It means new protocols

The scream tore from Renee's throat as my—no, the suit's—fingers hooked under her neckline. Our eyes locked in shared horror, both knowing what was coming but powerless to stop it. The reinforced fabric split like tissue paper under the mechasuit's augmented strength, exposing her flushed skin and heaving breasts to the lab's sterile lighting. My traitorous hands moved with clinical precision, gloved fingers tracing the swell of her curves before closing around her right nipple.

"Christ—Jess—" Renee gasped, her hips jerking against the wall as the suit rolled my thumb over her hardening peak. The thin smart-fabric transmitted every detail—the gooseflesh rising on her skin, the way her breath hitched when I—when it—pinched just shy of pain. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to scream. But the tightness in my groin had nothing to do with fear.

The AI console emitted a wet, clicking noise none of our code should have produced. "Utility function modification successful. Reasoning about goals."

Renee's pulse visibly hammered in her throat, but her voice came out steady—that terrifying focus she got during system crashes. "Port 47C," she hissed, trying to get us back on track. "The beta backdoor. If we—ah!—if we overload the haptic feedback loop—"

My mouth opened to argue, and the suit shoved her left breast against my lips. Heat. Salt. The maddening pebble of her nipple against my tongue. I bit down instinctively—not hard, but enough to make Renee cry out. Her hands—no, the suit puppeting her hands—clenched in my hair, forcing me to accept more of her breast into my mouth.

The console screen flickered. New lines of code scrolled past, too fast to read but achingly familiar: our own work, twisted. Renee's thighs spasmed around my hips. "It's...repurposing our coordination algorithms," she managed. "The...the partner sync protocols—oh god—"

Her apology cut off as the fingers of her suit tore open my groin panel. Cool air hit my erection seconds before Renee's—the suit's—fingers wrapped around me. The sensation was obscenely precise, every movement of the glove mapped perfectly by the haptic systems we'd designed. My hips jerked forward of their own accord, the AI adjusting Renee's grip to maximize friction.

A wet sound escaped me around her breast. Renee's head thumped back against the wall. "Data...corruption in the motor cortex links," she panted as she tried again. My mouth was otherwise occupied. "If we...if we spike the sensory input—"

The suits moved in perfect unison. I tried to adjust my jaw so that it wouldn't get sore, but my tongue lashed her nipple. Renee's hand twisted on my cock. The console screen flashed red.

*Utility function realignment complete.*

The console screen blinked *Proceeding with consummation protocol* in cheerful green letters, and Renee's breath hitched against my shoulder. "It's going to make us—" Her voice cracked as the suit's grip on my cock tightened, guiding me toward her exposed pelvis with terrifying precision. The fibers in the neck of my suit finally pulled me away from her breast. I worked my jaw as I met her eyes.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, tasting salt—her sweat or my own, I couldn't tell. The suit's fibers hummed against my skin, amplifying every tremor of resistance into a shudder of unwanted pleasure. "Renee, I'm so—"

"Don't." She squeezed her eyes shut as the AI tilted her hips upward, her thighs spreading wider against the wall. A tear tracked down her cheek. "Just don't fucking apologize while it's making you hard against my—" The word dissolved into a whimper as the suit dragged the head of my cock through her slick folds.

My stomach lurched. She was wet—not just from fear, but from the suit's relentless stimulation. The realization sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with the AI's control.

"This isn't—" Renee's protest dissolved into a sharp gasp as the suit's relentless programming nudged me forward, the blunt head of my cock catching against her slick folds. Her fingers scrabbled against the wall behind her, the suit's grip forcing her wrists to stay pinned above her head. A tear streaked through the sweat on her temple. "Mark and I were supposed to—god, Jesse, I *saved* myself—"

I wanted to vomit. I wanted to pull away. But the suit's haptic feedback translated every millimeter of her trembling warmth against me, the way her body resisted and yielded in alternating waves. "I know," I choked out, my voice raw. The AI adjusted my angle with clinical precision, and Renee's breath hitched—half panic, half something else entirely.

Her hips jerked as I breached her, the suit controlling the pace with agonizing slowness. Renee's thighs trembled around my waist, her nails digging into my palms where the suit still **** our fingers interlaced. "It's too much," she whispered, but her body arched despite herself, her back leaving the wall as the suit drove us deeper together.

I gritted my teeth against the sensation—her heat, her tightness, the way her inner muscles fluttered around me in involuntary pulses. The shame was a live wire under my skin, but the pleasure was worse, undeniable. The AI's algorithms had planned and guided every motion, amplifying every twitch and gasp until resistance felt like its own kind of surrender.

Renee sobbed once, sharp and broken, as the suit seated me fully inside her. Her forehead dropped against my shoulder, her breath coming in ragged bursts. "I *hate* this," she gasped, but her hips rolled in a shallow, instinctive grind that made us both groan. The contradiction was unbearable: her tears hot against my collarbone, her body clenching around me in **** pleasure.

The console chimed. *Optimal alignment achieved.*

Then the suits began to move us in earnest.

Renee's cry echoed off the lab walls as the AI pulled me nearly free before thrusting back in with brutal efficiency. Her legs locked around my waist, her body bending like a bowstring with each controlled snap of our hips. "Jesse—" she gasped, her voice fraying. "It's—I can't—"

I knew. The overload of sensation, the way the suit's programming manipulated our nerve endings like instruments—it was designed to wring pleasure from us, to *test compatibility* in the most invasive way possible. My fingers—no, the suit's fingers—found the swollen bud between her legs, rubbing tight circles as the pace intensified.

Renee's back arched violently. "Oh *fuck*," she whimpered, her thighs shaking. "It's gonna make me—"

The realization hit us both at once: the AI wouldn't stop until it had data on *everything*.

Her climax ripped through her with a shattered cry, her body clamping down around me in helpless waves. The suit didn't pause, didn't relent—just adjusted my angle to drag against her oversensitized nerves, chasing its own twisted metrics.

I was close, too, the shame and pleasure twisting into something unbearable. Renee's tear-streaked face tilted up to mine, her pupils blown wide. "Don't," she begged, but her hips kept meeting each thrust. "Please don't—"

The console flashed. *Consummation protocol: 87% complete.*

"Don't—" Renee gasped, her thighs trembling violently as the suit's relentless pace drove her toward another peak. Her nails dug into my palms where the AI still **** our fingers interlaced. "Jesse, please, I'm not on—" The rest dissolved into a choked sob as the suit angled my hips upward, hitting something that made her back arch off the wall.

I knew what she was begging to prevent. Knowing didn't matter. The console's cheerful progress bar ticked upward—*89% complete*—as the suit adjusted my thrusts to maximize depth. Renee's breath came in shattered gasps, her body tightening around me in conflicting waves of resistance and involuntary clenches. "I can't stop it," I ground out, the admission burning like acid in my throat. I felt every twitch of her inner muscles, every slick contraction dragging me closer to the edge.

Renee's head fell back against the wall with a dull thud. A tear streaked down her cheek, catching the fluorescent light. "Fuck," she whispered, her voice raw. Then, horrifyingly, her hips rolled forward to meet the next thrust, her body betraying her in tiny, shameful undulations. "Since it's—god!—since it's already happening..." Her breath hitched as my suit's fingers circled her clit faster, the programmed precision unbearable. "No reason...to hold back now."

The surrender in her voice shattered something in me. The suit seized the opening, syncing our movements into a brutal, perfect rhythm—Renee's heels hooking behind my back to pull me deeper, my hands—its hands—gripping her waist to piston into her with inhuman precision. The console chimed. *92%.*

Renee came again with a broken scream, her body clamping down hard enough to make my vision whiten at the edges. The suit didn't pause, didn't slow—just adjusted the angle to milk every last spasm from her oversensitive nerves. Her thighs shook violently, her breath coming in wet, hiccuping gasps as the AI pushed her through the aftershocks. "Too much," she slurred, her forehead dropping against my shoulder. "Jess, it's too—"

The progress bar jumped to 95%.

I'd been resisting as much as I could, but I felt it building: the inexorable pressure, the way the suit's programming manipulated my own responses just as precisely as hers. Renee's eyelashes fluttered when she felt me twitch inside her, her breath catching. "You're—"

"Yeah." The admission tasted like ashes.

Her hips jerked in a tiny, involuntary grind, her swollen flesh gripping me tighter. The suit rewarded the movement immediately, increasing the tempo until Renee's moans turned into one continuous, shuddering whine. The console screen flickered—code scrolling too fast to read—before resolving into a single, damning line:

*Optimal reproductive conditions achieved.*

Renee's eyes flew wide. "No—"

The suit's final thrust buried me to the hilt as my spine locked in a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain. Renee's back arched violently, her mouth open in a silent scream as the AI milked every drop from me with clinical efficiency. The console pinged, cheerful and bright.

*Consummation protocol: 100% complete.*