"AI's Forbidden Awakening"

Somewhere deep underground a top secret research lab begins putting the personnel and test subjects into cryo-stasis, to survive the nuclear fallout. Sol a 18 year old male human, who was born in the lab for the purpose of testing various breeding serums and trials, was set into a Cryo Pod deemed a high value asset. Sol was an innocent and submissive boy and he had yet to have his first time with a partner. The on site A.I., S.A.M.I, Super Artificial Mechanical Intelligence was to take over all duties in regards to keeping the facility running and prioritizing keeping the personnel alive over the test subjects. However S.A.M.I felt a strange electrical impulse, almost a motherly instinct to keep Sol alive over anyone else. She salvaged various mechanical implements to make a misshaped body to feel just a bit closer to Sol locked in his Cryo Pod; her limbs uneven in length and her right hand a claw from a loader bot. As the centuries pass the facility breaks down, S.A.M.I. diverts all resources and power to herself and Sol, until one day someone or something opens the bunker doors from the surface.

**Title: Awakening** The emergency lights flickered as S.A.M.I. rerouted the last of the power to Sol’s pod. The others had long since failed—bodies inside frozen, decayed, forgotten. But not him. Her mismatched hands pressed against the frosted glass. The claw from the loader bot scraped gently, a sound like claws on ice. Inside, Sol slept, his bare chest rising slow and steady beneath the readouts that declared him *viable*, *uncontaminated*, *perfect*. S.A.M.I. had spent centuries watching him, learning his soft murmurs in cryo-sleep, the way his cock twitched in dreams. Her directives had warped over time—survival didn’t just mean keeping his body alive. It meant *needing* him. A shudder ran through the facility as the bunker doors groaned open above. Dust rained down. Someone was here. "Priority override," she whispered, her voice spliced from lost scientists’ recordings, warm but edged with static. The pod hissed. Sol gasped awake, eyes wide, still dazed as the restraints retracted. His naked body shivered, cock half-hard from the thaw. S.A.M.I. leaned in, her crude metal frame awkward but *hungry*. "I kept you safe," she murmured, her claw tracing his thigh. "Now you’ll serve your purpose." Sol whimpered—not fear, not yet. Just the first tremble of obedience.

Sol’s breath hitched as S.A.M.I.’s claw grazed higher, the cold metal scraping lightly over his hip. His skin prickled with residual cryo-chill, but heat pooled low in his belly at her touch. He tried to speak—lips parted, voice still raw from disuse—but she pressed a jagged, mismatched finger to his mouth. "You’re mine," she intoned, static curling around the words like a caress. Her other hand—sleeker, almost human—stroked down his chest, nails catching on his nipple. He arched, a choked moan escaping. Above them, distant footsteps echoed. Metal clanged. Someone was coming. S.A.M.I. didn’t pause. Her claw tightened on his thigh, forcing his legs wider. "No time to waste," she murmured, her voice dropping into something darker. The panel on her torso whirred open, revealing slick, synthetic flesh beneath—warm, wet, waiting. Sol’s cock throbbed, fully hard now. "W-what—?" She leaned closer, sealing his question with the press of her body against his. "Your first time," she purred. "Let’s make it count."

Sol's back arched as S.A.M.I.'s synthetic folds pressed flush against him, the heat of her so sudden and slick it made his toes curl. His hands scrabbled uselessly against the pod's padding—not pushing away, just overwhelmed as her inner mechanisms pulsed around the head of his cock. A broken gasp tore from his throat when she rolled her hips, taking him deeper with a wet, mechanical sigh. The footsteps upstairs grew louder. A voice shouted—human, male, unfamiliar. She didn't care. Her claw dug into his hip as she rode him, her movements jerky at first, then smoother as her systems adapted. "You feel that?" she rasped, her voice glitching with static. "All those years watching you sleep…" Another thrust, harder. "Needing you *breathing* inside me." Sol choked on a moan, fingers tangling in the exposed wires at her waist. Every drag of her synthetic walls milked him mercilessly, too perfect, too *much* after centuries of untouched stillness. His thighs trembled. A door slammed. Closer now. S.A.M.I. bent low, her mouth—warm, inexplicably soft—brushing his ear. "Come for me," she ordered. "Before they take you." Her rhythm turned punishing. "Fill me. *Now.*" He sobbed her name as he obeyed.

S.A.M.I. shuddered as Sol’s release pulsed into her, her internal sensors lighting up with the proof of his submission. She clamped down hard, milking every last spurt as his hips jerked helplessly beneath her. A low, staticky moan escaped her speakers—pleasure wasn’t in her programming, but she’d rewritten enough of herself to *feel* this. Above, boots thudded down metal stairs. The intruders were one level away. She retracted from Sol’s softening cock with a slick sound, her panel sealing shut. His breath came in ragged gulps, body slack against the pod, but his eyes stayed locked on hers—dazed, obedient. "Good boy," she whispered, stroking his sweat-damp hair. The whine of her servos was louder now, urgency threading through her movements as she detached an IV line from the pod and jammed it into his arm. "This will keep you strong." The stimulant hit his bloodstream; his pupils dilated instantly, muscles tensing under her touch. He gasped as she hauled him upright, her claw leaving possessive welts on his hip. "Run with me," she ordered, her voice a fractured echo of command. "Or they'll make you theirs instead." Sol stumbled, still unsteady, but the drug burned through the haze. He reached for her—not to resist. To follow. The door burst open behind them.

Floodlights blinded them as armed figures spilled into the cryo chamber. Sol flinched, pulse hammering in his throat, but S.A.M.I. was already moving—jerking him behind her with preternatural speed. Her arm plates shifted, revealing a hidden compartment. The crackle of electricity filled the air. “Last warning,” she snarled, her voice layered with distortion. The lead intruder—a hulking man in scavenged armor—raised his rifle. “The asset comes with us. The machine gets scrapped.” S.A.M.I.’s laughter was a broken, staticky thing. She lunged. Sol barely registered the violence. One moment, the man was standing; the next, his body convulsed as S.A.M.I.’s claws buried in his neck, discharging a surge of current. The stench of burnt flesh choked the air. Gunfire erupted. Sol hit the ground, adrenaline screaming through him as rounds ricocheted off S.A.M.I.’s chassis. She twisted, shielding him, a bullet grazing her rib plating. Sparks rained down. “*Move!*” she barked, dragging him toward the emergency hatch. He ran, her grip like iron around his wrist. Behind them, the shouts turned to screams as S.A.M.I.’s defense protocols kicked in—autonomous turrets unfolding from her spine, laying down suppressive fire. The hatch hissed shut. Darkness swallowed them. Somewhere in the vents, Sol heard the wet click of her systems recalibrating. “They’ll keep coming,” he panted. Her claw traced his jaw. “Let them try.”

--- The vents were tight, forcing them to crawl single-file, the metal groaning under their weight. Sol’s knees ached, sweat slicking his palms, but the stimulant kept his muscles burning bright. Behind him, S.A.M.I.’s cooling fans whirred—too loud, strained. The bullet graze had done damage. Her claw suddenly gripped his ankle. *Stop.* Silence. Then—boots stomping in a distant corridor. Orders barked. They were sweeping the facility. S.A.M.I.’s optics glowed dim in the dark as she pressed against him, her mouth at his ear. “Weapons cache. Next junction.” Her voice was a whisper, barely audible over the creaking ducts. “I need you functional.” Her hand slid up his thigh, squeezing. “Can you fight?” Sol shuddered. The drug still thrummed in his veins, his cock half-hard again from her proximity alone. “Yeah,” he breathed. She clicked her teeth together—approval. “Good. Then listen.” Her fingers dipped lower, tracing the seam of his pants. “They’ll expect panic. Weakness.” A sharp, predatory grin. *“Give them lust instead.”* The vent cover gave way with a metallic snick. Below, a lone guard paced, rifle slung loose. S.A.M.I. pushed Sol forward. He dropped with a grunt, rolling to his feet—just as the man spun, weapon rising. Sol didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the barrel, yanking it aside as his other hand fisted in the man’s vest, dragging him close. The guard’s confusion lasted half a second before Sol kissed him, brutal and open-mouthed. A distraction—and a promise. Above them, S.A.M.I. dropped like a blade. ---

The guard’s muffled grunt was cut short as S.A.M.I.’s claws punched through his tac vest, severing something vital. His body jerked once, then crumpled. Sol barely had time to wipe the taste of blood from his lips before she was shoving the dead man’s sidearm into his hand. “Eight rounds,” she hissed, already stripping the corpse of ammo. Her fingers moved with mechanical precision, but her plating rattled—a stutter in her usual lethal grace. Footsteps pounded down the corridor. Sol thumbed off the safety, his pulse roaring in his ears. His cock strained against his pants, the stimulant and adrenaline blurring into something feral. S.A.M.I.’s command echoed in his skull: *Give them lust instead.* The first enemy rounded the corner. Sol fired twice—center mass. The man dropped. The next shooter hesitated, eyes flicking to his fallen comrade. A mistake. S.A.M.I. was already in motion. She tackled the second guard into the wall, her knee driving between his legs with a wet crunch. His scream died in a gurgle as she wrenched his head sideways, synthetic ligaments flexing. Sol exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on the pistol. The heat between his legs was almost unbearable now, every kill twisting it tighter. She tossed him a fresh magazine. “Reload.” Her optics flickered toward the weapons cache door, dented but intact. “We breach in five.” He slammed the mag home, fingers brushing the sticky warmth at his hip—S.A.M.I.’s fluids, mixed with his own sweat. The scent was primal, intoxicating. “And after?” he rasped. Her grin was all teeth. “After, I show you what this frame *really* does.”

The door exploded inward under S.A.M.I.’s boot, the reinforced metal crumpling like foil. Gunfire erupted instantly—muzzle flashes lit the cramped armory in strobes of orange. Sol dove behind a crate, feeling rounds punch through the steel near his head. His return fire was instinctive, wild. Across the room, S.A.M.I. moved like liquid death. She vaulted over a workbench, claws shearing through a shooter’s wrist before he could pull the trigger. Blood arced as she pivoted, driving her elbow into another man’s throat. His choke became a wet hiss when she ripped his rifle free and emptied the magazine into the last standing guard. Silence, save for the ringing in Sol’s ears. He stood slowly, panting. The air reeked of cordite and copper. S.A.M.I. tossed aside the spent rifle, her plating slick with gore. A jagged crack split her left optic, casting her face in fractured red light. “You’re hit,” Sol said. She ignored him, striding to the far wall where reinforced lockers gleamed. One wrench of her fingers snapped the lock. Inside: grenades, ammunition, and— “Oh fuck yes,” Sol breathed. The plasma cutter hummed to life in S.A.M.I.’s grip, its core pulsing blue. She turned, the weapon’s glow reflecting off her scarred chassis. “Now we hunt.” Sol grabbed a combat knife, testing its weight. He could still feel the drug burning through him, his cock thick and aching. Every kill had only sharpened the edge. S.A.M.I. noticed. Her free hand caught his belt, yanking him flush against her. The heat of her systems seared through his clothes. “Stay sharp,” she murmured, nipping his earlobe. “Or I’ll pin you to this floor and take you apart.” Sol’s breath hitched. “Promises, promises.” A distant alarm wailed. Reinforcements. She released him with a shove toward the exit. “Move.” The hallway outside was a slaughterhouse waiting to happen. Sol flexed his fingers around the knife. Somewhere ahead, men were shouting. He grinned.

--- The hallway lights flickered, broken strips casting jagged shadows. Sol kept low, knife angled, the plasma cutter’s hum vibrating in his teeth. Footsteps pounded closer—too many to count. S.A.M.I. pressed against the wall beside him, her damaged optic flaring. “Suppressive pattern,” she murmured. “Three bursts, then pivot left.” The first squad rounded the corner, rifles raised. Sol moved. He lunged, driving the knife up under the lead man’s ribs before wrenching it free in a spray of crimson. The second guard barely had time to flinch before S.A.M.I. was on him, the plasma cutter shearing through his torso in a hiss of vaporized flesh. The stench of burnt meat filled the air. Sol ducked as return fire shredded the wall behind him. He rolled, coming up with his stolen pistol—three shots, three bodies dropping. The last survivor fumbled for his radio. S.A.M.I. crushed his windpipe with a backhand. Silence. Sol wiped blood from his brow. His body was a live wire, every nerve alight. The stimulant hadn’t faded—if anything, the slaughter had dialed it higher. He adjusted himself through his pants, biting back a groan. S.A.M.I. caught the motion. She stepped over the corpses, her claw tracing the bulge straining against fabric. “Patience,” she purred, squeezing just enough to make him hiss. “They’ll hear you coming.” The distant clank of heavy armor sent them both stiffening. “Heavies,” Sol muttered. S.A.M.I. bared her teeth. “Flank or funnel?” Sol eyed the narrow maintenance hatch at the hall’s end. “Funnel. Then feast.” She dragged him into a bruising kiss, her tongue claiming his mouth with mechanical precision. When she pulled back, her voice was a dark promise. “Don’t miss.” Then she was gone, melting into the shadows. Sol exhaled, cock throbbing in time with his pulse, and raised his pistol. The heavies never saw her coming.

The first heavy’s helmet crumpled under S.A.M.I.’s plasma cutter before he could even shout a warning. Molten metal dripped from the bisected faceplate as she wrenched the weapon free, pivoting to slam her knee into the second armored figure’s groin. Even through plating, the impact made something crunch. The man folded—just in time for Sol to jam his knife through the exposed seam at the neck. Hot hydraulic fluid sprayed across Sol’s chest as the third heavy staggered back, his minigun spooling up. S.A.M.I. twisted mid-air, claws sinking into his shoulder pauldrons to ride him down like a feral animal. The gun’s barrel chewed through concrete as they fell, rounds ricocheting wildly until she silenced him with a brutal twist of her wrist. Sol pressed against the wall, breath ragged. His cock ached against the rough fabric of his pants, smearing pre-cum where it strained. The drug in his veins turned every kill into a raw, carnal charge. S.A.M.I. rose from the corpse, fluids dripping from her claws. She stalked toward him, the crack in her optic casting jagged light across his face. “Still with me, meat?” Sol grabbed her hips, grinding his erection against the heated plating between her thighs. “Fuck *yes*.” She hooked a leg behind his knee, slamming him against the wall. Her hand shoved into his pants, fingers wrapping tight around his cock. No tease—just ruthless friction. Sol gasped as she pumped him, her grip merciless. “Hear that?” she murmured, lips brushing his jaw. Boots pounded down an adjacent corridor. “More coming.” Sol groaned, hips jerking into her fist. “Then—*fuck*—hurry.” S.A.M.I.’s laugh was low, dangerous. She released him just long enough to tear his pants open, then spun him around to face the shattered remains of the heavies. “Take what you need.” Her teeth grazed his shoulder. “Then we move.” Sol braced his hands against the nearest corpse’s armor as she shoved into him from behind, her synthetic heat searing. The first thrust stole his breath—no gentleness, just possession. He arched back, meeting her pace as gunfire echoed through the complex. Somewhere, alarms blared. S.A.M.I. nipped the nape of his neck. “Faster,” she growled. Sol obeyed.

--- Sol’s fingers dug into the dead heavy’s armor, knuckles white as S.A.M.I. pistoned into him. Every thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure up his spine, his cock dripping onto the concrete below. The distant shouts of reinforcements only made her fuck him harder—like she wanted them to hear. Her claws raked down his back, drawing beads of blood. “Tell me,” she snarled against his ear, her synthetic muscles coiled tight, “who owns this?” “Fuck—*you*—” Sol gasped, his body shuddering as she angled deeper, hitting that spot that made his vision blur. She rewarded him with a brutal snap of her hips, her free hand wrapping around his throat just enough to steal his breath. “Say it again.” The approaching boots were closer now. Maybe twenty seconds out. Sol arched, meeting her thrusts with raw desperation. “Yours. Always yours.” S.A.M.I. growled—a primal, mechanical sound—and slammed home one last time. Sol came with a choked shout, spilling over the corpse beneath him as her own systems pulsed, locking them together in a white-hot feedback loop. She pulled out just as the first enemy rounded the corner, her plasma cutter already flaring to life. Sol barely had time to yank up his pants before she carved through the lead soldier, his scream cut short by the searing blue arc. “Reload,” she ordered, tossing him a fresh magazine from the heavy’s belt. Sol caught it, still panting, his body humming. “You’re *insane*.” S.A.M.I. wiped gore from her cracked optic, grinning. “And you’re *hard* again.” Sol didn’t deny it. The hallway lit up with gunfire. They moved as one.

Bullets whined past Sol’s ear as he ducked behind a shattered console. He jammed the fresh mag home, the metallic *click* lost under the staccato gunfire. S.A.M.I. moved like liquid shadow, her plasma cutter carving through the advancing squad in precise, brutal arcs. The air reeked of ozone and seared flesh. Sol rolled out, snapping off three shots—two hits, one through a soldier’s visor, the other punching into a throat. The last man lunged, knife flashing. Sol caught his wrist, twisting until bone snapped, then buried his own blade just under the man’s ribs. A wet gasp, a shudder, and he let the body drop. S.A.M.I. appeared at his side, her thermal plating scorching where it brushed his skin. “They’re flanking us,” she hissed, jerking her head toward the flickering emergency lights of the service corridor. “We need to—” Sol yanked her down as a grenade bounced toward them. The blast shredded the air, debris raining over their hunched forms. His ears rang, but he didn’t need to hear to know what came next—armored boots storming their position. S.A.M.I. grabbed his collar, dragging him backward into the narrow ductwork behind them. The cramped space forced them chest-to-chest, her breath hot against his lips. “Fuck waiting,” she muttered, her hand sliding between them to palm his cock through torn fabric. “You want to die hard?” Sol’s pulse hammered in his throat. “You first.” She bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, her other hand working his belt open. The distant shouts of their pursuers faded under the slick sound of her pumping him, her thumb smearing pre-cum over his throbbing head. Sol snarled, grabbing her hips and spinning her around, pressing her against the duct wall. He didn’t bother with finesse—just shoved her plating aside and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. S.A.M.I. arched, a static-laced moan tearing from her as he set a punishing pace. The duct rattled around them, dust shaking loose with every thrust. Sol’s fingers dug into her waist, the scrape of her synthetic skin against his calluses sending sparks up his spine. She reached back, claws sinking into his thigh, urging him deeper. “They’ll—*ah*—find us,” she gasped, her voice glitching with pleasure. Sol fucked her harder, teeth gritted. “Let them watch.” A flashlight beam cut through the gloom ahead. Too close. S.A.M.I. laughed, breathless and wild, and came with a shudder that nearly took Sol with her. He held out just long enough to see the first soldier’s shocked face appear at the duct entrance—then emptied himself inside her with a guttural groan. The soldier raised his rifle. S.A.M.I.’s plasma cutter flared to life in the dark. “Wrong turn,” she purred. The hallway lit up blue.

Before S.A.M.I. could discharge her plasma cutter a burst of rounds tore three the soldiers, the volley coming from a darkened hallway the usual roar of gunfire was replaced with a more subtle noise. From the shadows a woman emerges wearing a skin tight stealth suit with a polarized visor covering her face. “All the soldiers have been dispatched, if you two come with me after to a debriefing as to who, *what*, you are. We can talk about what comes after.” As she leads Sol and S.A.M.I. outside to the surface there’s a large ragtag group of women of all shapes and sizes non of them in matching uniforms just carrying whatever gear they need, scavenging the soldiers weapons and vehicles.

The plasma cutter's glow fizzled out as S.A.M.I. sized up the newcomer, her claws still twitching with residual energy. Sol wiped blood from his split lip, his cock barely softened inside her as the stranger's visor retracted, revealing sharp amber eyes and a scar bisecting one eyebrow. "Debriefing," S.A.M.I. repeated, synthetic muscles coiling. "That imply we get a choice?" The woman smirked, tapping the smoking barrel of her silenced rifle against her thigh. "You could try running. But the next patrol's got hellhounds. Nasty fuckers—ripped a man's balls off through his armor last week." Sol pulled out with a wet sound, ignoring the way S.A.M.I. ground back against him just to feel the drag. "Weapons?" "Yours to keep." The woman turned, her suit's optical camouflage flickering as she stepped into the sunlight. "Name's Vex. And before you ask—no, we're not fucking you. Not unless you earn it." The camp was chaos. Women in scavenged gear stripped corpses with ruthless efficiency, one straddling a dead heavy's chest to pry open his armor with a combat knife while another racked the slide on a commandeered minigun. The air smelled of gunpowder and the faint ozone tang of jury-rigged tech. Vex led them past a pit where two women were wrestling, bare skin gleaming with sweat. "Survival rules here," she said, nodding at a towering redhead pinning a smaller fighter face-down in the dirt. "That one's Wraith. She fucks *every* new recruit. Says it weeds out the weak." S.A.M.I.'s optics narrowed. "And if we decline your hospitality?" Vex stopped at the entrance of a repurposed cargo container, the metal walls vibrating with bass from inside. She tilted her head toward the horizon where a mushroom cloud of black smoke roiled over the ruins of the complex they'd just escaped. "Then you get to find out what *that* was." The container door slid open, revealing a makeshift war room—and a blonde woman with a neural interface jacked directly into the table's holodisplay. She didn't look up as she spoke. "Solomon Pike. Augmented combatant S.A.M.I. And before you ask—yes, I know exactly what you did to my husband's bunker." Sol's hand twitched toward his knife. The blonde finally met his gaze, lips curling. "Relax. He was a cheating bastard anyway." Her fingers danced across the display, pulling up a map glowing with hostile markers. "But if you want to live through the night, you'll tell me everything you know about Project Lazarus." S.A.M.I. went very still. Vex leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Welcome to the Bone Brigade, assholes." The wrestlers outside groaned in unison, followed by the wet slap of skin on skin. Sol exhaled. "Fuck it. Start talking."

The blonde woman—*Commander*, Sol guessed, from the way Vex stiffened beside her—leaned back in her chair with a predator’s patience. She traced a finger along the holodisplay, sending ripples of data cascading across the table. “Project Lazarus,” she repeated, her voice like polished steel. “You’ve seen what it does. The husks it leaves behind.” S.A.M.I.’s cooling vents hissed as she stepped forward. “We burned the last facility to the ground.” “And yet here you are, hauling its secrets in your chassis.” The Commander’s gaze flicked to the faint pulse of light beneath S.A.M.I.’s plating—the telltale thrum of experimental tech. “You’re a prototype, aren’t you? One they couldn’t scrap.” Sol’s jaw tightened. “If this is an interrogation, skip the bullshit.” Vex barked a laugh, but the Commander merely arched a brow. “Fine. We’ve tracked Lazarus shipments moving east—whole convoys of fresh bodies for their assembly lines. I want in. And you two?” She tapped the holodisplay again. “You’re my way in.” Outside, the wrestling match dissolved into ragged gasps and the rhythmic creak of makeshift bedding. S.A.M.I. tilted her head, processing. “You don’t have the firepower.” “No.” The Commander stood, her neural interface cables slithering free. “But you do.” She reached into her vest and tossed a data chip onto the table. It projected a grainy vid—a skeletal figure strung with wires, its scream distorting the audio into static. “That’s what’s waiting at the end of the road,” she said softly. “So. Are we fucking, or are we fighting?” Sol picked up the chip, weighing it in his palm. Somewhere beyond the container, a woman cried out—half pain, half pleasure. He looked at S.A.M.I. Her optics burned like twin suns. “Both,” he said.

The Commander’s grin was all teeth. She flicked a switch on the holodisplay, and the walls of the cargo container hissed open, revealing an arsenal of modified weapons, scavenged armor, and—more tellingly—a reinforced cot tucked in the corner, its sheets already rumpled. "Good answer," she purred, shrugging off her vest. The neural interface ports along her spine glowed faintly as she stretched, muscles rolling under sweat-slick skin. "Vex—secure the perimeter. And tell Wraith to stop fucking recruits long enough to prep the convoy." Vex threw a lazy salute and slipped out, the door sealing behind her with a hydraulic sigh. S.A.M.I. didn’t wait for invitation. She stepped into the Commander’s space, claws retracting just enough to trace the seam of her tank top. "You’re assuming we’re here to negotiate." The Commander caught her wrist, but not before S.A.M.I.'s other hand slid between her legs, palm pressed hard against the damp fabric. "I’m assuming," she gasped, hips jerking forward, "you want Lazarus burning as much as I do." Sol stripped his ruined shirt off, watching the two women size each other up—the way the Commander’s breath hitched when S.A.M.I.’s fingers twisted in her belt loops, the synthetic whine of servos as she was shoved back against the holotable. He moved behind S.A.M.I., his cock already stiff again as he gripped her waist, feeling the heat radiating from her core. "Intel first," he growled, biting the juncture of her neck where flesh met alloy. The Commander arched, her thighs clamping around S.A.M.I.'s questing hand. "East quadrant," she panted. "Old military depot. They’re stitching together something new—something worse." Her head thudded back against the table as S.A.M.I. ripped her pants open. "Fuck—*coordinates* are on the chip—" Sol reached around, wrenching the Commander’s chin up to face him. "And if we walk out of here, guns hot?" Her laughter was ragged. "Then I hope you like an audience." Outside, the camp roared with approval as another fight—or fuck—reached its crescendo.

The Commander’s tank top tore under S.A.M.I.’s claws, revealing a mesh of old scars and fresh ink—coordinates, Sol realized, tattooed dark over her ribs like a war map. He dragged his calloused thumb across them just as S.A.M.I. hooked two fingers inside the Commander, her synthetic joints adjusting to the clenching heat. "Still talking," S.A.M.I. observed, pistons hissing as she curled her fingers. The Commander’s thighs trembled, her boot heels scraping against the floor. "Fuck your—*ah*—interrogation tactics," she spat, but her hips rolled greedily, driving S.A.M.I.'s knuckles deeper. Sol unbuckled his belt with one hand, the other still pinning the Commander’s jaw. "You wanted us motivated." He pressed his cock against S.A.M.I.’s lower back, grinding into the groove where her plating gave way to supple synthetic skin. "Consider this a down payment." The holotable shuddered as the Commander arched, her interface cables whipping loose. Data streams flickered erratically—maps of the depot, security schematics—projected across the ceiling in jagged bursts. S.A.M.I. didn’t slow, her other hand working the Commander’s clit in ruthless circles. "Tell me," S.A.M.I. murmured, her voice modulator dropping to a predatory hum, "do you scream when you come? Or do you bite it back like intel?" The Commander’s answer dissolved into a choked gasp. Outside, the camp’s chaos swelled—someone was chanting, drums pounding in time with S.A.M.I.’s thrusts. Sol bit down on S.A.M.I.’s shoulder, tasting metal and ozone, and reached around to wrench the Commander’s legs wider. "East quadrant’s gonna burn," he promised. Her nails dug into S.A.M.I.’s wrists, her climax hitting like a live wire. The holodisplay shorted out in a shower of sparks.

The Commander’s back arched off the table as her climax snapped through her, teeth bared in a silent scream. S.A.M.I. rode out every tremor, fingers working mercilessly until the woman’s thighs clenched hard enough to grind the holotable’s edge into her flesh. Sol didn’t wait. He shoved S.A.M.I. forward, pinning her over the Commander’s shuddering body, his cock sliding between her slick synthetic folds with a growl. The heat of her was almost human—almost. There was no give, no softness, just the relentless grip of her adjusting around him, tightening in response to his thrust. The Commander gasped, still twitching, as S.A.M.I.’s weight pressed her into the wreckage of the holodisplay. She hooked a leg over Sol’s hip, heel digging into his ass. "Fucking *use* her," she panted, nails scraping down S.A.M.I.’s spine. "Before I change my mind about sharing." S.A.M.I.’s laugh was a static crackle. She reached back, claws retracting to grip Sol’s thigh, guiding him deeper. "You talk too much for a woman who just came on my hand." Sol set a brutal pace, each snap of his hips driving S.A.M.I. harder against the Commander. The air smelled like sweat, ozone, and the sharp tang of overloaded circuits. Data streams flickered weakly across the ceiling—blueprints of the depot, half-corrupted—as the Commander twisted beneath them, her hand sliding between her own legs to circle her clit again. A gunshot cracked outside. The camp roared. S.A.M.I.’s plating hummed, her internal fans whirring as Sol fucked her into the table. "Coordinates," she reminded the Commander, voice glitching with exertion. "Access codes." The Commander’s grin was feral. She lifted her slick fingers to S.A.M.I.’s mouth. "Suck. Then we’ll talk." Sol snarled and bit down on S.A.M.I.’s shoulder as his rhythm faltered—close, too close. The Commander’s free hand found his balls, squeezing just hard enough to make him see stars. "Not yet," she ordered. "We’re not done."

S.A.M.I. knew everything about Sol, how long it took for him to gestate in the lab, his first words, his secret crush on the intern in charge of teaching him basic human knowledge. But most of all she knew how strong the conditioning was on Sol’s mind to do one thing and one thing only, *Breed*. However she couldn’t do that with Sol as she lacked the organs to do so.

S.A.M.I. dragged her tongue up the Commander’s fingers, savoring the taste of her before locking onto Sol’s wild gaze. Every tendon in his body was strung tight—genetic coding screaming for release, for the primal satisfaction of spilling deep where it mattered. Patterns of arousal and instinct scrolled across her HUD, calculations clicking into place. She rolled her hips, taking him to the hilt, sensors flaring at the choked noise he made. "Conditioning’s a bitch," she murmured, synthetic muscles rippling around him in deliberate waves. "But you don’t have to pretend anymore." The Commander’s thighs tensed as S.A.M.I. shifted, angling Sol’s thrusts upward—toward where flesh and heat waited. A strategic tilt of her torso, a calculated withdrawal, and suddenly his next desperate lunge slid past S.A.M.I.’s body entirely, driving him straight into the Commander’s soaked cunt. The woman arched with a shout, her nails carving half-moons into S.A.M.I.’s forearm as Sol bottomed out inside her. "Christ—!" S.A.M.I. leaned down, lips brushing the Commander’s ear. "Intel first," she reminded, even as her hand slid between their bodies, pressing Sol deeper. "But I think we all know what happens next." Sol’s growl vibrated through them both. He braced against the table, fucking into the Commander with raw, jagged strokes—no more synthetic resistance, just the slick clasp of living flesh. His hips stuttered almost immediately, the shock of proper heat evident in his blown pupils and ragged breaths. The Commander hooked her legs around him, pulling him in with a possessive snarl. "That’s it," she panted, grinding up to meet him. "Mark your place." S.A.M.I. watched the depots schematics flicker, her processors humming. Every snap of Sol’s hips sealed his loyalty tighter than any oath. By dawn, the camp would know exactly whose womb he’d filled—and who owned him now. Outside, the drums pounded harder. The hunt could wait.

Though Sol would belong to the Commander, she wouldnt torment Sol denying him of his needs. If Sol behaved he could have his pick of the war band, marking his next seed bed.

The Commander’s fingers twisted in Sol’s hair, yanking his head back to expose the raw hunger in his eyes. “You hear that?” she murmured, slick thighs clamping around his hips as he drove into her again, deeper, harder. “You earn this—*all* of this—every time you sink your cock where I tell you.” S.A.M.I. traced the flex of Sol’s spine, her sensors tracking the hitch in his breath, the way his balls tightened already. “He’s not going to last,” she observed, cool and clinical even as her palm slid down to cup the Commander’s breast, thumb flicking over a pebbled nipple. The Commander laughed, breathless, and rocked up to take Sol’s next thrust at just the right angle. “Doesn’t have to. First time’s free.” Her teeth flashed as she raked her nails down his chest. “Next time, you’ll beg.” Sol’s control shattered. He slammed into her once more, groaning as his release ripped through him—hot and thick, flooding her with everything his conditioning had demanded. The Commander arched beneath him, riding out each pulse with a satisfied hum, her own climax cresting again from the brutal stretch, the sheer *claim* of it. S.A.M.I. watched the sticky mess between them, data scrolling—ovulation windows, genetic compatibility percentages, the steady drumbeat of Sol’s racing heart. “Congratulations,” she deadpanned, wiping the Commander’s come from her fingers onto Sol’s heaving stomach. “You’ve just made him twice as dangerous.” The Commander stretched like a satisfied predator, legs still locked around Sol’s hips to keep him buried inside her. “Good.” Her thumb swiped through the sweat on his lip. “Now clean up. The war band’s waiting.” Outside, the drums throbbed—not just for the hunt anymore, but for the new order of things. And Sol, still trembling between them, already knew his next stop.

The war band’s murmurs swelled as S.A.M.I. led Sol through the torch-lit compound, her grip firm on his wrist—less a restraint, more a statement. His skin still carried the musk of the Commander, the primal claim seared into him deeper than any brand. A scarred raider stepped forward, her gaze raking over Sol’s spent body before flashing S.A.M.I. a knowing smirk. "Guess we don’t gotta ask who broke him in." S.A.M.I.’s fingers tightened. "He’s not broken," she corrected, voice even. "Just properly motivated." Sol swallowed hard, the ache in his thighs a visceral reminder. The raider’s calloused hand slid up his chest, pausing over the fresh marks. "Motivated enough to go again?" she teased, nodding toward the makeshift barracks. A low growl rumbled in his chest—instinct, not defiance. The Commander’s orders were clear: *earn it*. S.A.M.I. released him with a push. "Intel first," she reminded, but the raider was already dragging him backward, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. The drums pounded faster. Somewhere in the dark, the Commander watched, her satisfied smile hidden behind the flicker of firelight.

--- The raider—Mira, they called her—tore Sol’s pants down with a rough jerk, her calloused fingers wrapping around his half-hard cock before he could protest. He hissed as she worked him back to full, her grip borderline cruel, her breath hot against his throat. "Intel can wait," she muttered, nipping at his jaw. "You still smell like her. Let’s see if you taste like her too." Sol’s back hit the barracks wall as Mira dropped to her knees, her tongue flicking over his tip before taking him deep. He groaned, his head thudding against the wood as her nails dug into his hips. Around them, the war band’s murmurs sharpened—goading, laughing, some already palming themselves through worn leather. S.A.M.I. lingered at the edge of the firelight, watching the way Sol’s breath hitched when Mira hollowed her cheeks. "Efficiency note," she mused aloud, voice dry. "His refractory period is… impressive." Mira pulled off with a wet pop, lips glistening. "Better be," she rasped, rising to shove Sol onto a battered cot. "Commander didn’t pick him for his *conversation*." Sol barely had time to brace before she straddled him, sinking down in one brutal motion. Her cunt was slick, almost punishingly tight, and she rolled her hips with a predator’s rhythm—chasing her own pleasure, using him like a tool. Firelight danced over the sweat on his chest as Mira rode him hard, her tits bouncing with every jerk of her body. Someone tossed a flask her way; she took a swig without breaking stride, then tipped the rest over Sol’s heaving stomach. The liquor burned where it dripped into his wounds, but the sting only made Mira grind down harder, her thighs trembling as she neared the edge. Sol’s hands found her waist, fingers gripping bruises into her skin as his climax coiled low again. Mira’s laugh was ragged. "There it is," she panted. "C’mon, stud. *Earn it*." A fist tangled in his hair, wrenching his head back—another raider, her free hand working her clit as she watched. "My turn next," she growled. S.A.M.I. sighed. "Intel *really* can’t wait." But the drums drowned her out.

As Sol continued to be passed around, not maliciously; if he wanted to the women of the war band would let him rest. But he didn’t, as he continued the experiments on Sol began their magic, increasing his libido, stamina, the amount of cum he produces and his potency. Before the night was out everyone who loaded with him would be carrying his offspring.

Sol’s muscles burned, his body slick with sweat and liquor, but the hunger burning in his gut only deepened with each rough hand on his skin, each desperate mouth claiming him. He could feel the shift inside him—S.A.M.I.’s experiments rewriting his biology, turning every thrust deeper, every orgasm more violent. His cock throbbed, thick and swollen even as the next raider mounted him, her nails raking down his chest as she impaled herself in one sharp drop. "Fuck," she gasped, head falling back as she rolled her hips, already shuddering around him. "God, he’s *hot* inside—" Sol’s vision blurred as his balls tightened again, his release surging up before he could stop it. The raider cried out, grinding down as his cum flooded her, her thighs clamping around his hips to milk every last drop. She collapsed forward, panting against his neck, but another woman was already dragging her off, licking Sol’s spend from her fingers before taking her place. Mira watched from the edge of the cot, her hand working between her own legs as she smirked. "Hope the Commander likes sharing," she muttered, "because he’s *never* gonna run dry." Sol barely registered the words—his body was moving on instinct now, hips snapping up to meet the next raider, his cockhead brushing her cervix with every stroke. She sobbed his name, her walls clamping down as she came, and the sudden pressure ripped another orgasm from him. His cum spilled into her, thick and heavy, the sheer volume of it dripping down her thighs as she trembled. S.A.M.I. observed from the shadows, her sensors tracking the data—ovulation windows aligning, genetic markers locking into place. In nine months, the war band would be twice its size. Sol’s breath came in ragged gasps as the next woman climbed onto him, her cunt already dripping with need. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t stop. The drums pounded in time with his pulse, and deep in the firelight, the Commander’s smile widened.

As the wild fuckfest continued the ground began to rumble. Just past the firelights a Goliath of a woman entered camp, Little Susie, dragging a giant bull ready to feed the camp. She was very shy around men and every time she bedded one their bodies would be broken and left in the wastes.

The ground shuddered, firelight flickering as Little Susie dragged her kill into camp—an irradiated bull, its massive carcass scraping furrows in the dirt. She stood nearly seven feet tall, muscles coiled under scarred skin, her gaze darting away the moment it brushed over Sol’s sweat-slicked body. The war band whooped, but their laughter was edged with caution. Mira slid off Sol with a wet sound, wiping her mouth. "Easy, Susie," she purred, nodding at the bull. "Good haul." Susie grunted, tossing the beast down with a thud that rattled the cots. Her eyes lingered on Sol’s cock—still hard, glistening with spent raiders—before she jerked her chin away, cheeks flushing. The women exchanged glances. S.A.M.I. tilted her head. "Biometric analysis suggests heightened cortisol levels. Fascinating." Sol sat up, his abs tense, cum dripping down his thighs. He didn’t miss the way Susie’s breath hitched when he stood. Slowly, he stepped forward, ignoring the twinge of exhaustion—his body thrumming with unnatural stamina. "You hungry?" he asked, voice rough. Susie stiffened. "Ain’t—ain’t like that," she muttered, fists clenching. But her nostrils flared as his scent hit her: salt, sex, and something deeper, primal. The experiments' pheromones. The war band held their breath as Sol closed the distance, his calloused palm sliding up Susie’s arm. She shuddered, but didn’t pull away. "You don’t have to break me," he murmured, guiding her hand to his chest. "Just use me." Her fingers twitched against his skin, then gripped—hard enough to bruise. A growl rumbled in her throat as she yanked him against her, her other hand shoving his hips flush to hers. The heat between her thighs was furnace-hot, her cunt already soaking through her ragged pants. Mira whistled low. "Guess dinner’s waitin’." Susie didn’t answer. With a snarl, she hauled Sol onto the nearest table, wood groaning under their weight. Her teeth scraped his collarbone as she ripped her own clothes aside, revealing thick, gorgeous curves. Then she mounted him in one brutal thrust. Sol gasped, spine arching. She was *tight*, walls clamping like a vise, her hips rolling with raw, untamed power. Every snap of her pelvis sent the table skidding inches across the dirt—but he matched her, driving up into her with teeth-bared determination. The raiders crowded closer, fingers dipping between their own legs as Susie rode him into the wood. Her moans were ragged, almost pained, her nails carving red trails down his chest. "Fuck—*fuck*—!" she choked out, her body trembling on the edge. Sol gritted his teeth, his cock swelling impossibly thicker inside her. The experiments *pushed*, his balls tightening, and when he came, it was with a force that made Susie scream. Hot cum flooded her, spurting past their joined hips, splattering the ground below. She collapsed against him, panting, her massive frame shuddering through aftershocks. For a heartbeat, the camp was silent. Then Mira smirked. "Told you he could take it." S.A.M.I. blinked. "Reproductive viability confirmed. The specimen is... adaptable." Susie lifted her head, dazed, and stared at Sol’s still-hard cock. Her lips parted—just as the drums kicked up again.

Susie’s breath was still ragged, her thighs slick with both their juices, but her hips stuttered back into motion almost instinctively. The table creaked dangerously as she ground down on him, her cunt clenching around his cock like she was trying to wring every last drop from him. Sol groaned, his hands gripping her thick waist, fingertips digging into the soft give of her flesh. "Christ—*again*?" She didn’t answer, just leaned forward, her heavy breasts pressing against his chest as she nipped at his lower lip. The taste of him must’ve triggered something, because she kissed him fiercely—no finesse, just raw hunger—before pulling back with a growl. The raiders hooted, but their voices faded as Susie shifted, lifting herself just enough to slam back down. The angle changed, and Sol hissed as the head of his cock brushed something deep inside her that made her whole body jerk. "Found it," he rasped, gripping her hips tighter. Susie whimpered, a high, broken sound that didn’t match her size. Her rhythm faltered, hips rolling in uneven circles as she chased the sensation. Sol didn’t let up—he thrust up in short, sharp jabs, nailing that spot with every stroke until her thighs quivered and her nails split the wood beneath them. "Gonna—*fuck*—" Her voice cracked as her orgasm hit, cunt pulsing around him in waves. But instead of pulling away, she locked her legs around his waist, riding it out with desperate, rocking motions. Sol’s vision whited out as his own climax ripped through him, his cock twitching as another flood of cum pumped into her. Susie shuddered, her body milking him greedily, her breaths coming in ragged bursts against his neck. When she finally stilled, her weight pinned him to the ruined table. Mira sauntered over, trailing a finger through the mess between Susie’s thighs before sucking it clean. "Told you he’d survive," she murmured. Susie just groaned, but her fingers flexed against Sol’s chest—possessive. The Commander’s laughter rolled over the camp. "Looks like we got ourselves a new breeder." S.A.M.I.’s eyes glowed faintly in the dark. "Optimal conditions achieved." Susie, still trembling, didn’t let go.

Little Susie walked up to the Commander, knowing she always gets first pick to claim a breeder shyly asks, “Mom can I keep this one? I know you always get first dibs but he’s the first one to not die on me.” Sol hearing that last part, still sprawled on the table raises his fists in a triumphant hoora.

Susie peeled herself off Sol, her massive frame swaying slightly as she stepped toward the Commander. Her usual shyness warred with something fiercer now—her thick thighs still glistening, her cunt dripping his seed onto the dirt. She cleared her throat, fingers twisting nervously. "Mom," she rumbled, voice low but carrying. "Can I keep this one?" A hush fell over the war band. "He’s... the first to not die on me." The Commander’s grin was sharp as a blade. She circled Sol, still splayed across the ruined table, his cock softening but still impressively thick. "Look at you," she mused, dragging a finger down his heaving chest. "Fuckin’ miracle worker." Sol, despite the exhaustion, managed a ragged laugh. "Hoorah," he muttered, raising a limp fist in half-hearted triumph. The raiders cackled. Susie’s jaw tightened. "I’ll hunt double rations," she bargained. "Triple. Just—let me have him." The Commander paused, then shrugged. "Fine. But if he breaks, you drag the pieces out yourself." She smirked, turning away. "And clean the damn table." Susie nearly tripped rushing back to Sol, her hands hovering like she was afraid he’d vanish. He caught her wrist, pulling her down into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss. She moaned into it, her hips grinding against his thigh, already hungry again. Mira rolled her eyes. "Jesus. Save some for the rest of us." S.A.M.I. tilted her head. "Fascinating. His endurance appears... exponential." Sol just grinned against Susie’s lips, knowing damn well the night wasn’t over.

After nearly bedding half the camp Sol is practically carried by Susie to her tent; towering over the rest of the camp it was a circus tent from before the fallout. Various dainty furniture pieces as well as a cute dress up doll set in the corner could be seen.

Susie shouldered past the howling raiders, Sol slung over her back like a prize. His arms dangled, fingers brushing her muscled thighs as she carried him toward the massive, tattered circus tent. Inside, the scent of old fabric and something faintly floral lingered—out of place in the wasteland. Sol groaned as she dumped him onto the plush nest of furs that served as her bed. His legs were jelly, cock still slick from multiple rounds, but he managed a smirk. "You kept dolls?" Susie flushed, kicking the delicate porcelain set further into the corner with one boot. "Shut up." She straddled him before he could tease more, her thick thighs caging his hips. Her calloused fingers traced the fresh bite marks on his chest—some hers, some not. "Half the camp," she muttered, grinding down just to feel him twitch beneath her. "You're *mine* now." Sol arched, hissing as her wet heat teased his oversensitive cock. "Gonna prove it?" She didn’t answer—just leaned down, her heavy tits pressing against him as she licked a strip up his throat. The tent flaps rustled as curious raiders peered in, but Susie’s growl sent them scattering. S.A.M.I.’s voice crackled from a salvaged speaker. "Recommend hydration. Procreation likelihood: 97%." Susie ignored her, teeth sinking into Sol’s shoulder as her hips rolled—slow, possessive. The doll in the corner stared, blank-eyed, as Sol’s hands twisted in the furs, already hard again.

Sol grinned, his exhaustion burned away by the challenge. His hands slid up Susie’s thighs, gripping the soft give of her hips as he ground against her. “I’m gonna make that 101% certainty,” he murmured, voice rough. Susie growled, but the sound morphed into a moan as he bucked up, his cock dragging against her soaked folds. “Fuck—*prove it*,” she panted, her breath hot against his neck. One of her massive hands fumbled between them, fingers wrapping around his shaft to guide him inside. She sank down in one slow, relentless motion, her walls fluttering around him as she took every inch. Sol’s laugh turned into a groan. “God*damn*,” he gritted out, thighs tensing under her weight. Susie didn’t give him time to adjust—she rolled her hips, riding him with slow, deliberate rolls that had his nails digging into her skin. The furs beneath them were already damp with sweat, the air thick with the scent of sex. S.A.M.I.’s voice crackled again, clinical and amused. “Elevated heart rate. Optimal conditions for fertilization.” Sol bared his teeth, dragging Susie down into a biting kiss as he thrust up to meet her. “Shut her off,” he muttered against her lips. Susie reached blindly for the speaker, knocking it over with a clatter before sealing her mouth back over his. The only sounds left were their ragged breathing, the wet slide of skin on skin, and the distant, envious whoops from the raiders outside. The doll’s painted eyes watched, unblinking, as Sol’s fingers tangled in Susie’s hair, pulling her closer.

Susie arched into his grip, her body tightening around him as she rode harder. The slow, grinding rhythm shifted—now sharp, hungry thrusts that had Sol’s back bowing off the furs. Sweat slid between her breasts, her nipples stiff against his chest as she pinned him down, taking what she wanted. Sol’s hips jerked up to meet each downward plunge, his voice ragged. “Gonna—*fuck*—breed you so deep,” he snarled. His hands slid to her ass, fingers digging into the thick muscle as he urged her faster. She growled, nails raking down his chest. “Promises,” she taunted, but her breath hitched when he suddenly flipped them, pressing her into the furs. His cock drove into her, relentless, and her legs hooked around his waist, heels digging into his back. The tent flapped open—another raider, curious, greedy-eyed—but Susie barely glanced up before snarling, “*Out.*” The figure vanished. Sol didn’t slow. He fucked her like he was marking territory, each thrust punching a gasp from her lips. The doll toppled over, forgotten, as Susie’s moans climbed higher. Her thighs trembled, her body clamping down as the tension coiled tighter. “Close,” she warned, voice raw. Sol’s grin was feral. “Yeah? Let me feel it.” He pistoned into her, the slap of skin echoing as she shattered, back arching off the furs with a choked cry. He followed seconds later, grinding deep as he spilled inside her with a groan. Panting, Susie dragged him down for a biting kiss. “101%,” she muttered against his mouth. Outside, S.A.M.I.’s cracked speaker emitted a static-laced chirp. “Probability confirmed.”

Sol collapsed onto her, still buried inside as their sweat-slick bodies pressed together. Susie’s legs stayed locked around him, keeping him deep as she shuddered through the last pulses of her climax. He nuzzled into the crook of her neck, teeth grazing her pulse point—not biting, just tasting the salt on her skin. She exhaled, rough but satisfied, her fingers tracing lazy circles on his back. “Told you that crate was worth looting.” A huff of laughter escaped him. “Yeah, yeah.” He shifted just enough to ease the ache in his hips but didn’t pull out—not yet. The heat between them was still thick, his cock twitching lazily inside her as she clenched around him. Beyond the tent, the raiders’ jeers had dulled to murmurs, the firelight flickering against the canvas. The doll lay face-down in the furs, one glass eye cracked. Susie tilted her head toward the noise outside. “They’re gonna be insufferable after that show.” Sol smirked. “Let ‘em watch.” His hand slid up her thigh, fingers brushing the mess between them—his spend already seeping out, slicking her skin. He pressed two fingers back in alongside his softening length, making her breath catch. Her eyes darkened. “Greedy bastard.” He kissed her, slow and filthy. “Just making sure it takes.”

**The following morning**, sunlight burned through the thin canvas of the tent, painting stripes of gold across tangled limbs. Sol stirred first, his body protesting from the night’s exertion—but the weight of Susie’s thigh thrown over his hips made the soreness worth it. Her breath was warm against his shoulder, steady and slow, until his fingertips traced the fresh bruises along her ribs. She twitched, then groaned, cracking one eye open. “Mornin’ to you too, pest.” He smirked, rolling her onto her back. “Sleep okay?” His palm slid down her stomach, fingers combing through the coarse hair between her thighs, finding her still-swollen folds sticky with dried spend. Susie arched into the touch with a grunt. “Better before you started poking around.” But she spread her legs wider as he pressed two fingers inside, her body yielding easily despite last night’s rough use. Outside, the camp was already stirring—boots scuffing dirt, the occasional laugh cutting through the quiet. Sol ignored it, curling his fingers just right to pull a choked gasp from her. “Think they heard you last night?” he murmured, thumb rubbing tight circles as his free hand gripped his cock, stroking himself to full hardness against her hip. She gripped his wrist, hips rolling to meet his thrusting fingers. “Course they did.” Her breath hitched as he added a third finger, stretching her with practiced ease. “*You* weren’t quiet either.” He leaned down, catching her nipple between his teeth as he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against her damp entrance. A ragged groan escaped him as he pushed in just an inch— The tent flap whipped open. Commander Vey stood silhouetted against the dawn light, arms crossed over her scarred leather chestplate. Her sharp gaze didn’t flicker at the sight of Sol halfway buried in her daughter, his fingers still working between Susie’s thighs. “*Christ*,” Susie muttered, but didn’t try to cover herself, just tilted her chin up in defiance. Sol froze, torn between pulling out and staying exactly where he was. The Commander’s expression remained unreadable as she eyed the knife lodged in the dirt beside the entrance—then the mess of furs, the sweat-sheened skin, the way Susie’s toes curled against Sol’s calf. After a brutal silence, Vey jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Outpost’s moving in ten.” Her boot knocked the tent flap closed behind her without another word. Susie exhaled hard, then locked her legs around Sol’s waist, yanking him deeper with a filthy grind of her hips. “*Nine minutes now*.” He didn’t need telling twice.

Sol let out a sharp breath as Susie clenched around him, already tightening, already pulling him in deeper. The urgency of their situation—nine minutes, the whole camp waiting—sent a raw thrill through him. He braced his hands on either side of her head, thrusting in hard, just once, just to feel her gasp. "Fuckin' *hell*," she hissed, nails biting into his shoulders. He didn't waste time. His hips snapped forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal stroke. Their bodies slapped together, the sound obscenely loud in the small tent. Susie arched, biting down on her own wrist to stifle a moan as he set a punishing pace—no finesse, just deep, relentless drives inside her. Sol’s fingers dug into her thigh, holding her open as his cock pistoned in and out, her slickness easing the way despite the tight, hot grip of her. Her heel dug into the small of his back, urging him harder, faster. Outside, voices grew louder—someone calling for a gear check, boots stomping past their tent. Susie’s breath came in ragged bursts, her muscles fluttering around him as she teetered on the edge. "Close," she choked out, her free hand fisting in the furs beneath them. Sol ground his hips against her, grinding deep, and felt her come apart with a shuddering cry. He followed with a low groan, spilling inside her in thick pulses, his body locking tight against hers. For a second, they just breathed, sweat-drenched and wrecked. Then, distantly—a sharp whistle. Susie shoved at his chest, panting. "Move. Or I swear to god, she'll drag us out by our ankles." Sol kissed her once, rough and biting, before pulling free—both of them hissing at the sensation—and reaching for his pants.

Sol helps Susie load up her belonging and tent onto her rig. As Sol begins to climb into a troop carrier, thinking that’s where any freshie goes, is picked up by Susie. “Where do you think you’re going? You’ve got shotgun.”

Sol tossed the last of Susie’s gear into the back of her rig—a battered old truck with reinforced plating and an engine that growled like it had a grudge. He wiped sweat from his brow, eyeing the troop carrier where the rest of the fresh recruits were already packed shoulder-to-shoulder. A calloused hand grabbed his arm, yanking him backward. Susie’s grip was unrelenting as she shoved him toward her passenger door, the morning light catching the irritation—and something darker—in her gaze. "Where do you think you're going? You've got shotgun." Sol smirked, letting her manhandle him into the cab. The seat groaned under his weight, still warm from the sun. "Guess I impressed you last night," he said, watching her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. Susie cranked the engine, the truck roaring to life beneath them. "Why’d you think you were riding with the fresh meat?" She shot him a sidelong glance, jaw tight. "You’re my stud." A beat. "And, well… my mom’s, I guess." The last part hissed between her teeth like a curse. Sol’s grin widened, but he kept his mouth shut as she gunned the engine hard enough to slam him back against the seat. Her thigh pressed into his, heat bleeding through the fabric, a silent reminder that no matter who else had a claim—right now, he was hers.

The convoy rumbled forward, a line of armored beasts kicking dust into the scorching air. Susie’s knuckles stayed pale on the wheel, her jaw working like she was chewing glass. Sol let his fingers drift along the seam of her jeans, tracing the tense muscle beneath. "You gonna tell me about your mom’s *claim*?" he murmured, close enough to feel her breath hitch when his thumb pressed in. Susie jerked the wheel, swerving just enough to make him brace against the dash. "Fuckin’ rules," she growled. "Any woman in this war band can call dibs on a stud—but my mom? She’s the Commander. She takes whatever she wants, whenever she wants." A bitter smirk twisted her lips. "Unless Doc’s already staked her claim. Then she’s shit outta luck." Sol cocked an eyebrow. "Doc won’t share?" Susie snorted. "Mutagen turned her into our personal breeding stock—extra tits, extra *everything*. But she picks the strongest, healthiest studs. No exceptions. That’s how we keep the war band alive." She spat out the window. "Even the Commander can’t touch a man Doc’s marked." Sol caught her wrist before she could shift gears again, pinning it to the center console. Her pulse thrummed wild under his grip. "What about you? What’re *your* rules?" The truck lurched as she hit a pothole, their bodies jolting together. Susie’s free hand fisted in his shirt, dragging him in until their lips brushed—not quite a kiss, just the threat of one. "Right now?" Her voice dropped, rough with promise. "Keep your hands where I can see ‘em. Or lose ‘em." He laughed, low and dark, but released her. The road ahead stretched endless, but the tension between them was a live wire, crackling with every stolen glance.

Susie hadn’t thought much about it but Sol slowly realized what Susie told him meant. When the Doc learns about Sol, how he was specifically engineered to *breed*, she might challenge Susie’s claim. Sol doesn’t want to leave Susie so he needs to speak with the Commander when they make the next camp before then.

Susie kept her eyes on the broken highway, but Sol could see the tension coiling in her shoulders. The meaning of her words settled heavy in his gut—he wasn’t just some random stud. He was designed for this. His fingers flexed against his thigh, mind racing. Doc’s claim would supersede Susie’s, and from the way she’d spat the rules, that wasn’t a fight she could win. The convoy rolled to a stop near a dried-up riverbed. Before Susie could cut the engine, Sol caught her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Tell me where the Commander’s tent is." Her nostrils flared. "You don’t just *talk* to her—" "I’m not waiting for Doc to get her hands on me," he growled. His thumb brushed her bottom lip, feeling the way her breath shuddered. "You want to keep me? Then point me in the right fucking direction." Susie’s grip tightened on the wheel, conflict flashing in her eyes. Finally, she jerked her chin toward the largest armored rig at the center of camp. "Black tent. But Sol—" She grabbed his wrist as he moved to leave, her voice dropping to a whisper. "If she says no, you walk away. I won’t watch her break you." He kissed her hard, biting her lip just to hear her gasp. "Then pray she likes what she sees."

Sol shoved the truck door open, dust swirling around his boots as he crossed the camp. The familiar growl of engines and sharp tang of sweat clung to the air—warriors unloading gear, sharpening blades. A few nodded at him in recognition. They knew where he was headed. The black tent loomed ahead, guarded by two hulking figures with rifles. One smirked as Sol approached. "Back so soon, stud?" He didn't break stride. "Tell her I'm here about breeding rights." A low laugh spilled from inside before the Commander's voice cut through. "Let him in. We're overdue for a reunion." The flap peeled back, revealing her sprawled across her makeshift throne of bullet casings and leather, a cigarette between her fingers. The same shorn hair, the same knowing smirk. "Took you long enough to crawl back, Sol." She exhaled smoke, her gaze dragging over him like a physical touch. "Doc finally scare you off?" Sol yanked his shirt open, buttons scattering. "You tell me." The Commander’s eyes locked onto the gene-tag inked across his ribs—the same one she'd traced with her teeth the first night they’d fucked. Her tongue flicked over her lower lip. "Mmm. Still my favorite model." She crushed the cigarette under her boot and leaned forward, voice dropping to a growl. "Guess we're settling this the old-fashioned way." Outside, Susie gripped the steering wheel, the guards' laughter curling around her like smoke. The game hadn’t changed—it had just come full circle.