Short-circuit

Aerith sat on the black chassis of the Light Cycle, her legs spread wide, her heels hooked over the wheel guards. The neon pink lines of her bodysuit cast a soft, rhythmic glow on her inner thighs, illuminating the tremble in her muscles.

She looked up at me, breathless, her chest heaving. The interface suit was doing its job too well; it was transmitting every shift in the air, every lingering vibration from the bike, directly to her nervous system. She was already overstimulated, her pupils blown wide in the digital twilight.

"The suit..." she gasped, her hands gripping the bike behind her for support. "It doesn't shield anything. I feel... everything."

"It's designed for maximum input," I said, stepping between her legs.

I ran my gloved hands up her thighs. The material was slick, synthetic, but warm. As my palms slid over the glowing circuits, Aerith arched her back, a sharp cry escaping her lips.

"Ah! It's like... electric shocks!"

"Good."

I stopped my hands at the junction of her hips. I looked at the smooth, pink material covering her sex. I could see the outline of her mound, the heat radiating through the digital fabric.

"We don't have time to fully undress you, Aerith," I murmured, leaning down until our faces were inches apart. "And in this world, we don't need to."

I focused my will. My user signature flared white. I didn't reach for a zipper; I reached for the code.

I swiped my hand over her crotch, visualizing the command: Delete.

The pink fabric between her legs shimmered, pixelated, and then simply dissolved. It didn't tear; it de-rezzed, leaving a perfect, oval cutout in the suit, exposing her completely while leaving the rest of her clad in the tight neon armor.

Aerith looked down, eyes wide.

"You... you hacked my clothes," she whispered, half-scandalized, half-awed.

"Let's call it admin privileges," I said.

I looked at what I had revealed. She was pristine. A neat, pale slit, completely bare, glistening with moisture that caught the blue light of the environment. The contrast between the high-tech, glowing suit and the raw, wet biology of her exposed sex was incredibly erotic.

"And it looks like your system is running hot."

I took off my gloves and touched her. Skin on skin.

Aerith screamed.

It wasn't a scream of pain, but of pure, unadulterated sensation. In the Datascape, the touch was amplified. My thumb brushing her clitoris must have felt like a lightning strike.

"Too much!" she pleaded, her head thrashing back, her ponytail whipping against the black glass of the bike. "It's too sensitive! Ray, I can't—!"

"You can," I growled. "Process it."

I didn't let up. I circled her clitoris, coating it in her own slick fluids. She was dripping, her body producing lubrication in overdrive to match the digital stimulation.

I unbuckled my belt. My armor shifted, plates retracting to allow me to free myself.

I stood before her, fully erect, the white circuitry of my own suit casting a glow on my shaft.

Aerith looked at it. She reached out a trembling hand, her fingers brushing the tip.

"It looks... dangerous here," she murmured. "Like a weapon."

"It is."

I grabbed her hips, pulling her forward until her buttocks were at the very edge of the bike. I positioned myself at her entrance.

"Upload," I commanded.

I thrust inside.

There was no resistance, only a wet, hot suction that felt like plunging into liquid energy. Aerith gasped, her entire body going rigid. Her suit flared bright pink, illuminating the alcove like a flare.

"Oh... oh, system..." she babbled, her eyes rolling back. "It connects... it connects right to the core!"

I didn't wait. I began to piston into her. The sensation was mind-bending. The Datascape translated the friction into pure pleasure data. I could feel the texture of her internal walls as if they were wrapped around my own mind. Every squeeze, every flutter of her muscles was high-definition.

Aerith was losing it. She wasn't the calm, collected leader of the Restoration Committee. She was a woman drowning in sensory overload. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her heels digging into the back of my armor, pulling me deeper.

"Harder!" she begged, surprising even herself. "Overload it! Fill the buffer!"

I obliged. I slammed into her, the Light Cycle rocking beneath us. My hands gripped her breasts through the suit, squeezing the soft flesh, watching the pink lights pulse in time with my thrusts.

"You like that, Princess?" I snarled, biting down on her neck.

"I'm not a Princess!" she cried out, meeting my thrusts with frantic energy. "I'm just... yours! I'm just input! Give me the data!"

She was tight, hot, and incredibly responsive. The digital world stripped away her trauma, her history, her responsibilities, and left only the immediate reality of being fucked on a futuristic bike.

I felt her climax building, a surge of energy in the air, a literal static charge building on her skin.

"That's it," I groaned, feeling my own release approaching. "Crash the system, Aerith."

She screamed as she came. Her suit flashed blindingly bright, then dimmed as her body convulsed. Her inner walls clamped down on me with terrifying strength.

I poured into her. I emptied myself deep inside her womb, the feeling of release magnified a thousand times by the environment. It felt like I was writing my name on her very code.

We stayed locked together, breathing heavily, the only sound the soft hum of the idling Light Cycle and the distant roar of the data stream.

Aerith went limp in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder. The pink lights on her suit stabilized to a slow, gentle pulse.

"Status report," I whispered into her ear.

She let out a long, shaky laugh, nuzzling into my neck.

"System... critical," she murmured happily. "Reboot required."