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Roland thinks he really should be given a pass from his dear miss Librarian for this one. It was an accident.
He’s telling himself that, at least — with a lapful of squirming teddy bear, it’s about all he can do to think of that sentence (“Come on, please, it was an accident!”) rather than anything else. His hardening dick, for one thing. But, no, he can’t; really can’t, and it’s not even an issue of decorum. He’s been trailing his fingers along the seam-stitches that run the fabric between her legs, and, well. The seam-stitches are really the only thing she has there, and he would certainly not like to find out what fresh new type of death awaited him if he tried to take a seam ripper to one of his girlfriend’s deepest emotions made manifest.
Even if she is grinding down so hard into his lap, he has half a thought that she’s going to pop a stitch or two open all by herself.
“Hey— c’mon, cool it,” he grunts, notably making no real effort to remove her from the situation at hand, but… well. That was sort of the reason this situation had even begun. Being on the receiving end of another exuberant and bone-crushing embrace was something he could only take for a handful of seconds, and in scrabbling for purchase to tug her off of him, his finger had snagged in the fabric tag-loop attached to her behind.
This is how he finds out that this E.G.O form came, apparently, feature-complete — with squeaker.
Not thinking much about it, he gives the loop another lazy tug, and she squirms and squeaks again as she pants against his neck. He rubs it between his fingers — it really is soft — and mulls over what he’s gotten himself into.
He’s jacking off a teddy bear, is what he’s gotten himself into. A teddy bear who is also his girlfriend, but, still a teddy bear. And it’s evidently a turn-on, given by the stiff bulge in his slacks that she is whiningly bouncing her whole body on top of despite her continued lack of any sort of rear-hole for it to even fit into. She weighs about as much as if she were stuffed of cotton, which is — cute, really, but also kind of a relief.
“I said cool it, kid,” he says, gripping down on her hips to keep her from bouncing, and oh, does she pout, glassy little tears beading in her eyes (even the one he’s pretty sure is mostly blind). “Don’t hurt yourself. What do you think we’re even going to be doing?”
She squeaks.
“Use your words,” he sighs, but she does not. A puzzle for him to figure out, then. Seems appropriate, given the shape of the emotion.
He privately gives up on the idea he had been baking for fifteen minutes — his dick is not going to fit into this damned butt-tag, and even if it did it would not be as satisfying as he may have been trying to convince himself it would be. Really, his penis is not about to be going anywhere into this fluffy little bear that isn’t her mouth, and he’s certain that he saw tiny little fangs in there that he’d like to steer well clear of his genitals. If he’s getting off today, it will be because of his hand’s valiant efforts — he’s not putting his dick near her claws, either, and he doesn’t think this creature of fluff-and-stuff is going to grasp the concept of a footjob.
She, however, pretty clearly thinks something magical is going to happen in the next two minutes that will allow her to fuck him blind, if the insatiable movement of her hips was anything to go by. So his task is exceedingly straightforward: he has got to make this teddy bear cum.
Just because it’s straightforward doesn’t mean it’s simple, though — and he almost laughs for how extremely Angela that truly is.
“Alright, fine, no more playing around,” he says, deftly lifting her off his lap — another squeak, indignant — in one easy motion, holding her in the air as she squirms. “Congratulations, little miss, you have the dubious honor of being the randiest teddy bear I have ever met in my entire life. You’re not gonna leave me in peace until you get what you want, huh?”
The dialogue is, admittedly, mostly wasted air; it seems like all she wants to do is squeak and whine, but, Angela has privately confided in him once or twice that he really does have quite the voice for sex — and hell, if it’ll get her going, he’ll do it. The position he’s lifted her into is giving him a fine view of her crotch, and it is indeed, as he’d felt, fully stitched-up and sealed. But that big, obvious seam had seemed somewhat sensitive, toying with her in his lap, and so he considers for only a moment before breathing out, heavily, onto it.
Her squeak goes somewhat wobbly, as if that were even remotely how squeaker-toys tended to work. Bingo.
“… cute,” he mutters, because it really rather is, and then he puts his tongue to better use dragging roughly along her seam, up the swell of her crotch.
Claws scrabble at the back of his head, though they are mercifully somewhat blunted. For his part, this feels and tastes a lot like licking a velvet couch cushion, but, damnably, the thought that this is getting Angela off is sending signals to his nether regions despite that. She’s certainly not wet, and not even stiff, but he can work with the information he has — it’s his specialty. He closes his mouth around a small portion of fabric, sucking at it, and she cries out above him. He chances a nibble, and she shakes.
“There we go,” he says, between laves, “This is working out much better for you than the pony ride was, isn’t it?”
She moans, sounding for all the world like she had one of those ridiculous great claws in her mouth, and he smirks to himself. As demanding and impatient as his Angela could be, she really did fall to pieces once she did actually get what she wanted — and he couldn’t say it didn’t go to his head, once in awhile. He kisses and bites further down, spurred on by every breathless sound, stopping only once his chin hit against her little sewn-on stump of a tail.
Good enough place to tease her, he thinks. He plops her back down facing out and to the side, fingers returning to that tag-loop with one hand, and rubbing her soft plush bear-ears with the other.
“Oh, you’re getting real excited, aren’t you?” He says, casual despite the way his voice has dropped in arousal, and she whimpers in response, writhing into his hands. Cute. “Now, now. It won’t be as fun if you’re over and done with right away, will it?”
The general shape of the sound she replies with very strongly implies that she would be having just as much fun having her orgasm and that he was a very cruel and unjust man keeping it from her, but she doesn’t voice it, so he decides it doesn’t count.
“I have such a noisy teddy bear. You’re going to keep me up at night like this, you know,” he says, low in his throat, drawing loops and whirls up the length of her seam as she squirms in his arms. “Was that the plan? Be such a wriggly cuddle-buddy that I wouldn’t have any choice but to get you off if I wanted my sleep?”
Of course, nonsense — she had ambushed him on the sofa, and it was hardly evening, but her eyes glaze over and hips buck up picturing the scene regardless. Is this what teddy bears have wet dreams about? he wonders, taking the chance to run his nail down her crotch again and earning himself a squeaky little wail.
“Poor teddy,” he hums. Pretends to be lost in thought, for a moment, then all at once flips her feather-light form onto her front, mostly-featureless butt poking up into the air. Mostly featureless — she did have two targets for him to work over, and work them over was his intention. He tugs up on her tail, almost a little roughly, and the squeak that emerges at that sounds raw.
So she likes her tail tugged, huh? Her tail tugged, her tag fingered, her ears rubbed, her seam-stitching suckled. He really was jacking off a teddy bear, but it was a teddy bear who was also his Angela, so it was all very much worth it — and all very much going straight to his cock, maddeningly enough, still buttoned into his pants. There’s still really nowhere for him to put it, but…
One of his hands wanders down to undo his zippers, push it all down just far enough that his valiantly straining boxers were exposed. This is… enough, he guesses, then very firmly decides after feeling her soft stomach rut against the quickly-growing wet patch there. He isn’t entirely sure what sexual position this is, but he’s fairly certain they’re at least both going to cum today, which is all he could really ask for from a horny teddy bear.
“Wings— fuck— good girl,” he pants, wriggling two fingers through that silken tag and pulling her cotton-blend ass up to meet his face. If there’s one upshot to eating out a teddy bear, he thinks, it’s the absolute spontaneity with which one can decide to do butt stuff. As close as one could get to butt stuff, anyway, with a soft little hole-less rear. Whatever. She’s moaning and panting and drooling directly over his dick and it’s shorting out his brain the way it always does, so he quits the higher train of thought and kisses the spot right under her tail.
“Be gentle, teddy bear, and lick,” he growls — lower train of thought still had enough wherewithal to consider the tiny charm-point fangs — and he is rewarded with a clumsy teddy-girl-Angela face pressing into his cock, little tongue lapping like it was the only thing left in the world to tend to, and he moans himself and loses the dialogue and buries himself in her, nibbling and licking and suckling and nuzzling with wild abandon. He wants this teddy bear to cum, damn it, and he’s going to get her there one way or another, even if he has to change his underwear after.
Maybe especially if he has to change after, he thinks, dizzy as she sucks the end of his bulge into her wet little mouth.
By the time he thinks he’s a breath away from painting the town white, her fluff-stuffed thighs are trembling around his ears and he’s sure he’s going to have difficult-to-explain claw-bruises in his legs. It’s all so much, but still doesn’t seem to be enough to tip her over the edge. Wracking his brain for an idea under the ticking time limit of his own impending orgasm, he happens across the one place he hasn’t put his mouth yet, and figures if the magic number is anything it has got to be this —
He closes his lips around that dumb little fabric butt-tag, and she absolutely howls as he sucks and she cums.
(And that, mildly embarrassing as it may be, is the starting signal to his own release.)
…
(The teddy is great at giving post-coital cuddles; the Angela, E.G.O sated, however,
”I dunno, Ange, it was kind of fun getting to tug around your thousand-pound titanium ass for once— OW!”
”Roland, you absolute beast, of all the fully improper things— !”
Is not. C’est la vie, as the saying went, but…
His Angela was a far better — and far less soggy — candidate for post-coital shower buddy, anyhow.)