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“Still don’t remember the pink room, Stanley. Still no memory of this one. Good room though! A solid room...” The Narrator trailed off.
Stanley looked around in a circle as he walked, utterly confused. What on earth was this place? This was his second time through here and it was no less confusing than the first time. If this was the Memory Zone, then it certainly wasn’t any memory of his. Was The Narrator trying to mess with him?
Then again, The Narrator’s mind was prone to being unreliable, and he’d sounded surprisingly genuine just then. Perhaps Stanley should have expected this.
Stanley came to the room’s tall pink archway, the long curtained hall yawning just beyond it. He stopped.
Was there really nothing here? No secret to find except it’s mysterious figurine? Why did The Narrator’s focus seem to slide off it like water over glass? No, this can’t be it.
Stanley’s eyes landed on the plain door across from him. Mind made up, he veered towards it, reaching for the handle.
“Wait, what are you doing?” the voice chimed, unsurprising to Stanley.
He jiggled the lever, but it remained locked like so many in the office, like each door that closed behind him on so many countless runs.
“Come on, we still have a few more memories left to go yet!”
Stanley ignored it, this time trying the door at the far right, by the stairs. No luck.
“I’m sorry I can’t be of more help here Stanley, but this room really doesn’t seem to have anything left to offer. I assure you, more exciting things lie back the way we came. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Stanley got down on his hands and knees and peeked one eye under the door as best he could.
It was dark.
A complete absence of light. The crack under the door was a hard black line down Stanley’s vision. An icy chill crept over the side of Stanley’s face where his skin met the floor.
He could feel it now. There was something there, coming closer. Wind and sand blowing across a vast emptiness howled in his ears. A static of imperceptible blue, red, green blueredgreenblueredYELLOW—
Stanley stood up.
Maybe…he should try a different door.
Perhaps the one under the apple sculpture.
The Narrator followed him down the short flight of stairs. “Oh, heh, looking a little harried there, sport. Something the matter?”
Stanley paused in front of the last door a moment, hand half-raised.
“Nothing.” he quickly signed.
“Ah, I see. Well, it just goes to show you; there’s simply nothing left here—wait, what?“
The door swung open.
Stanley hadn’t checked under it first. He froze, expecting a tidal wave of untold horrors to engulf him.
None came.
Instead, there was a short hall, which opened into a small, dimly lit room. It looked empty and bare except for a silhouetted something at the center.
Stanley squinted, stepping into the hall. Upon entering the room, he could now see it was…a pole? It was solid white, and barely taller than his waist. The golden glow from the light stripping along the ceiling’s edge reflected warmly off its porcelain-smooth surface.
At the very top, there was a button.
This button was different than all the others throughout the complex. It was slightly smaller—hardly wider than Stanley’s palm—and rather than a shell of hard plastic, it had a cover of…rubber? Silicone? Stanley tapped it lightly with a finger and sure enough, it gave under his touch before springing back to form.
It was a rosy pink, and a small light within shone faintly.
As Stanley poked at it, The Narrator suddenly became…aware of something.
A warmth. Or a buzz, perhaps. Tiny hot sparks of sensation zigzagged throughout his awareness, and they multiplied for every second that the little man fiddled with that button. The feeling fizzled through his senses, leaving an itch at the back of his consciousness.
“Oh…well that’s…odd.” he mused aloud. There was something familiar about this sensation. Something he hadn’t felt or thought about for quite some time.
“Hm, I think I remember…oh no.” The Narrator’s voice dropped. “Stanley we should leave. Now.”
Stanley looked around the space curiously, trying to spot whatever danger or caution his guide had noticed. He just saw the room, and the small pedestal with the button.
“Listen to me, I don’t remember exactly what that button does, but seeing it now, seeing YOU touch it makes me feel…augh, I don’t know! Whatever it is, I know you shouldn’t be here messing with it. Please, let’s just turn around. Quickly, before you blow us up or something.”
That was a bit rich, coming from him.
Rolling his eyes, Stanley leaned closer to inspect the pedestal. There seemed to be a thin horizontal seam about 8 inches down from the top. Stanley wrapped a hand around the cylinder which housed the button and tried to lift it. Sure enough, with a slight resistance it came away. It hardly seemed to weigh anything in his grip.
The Narrator said nothing.
Was the button’s pink hue brighter now? Yes, the pinprick of light was now a steady glow. He was sure of it.
Stanley experimentally held the cylinder above its pedestal, moving as though to slowly set back it down. A few inches further and it snapped back to its shiny white resting spot, like a magnet had pulled it close. Stanley quietly laughed in surprise, correcting his balance.
What was this thing for, anyway?
A familiar heaviness settled upon the air, hair raising at the back of Stanley’s neck. The faint shadows of the room seemed to press closer towards him.
“Having fun?” The voice from everywhere dripped with warning. “Because I’m certainly not. Stanley, there’s nothing here except a button that you really. Should not push. Nothing good will come of it, I assure you. Each moment we spend in here is time spent missing out on the rest of our great Stanlerine memories! But hey, guess what! You can leave! Isn’t that wonderful. Now why don’t we just-“
Stanley pressed the button then, and The Narrator made a very unusual sound.
It sounded like it had been punched out if him; a breathy exclamation that was strangled into silence nearly as suddenly as it had been made.
It was a moan, Stanley realized. There was no other way to describe it. The ever-present, ever-reserved and sophisticated voice Stanley knew as The Narrator had really just moaned.
Several seconds of complete and utter silence went by.
“Stanley, I um…I think it’s time I mention that this button is apparently connected to me.”
Stanley stood there, eyes wide and wearing the tell-tale expression of ‘No shit.’
“Which I suppose that makes sense, given that the Memory Zone is also apart of me. So, maybe you shouldn’t-t-t—Nnnnhh!”
The voice broke into another sound of pleasure as Stanley gently pressed the button again. He could just barely hear ragged breaths after it passed. Actual panting.
His ears burned with the sound. His heart hammered in his chest, his pulse thrumming up his neck and down to the fingertips that held the small device. He was…
He was definitely doing something to The Narrator, and it excited him terribly to realize how much he liked that. He felt his heartbeat down between his legs now.
“I…can feel your hand hovering there.” the voice shook, trying and failing to have an edge to it. “I’ve never felt before, Stanley, not like that. I-I don’t know what to do; this is…my goodness.”
As Stanley waited with baited breath, something shimmered in his periphery.
Hazes of light had appeared in the far corners of the room, hanging like mist. Their colors shifted from faint yellows to warm pinks and oranges.
Stanley squinted.
Eyes transfixed on the dancing light, he pressed the button again. The Narrator gasped, and the haze flashed brighter. It fanned out, taking up more space.
Oh~. Interesting.
Stanley began rolling the ball of his palm in slow, rough circles, the squishy material beneath yielding to his touch with each press. The mechanism underneath click-click-clicked away under his hand.
“Ngh, NNh, hnnn, hah, S...S-Stanley—Stanley STOP, please!” cried The Narrator.
Stanley yanked his hand away like it had burned him. The clouds of color throughout the room pulsed and billowed. An icy needle of regret pierced his racing heart.
He’d overstepped. Obviously. What was he thinking? What the hell was he doing?
He stood there, frozen, until he heard The Narrator take in a shaky breath, then sigh.
“Hold on I just…I need to think.”
The Narrator observed the scene around him, noticing the faintly pulsing light around the room.
“Oh this is…this is embarrassing.” he murmured weakly. “I know pushing buttons is your thing Stanley, but this..? You surely must realize what that was, don’t you? What touching that button does to me?”
Stanley nodded carefully.
“…So you knowingly made me… You did that on purpose?”
Guilt burned through Stanley’s frame, yet still he nodded. He was met with a withered sigh.
“Stanley I think things between us just became very complicated VERY fast, and in an effort to make them LESS complicated, I need you to answer me honestly.”
Stanley looked up eagerly.
“That stunt you just pulled—were you just trying to embarrass and humiliate me, or did you actually…um, like it?” The Narrator asked tentatively.
Oh.
Heat rose up Stanley’s neck. His hands fumbled into action.
“I liked it. Really, I did. I never imagined there was a way make you…feel.” Stanley signed, cheeks darkening as his hand rose to his chest. “It’s exciting.”
He waited. The Narrator was silent.
Stanley cleared his throat nervously, raising his hands again. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you. I pushed too far, too fast. Did it hurt?”
“No, no, it wasn’t…it wasn’t a bad feeling, Stanley.” the voice replied quietly.
Oh. That was good at least. Stanley finally allowed his shoulders to relax.
“It sounds like…” Stanley’s brow furrowed. “Are you ashamed? That it felt good?”
The Narrator sputtered.
“WELL I— Claiming that it ‘felt good’ is a little presumptuous of you, wouldn’t you say?”
Stanley pinned the nothingness with a hard-faced stare.
Whatever rebuttal the voice had next seemed to die on his tongue, instead petering out into a scoff of defeat.
“Alright, fine. It…it did. And I hate that you know that.”
“Why?”
“Identity crises notwithstanding, I’ve always known WHAT I am. How I work. I am the intangible author of this world. You’re not supposed to be able to touch me. And there certainly shouldn’t be a button that makes me feel like—“
The Narrator fumbled for words.
“I’ve never been this blindsided with my own functions before and—well I…I don’t think that’s something I was prepared for you to see.”
Stanley looked down at the stark white pedestal and it’s contents, sympathy stirring in his chest.
“…That would be your cue to stop staring at it, Stanley.”
Stanley stiffened, doing his best to look anywhere but The Narrator’s…uh, button.
There was a low grumbling. “The Curator was right; bringing you back to the Memory Zone was a mistake. I should’ve known.”
Stanley flinched as dark wooden planks shot up from the floor, creating a box around the pedestal. A wooden lid appeared on a hinge attached to the back-most plank, and it swung to cover the button with a resounding ‘clack’ for good measure.
“Yes, I think it’s best we just forget this ever happened and leave this room immediately.”
Stanley heard the door swing open behind him.
“Off you go.”
The human glanced up towards the ceiling, brow pinched with determination.
“You don’t have to hide this from me.” he signed, movements sure and clear.
Before The Narrator could even protest, Stanley flung the lid back open, gazing into the make-shift box. The button still sat there, it’s soft pink light bouncing off the shiny wood that surrounded it.
Stanley stared silently. The planks began to tremble.
Very slowly, very deliberately, Stanley brushed his palm over the shiny rubber surface of the button. The soft, peachy glow of it seeped between his fingers and lit his skin with a gentle warmth.
The Narrator shuddered, voice quivering from every corner.
A gentle grin spread across Stanley’s lips. The man waited patiently, his fingertips still touching this soft, delicate piece of his Narrator.
“Stanley, if…if you really want to do this, I’ll let you. I…I want it.” The entity eventually said, his voice low and delicate.
The wooden planks gradually sunk into the floor.
Stanley nodded. “Thank you.”
Moving slowly, he cradled the button’s housing in his hands and gently removed it from its pedestal. He paused, looking up at the ceiling expectantly.
“Oh um…yes, still good… You may continue.” The Narrator’s voice was hushed, tense with anticipation.
Stanley hummed, turning the device over in his hand and inspecting it. His thumb grazed the edge of the silicone button, and the soft light inside pulsed briefly. A single, barely noticeable flare. There was a short gasp.
Stanley bit his lip and began to trace little circles on the button’s surface. Its pulse was consistent now, slowly dimming and brightening.
Stanley shifted it to one hand. “What’s that mean?” he asked with the other.
“I…hhh…I’m not sure, but I feel this…this tingling. There was something like heat before, and now it’s steady. Strong.”
“So you’re fully aroused. Thats good, very good.”
A hot flash of warmth spread through The Narrator. The haze around the room darkened to cherry red. “S-sure, if you say so.”
Chuckling softly, Stanley sunk to his knees, letting his weight rest against his heels. He may as well get comfortable.
As soon as he was settled, he pressed hard on the silicone bud.
The Narrator’s entire being shook, instantly awash with warm, tingling pleasure. Textures on the walls glitched sporadically.
“Ahh! Oh my, not messing around are we StaAANLEY—!”
The human had his way with the entity, eagerly finding new ways to make his observer sing so sweetly. A light press here? A sharp jab there. A few times he didn’t let go, palm forcing the mechanism down until The Narrator screamed with need.
Stanley paused a moment, letting the voice pant heavily above him. Hm, what else could he do?
With a grin, Stanley ran the breadth of his tongue over the button in one slow, pressing motion.
“A-AH! Hnnn—! So…so that’s what ‘wet’ feels like…mnnnh!”
Stanley’s hips bucked to The Narrator’s moans. Flashes of a fantasy where his Narrator could fuck into his mouth danced behind his eyes, and hot-blooded drive surged in his chest. He began sucking greedily on the soft nub, his tongue rolling over it’s supple material in tandem with his lips. His free hand shoved down his pants, rubbing desperately at his aching dick. Stanley bobbed his head, the button sliding noisily in and out his mouth while his tongue prodded it’s center.
Whines and mewls spilled from The Narrator. This was like being unraveled. The coils of his being were all pleasured and teased apart, melting under the moist warmth of the human’s tongue. For all the vastness of his existence, it was a slave to this pinpoint of sensation. The whole of him was at the mercy of the hands that held it.
“Nnnn, hahh, right there Stanley. P-Perfect, incredible…”
Tendrils of the hazy light drifted towards Stanley’s feet, their edges fraying and crackling, stretching and rippling like sound waves. He did not pull away.
The light swirled around his body, ghosting over every inch of his skin. It tingled with warmth as wisps caressed his neck, brushed over his lips and roamed under his shirt.
Stanley’s mouth came away from the button, panting for air. It shined with his saliva. He shivered as gentle touches traced over his chest and around the hand that pressed into his dick.
“Is this how it fffeels, Stanley?” The Narrator’s voice whispered in awe, impossibly close to his ear. “Is this what you feel when you sneak away and close the door to your office, or the broom closet?”
A small gasp escaped Stanley, his movements slowing. The Narrator chuckled devilishly.
“‘You know about that?’ Stanley wondered in shock. Why of course~. Surely you must’ve guessed I’d get curious eventually?”
Stanley imagined all the times he had pleasured himself, his Narrator surely watching him all the while. He threw his head back and moaned.
“Please, Stanley…I want you to show me. Make me feel what you feel when you’re alone.”
Stanley inhaled sharply.
He raised himself a bit, shoving his pants and underwear to his knees. The cool air of the room was quickly replaced with the pleasant static of The Narrator’s light as it explored between his legs. The human bit back a groan, struggling to focus through the tingling sensation ghosting delicately over his dick and soaked folds.
Stanley lined up the wet, pulsing button with himself and pressed into it, earning a needy keen from the both of them.
“Aahh! Soft…SO soft. Please, more…”
Stanley planted his free hand behind him for support. His breath became heavy as he began to grind into the button, its muffled clicks vibrating deliciously through his dick. Each thrust was slick and warm, the pliant material molding to his cock perfectly. He slid the source of The Narrator’s pleasure over his entrance, coating it in a fresh sheen of wetness. Stanley’s breath hitched while the voice whimpered by his ear.
“Nnngh, hahhh, its so much, nnh, I need—”
The device pressed against Stanley’s sex began to vibrate, low and rumbling. He yelped hoarsely, hips jerking on their own. In seconds he was rutting hard into the pulsating softness, fully on his knees with his back arched.
Tendrils of smokey pink light caressed Stanley’s exposed throat and cradled his jawline while he fucked shamelessly. Nerves on fire, he whined as a hungry growl resonated directly above him and tingled down his spine.
“You’re absolutely stunning like this.”
Stanley choked out a sob, his climax crashing down on him like the ocean. It’s waves left his body trembling, hips stuttering and drenched inner walls clenching rhythmically.
He rode out his orgasm with fervor, chasing the pleasure with rolling hips. The button felt amazing on the electrified nerves of his dick, and his Narrator was still loudly and beautifully wanton. He never wanted it to end.
“Please, please don’t stop. I’m begging you; I’m so close. Please don’t make me stop!”
‘I won’t.’ Stanley thought, thrusting relentlessly. ‘I want you to cum, Narrator.’
The walls began to shudder. Tremors quaked from floor to ceiling in uneven currents. The very air seemed to ripple.
“S-Stanley something is—!“
‘That’s it. Nearly there. Let it come.’
The Narrator keened. Like paint in water, twinkling vapor roiled in an explosion of color—blues, reds, greens. Entire sunsets of warm orange light spilled from the epicenter that was Stanley. Striking violets and piercing yellows spread from wall to trembling wall. Uncountable star-like lights spread through the air, pulsing with energy. Tiny electric streaks snaked through the far edges of deep navy blooms.
Color beyond color surrounded Stanley, rippling with slowing waves. A shimmering supernova of all his creator’s pleasure engulfed his vision. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He watched it expand until it slowly began to dissipate, his heartbeat calming to a steady rhythm.
After a few grounding breaths, Stanley noticed the button had gone dark and quiet. He gently rubbed the cylinder in his lap, hoping for a response. A muted popping sound crackled at the edge of his hearing, like that of a speaker. It steadily got louder until—
“zzzt…crrtzzzZTTT-AH! Oh…oh my…” The Narrator said breathlessly.
“Are you alright?” Stanley signed with one hand.
“Yes… Are you?”
‘Never been better~.’ The human beamed from ear to ear.
“Aah, wonderful. I’m so glad...” Stanley could hear the easy smile in the entity’s words.
He gently lifted The Narrator’s button from between his legs. It glistened with his wetness in the low light, strands of slick dripping off them both. As intoxicating a sight as it was, he wondered how he was going to get them clean.
A stray knuckle brushed over the button’s center. The Narrator hissed, hot white light flashing across the dimming nova like lighting through clouds.
Ah. Still sensitive.
‘Sorry.’
The man felt a warm pressure settle all around him, pressing pleasantly into his tired muscles. A contented hum rumbled softly in his ears.
Stanley relaxed, his mind foggy with afterglow.
‘Thank you for letting me touch you.’ he thought warmly.
“No,” breathed The Narrator, “thank you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~
Stanley breathed in deep, tasting the fresh air of The Memory Zone. He had missed the hardwood floors and homely atmosphere.
The Narrator was allowing him back here more often, and that gesture of trust fueled a warm feeling in his chest.
After all they’ve gone through, both together and apart, it was a precious luxury.
“I don’t really believe this is necessary, but so long as you keep ALL negative reviews out of my sight, I suppose I’ll play along.”
Stanley chuckled at the ceiling. It was now a hobby of his to seek out ways to boost The Narrator’s confidence and self-esteem. Stanley was about to start another round of positive review reading when he heard the hinges of an opening door. He turned.
It was the doors to the Serious Room, barely open. Except…
There was a glimpse of pale pink walls through the sliver of space the door had been opened. Notes from a music box chimed faintly from the other side.
An unspoken invitation. Stanley accepted it gladly.