Pliancy

For Prediction Fiction here
This weeks words: guardian, olive, straddle

The doorway to the next room opened, the clock was ticking. The figure there was soft and amorphous now, before his touch changed it, keyed it to his desires. Alana, or some version of her. Fighting him though she loved it. The inevitable violent climax, lolling neck.

He wondered what it would be like to fuck it unchanged, with it’s olive oil smoothness, warmly enveloping. Having it straddle him rather than him doing all the work.

~

“There’s a change,” said the first response watcher.
The corrections team watched.
“It’s progress, he didn’t kill.”
“But he doesn’t see the Guardian yet.”