Slide Log

In the elevator Chell unzips her suit and slips a hand inside to touch herself, fingers combing though wiry hair and curling gently until she can rub just right to make herself shiver.



It's nothing to do with the pleasure she gets from her own hands; her fingers ache from being jammed on a botched jump and her ribs are one massive jolt of bruised pain that rises and falls with her breathing; she'd honestly be happier curling up on the floor and taking a quick nap.



She doesn't let that stop her from moving into the touch though, or letting out a low breathy moan as she lets her head fall back against the glass of the elevator.



Her fingers move with practiced speed, drawing the most out of her body as the elevator slows its decent, nearing the next level; two fingers driving into her with slick ease while the heel of her hand presses hard against her clit almost hard enough to be painful.



The camera sits on the ceiling of the chamber --cold, fixed, uncaring-- as Chell glares up at it even as she rips another orgasm out of her tired body; throwing it back at the sadistic intelligence behind the lens, Chell's own form of mockery.