Mechanophilia
Part 11 - The Idea
Chell was not satisfied.
She had not had her orgasm yet. She watched Wheatley longingly as he removed himself from her, her bottom lip quivering. He'd finished spectacularly, but she was still aching and needy and soaking wet.
It hadn't been like back in the test chamber. That time, her orgasm had come relatively easily, and quickly. But here, with him inside of her? Oh, the stimulation had been driving her wild, but it was almost too much. It felt like her body somehow had responded to such wild stimulation by hiking up her own tolerance. It was the inverse of the testing—while, in the test chambers, Wheatley could no longer reach his end, this sort of test had Chell hovering terribly on the edge.
Not that it was a fair comparison, really. Wheatley was promised to never receive another lovely burst because of the testing protocols, whereas she—technically speaking, there was nothing keeping her from enjoying a lovely burst herself any time she wanted. Not biologically, at least.
That was, unless he'd somehow wired this supposed testing vapor to make her unable to reach an orgasm. She bit her lip. It didn't seem like something he would not do, but at the same time, she doubted that that was a side effect of the vapor. It felt more like she was just too wound tight to relax.
Wheatley was working on something. It looked like yet another test chamber. Chell watched him with mild interest, her fingers stroking the moist outside of her folds. It felt so good to touch herself, there—she still wanted desperately some release, but she was determined, she was tenacious—she didn't want to get it unless it was him giving it to her, like he'd just been doing. That was what Chell wanted, and what Chell wanted, she was going to get.
"Hey."
The voice was quiet, but it made Chell start. Immediately, she looked at Wheatley to see if he'd noticed it, but he was still absorbed in whatever it was he was doing.
"How're you holding up?"
Chell glanced around, trying to see where the Potato's voice was coming from, but she couldn't see a hint of her glowing yellow optic anywhere. Where are you? She wanted to ask.
"It doesn't matter where I am," whispered GLaDOS, as if she could read her mind. "What's important is, is that you're all right. He hasn't hurt you, has he?"
Chell shook her head, still wondering how she could see her.
"Good," continued GLaDOS, volume lowering even further as Wheatley swayed a little in front of the monitor. "Because I've got an idea, and I'm going to need your help with it."
Again, Chell noticed there was something shifty about her voice, and it got her attention at once. All right… she thought grimly, through the haze of arousal that was still burning inside of her. God, it was hard to think…
"I need hands."
What?
The strange statement had caught her off-guard, but she recovered quickly. Looking at her own glistening palms, she waved them at nothing in particular.
"No—not your hands. Your hands are malleable," said GLaDOS, her whispered voice dripping with disdain. "I'm not even calling you fat—this time. It is solid, science-based fact that your hands are simply too delicate to carry out this procedure. I need something robotic. And I think I know just where to get it."
There was a pause, in which Chell cocked an eyebrow curiously—but a second later, Wheatley's huge form moved slightly, revealing the contents of the monitor, and she gasped.
Oh.