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The way you met was nowhere near as glamorous as anyone would imagine.
It wasn’t like the movies. You didn’t lock eyes through the spaces of a champagne tower at some record producer’s after-party. You weren’t some groupie with expensive tastes and a heart of gold. You weren’t even properly introduced to each other.
If the way you met was “incredibly” anything, it was incredibly unexpected — at least on your end. Mettaton tends to exaggerate some of the facts on late night talk show couches, but being an entertainer is a form of exaggeration in and of itself, so it isn’t like you mind.
Before you became known to paparazzi (and infamous to hardcore fans) as “Mettaton’s girlfriend” you were just another tired-eyed intern for Harper’s Fair magazine, whose main jobs included making coffee runs for perpetually scowling fashion editors, proofing ink-stained interviewer’s notes, and internally panicking at the thought of post-graduate life. The only way to secure so much as a letter of recommendation for whatever shit-paying job you’d apply for after graduation was to kiss as much ass as humanly possible. It meant a lot of self-loathing considering the absolute garbage you had to put up with.
(Once a co-editor poured an entire cup of Starbucks you’d brought into the garbage in front of you because she remembered she liked Equal (not Sweet ‘n Low, like she told you) in her coffee. And you don’t even want to begin thinking about the time you overheard one of the fashion photographers talking about doing “tasteful” blackface for a fashion spread.)
Then came the day a routine coffee run led you to the office of the editor-in-chief. You didn’t mean to walk in the way that you did, which even you have to admit was unprofessional in retrospect, but really, who could blame you? It was the goddamn secretary who conveniently forgot to mention the editor-in-chief was in the middle of a meeting with the September issue’s cover-star.
Or that the cover-star in question was Mettaton, the underground’s break-out entertainer and leading man in your sexual fantasies.
You nearly tripped when you walked into the office. Mettaton changes this detail to a “runway stride” in official interviews, as the “clumsy but charming female intern” trope is just so hacky and cliche nowadays.
To you, the words, “I have your coffee ma’am,” sounded shaky coming from your mouth, mostly because you were trying not to think about how often you’d fantasized about that silky chiptune voice your stumbling just interrupted moaning “darling” into your ear.
According to Mettaton, the sound of your voice breathed life into something he never knew he wanted, but suddenly couldn’t imagine living without.
As you brought the scowling editor-in-chief her black coffee (with two espresso shots, lest it be thrown in your face), Mettaton said, “Why, even your interns are absolutely stunning!”
(Okay, so some of the true parts of the story are kinda romantic.)
Somehow or another, you walked out of that office with Mettaton’s phone-number scrawled on the inside of your forearm, given to you only on the condition that you call him that night to schedule a dinner date, darling.
Three days after Mettaton took you to a five-star sushi restaurant. The spicy salmon maki was wonderful and all, but the best part of that first date was Mettaton extending his arm underneath the table to slide a gloved hand up your skirt.
Needless to say, the night ended with Mettaton eating you out in the back of his limousine.
(The both of you keep those details to yourselves.)
One month, seven dates, and a post-grad job offer at Garter web-magazine later, Mettaton slipped the key to his penthouse suite into the back-pocket of your jeans. Honestly though, the placement was really just an excuse for him to grab a handful of your ass.
On the night of your college graduation, Mettaton asked you to move in with him. Your acceptance was met with Mettaton pulling you onto his lap and having you ride him in only your graduation cap.
Fast forward six months to the present moment, where you’re currently stretched out on Egyptian cotton sheets, dressed in baby pink lingerie with garter belts clipped to thigh-highs, playing around on your phone as you await your boyfriend’s return from a two week-long press tour with Napstablook and Shyren to promote their next album.
You knew well beforehand that an official relationship with a robot superstar would mean periods of long-distance. It wasn’t so much a problem now considering the flexibility that comes with your job. And time apart was necessary for maintaining your life as an individual.
Also phone sex.
But between the band’s sophomore album dropping and the exposé you just finished for the magazine, both of you were due for some “celebrating”.
Halfway through filling out a Tweetfeed quiz to find out “Which Societally Dead ‘90s Teen Icon” you are, you hear the front door to the penthouse unlock, followed by the sound of clicking boot-heels as the door creaked open.
“Daaaarliiiing, I’m home!”
You really weren’t one for the mock-wedded-life rituals of co-habitation. But you could picture Mettaton hanging up his jacket and placing his suitcases on the floor like a dutiful sitcom husband back from work. And business suits did turn you on.
You smirk to yourself, clicking out of the Tweetfeed quiz (your result was probably Kimmy Gibbler from Full House, again) and brought up a new text message.
“Where is s-AWOOOOOGA!-he?” Oh for the love of god, of all the text alert sounds in the world, Mettaton had to have the one that sounded like an overly aggressive clown car installed in his internal operating system.
(Note to self: Get Alphys to reprogram said alert to something that doesn’t make your vagina dry up next time Mettaton goes for tune-ups.)
There’s a melody of beeps as you hear Mettaton scan through the message contents, closely followed by that criminally sexy low chuckle of his. “Why that little minx…”
(Second note to self: Get Alphys to reprogram the text alert to sexy robot chuckle.)
Mettaton’s footsteps grow louder and louder, but he seems to be taking his sweet, sweet time making his way from the front hall to your shared bedroom. You make sure to shove your phone out of the way (the two of you tended to have some messy love making rituals), fluff your hair into place, and double check for wardrobe malfunctions. With the amount of money you dropped on this lingerie set, your naughty bits better fucking stay in place.
The door finally swings open, Mettaton’s figure hovering in the threshold, and god, he looks so good to your after so many days apart. “Hey there handsome,” you purr, tongue darting out to lick your lower lip.
The effects of your seduction are immediate. The pupil of Mettaton’s visible eye bursts into pixelated hearts, and there’s the gentle whirring of his internal fans beneath his chassis. But Mettaton’s never been one to let his sexuality stray from his control. Unless it’s a matter of overheating and a subsequent system reboot. That’s something that happens every once in awhile.
Mettaton’s gaze slowly trails over your enticing form, curled up at the center of the bed you share.
“My, my, my, did you get all dressed up for me?”
“What’s a present for my superstar without some gift wrapping for you to remove?” You trail a finger down past your waist, over the satin garter belt and along a taut suspender flush against your thigh.
Mettaton laughs lowly, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “Right you are love, but that’s not to say I’m picky about how my gifts are presented to me.” You’re forced to suppress a moan as Mettaton grazes a gloved hand down the valley between your breasts. Damn him and his stupid sexy Mickey Mouse hands. “But this is very nice, very nice indeed.”
You let out a sigh as Mettaton hooks a finger beneath a garter strap. “I picked it out with you in mind. You can’t say I don’t know what you like.”
“Well darling, I’d like it equally well strung out all over the floor.” Mettaton leans forward to pepper soft kisses along your collarbone. A good suck is given to the flesh above your right breast, hard enough to ensure it’ll bruise by tomorrow. Mettaton’s always loved leaving little love bites all over your body, and two weeks separation allowed the last bits of evidence he left to fade from your skin.
When he pulls off, he runs a thumb over the little teeth indents he made. “However, I plan to take my sweet, sweet time consuming every little bit of you,” he breathes, tilting your head towards him. “How’s that sound for my sweet girl?”
“I’m all yours,” you sigh, before leaning forward to give Mettaton a proper “welcome home” kiss, hot and passionate in the way you lick at the sharp edges of his teeth with your probing tongue. Nothing of Mettaton’s tastes artificial ― his mouth is as warm as any human’s, and his kisses never mechanical.
Mettaton’s fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head in the palm of his hand as he pulls himself from the kiss. You notice that the pixelated hearts in his eyes are changing colors, going from pink to red before moving throughout the rest of the rainbow.
“Lay back love, I need to enjoy you properly,” Mettaton whispers, gently pushing you down by the shoulder to lay among the collection of throw pillows on the bed.
You moan and whine at the back of your throat at Mettaton lays himself over your outstretched body. His hands rub your sides, getting reaquainted with all the curves and angles he couldn’t touch for those two weeks apart. Open mouthed kisses are given to your neck, sternum, and tops of your breasts as his hands continue to knead the softest parts of your flesh. “Mewling for me already, huh?”
You hum in affirmation, arching your back to encourage Mettaton’s attention towards your breasts.
He smirks, grasping your breasts with his gloved hands. His touches are soft at first, feeling the silky material of your bra and fingering at the scalloped lace detailing. You let out another whine, wriggling under his touch until he takes solid handfuls of your breasts, rubbing them together and giving little teasing nips to the flesh spilling over the bra. “Gods, I missed your soft, lovely tits. Missed having them in my hands.”
“They missed you too,” you giggle.
“Is that why you’re so squirmy for me tonight?” Mettaton smirks, squeezing his hands hard enough to make you squeal.
“Mmnn! P-partly.”
Mettaton gives a kiss to your shoulder before reaching behind your still arched back. Those hands can do wondrous things, but you’ll never cease to be impressed by how he can unsnap your bra in one move.
Mettaton gently pulls the bra straps down your arms to free your breasts. Once he places the bra off to the side, he turns his attention to your bared chest.
Thumbs intently circle your nipples, rubbing them into hardness. “Have I even told you how cute I find your nipples?”
You bite your lip. “Tell me.”
“They’re just one of the many fascinating things I enjoy about your human body,” Mettaton says, flicking a nipple. “So very sensitive. They perk so nicely for me.” He leans closer, faux breath hot against your skin. “And so suckable too.”
With that, Mettaton latches his lips onto your nipple, pulling it between his teeth with a hard suck. You groan as the spongy silicone of his tongue teases your sensitive peak, alternating between fluttering licks and wet suckles. You caress the broad paneling of his shoulders as he shifts to giving you open mouthed laps of the tongue. The other nipple receives the same treatment, much to your pleasure and growing impatience.
A familiar ache between your legs grows with each press of Mettaton’s tongue to your sensitive skin. While the attention his mouth is giving to your breasts is all sorts of fantastic, you can’t help from grinding into the knee positioned between your thighs. You’re wet, so wet that you’re seeping through the silk of your panties.
“Mmmmm, M-Mett....” you whine.
Mettaton chuckles against your breast, pulling away with a final kiss to your nipple. “Alright, alright.” He moves down between your legs. “Spread those gorgeous thighs for me darling.”
You flush as you open your legs up for him. His hands travel along your stockinged calves to your knees, pushing you just a bit wider to get a better look at the damp spot covering your mound. He moves upwards to where the stockings cut into the bare flesh of your thighs, hungry expression turning into one of quiet curiosity when his fingers catch the buckle of a garter strap. Soft beeps emit from his speaker as he moves your leg around to see how the straps connect to the belt. The sight makes your heart swell. There’s still so much out there that’s new to him. Whenever Mettaton encounters something that catches his interest he tends to get lost in inspecting it, somewhat like an infant stunned by object permanence in a game of peek-a-boo.
However, your admiration is quickly lost as Mettaton snaps a strap against your inner thigh, causing you to yelp.
Mettaton laughs, voice reverberating within his chassis. “Sorry love, I just can’t help myself sometimes.” He lays a kiss to your stinging flesh in apology.
"But you’ll be keeping these garters on for me for the rest of the night, won’t you?” he asks with a teasing lilt.
You smirk. “Yes sir.”
At this, Mettaton’s internal fans begin to whir again. “Fuck baby girl. Next time we go out you’re wearing these under your skirt and nothing else for me. So cute. My cute little thing.”
His hands move to the junction where your crotch meets your thighs, tracing along the seam of your dampening panties with a single finger.
You buck your hips, trying to get that finger to where you need it most. “Mettatooooon…”
“Eager tonight I see,” Mettaton hums, giving you a lewd lick of his lips as he finally pulls aside the crotch of your panties. “Very eager. And very wet, too.”
A finger probes itself along the folds of your labia. Mettaton leans in, face only inches from your exposed cunt. “Let’s take a look here. It’s about time I got reaquainted with your pussy.”
As always, Mettaton’s fingers are gentle but investigative, pulling apart the folds of soft skin to touch, to look, to make your moan. “Mmmm, you’re dripping,” he whispers, the tip of a finger shallowly dipping into your entrance to gather your slickness. “As much as I adore your tits darling, this cute little cunt of yours never ceases to amaze me.” He spreads your lips wider, revealing the innermost parts of your folds. “Always so warm and wet. And such a nice shade of pink on the inside.”
When Mettaton circles a thumb against your clit, you’re forced to bite your finger to keep from screaming.
“Would you like to know a little fact I encountered while on the press-tour?”
With a thumb rubbing against your clit, you can only answer with slack-jawed grunts.
“While the human body is absolutely brimming with nerve endings, the clitoris has a concentration of over 8,000 alone.” Mettaton looks pleased with himself as a particularly delicious flick of the wrist draws a strangled scream from your throat. “Even with magic and science, Alphys could only replicate 4,000 artificial nerve endings for my cock.”
You let out a heavy sigh. “Do...Ah! Mmm...Do I want to know the...ooohh...c-context in which you learned this fact?”
Mettaton chuckles lowly again. “Still sassy even when I have your pussy lips spread between my fingers,” he says, more to himself than to you, as he replaces his thumb with the tips of his index and middle fingers. “As I was saying, that means that this adorable clit,” he gives it a tap, causing you to jump, “is the most sensitive erogenous zone on the human body. Which explains quite a lot actually, such as why you like it so much when I do this…”
There’s a click, and suddenly...
VVVVVVRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTT
Your back arches off the bed, insides coiling at the sensation of Mettaton’s fingertips vibrating atop your most sensitive area. “AH! Fuuuuuuuuuuck. Yes! Yesyesyes!”
“That’s it darling, keep moaning for me,” he says, circling around your swollen clit. You can feel yourself dripping onto the sheets with each pass of his fingertips from bud to entrance, swirling along the creases of your sex. But it’s still relatively shallow touches, just enough to make you pulse. Otherwise you’d probably come.
Mettaton’s buzzing fingers finally prod at your wet opening, and you release a long held breath as he pushes a digit inside you.
You’re so lost in the feeling of those vibrations against your inner walls that you don’t hear the metallic “huh?” or feel the second finger slip into you.
Suddenly, Mettaton throws your leg over his shoulder, angling you in such a way that gives him a better look at your pulsing cunt. “Well what do we have here?” He ceases the vibrations in favor of pumping his fingers in and out, seemingly contemplating something. “Your pussy usually has a very tight grip on my fingers after we’ve spent some time apart, so much so that I have to take extra time fingering you open for my cock.”
He stills his hand to scissor his fingers apart. “And yet you’re rather loose down here tonight sweetheart, why’s that?”
“I-I uh…” Shit. Fuck. Shit fucks. He knew. Of course he knew. Two weeks was the longest you’d been apart since you officially started your relationship. And before the press tour, you hadn’t gone more than ten days without Mettaton being inside you. (Yes, even if it meant a quickie in his dressing room ten minutes before Late Night with Mettaton. So what if Drake was the special guest? Hotline Bling wasn’t nearly as a hot as you were in those little sequined shorts.)
You lasted until the day before yesterday when you came across your long unused rabbit vibe. In your defense, you couldn’t reach Mettaton in time for him to dirty talk you through it and that one performance he did in Madison Square Garden was really fucking hot.
Mettaton slides your leg off his shoulder, expression turning stern. “Now I want you to answer me honestly,” Mettaton says, the seriousness in his voice betrayed by the (literal) sparkle in his eye. “Did you put anything in your pussy while I was gone?”
You lick your lips. “...I, I found my old vibrator...I’m sorry Mett.” If this is the route the night’s going to take, then you might as well play it up. So you flutter your lashes a bit, sniffle, and look away in mock shame. “You weren’t answering my calls and I missed you and work was really stressful...”
“No excuses darling, you know our deal.” Mettaton removes his fingers from inside you and cups your mound. “Only I get to play inside your pussy, isn’t that right?” he asks, raising his brow.
“Y-yes sir.”
Mettaton brings the fingers soaked by your pussy to his face, eyes narrowing in scrutiny at the stickiness of the fluids before turning his gaze to you. “While I accept your sincere apology, I believe a proper punishment is due for this bit of disobedience.”
Oh. So that's what he’s getting at. “You mean…?”
The sparkle in his eye fades back into a rounded iris as he brings his hands to your face. “So long as it’s still okay with you love,” he mutters, stroking your cheek. “You never have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, and you have every right to change your mind.”
You discussed this awhile ago. While the sex you were already having was in no way vanilla, the both of you were interested in trying kinkier things. You’d discussed boundaries and safe words and blushed as you told Mettaton how much you wanted to be his “naughty girl”.
With a tiny smile, you place your hands over Mettaton’s, rubbing your cheek into his left palm and giving a kiss to the right. “Oh Mettaton, if you think I’ve been naughty enough to deserve it…”
Hearts return to Mettaton’s eye again as the gentle smile he’d given you turns into a perverse smirk. “Yes you have darling. Quite a naughty little girl.” His voice is low, like a dark bass line beneath a chip-tune beat.
Mettaton moves towards the edge of the bed and pats the tops of his strong thighs. “Come on, get yourself across my lap.”
You crawl towards him, making sure to wriggle your hips as you lay over his knees.
“Let’s get these out of the way,” Mettaton says, tugging your panties down, only to realize that the garter straps prevent them going any further than mid-thigh. He’s taken aback for a moment until you direct his hands to the tiny ribbons on either side of the panties.
With both sides untied, Mettaton is able to slip the panties out from between your legs without having to unbuckle all the straps. “You do wear this color well, I have to admit,” he remarks, putting the baby pink satin off to the side. “Though when I’m done with you, this lovely ass of yours will be an even prettier shade of pink.”
You hum as Mettaton runs a hand across your ass, gently kneading the flesh presented to him. “You remember your safe words?”
“Stoplight system babe,” you mutter, nestling your head against your folded arms. “Same as always.”
“That’s my girl.”
The first spank landed against your right ass cheek in an upward motion; not hard, but by no means a little love tap, drawing a pleased groan from your throat. He’s trying to place how much force he can use, and the next strike against your left cheek hits harder, catching the fleshy underside and making your toes curl with an, “A-ahh!”
Mettaton builds up rhythm, alternating between left and right in a one-two-one-two beat. You can tell how much strength he’s holding back for your safety. The level of power he’s putting into each spank treads the line between playful and forceful, which isn’t even a fraction of what he’s capable of. But you trust him not to go too overboard, to give you just enough to create a stinging warmth.
After a couple of minutes going back and forth, Mettaton switches to giving quick successions of spanks one cheek and then the other, keeping his area contained to the roundest parts of your ass and the curve of flesh where the tops of your thighs begin.
“Oh!” You’re starting to squirm in his lap, the growing wetness of your sex smearing against the insides of your thighs as each spank pushes your hips upwards. You’re probably dripping all over Mettaton’s leg.
As you bite your lip at the idea of Mettaton’s other hand coming to palm at your cunt, a heavier spank lands across the center of your lower ass, making an audible clap in unison with your “Oof!”
The spanks immediately stop.
You twist your neck to look up at Mettaton, who appears unsure of whether he just hurt you or not. The hand that had just struck you moves to rub at the stinging patch of flesh. Mettaton turns his gaze towards you, expression silently asking if you want to stop.
Sure, it was a bit harder than any of the preceding spanks, but it was more unexpected than anything else. Not unenjoyable in the least.
So with a panting breath, you say, “G-green.”
It was the go that Mettaton needed, because the next thing you know, his hand is raining down stinging spanks of equal force on your ass. Even more, he’s wrapped his other arm around your waist to secure you over his lap.
“Oh darling, your ass is so nice,” he says, pulling at your right cheek to deliver a quick spank. “So nice and full in my hands. Love to grab it when you ride my cock.” You bite your lip to conceal a moan as Mettaton does the same to your left cheek.
The spanks build speed, his open palm striking your ass at different angles and ranges. “You have no clue what you do to me when you walk around in skintight jeans and leggings.” The arm looped around your waist lifts your lower-half a couple of inches off of Mettaton’s lap, making your stockinged legs fall open to expose your dripping sex to his hungry eye. “Makes your ass look delectable. I ought to bend you over my knee next time you wear those leather leggings of yours.”
Mettaton reels his arm back to deliver a hard spank to your right cheek. “For always.” Left cheek. “Teasing.” Right. “Me.” Left.
His eyes follow the subsequent bounce and jiggle of your ass. You’re panting, cheeks flushed and slack-jawed against the soft, cool sheets. “M-Mett...Mmmm!” You can feel some drool dribble from the corner of your mouth.
Mettaton’s spanks slow down to close-range slaps, lowering you back to his lap and unwinding his arm from around your waist. “If only you could see yourself right now darling, squirming all over my lap from a little old spanking like a wanton hussy,” Mettaton says, moving his free hand up your back to thread through your hair.
He leans towards your ear, sucking the lobe between his teeth. “But you’re my wanton hussy, aren’t you?”
“Oooohhh...A-ah!...Yes s-sir, ‘m yours, all yours.” You grind your hips into the sharp angle of Mettaton’s knee as he delivers a final spank to the center of your ass.
Mettaton’s hand begins rubbing your stinging behind, which you’re positive is just slightly less pink than his chassis. “Fuck. You’re gonna make me short circuit one day baby girl,” he breathes, placing a kiss behind your ear before pulling away.
The hand rubbing your ass slips between your legs, tracing a finger along your cunt before pushing two digits inside. “Mmm, that got you absolutely drenched.” His thumb presses against your aching clit. “How’s a reward for taking your punishment so beautifully sound?”
“Well deserved,” you mutter, voice breathy.
Mettaton chuckles and removes his hand from your pussy, much to your displeasure. He lifts you from his lap, elongating his arms to gently place you back among the pillows at the head of the bed. You’re throbbing between your legs with the need to orgasm, but every moment that passes without stimulation pulls you away from the edge of coming. The grand finale needs to have ample build-up after all.
“Spread your legs sweetheart,” Mettaton commands, scooting towards you.
You obey, allowing Mettaton to situate himself between your thighs. He takes a hold of the backs of your knees to prop your calves over his shoulders, trying to angle you just right. His thumbs spread the outer folds of your labia, and you catch him licking his lips at the sight of your open cunt.
He lays his cheek against the inside of your thigh. You just want him to put his mouth on you, but instead he takes a breath, (or at least the robotic equivalent of one), no doubt in order to activate his scent inputs. “I missed the smell of you darling. So musky and earthy. So very human.”
The tip of his tongue comes out to trace the seam between your crotch and thighs. “Meeeeeett,” you whine, throwing an arm across your eyes. “You’re so embarrassing, oh my god.”
“It’s true dear! You smell just as good as you taste,” Mettaton exclaims, voice hitching into a metallic whine. You peek out from beneath your arm to make sure you didn’t actually upset him, but instead you’re greeted with a sharp, wicked grin.
“But in all honesty darling, I really do personally prefer to taste.” His jaw drops open, tongue snaking out to lick a broad stripe from hole to throbbing bud.
“Oh fuck! Mett! Hnng!” you cry out as that wonderful, talented tongue of his flutters against your clit, arching your back to kegel at the sensation. “Right there!”
Mettaton alternates through fluttering motions of the tongue, tracing shapes across your clit, and suckling it between his lips. “You always squirm so much when I eat you out baby girl,” he pants, breath making you twitch. “Wiggling your hips in my face...mmm...and grinding your clit onto my tongue.”
He laps at your juices, grunting at the taste of you on his tongue at he continues to eat you out with gusto. But you want more. “Mmmm. T-turn your vibrate function b-back on…p-please?”
Mettaton laughs against your mound. “Alright, but you’re not allowed to come yet darling, not without my cock inside you.” He winks, wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep your from wriggling out of place. “Just until your pussy’s all relaxed and twitching for me.”
There’s the click of gears again, and Mettaton places his tongue against your clit.
VVVVVVVRRRRRRRRVVVVVVVVVRRRRRRRRRRRR
“Ah-ahhhhhhh! Yes!” You squeeze your thighs together, bucking into Mettaton’s mouth as he gives you sharp jabs of the tongue. It’s far better than any old rabbit vibrator, and god, you must have been crazy to think that one of them could even begin to replicate the feeling of spongy silicone buzzing away at your core.
You hands shoot down to push Mettaton’s head closer to you, fingers tangling in the silky strands of his hair, still a bit waxy from the Metal Hair Gel™ he styles with. You push his bangs back, allowing you to see the right side of his face, the metal plating still a bit shinier than the one on the left due to being welded in more recently. He’s still a bit sensitive over the slight discoloration of his face, but you take every chance you can get to see both his eyes looking at you.
And having his head cradled between your thighs makes for optimal viewing pleasure.
Suddenly, Mettaton’s tongue darts into your entrance, slurping away at your juices as the vibrations shake your inner walls. You gasp at the sensation of being licked out, trying to angle your hips to get his tongue to curl against the more sensitive spots inside you. A thumb harshly rubs against your clit, and it’s so much and so hot that you take fistfuls of Mettaton’s hair in order to grind yourself in an oncoming orgasm. “Shit...mmnnnn...ahhhh!”
But the clenching of your pelvic muscles gives you away. Just as you’re finally about to come Mettaton removes his mouth ― slick and shiny with your juices ― and waggles his finger at you. “Nuh uh uh, not yet darling,” he teases, licking the taste of you from his lips as he pushes a couple of fingers inside you, clinically probing his digits around to make sure you’re loose enough to be penetrated. “Feels like you’re all ready for me though.”
“Mett! Please!” You’re starved. Every part of your body aches for him. Two weeks was far too long, and you’ve been needy for him since the moment he kissed you goodbye at the airport terminal among the flashing lights of paparazzi. God, you’re on the verge of tears, you need him so badly.
You jump up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Fuck me, please, need you to fuck me…” you whimper, pressing yourself against the warm metal of his chest.
Mettaton’s hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, holding you in place so he can pepper kisses along your cheeks, forehead, nose, and lips. “Shh, shhhh...I know love, I know.” You’re gently laid back onto the bed. “I’ve got what you need, gonna fuck you nice and thoroughly, okay?”
He brings his fingers to the knob on his chest, turning it clockwise until you hear the click of his main compartment open, revealing a colorful array of buttons and switches. He flicks a familiar lavender switch to the left.
In an instant, the plating around his crotch slides back, allowing a silicone phallus to eject into place. Your mouth waters at the sight of Mettaton’s cock, the curved shaft gilded with metallic detailing to match the plating of his face, arms, and waist, whereas the rounded head ― designed to target the g-spot, thanks Alphys ― is the same pink as his chassis, the color running along the underside towards the base.
With a glitched groan, Mettaton wraps a hand around the shaft, activating the cock’s self-lubrication system to make oil-slick colored synthetic seminal fluid bead at the tip ― with beneficial properties that include stain-free qualities, warming and tingling sensations, and non-hazardous (and rather tasty) consumption.
You let out a heady moan as Mettaton positions himself against your twitching entrance. “Ready?”
“Been ready since you left.”
Mettaton laughs. “You insatiable thing…”
His head breaches your opening, dragging against your inner walls as he slowly pushes his way inside. Despite his earlier claims, you’re tight around his girth, tighter than usual due to the time apart. Even though your vibrator had loosened you up, it didn’t match the thickness of Mettaton’s cock. Nor did it match the length, and each tantalizing millimeter that slides into you puts pressure against your insides to accommodate him.
Mettaton angles his hips slightly upward, and god, you feel about ready burst from the stretch. “Aahhhhaaaa…! Fuck Mett!” you groan, fisting the bed sheets.
He stills, sliding a hand over your clenched fist, a look of concern overtaking his features. “You okay there darling?”
You uncurl your hand and slide your fingers between Mettaton’s in a tight grip. “Mmhmm. Just kinda full.” He hasn’t been this tight of a fit since the very first time you had sex together. You almost feel virginal, well, as virginal as a girl in thigh highs and a garter belt who just got eaten out by a sentient vibrator can feel.
You bring your and Mettaton’s clasped hands to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckles.
“I missed you. I missed you lots.”
“Missed this too I’m assuming?” Mettaton says, brushing the underside of your lip with his thumb.
“Mmm.” You stay together like this for a few minutes, allowing yourselves to simply enjoy being in such close proximity again as you wait for the dull burn of the stretch to fade. Once it does, you wriggle your hips a bit to find the most pleasurable angle to receive Mettaton’s thrusts. When you do, you let out a pleased sigh. “Come on Mister Roboto, show your little superstar what you’ve got?”
Mettaton slides a hand to your waist. “Hold on darling.”
“Hnnnng!” Your entire body arches as Mettaton rocks forward, that vibrating cock (oh but of course) ramming right into your g-spot with an upward jab of his hips. Each thrust brings him deeper and deeper inside you, and you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to grind your clit against his pumping shaft. “Aaaaahhhh! Fuck!”
Mettaton is anything but a selfish-lover, and noticing your need for further stimulation, he snakes the hand on your waist down to where your bodies meet, and you scream as you feel those vibrating fingertips return to rub circles into your clit.
“Yesssss, that’s it...let your voice out for me s w e e t h e a r t !” Mettaton’s voice drops an octave, filling with the dark whine of static noise and broken syllables.
Through the heaviness of your lashes, you can see Mettaton’s eyes go dark before the pupils explode into bright stars. The next thing you know, he’s pulled you into his lap, the hand that had been enclosed in yours grabbing at your hip to move you up and down along his cock.
Oh fuck yes, some of the data from his NEO programming is seeping into his EX interface. You know you’re in for a good time when this happens.
“You’re starved of my cock, a r e n ‘ t y o u ?” he says, the words accentuated by sharp thrusts that have you crying in pleasure.
You lean back with a hand against Mettaton’s knee, cocking your hips to angle him towards your g-spot again. “Y-yesss! Mmmmm!”
A gravelly 8-bit chuckle emits from his speaker at your response. The gloved fingertips against your clit move in quicker succession. "Wish I could tell e v e r y o n e about what you do to m e. How good a s t a r you are for me like t h i s.”
You clench your muscles around his shaft, causing a needy growl to reverberate within his chest.
“Yes! Yes! Mettaton! Ahhhhh!” God, god, god, it’s so hot, so good, the way he’s making your insides twitch and pulling the breath right out of you. He’s fucking you with full thrusts of his hips now, and the pressure building inside of you is so incredibly tightly wound that you’re having trouble staying upright as Mettaton continues to pull you down on his buzzing cock.
“I’ll tell e v e r y o n e how I f u c k you, the way you m o a n and w r i t h e, so g o r g e o u s.”
“M-Mett...aahhh!” Your jaw hangs open as strangled screams make their way from your throat.. You’re so close to orgasm that tears are pricking at the corner of your eyes.
Mettaton’s eyes narrow in on your bared throat. He licks his teeth, bringing his mouth right to your ear. “And only I G E T t-to F U C K Y O U...A-A L L M I N E.”
And with those clipped words, he bites at your neck, and it’s the trigger your body needs to send you spiraling into absolute ecstasy.
“Mettaton! I’m coming...c-coming!” Everything inside you bursts with the heat of release. “AAAAAAAHHHHHHH….Mettaton!”
“That’s it...C O M E F O R M E D A R L I N G,” he grunts, tearing himself from your throat to piston his hips harder and faster towards his own release. As your entire body jerks through orgasm, your muscles clench, pelvic walls massaging his cock with each fluttering kegel.
Mettaton’s arms flail around, straightening and bending against the sudden outburst of beeps in a static crescendo to, “O-O H Y E S S SSSSSsssss!!!”
As your body goes slack into the mattress, you feel Mettaton’s cock spurt its two week build-up of synthetic seminal fluid into you, and yup, it’s a lot.
Mettaton falls beside you, his eyes white as his system reboots from the aftershock of orgasm. That poor little blook ghost soul of his. Corporeal sensations can be so much for such a tiny little thing inside a 7 foot tall machine. The heart strapped inside the belt-buckle around his waist is still twitching.
You pull off of Mettaton’s cock with a wet pop, filmy black fluid dripping out with it. Ugh, as great as it is that this stuff doesn’t stain, it’s really goopy and you’d rather not have it trickling down your thighs for the rest of the night. You look towards Mettaton. His reboot percentage is only at 10%. Faster than the Windows 8 computers at work, but still pretty slow.
Your legs are a wobbly when you stand up, and you scrunch your nose as gravity pulls the grade-A Mettacum down your thighs whilst you make your way to the adjacent bathroom to clean up. All in all, it’s not too messy of a job for a wet towel and some really awkward kegeling.
Once you’ve wiped yourself down, you grab the chiffon duster that came with the lingerie set and drape it on so you’re not completely naked. When you step out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom, Mettaton’s sitting back up, fully rebooted and cleaning off the rest of his mess (though you’re sure there’s more than enough of yours all over him) with a towel from the clothes hamper.
“Hey there hot stuff,” you say with a wink, walking over to the still glitchy robot to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“H-hell-o to y-you too-o.” Mettaton balls the dirty towel up and stretches an arm to put it back in the hamper. “Are y-you okay? Was I too rough on you l-love?”
“I’m fine babe. I’m a little sore, but it’s the good kind.” You shrug. “What about you? Did you enjoy your welcome home present?”
Before he returns his outstretched arm to his side, Mettaton retrieves your discarded bra and panties, which, somehow or another, managed to get themselves thrown across the room at some point during your lovemaking. “Sweetheart, you’re a gift that keeps on giving,” he jests, shooting you the corniest of game show host grins.
“Ugh, you’re terrible.”
“Terribly in love with you gorgeous.”
“Okay, boo, please don't use that on the air.” Criminy, he can be worse than that lazy skeleton friend of his sometimes. You start unbuckling the garter straps from your thighs, because as sexy as they are, they’ve kinda been digging into your skin for the last hour. “Anyways, I’m gonna go put on a ratty old t-shirt and some sweats. Do you wanna order Chinese food and you can tell me all about how the press tour went?”
“So long as you let me read your finished exposé?”
You grin. “Deal.”