ATG/ATG response for WildOnion
Ask That Guy slammed his hands against the lab room wall in frustration. The cloning machine didn't work and that wasn't fucking right. If the Critic's sex-buddy and that pathetic mad scientist could both manage it, then why couldn't he? He just wanted a fuck, was that so wrong? That was far more important than taking over the world - he paused, punching the pop-up satisfyingly hard - or being silly for a stupid Halloween review.
Sure, he could have gone for the usual hookers. But they only lasted so long, all that squawking they did before they died was kind of a turn-off and he was starting to get the feeling that they were told to stay the hell away from him.
And sure, he could have been a good evil counterpart and just bent the Critic over his desk in the middle of a review. The squirming and shouting never stopped being fun and he always liked putting on a show, but the wimp had locked himself in his room and barricaded the door with furniture. Fucker. It wasn't like he hadn't warned him that he was going to give him the Spocker again.
He mentally ran down the list of the other people he could give a breakdown to. The girl that came over a lot for "fighting" would kick his ass, the annoying bum who always hung around like a bad smell would make him feel ill, the comic geek was so clueless (who could miss a robot living in their house?) that it just wouldn't be entertaining and breaking into another neighbor’s house would probably get him jail time.
So sitting down against the wall and lifting his robe, he shifted his jeans down and cupped himself far more gently than he would with anyone else. Starting to move his fingers in slow circles, he groaned in frustration, trying to think of something to fap to. That was always the way, his mind was chock-full of sexual depravity but when it came to just him and his hand, he more than often drew a blank.
But then he thought back to the time travel question, meeting and having sex with the exact copy of himself. Pushing his double down on the bed and licking his neck, his sounds of irritation moving into pleasurable whimpers. Hands and tongues and everything exactly the same, down to the same sadomasochistic tastes, made his own fingers work harder and faster and his sounds of satisfaction echoed around the room, making it even better. It sounded like a whole orgy of him.
He finally came; his body shuddering, his head tilting back against the wall and exposing his neck. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, his eyelashes fluttered and hot mess spilled onto the floor. He squirmed a little in delight, thrilled at how handsome he must have looked.
He got up, tucked himself back in and walked out, feeling more than pleased. Who said that self-love wasn’t healthy?
Sure, he could have gone for the usual hookers. But they only lasted so long, all that squawking they did before they died was kind of a turn-off and he was starting to get the feeling that they were told to stay the hell away from him.
And sure, he could have been a good evil counterpart and just bent the Critic over his desk in the middle of a review. The squirming and shouting never stopped being fun and he always liked putting on a show, but the wimp had locked himself in his room and barricaded the door with furniture. Fucker. It wasn't like he hadn't warned him that he was going to give him the Spocker again.
He mentally ran down the list of the other people he could give a breakdown to. The girl that came over a lot for "fighting" would kick his ass, the annoying bum who always hung around like a bad smell would make him feel ill, the comic geek was so clueless (who could miss a robot living in their house?) that it just wouldn't be entertaining and breaking into another neighbor’s house would probably get him jail time.
So sitting down against the wall and lifting his robe, he shifted his jeans down and cupped himself far more gently than he would with anyone else. Starting to move his fingers in slow circles, he groaned in frustration, trying to think of something to fap to. That was always the way, his mind was chock-full of sexual depravity but when it came to just him and his hand, he more than often drew a blank.
But then he thought back to the time travel question, meeting and having sex with the exact copy of himself. Pushing his double down on the bed and licking his neck, his sounds of irritation moving into pleasurable whimpers. Hands and tongues and everything exactly the same, down to the same sadomasochistic tastes, made his own fingers work harder and faster and his sounds of satisfaction echoed around the room, making it even better. It sounded like a whole orgy of him.
He finally came; his body shuddering, his head tilting back against the wall and exposing his neck. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, his eyelashes fluttered and hot mess spilled onto the floor. He squirmed a little in delight, thrilled at how handsome he must have looked.
He got up, tucked himself back in and walked out, feeling more than pleased. Who said that self-love wasn’t healthy?