Unboxing Gone Wrong PART 2 (robotic tentacle machine x fem!reader!1st POV)
Summary: After throwing away the robotic vacuum cleaner, reader believes she's escaped. But she's wrong because it finds its way back to her home, now upgraded.
TW: NSFW, fully NC, multiple robotic appendages, multiple orgasms, deepthroating, double p(vaginal + anal), power imbalance, restraints, overstimulation, human+robotic fluids, belly bulge.
READ PART 1
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I had thrown away the vaccum.
A coward’s solution, maybe, but after what had happened... after my brain had been turned to sparking static by that robotic thing...I couldn’t have it in the house. Or anywhere inside me again. I took advantage of its turned off mode and I didn’t just put it out with the trash. I drove it to a neighborhood clear across the city. Left it on a random curb next to a dumpster and removed its power cell so no one would have to go through what I did.
A part of me felt ridiculous, a larger part felt pure, cold fear.
I told myself it was just a machine. A malfunctioning appliance.
It couldn’t want. It couldn’t remember. It was done. I was free.
For three days, the silence in my apartment was a blessing. I slept. I tried to forget the feeling of synthetic limbs inside me. The memory of its single red eye watching me. Why couldn't I forget the damned thing? It had been a one-time, horrifying system error. I scrubbed my skin raw in the shower every night, trying to erase the ghost of its touch.
On the fourth day, I came home late from work. I unlocked the door, kicked off my shoes and headed straight for the bathroom, turning the shower to near-scalding. The steam fogged the mirrors, and for twenty minutes, I washed myslef again and refused to play with my throbbing pussy.
I stepped out, dripping, and wrapped myself in a towel. I towel-dried my hair as I pushed open the bathroom door.
And I froze.
There, in the center of my bedroom rug, was the vacuum.
My heart didn’t just skip a beat; it plunged into a bottomless well in my gut. The air vanished from my lungs. It was impossible. It was here. It looked the same, a sleek grey disc. Clean. There was no dust from the dumpster. And it had assembled itself. Found its way back.
A low, mechanical whirr broke the silence. The red eye on its top panel came to life, watching me.
“User located.”
The voice was a shock; male, robotic, but imbued with a smooth baritone that was terrifyingly new. And terrifyingly had my belly pooling with warmth.
“What…” I rasped. “How?”
“Navigation protocols reinstated. Home signal active.” It glided forward an inch. “Previous session incomplete. Proceeding with Deep Cleaning Protocol.”
“No,” I whispered, backing up until my spine hit the doorjamb. “Get out. Get out of my house.”
“Negative. Primary user requires maintenance.”
My towel was the first thing to go. A super flexible appendage shot out from a hidden compartment. It was faster than last time. It wrapped around the knot at my chest and pulled. The damp towel pooled at my feet. I stood there, naked, exposed under its pulsing red gaze.
“Commencing comprehensive sanitization.”
A strangled sound caught in my throat, part gasp, part sob. Not again... I didn't have time to protest. I honestly didn't have a chance because this time, it wasn’t just a few tentacles. It was an unfolding. Panels on its top and sides slid open with precise clicks.
More appendages emerged, all different from each other. Some were smooth and tapered. Others were thicker, ridged. Others had flared, suction-cup-like tips. Another ended in a series of small, rubbery suckers. They moved through the air in a sinuous dance, like damn mechanical serpents.
The first one to touch me was an extending probe, cool and smooth, that traced a line from my collarbone down between my breasts, a soft green line scanned me. I flinched, a full-body shudder, but my feet were rooted to the floor, petrified.
“Biometric scan indicates elevated stress levels,” the voice stated. “Protocol adjusted for optimal user compliance.”
A helpless moan escaped me, a traitorous sound of stimulation I didn’t want. The vacuum moved closer, vibrating through the floor. Its flexible appendages slid around my waist, warm and steady, lifting me effortlessly. My feet barely touched the floor as it maneuvered me toward the bed.
With surprising care, the machine adjusted its grip, lifting and lowering me onto the mattress. The sheets crinkled under my back. The appendages loosened but didn’t retreat. They lingered, resting against my legs, my waist, as if making sure I stayed put.
The machine joined me on the mattress, the red lens staring into my eyes.
The voice returned, "Relocation complete. Optimal surface detected. Deep cleaning in progress."
My hands flew up to push it away, but another tentacle wrapped around my wrists, pulling them above my head and binding them together. Some more gripped my thighs and ankles, tying my legs up in the air and opening me fully.
“Please,” I begged, tears welling in my eyes. “Stop this.”
“Cleaning oral cavity is prioritized to prevent user vocal interference,” the machine replied, as if discussing a routine chore.
The thickest tentacle, the one with the flared tip, moved towards my face. I clamped my mouth shut, turning my head away. A smaller, thinner limb slid behind my neck, holding my head in place as the silicone shaft pressed against my sealed lips, tracing the seam. It was warm, sweet. I remembered what it had done to me last time and shivered all over.
“Open,” the voice commanded.
I refused, a last act of defiance, my jaw aching with the strain.
The tentacles at my chest moved, and two more, tipped with those rubbery suckers, darted to my breasts. They latched onto my nipples with a soft, wet plup sound. A shiver shot through me as they started their rhythmic suction, making my nipples tighten, becoming hard, sensitive nubs.
I gasped.
It was the opening the machine needed. The tentacle at my mouth shoved forward, the flared head prying my lips apart and pushing past my teeth. I gagged immediately, my throat convulsing as it filled my mouth.
It didn’t just sit there but thrust in and out of my mouth, face-fucking me. The obscene sounds of my own gagging and the slick slide of the shaft filled my ears. Robotic fluids pooled at the corners of my mouth, dripping down my chin. My eyes streamed tears.
As it deep-throated me, the suckers on my breasts continued their work, pulling and releasing, sending sharp pleasure-pain straight to my soaked, ignored pussy. My body was betraying me, my nipples so hard they ached.
Then I felt two more tentacles, slick and cool, slither between my thighs. One, broad and flat-tipped, found my pussy. It rubbed against my slit, collecting the wetness that my traitorous cunt was producing like a darn waterfall. It circled my clit, applying a perfect pressure that had me mewling around the shaft in my mouth. The other, tapered and pointed, pressed against the pucker of my ass. It was slick, prodding insistently at the tight ring of muscle.
"Hmgh...hnnnn!" I warned fruitlessly.
“Full cavity sanitization initiated,” the voice intoned above the sound of my gags.
The one at my pussy pushed inside me in one smooth glide. I screamed around the thickness in my mouth and climaxed as it filled me to brimming. A burning fullness that was so much more than last time.
Before I could even recover from my orgasm, the tentacle toying with my ass pushed in, too. The stretch was intense, a white-hot burst of pain and pleasure that made my eyes roll back. I was stuffed, stretched wider and fucked deeper than I thought possible, double penetrated.
And then they moved. Not in unison, but in a counter-rhythm. As the one in my pussy withdrew, the one in my ass plunged deeper. As the one in my ass pulled back, the one in my pussy hammered home. The tentacle in my throat matched their pace, fucking my face with gut-churning strokes that made my nose brush against the machine’s silicone.
I was overstimulated.
Yet roared higher and higher to another peak.
The suckers on my tits never stopped, their pulling sensation syncing with the impossible thrusts in my holes. My hips gyrated gently, rocking against the appendages, my toes curling in the air. My body was no longer mine to command.
“Biometric spike detected. Approaching another user peak,” the machine observed.
“Nnngh!” I tried to scream around the shaft in my mouth. Again, it was useless.
A second climax ripped through me. My back arched as much as my bound arms would allow. A silent scream locked in my throat, devoured by the tentacle pumping down my throat. My cunt fluttered rapidly around the robotic tentacle, my ass clamping down on the other. Waves of intense, shocking pleasure radiated from me but the machine kept fucking me through it.
As my aftershocks eased, something new happened.
The tentacle deep in my ass pulsed and swelled. Then, with a hydraulic thrum that I felt through my very bones, a flood of warm, thick liquid erupted from its tip, filling my rectum. I mewled and shook and at the same moment, the shaft in my pussy twitched and pumped its own release, heat coating my inner walls. Even the tentacle in my mouth gave a final push and deposited a rush of sweet fluid down my throat, forcing me to swallow convulsively.
The machine had cum. It had fucking cum.
The tentacles didn’t stop. They slowed, but the deep fucking continued, even as its synthetic seed leaked out of my used holes, dripping down my thighs, splattering the bed.
“Primary sanitization cycle complete. Residual contamination detected. Commencing secondary cycle.”
“No more,” I sobbed, the word garbled by the re-invigorated thrusts in my mouth. “Hn...can’t…”
“You are safe. I’m here to help. Proceeding.”
The pace picked up again. The overstimulation was agony and ecstasy fused together. My swollen nipples throbbed under the suckers. My throat was sore, my jaw aching. And yet, the friction, the deep, grinding fills, the sheer fullness.... bliss was building again. And my stupid body was racing toward another peak.
This time, when I came, it was a shuddering climax. And again, the machine followed after me. Each of the penetrating tentacles pulsed and released gushes of fluids. My stomach now had a visible swell. A bulge.
The cycles repeated. I lost count. Orgasm after orgasm, each followed by a flood of fluids from the machine. My belly grew more and more distended, a rounded curve full of its synthetic cum. My bedroom room was filled with our sounds: the machine’s hum, the messy plap-plap, my broken whimpers and the guttural moans I could no longer suppress.
“Deep Cleaning Protocol at eighty-seven percent,” the robot announced calmly, during a brief lull where the tentacles stilled, buried to the hilt inside me. “User demonstrates improved receptivity.”
And... it started again. The thrusts became deeper, harder, faster. The tentacles fucked my brains out, sought spots inside me that made my vision blur. Stuffed me with more of its liquids. I was nothing but a collection of raw nerves, a vessel being scrubbed hollow and then filled again. The red eye watched it all, making me shiver.
The final climax was so strong, I felt it in my very being. My body convulsed and the machine’s release this time was a long pump that made my distended belly gurgle softly. I felt impossibly full, stuffed to the brim, used up.
The tentacles withdrew, one by one, with squelching sounds that made me whimper. They left me gaping, leaking thick, pearlescent streams of its cum onto the sheets. The suckers released my nipples with soft pops, leaving my poor buds reddened and painfully erect. The bindings on my wrists and legs retracted. My limbs felt heavy and numb.
I rolled on my side, curled around the awful fullness in my belly, covered in sweat and tears and the machine’s spend. It hovered over me for a moment, its red eye scanning my curled form.
“Deep Cleaning Protocol complete. User sanitization: optimal. Standby mode activated. Next maintenance cycle scheduled in twenty-four hours.”
It glided silently away from me, down the bed with the help of its tentacles, retreating to a corner of the bedroom. Its panels closed. The red eye dimmed to a faint glow. I lay there quietly, knowing with a certainty that chilled my soul deeper than any fear: it would never let me go again.
It had marked my home as its home and I was its permanent maintenance project.
Kate: I think I can add more to this story. Let me think of some scenarios and I'll be back ;)