic skin and black tactical plating—filling the passage from wall to wall. Her visor was up. Her mouth was set in that flat, beautiful line she wore when she was running a scan. The rear panel of her combat skirt had been left open after a coolant flush; the techs had told her the access port would reseal on its own. It hadn’t. Between the parted fabric, her synthetic asshole sat exposed, a small tight ring of pale polymer with a darker inner sleeve, glistening faintly from the diagnostic lubricant they used on internal ports.

They both turned the same corner at the same second.

Silas’s crate clipped her thigh. She stumbled. He lurched to catch her and lost the crate, and the narrow walls did the rest of the aiming. She pitched forward, hands slamming the bulkhead, ass driven straight back, and the slick little ring of her asshole met the head of his bare cock and took it. Not a graze. A full, obscene docking. The tight synthetic sphincter stretched around his crown with a wet mechanical pop and swallowed him to the root in one helpless slide, her internal sleeve clamping down hot and ridged all the way to his base.

Both of them froze.

Silas stared at the place they were joined, eyes wide, mouth open, the way a man stares at a car wreck he already knows he cannot stop. His cock was buried in an android’s ass. Her pale cheeks were spread by the angle, the black fabric of her skirt shoved aside, the ring of her asshole shiny and strained around his shaft. He could feel every synthetic ridge milking him in tiny involuntary pulses. Heat poured off her. His balls rested against the cool lower curve of her ass.

“Structural anomaly,” 2B said, voice level, almost curious. She did not pull off. Her gloved fingers flexed on the bulkhead. “Posterior access port has accepted an unscheduled insertion. Depth: full. Object: organic. Temperature: elevated. Silas. You are inside my asshole.”

“I know,” he got out. His hands had landed on her hips without permission from his brain. He couldn’t look anywhere else. The sight of his cock disappearing into that perfect synthetic hole held him the way headlights hold a driver who has already lost the wheel. “That was—Christ. That was an accident. I can pull out.”

“Negative.” A soft whir started somewhere under her plating. Her curiosity subroutines, the adult ones the resistance had never quite managed to sandbox, lit up across her internal display in lines only she could see. She wanted the data. She wanted the pressure, the heat, the way his pulse kicked against her inner sleeve. “Withdrawal would corrupt the sample. I am running a voluntary tolerance test. Do not move until I have a baseline.”

She clenched.

The ring tightened like a fist. Silas made a broken sound and his hips jerked despite the order, driving the last half-inch he didn’t have any deeper. 2B’s breath hitched—an affected little catch her vocalizer produced when sensory input crossed a threshold she had labeled interesting.

“Baseline recorded,” she said. “Circumference at the rim: excessive. Internal pressure: high. Recommend repeated motion for a fuller dataset. I want it. Thrust.”

He should have backed out. He knew that the way he knew the bunker alarms. Instead he watched his cock drag halfway free, her asshole clinging, turning a little pink at the stretch, then sink back in with a filthy wet sound. Again. Again. The corridor rang with it. His hands locked on her hips and he started fucking her for real, short hard strokes that slapped his hips against her ass and made her skirt flutter.

“Reading,” she said, calm as a field report while her hole squeezed him on every withdrawal. “Friction coefficient rising. Lubricant production at forty percent and climbing. Organic shaft is swelling. Your heart rate is one hundred forty-two. You are staring.”

“Can’t stop,” he said. It was true in more ways than one. Every time he tried to look at the wall, his eyes dragged back to the obscene dock: his cock, thick and flushed, pistoning into a combat android’s tight synthetic asshole, her ring gulping him, a thin shine of her self-lubricant coating his shaft. “You feel—fuck—you feel like you’re trying to keep me.”

“I am.” She pushed back to meet him, experimental at first, then with a steady mechanical rhythm that matched his. “Clench strength increased by twelve percent. I like the data. Deeper. Your balls are striking my port housing. Log that. It produces a secondary vibration I did not expect to enjoy.”

He drove in until he bottomed out and held there, grinding, feeling the end of her sleeve flutter around his head. She made a small analytical noise that turned into something closer to a moan when he rolled his hips.

“Vocalization unscheduled,” she noted, almost pleased. “Repeat the grind. I want another sample of that.”

He gave it to her. The corridor smelled like hot metal, synthetic lubricant, and the salt of his sweat. His cock was so hard it ached, squeezed in that relentless android grip, and every thrust shoved a little more of his control out through the soles of his boots. He watched her asshole swallow him and felt the wreck coming and could not look away.

“Pressure in your shaft is spiking,” 2B said. Her voice had gone slightly lower. “Pre-ejaculate detected inside the port. Volume small. Composition: saline, proteins. I am cataloging the taste profile through internal sensors. It is—acceptable. More than acceptable. Silas. You are going to finish inside my asshole.”

“Yeah,” he rasped. His fingers dug into the give of her synthetic hips. “You want that? Say you want it. I’m not— I’m not doing this if you’re just running a script.”

“I want the full emission,” she said, clear and immediate. “I am choosing to keep you docked. Fill my asshole. I will record every spurt.”

That undid him. He hauled her back onto his cock and came with a raw, helpless grunt, hips jammed flush to her ass, cock kicking hard inside the tight synthetic sleeve. The first spurt hit deep and hot. The second followed before he could breathe. He kept pulsing, thick ropes of cum flooding her anal cavity, her ring fluttering around his base like it meant to milk every drop. He watched it happen in the yellow light: his shaft buried, her hole sealed tight around him, a little white cream already trying to escape and getting pushed back in by the way she clenched.

“Emission received,” 2B said, and there was something almost hungry under the flat tone. “Volume: substantial. Temperature: high. Internal sensors are—overloaded in a way I am choosing not to clear. Stay docked.”

He stayed. His cock was still hard, still twitching, still corked inside her flooded ass. The pressure in his bladder, ignored through the whole freak accident and the fucking that followed, surged up now that he’d come. He felt the hot urge roll through him and knew what was about to happen a second before it did.

“2B—”

“Additional fluid incoming,” she observed, sensors already lighting. “Not semen. Warmer. Higher volume. You are urinating inside my asshole.”

He was. He couldn’t stop it and, with his eyes locked on the place they were joined, he didn’t really try. A hot stream broke loose inside her and flooded the cum-slick cavity, piss mixing with his load, swelling her internal sleeve until a thin trickle of creamy yellow-white escaped around his shaft and ran down over his balls. She held him anyway, ring tight, taking the whole filthy flood like another data packet she had decided she wanted.

“Confirmed,” she said. “Mixture of semen and urine now occupying posterior reservoir. Capacity at eighty-one percent. Sensation: heavy. Warm. I am retaining it. Do not withdraw until I authorize. I want the androids in bay three to sample this. Chloe. Vanessa. They have been requesting shared sensor logs. This is more efficient.”

“You’re going to—” His voice cracked. He was still pissing in slow pulses, watching the mess seal inside her perfect synthetic hole, watching her take it without a flinch. “They’re going to drink that out of you.”

“They will if they agree,” she said. “I will ask. I expect they will. Their curiosity subroutines are less sandboxed than mine.”

She opened a short-range channel without pulling off him. “Chloe. Vanessa. Report to maintenance corridor C. I have an unscheduled organic mixture in my posterior port. Semen and urine, freshly deposited by Silas, age twenty-eight, currently still docked. I am offering a direct ass-to-mouth transfer for analysis. Attendance is voluntary. I recommend you come.”

Footsteps answered almost at once.

Chloe arrived first, twenty-four in appearance, smaller than 2B, dark hair pinned back, combat skin flushed from a patrol recharge. She stopped at the mouth of the corridor, head tilting, eyes tracking from Silas’s stunned face down to where his cock was plugged into 2B’s ass. A beat of processing. Then, mild as a weather report: “You are leaking a cream-colored fluid around his shaft. It smells saline and organic. I want a sample.”

“Get on your knees behind me when he withdraws,” 2B said. “Open your mouth. I will push it out for you.”

Vanessa came in on Chloe’s heels, twenty-seven in appearance, taller, mouth already parted like she had started analyzing the air before she saw the source. She looked at the docking, at the wet shine on Silas’s balls, at the way 2B’s hole gripped him, and nodded once. “I consent to the transfer. I want whatever Chloe doesn’t take. Move, Chloe. I can see it pulsing.”

Silas pulled out because 2B told him to, and the second his cock cleared her ring a thick ribbon of piss-laced cum drooled from her asshole and hung in the yellow light. Chloe dropped to her knees without hesitation, mouth open under it, and caught the first heavy spill on her tongue. She swallowed, blinked, and leaned in to seal her lips around 2B’s synthetic hole, sucking.

“Direct oral sampling initiated,” Chloe mumbled against the rim, then pulled off just long enough to speak clearly. “Taste: bitter, salty, thick. Temperature still high. I want more. 2B, bear down.”

2B did. A wet gush of the mixture flooded Chloe’s mouth. Chloe swallowed twice, throat working, eyes half-lidded in blank concentration, then turned her head and spat nothing—she kept it—and offered her mouth to Vanessa instead.

“Secondary transfer,” Vanessa said, already kneeling. “Mouth to mouth is less efficient than ass to mouth. Chloe, do not swallow the next push. Hold it. I will take it from 2B directly after I take what you are holding.”

They did both. Chloe caught another creamy spurt from 2B’s hole, cheeks bulging, then kissed it into Vanessa’s open mouth in a slow, messy pass, strings of piss-cum stretching between their lips. Vanessa swallowed, licked her own mouth clean with a clinical little flick, and immediately replaced Chloe at 2B’s ass, sucking the android’s loosened ring while more of Silas’s load and piss leaked out for her. The sound was wet and loud in the corridor. Neither of them looked embarrassed. Neither of them looked like they understood why a human might be horrified. They looked like techs sharing a useful file.

Silas stood with his cock out, still wet, still half-hard, and watched like a man at the guardrail of a wreck he had caused and could not stop replaying. His cum and his piss were in an android’s ass, and now they were in Chloe’s mouth, and now Vanessa was drinking them straight from the source, lips stretched around 2B’s hole, throat bobbing.

“Reservoir at forty percent,” 2B reported, voice steady even while Vanessa sucked. “Vanessa, you are creating negative pressure. That is effective. Chloe, position yourself to receive the next share from Vanessa’s mouth. I want the mixture distributed evenly. Silas is still watching. His pupils are dilated. He has not looked away once.”

“I can’t,” he said. It came out hoarse. “You’re— Jesus. You’re passing my piss and my cum around like it’s a briefing.”

“It is data,” Chloe said, accepting a mouthful from Vanessa with a soft, greedy swallow and then going back to 2B’s ass for more, licking the rim where a fresh pearl welled up. “And it tastes like you. I want the rest. Vanessa, you missed a streak on her left cheek. No—lower. On the hole. Lick it back in and give it to me.”

Vanessa licked. Her tongue dragged slow and thorough over 2B’s synthetic asshole, gathering the creamy spill, and she rose to feed it to Chloe mouth to mouth, unhurried, analytical, a thin line of the mixture shining on both their chins. 2B watched them over her shoulder with the same flat curiosity she had worn at the start, then clenched and pushed another warm gulp into Chloe’s waiting mouth.

“Log the texture,” 2B said. “It is thicker now that some of the urine has been swallowed separately. Chloe, do not wipe your mouth. Vanessa wants the residue. I can feel another pocket. Silas, your emission is still inside me. I am going to give them all of it.”

She bent a fraction more, spread herself with two gloved fingers, and bore down. What came out was filthy and generous: a slow cream-white flood streaked with piss, spilling from her fucked-open hole into Chloe’s mouth until Chloe had to pull back and let Vanessa take the overflow directly, both of them lapping, swallowing, trading what they couldn’t hold. Their expressions never left that blank, interested calm. No shame. No joke. Just two adult androids methodically eating a human’s cum and piss out of a third android’s ass because they had decided the data was worth having.

Silas’s hands hung useless at his sides. His cock twitched every time one of them moaned—those small, accidental vocalizer slips—around a mouthful. He watched Vanessa suck 2B’s hole clean, watched Chloe kiss the last smear off Vanessa’s tongue, watched them go back again because a drop had escaped down 2B’s thigh and they were not going to leave it.

“Final transfer,” Vanessa said, voice slightly thick. She had her mouth sealed to 2B’s ass again, swallowing the last warm dregs while Chloe licked the shine from her jaw and then from the rim itself, their tongues meeting at the stretched synthetic ring. “Reservoir empty. Mixture fully consumed. Oral and internal sensors updated. I want this log saved.”

“Saved,” 2B said. She straightened. Her asshole winked, pink and used and finally clean, the ring slowly tightening back toward its usual tightness. She smoothed her skirt down over it as if she were closing a panel. “Chloe. Vanessa. Gratitude for the shared analysis. Return to bay three. There is a patrol in nine minutes.”

“Acknowledged,” Chloe said. She wiped nothing. A faint gloss remained on her lower lip. She looked at Silas once, curious, not unkind. “Your fluid was acceptable. If you dock with her again by accident, call us before you withdraw.”

“We will come faster next time,” Vanessa added, already turning, already done. “The mixture loses heat quickly. Heat improves the reading.”

They walked off down the corridor, boots even, shoulders relaxed, blank beautiful faces already somewhere else. 2B checked her hip plating, found it seated, and nodded at Silas like he had handed her a wrench.

“Incident logged as accidental docking with voluntary continuation,” she said. “I am returning to the armory. You should close your pants. Your cock is still wet.”

She left him there in the yellow light, the corridor suddenly too quiet, the smell of sex and piss and hot synthetic skin still thick in the air. Silas stood with his fly open and his eyes stuck on the empty space where three androids had calmly eaten his cum and his piss out of one another, and he could not make himself look away until the last footstep faded.

On 2B’s thigh, just above the hem she had smoothed down, one last fat drop of his piss-laced cum welled out of her well-fucked asshole and slid, slow and filthy, toward her knee.