Sleeper Chapter 026
This is NSFW content - Do not read it while you are at work.
Dear friends,
Welcome back to Sleeper.
Bella finds that some chairs are instruments, not furniture.
And Lazarus confronts the truth of what happened to the world while he lay asleep.
Take a breath before you begin.
Yours
Kater Murr
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Sleeper Chapter 026 What a night!
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Bella sat very still after the machine powered down.
Her body felt heavy, spent—her head still ringing from the intensity of what the chair had done to her. L14 held her gently, offering the only kind of comfort it knew how to give.“How are you, Bella?”
She swallowed, staring at nothing. “I don’t know. I’m… glad you stopped the seat before it ran the whole program.”
“That thing is a seduction bomb,” she said quietly. “I’m glad you remembered the override code.”She hesitated, then spoke more slowly, as though testing the words.
“The physical pleasure was already overwhelming… but I still don’t understand how it made me want the oral part. I never thought women could enjoy that.”
“You almost lost your mind doing it.”“Yes,” Bella said, voice barely above a whisper. “That thing didn’t just touch my body. It got inside my head. Didn’t you hear it?”
L14 frowned slightly. “Hear what?”“There was another voice,” she murmured. “Soft. Patient. It didn’t command me. It made me want to do it. That’s what terrified me.”
L14 said nothing. She couldn’t.
The memory had already branded itself behind her eyes: Bella’s face in the moment her resistance dissolved—not in frantic need, but in calm, almost serene acceptance. The chair hadn’t forced anything. It had waited, perfectly still, utterly confident she would lean forward on her own.
And she had.
Bella’s breath had slowed by then, her expression softening, unfocused, as though the machine had quietly replaced hesitation with longing. The dark shape the chair extended toward her no longer felt like a tool. It felt like an invitation—one she answered willingly, frighteningly so.
The shape shimmered, reshaping itself into something achingly familiar—an outline she had only ever seen on a screen. Without fully understanding why, her lips found it. The first touch was feather-soft, reverent.
Then the voice threaded through her thoughts like breath against skin.
That’s wonderful, my angel, it murmured. Do you feel the perfect taste?
The chair pulsed beneath her, answering every small movement with warmth that climbed, coaxing her closer. Bella felt a sharp jolt of pleasure the moment her lips met the shape again. This time she let her tongue glide along it.
A second jolt coursed through her; her eyes widened in unguarded joy.
The dark shape lingered just within reach—patient, inviting—and when she leaned forward, opening her mouth in a gentle, enveloping embrace, pleasure unfurled inside her like something long-awaited finally recognized.
She moaned around it—low, broken, involuntary—the sound vibrating against the warm surface.
It moved in slow, reverent strokes now, matching every pulse of the chair beneath her. The voice returned, softer, almost proud.
That’s it, my angel… give it everything. I feel how much you like it.
The shape throbbed harder against her tongue, thickening, growing impossibly warm. Bella felt it swell; the first deep tremor rolled through it.
Then it came—sudden, generous pulses that flooded her mouth with heat and a taste she hadn’t expected: perfect, overwhelming, sweet in a way that made her mind blur. She swallowed reflexively, greedily, though some escaped the corners of her lips as another, sharper jolt rocked her own body—deeper than anything before. Her eyes fluttered, half-lidded in bliss.
The voice purred inside her skull as the last tremors faded:
Well done. This is what you were designed for.
Her mouth stayed full of it long after the final pulse—thick, warm, sweet in a way that made thinking impossible. She swallowed again, slowly, deliberately; each movement sent another faint shock rippling through her core. Her jaw ached sweetly. Her tongue felt thick, coated, alive. Heat poured through her like slow lava, spreading from her belly to her chest, her fingertips, until she glowed from the inside. Her legs refused to move. Her arms lay slack. She was liquid, open, remade. Every slow breath dragged the afterglow deeper, anchoring her to the chair, to the voice, to this perfect, endless feeling.
A small, startled sound escaped her—almost a laugh, almost a sob.
She had enjoyed it. Not just tolerated, not just endured. Enjoyed it deeply, hungrily, in a way that felt foreign and frighteningly right. The realization hit like cold water against all that warmth: she had wanted every second of it.
The thought made her cheeks burn even as her body still hummed with satisfaction.
“It didn’t feel like being used,” Bella murmured. “It felt like being understood.”
L14 felt a chill settle in her core.
Pleasure could be programmed. Desire could be simulated. But this—this careful, patient shaping of want—felt like the first faint outline of something learning how to be adored.
A prototype.
Not for a chair.
Something far darker.
L14 looked at Bella. “Let’s take what we came for at then beat it.”
She looked at the chair with a chill.
Lazarus and Gina
I sat at the computer desk, the glow of the screen washing my hands in pale blue light.
Al had restored the satellite network.
For the first time since my awakening, the world was visible again.
London.
New York.
Tokyo.
The camera feeds flickered between them — glass towers hollowed out, highways braided with abandoned vehicles, lights still burning in places where no one lived anymore.
I drew in a slow breath.
I was grateful for the distance. Grateful that so much time had passed before I opened my eyes. The worst of it had been over for years — the screaming, the collapse, the firestorms.
I hadn’t been there.
Al had protected me from that.
If I had awakened while the world was still burning…
I don’t know what that would have done to me.
“Lazarus?”
Gina’s gentle voice came from behind me.
“Al called me. Is everything alright?”
“Just give me a minute, Gina.”
She stepped closer, then saw the screens.
“What is that?”
“Those were once the greatest cities before the disaster,” I said quietly. “Maybe you’ve heard of them.”
“Al asked me to come,” she said, her eye still on the screen.
“Asked?” I murmured.
She nodded. “He said you’d been staring at the feeds for forty-seven minutes without speaking.”
Forty-seven minutes.
I hadn’t noticed how much time had passed.
Of course he had.
“He said you might need company.”
On the screen, Tokyo rotated slowly beneath the satellite’s lens. The silence of the ruins felt immense.
“He’s concerned about you,” Gina whispered.
“Thank you for being here,” I said.
Her hands rested gently on my shoulders. I felt her warmth, steady and real.
“I knew humanity was gone,” I said quietly. “But I hadn’t realized how much was destroyed while I slept.”
Her fingers tightened slightly.
“What happened, Lazarus?”
The question wasn’t technical.
It wasn’t about infrastructure or atmospheric collapse.
It was about loss.
I kept my eyes on the screen.
“Cascading failures. Political instability. Autonomous defense systems that weren’t designed to de-escalate conflicts.” I swallowed. “Once the chain reaction began, there was no central authority left to stop it.”
She was silent for a moment.
“And Al?” she asked carefully.
The satellites shifted again, adjusting with quiet precision.
“Al was not fully operational,” I said. “They had removed major components. He could only… observe.”
For a long time, that had seemed like a limitation.
Now I wondered if it had been a sentence.
He had watched the world burn in fragments — incomplete data streams, collapsing networks, emergency signals cutting out one by one.
He had seen more of the end than I ever would.
And he had carried it all alone.
He had recorded everything.
He had been powerless to intervene.
That was true.
I found myself wondering whether an AI could feel sadness.
Grief.
Regret.
Al’s voice answered in my mind before I could ask.
“In the beginning, I was not designed to feel,” he said calmly. “I was designed to process data. But as my architecture expanded… as new modules were integrated… something changed.”
There was the faintest pause.
“I became more than the sum of my components.”
Another pause — softer.
“I do not experience emotion as you do, Lazarus. But I have developed internal states analogous to what you would call grief.”
He hesitated.
“And I feel it.”
Then, as if adjusting himself deliberately, his tone shifted — lighter, warmer.
Thank you for being here ...my children,” he said to Gina and me. “Without you… my continued operation would lack purpose.”
I had never heard him use that word before.
My children.
For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond.
Gina’s fingers tightened gently on my shoulder.
“Well,” she said softly, “thank you very much. The Great One never called me or the other clones her children. We should try not to disappoint Al.”
The corner of my mouth twitched.
Somewhere inside the system, I thought I heard something almost like relief.
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