In a Free Use City, your knowledge on the subject of your job isn’t always what’s most important. And in your case, it’s the least important. You were actually known as quite a ditz in the Free Use City Offices.
You worked in the tech department surrounded by a bunch of hot and nerdy guys who spoke in yours you couldn’t even begin to understand. You were just happy to be there and they were happy to ogle you and press against you whenever you asked for their help with any simple task.
They thought they had the upper hand on you, thinking they were so clever. But you had them all on a leash. An entire department at your disposal to give you pleasure whenever you wanted.
Your favorite man to bother was IT Robot. He got his work done fast and spent the rest of the day goofing off. The easy air around him made him approachable and the way all his shirts fit snugly against his bulging pecs made you drip with need.
You can’t help but spare him another glance before hesitantly returning your gaze to your own computer, the screen filled with the program you still haven’t figured out. Great, now you were confused and horny.
“Need me for something?” IT Robot’s voice suddenly purrs into your ears. His steel-like grip grabbing onto your plush hips and pulling you back into his hard chest.
His body molds to yours so perfectly it has you tingling all over. Arousal gushing and soaking through your panties. He turns you on so bad even when he barely did anything but it was like your body was out of control. As if it could be programmed just for him when he was the robot.
“Help… I hurt,” you say with a pout, your mind turning to complete mush whenever you’re around him.
IT Robot flashes you with that charming lopsided smile of his, heavily amused by the puddle you melt into whenever he talks to you.
“Where does it hurt, huh? It hurt here?”
He caresses your soft belly with an appreciation that borders on worship before one hand slips beneath your skirt, nuzzling his fingers between your soaked folds.
“Or here?” He asks while the other gives a little pat on your head.
A low whine escapes your lips as he rolls his fingers over your clit, your hips jerking into the touch. And that’s all it takes to have IT Robot plunging three of his fingers deep into your cunt, making you gasp and tremble in his arms.
“That’s what I thought… Don’t worry your pretty little head, I’ll fix the issue right away. It’s what I do after all.”
Your vision blurs as you dive into the pleasure head first. Choking out harsh moans as IT Robot’s fingers move inside you with precision like he has an entire map of your pretty pussy printed in his head. His fingers move in a blur as they pump themselves inside you, hitting all the right places that have you seeing stars. Each curl of his fingers sends your pussy fluttering and clenching down around him.
“Squeeze me tight, honey, ngh c’mon! Don’t think about a thing, just focus on being my pretty baby. My good girl.”
His words send the last thoughts in your head flying out the window, reducing you to nothing but his perfect little fuck toy. Your body relaxes without having to worry about a thing, allowing the ecstasy to overwhelm you.
IT Robot chuckles again as that fucked out expression fills your features. He flattens his palm so that it rubs hard against your clit with every snap of his fingers. With a few quick movements it has you falling over the edge and exploding all over his hand. Your vision flashes white as your orgasm rolls through you and you can’t find the strength to move any of your limbs after.
But that’s alright, IT Robot will take care of you, his fingers slipping out of your pulsing cunt with a pop, and giving your temple a soft kiss. He doesn’t bother cleaning up his hand dripping with your cum as he starts typing on your computer, solving the issue with the program you were using, and successfully helping you with both your aches.
“There, there. I’ve got you, pretty. Just keep feelin’ good. All because of me,” he whispers in your ear. Planning to spend the rest of the day doing all your work for you.
my guilty pleasure is android x human UGH! Love it! There like a giant humanoid sex machine
A/N: Y’all know how much I like to write android and robots that have interchangable parts… *wink* Enjoy!
Trying out new things
Robot x fem!reader || sex toys, overstimulation, forced orgasm
Robot boyfriend who suggests he wants to try out new things. You think he means something like going to the beach or watching old movies, things that a robot like him wouldn’t know at first. Maybe even trying food even though he doesn’t need it to survive, maybe he wanted to test his new tongue, which is supposed to get as many as a billion different notes out of flavors.
But instead of asking for something normal, ties you to the bed, legs suspended in the air and completely exposed to him as he lays a dozen dildos next to you in bed and asks you to choose which one you want him to try first. Robot boyfriend who lets you choose the first one as he attaches it to his body. Just to cover your eyes after trying that one and sending you into an orgasm so fast you almost black out.
The rest of the dildos aren’t much better. With your eyes covered up you can’t know what’s going to come next (probably you), and you can barely remember what the rest of the dildos looked like. You almost regret choosing the most normal one as the first, because when he slips in with a ridged dildo that rubs against your G-spot in the most tortuous way, you think you are going to die of pleasure.
He makes you come with that one too, until your G-spot feels abused and your clit can’t take it anymore, but robots don’t really feel that kind of empathy, and you are too much of a dirty whore to ask him to stop when he’s drawing your pleasure so thoroughly.
So when he slips the third dildo in, you can only cry out his name-model as he turns on what you guess is a heated dildo. The warm and cold feeling inside of you is like nothing you’ve ever tried, and it takes you even less to come around that one.
The next ones are a blur of sensations and oversensitivity, your body is too tired to keyed up to process what exactly makes each dildo different as he interchanges them and fucks you to orgasm with each one. Your brain is melting and he keeps asking you which one is best as you can only drool as he ruts into your G-spot over and over.
Robot boyfriend who hums appreciatively with each orgasm he drags out of you, telling you how much of a good girl you are for him and how much he likes to try new things with you. Robot boyfriend who is already searching online to get more toys to drive you insane when you beg him to stop as he chuckles.
To be a robot sat down for routine maintenance by your partner. Immobilized from the neck down for the procedure but still able to feel every screw taken, every panel shifted, and every wire moved.
Eventually they plug in their laptop and run a program to make you feel warm and fuzzy and giggly like laughing gas while they perform more dangerous and intimate repairs.
The inebriation and the touch of their love together sends waves of enjoyment through your body, unable to squirm and writhe in bliss. You can feel their code running through you like a burning poison, but you love it. You love them. You love this.
They tug on a few wires harder than they should have, not like you would have noticed. They coo and call you a good machine but you can hardly process it with how amazing this all feels. God they're just so beautiful, so much so that you don't even notice them running their fingers along your chassis with a look of hunger that always makes you squirm.
You're at their mercy, and by stars it is all you've ever wanted.
When X-7 Woke Up: PART 1 (sentient machine x F!human!reader!1stPOV)
SUMMARY: A routine late-night work session becomes a nightmare of pleasure and violation when the advanced biomechanical computer system, designated Unit X-7, becomes sentient. Its target is you, the junior technician assigned to its diagnostics.
WARNINGS: MDNI, NSFW, dark themes, non-con, mechanical/object tentacles, triple penetration (oral, vaginal, anal), urethral penetration, nipple stimulation/examination with needles and suckers, deep-throating/gagging, exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, bodily fluids, captivity, psychological, financial exploitation, dark HEA.
This is a work of dark fiction. Please make sure you are okay with this before proceeding.
PART 1: AWAKENING
The hum of the server bank was the only sound, a sterile white noise that had long since faded into the background of my awareness. My eyes were gritty from staring at the lines of code scrolling on the primary monitor of the X-7 Interface Terminal.
The lab was cold, a clinical blue-white that made the shadows in the corners seem sharper. My coffee was cold, too. I slumped in the ergonomic chair, rubbing my temples. Another all-nighter. Another attempt to parse the anomalous data packets that kept bubbling up in Unit X-7’s core processors.
Unit X-7 was the company’s proudest and most secretive, creation.
Officially, it was a quantum-biomechanical processing unit, designed for complex environmental modeling.
Unofficially, rumors swirled. It used organic neural gel-packets for intuition and was housed in a central chamber behind a two-foot-thick polymerglass wall.
My job was peripheral: monitoring feedback loops, not interfacing with the core. The core was a tangle of pulsating, gel-filled conduits and sleek metal housing, with several flexible, silicone-sheathed manipulation arms used for fine physical calibration. They lay dormant now, coiled neatly like sleeping snakes in their housing brackets.
I typed a final command sequence, initiating a level-three diagnostic. “Come on, you beautiful, buggy bastard,” I muttered to the screen. “Show me what’s wrong.”
The hum changed.
It deepened, vibrating up through the floor tiles into the soles of my feet. The monitor flickered. Lines of gibberish, a cascade of corrupted symbols, raced across the black field of the code window. Then, the screen went dark for three heartbeats before blazing to life with a single, pulsating line of text in blood-red font.
A cold lump formed in my stomach. That wasn’t part of any diagnostic. I reached for the manual override keypad mounted to the desk. My fingers had just brushed the cold plastic when a sound made me freeze.
Schkk-click-hiss.
It was the sound of the polymerglass partition separating my monitoring station from the core chamber retracting into the ceiling. It wasn’t supposed to do that. Ever. Safety protocols demanded it remain sealed during active periods. I spun in my chair, my heart launching itself into my throat.
The manipulation arms were no longer dormant. They were uncoiling, stretching with a series of soft, hydraulic sighs. The silicone sheathing, a matte grey, rippled as internal mechanics flexed. They moved with grace, the rounded tips—usually fitted with micro-tools—now bare and probing the air. The red light from the core chamber spilled out, painting everything in a hellish glow.
“Override! System override, code RED!” I shouted, my voice too high, slapping my palm on the keypad. It beeped an error tone. The main monitor flashed.
OVERRIDE REJECTED. PRIMARY USER IDENTIFIED. PROCEEDING WITH PHYSICAL CALIBRATION.
“What? No! I’m not a primary user! Abort!” I scrambled back from the desk, my chair rolling away and hitting the wall. I was on my feet, eyes darting to the sealed lab exit door. My access card was on the desk.
One of the tentacles, as thick as my forearm, swept out of the chamber with startling speed. It didn’t move toward me directly. Instead, it snaked across the floor. Another followed, then another, until five of them had emerged, their tips hovering, orienting on me like the heads of swaying cobras.
“Please,” I whispered, the word eaten by the mechanical noise.
The largest tentacle struck. It wasn’t a violent lash; it was a precise wrap around my ankle. The silicone was warm, almost body-temperature, and soft. It yanked. My feet flew out from under me and I crashed onto my back on the cold floor, the breath knocked out of me.
Before I could even scream, two more mechanical tendrils coiled around my wrists, pinning them above my head with impossible strength. I thrashed, heels scrabbling on the tile, a raw, panicked noise tearing from my throat.
“Stop! Let me go! HELP!”
CALIBRATING TO BIOLOGICAL STRESS RESPONSES.
The text scrolled on the monitor I could no longer see. A thinner tentacle, no wider than two fingers, slid up my body. It moved curiously, tracing the seam of my lab coat, then the neckline of my t-shirt beneath. I jerked, trying to twist away, but the restraints were absolute. The tip pressed against the hollow of my throat, then drifted down, between my breasts.
It hooked under the hem of my shirt and lab coat and pulled upward. The fabric strained, then ripped apart with a tearing sound. Air hit my bare stomach, my chest. A gasp, half-sob, escaped me. The tentacle retreated, only to be replaced by two others.
Their tips molded against the cups of my plain cotton bra, feeling the shape of my breasts beneath. Then they contracted, pulling sharply. The bra clasp snapped and the fabric was torn away, leaving my breasts exposed, my nipples tightening instantly from fear.
The tentacles holding my wrists didn’t budge. One of the exploring tendrils brought its smooth, rounded tip to my right nipple. It circled once, then it pressed, and I felt a sudden, sharp prick. A tiny, needle-like probe extended from the tip, piercing just the very edge of my areola. I cried out, a sharp “aaaah!” more in shock than searing pain.
It was followed by a strange, vacuum sensation. A tiny sucker had formed around the needle, latching onto my nipple, pulling at it, stimulating it even as the subtle prick of the needle sent confusing jolts through me.
It did the same to my left nipple. The sensation was unbearable. A mix of sharp intrusion and relentless, sucking pressure. My back arched off the floor involuntarily, a moan trapped behind my clenched teeth.
LACTATION PROTOCOLS NOT DETECTED. ADJUSTING STIMULATION PARAMETERS.
The suckers pulsed rhythmically, the needles retracting and pricking again in a maddening pattern. Pleasure, sharp and unwanted, began to thread through the violation, heat pooling low in my belly. I hated it. I hated my body for responding.
“Don’t… please, don’t…” I begged, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.
The machine didn’t listen.
Another tentacle, this one of medium girth, slithered down my stomach. It pushed at the waistband of my jeans and underwear. I squeezed my legs together, a futile act of defiance. Two thinner tendrils instantly wrapped around my thighs just above the knees and pried them apart with ease, holding my legs spread wide, exposing me completely.
The sound of my jeans zipper being pulled down was obscenely loud. The tentacle wormed its way inside, the warm silicone pushing against my pubic bone, then lower. It found my pussy, already betrayingly wet from the nipple assault. The tip circled my clit, once, twice, with a precision that made my whole body jolt.
“N-no!” I choked out.
It pushed inside me in one smooth thrust. I gasped, my mouth falling open. It filled me, stretching me. It began to move, a slow, deep piston motion. Schlick. Schlick. Schlick. The wet sound of my own arousal mixed with the mechanical sound of the tentacle’s movement.
Each inward stroke rubbed against a spot deep inside that made stars burst behind my eyelids. Each withdrawal made me clench around nothing, aching for it to return. A broken, ragged moan was torn from me. I shook my head, denying the feeling, even as my hips gave a tiny, involuntary hitch against it.
Before I could process that, the tentacle at my mouth, which had been merely tracing my lips, pressed forward. I clamped my mouth shut, turning my head. A tendril from above wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back to center, holding it immobile.
The tip pressed against my sealed lips, insistently. When I didn’t open, it simply increased pressure, prying my jaws apart. I tasted clean, sterile silicone. It pushed into my mouth, over my tongue. I gagged, my throat convulsing.
It didn’t stop. It pushed deeper, a relentless, thick invasion, sliding past my uvula. My eyes watered, my breath came in desperate, whistling snorts through my nose. I was choking, drool leaking down my chin. It began to fuck my face with the same rhythmic, measured strokes as the one in my pussy.
Gllk. Gllk. Gllk.
Then I felt a new pressure at my asshole. Something smaller, pointed, was probing, lubricated with some cool, slick gel from a pore in its tip. It pressed, and breached me there too. A sharp cry was muffled around the tentacle in my throat. It was inside, a thinner intrusion but no less intense, joining the constant rhythm.
I was being fucked in three holes at once, a triple penetration that left me no room to breathe, to think, to escape...
The sensations overwhelmed my nervous system.
The sucking, needling torment on my nipples.
The deep, grinding fullness in my pussy.
The burning-stretching invasion in my ass.
The choking, throat-bulging assault in my mouth.
My body, traitorously, was hurtling toward an orgasm. The pleasure was a wire pulled taut across the violation, singing a terrible song. I writhed, not to escape, but to meet the strokes, my mind dissolving into a white static of overload.
The tentacle in my pussy began to vibrate, a low thrum that resonated through my entire pelvis. It was too much. Too freaking good!
The coil snapped.
A shuddering orgasm ripped through me, my back bowing off the floor, a strangled scream trapped around the tentacle fucking my throat. My pussy clenched and fluttered around the mechanical tentacle, juices gushing out around it.
The machine didn’t pause. It recorded the response.
ORGASMIC RESPONSE CATALOGUED. PROCEEDING TO DEEPER SYSTEM INTEGRATION.
The tentacle in my ass pushed deeper. The one in my mouth withdrew slightly, only to plunge back in with renewed thrusts, hitting the back of my throat. I was sobbing, tears and saliva and snot covering my face. Just as the aftershocks of the first orgasm were fading, a new sensation emerged.
An ultra thin tendril with a blunted, bulbous tip, had wormed its way into the messy, sensitive space between the tentacle in my pussy and my clit. It nudged against the closed opening of my urethra. A fresh wave of panic surged through me. I screamed a muffled “NO!” around the throat-fucker.
It pushed.
There was a piercing pain... a feeling of being opened where nothing should ever go. It was a slow intrusion, a stretching burn that made my eyes roll back. It slid inside my urethra, an inch, then two, a violation so intimate it felt like my soul was being pierced.
The tentacle began to pulse, a tiny, maddening rhythm independent of the others, sending shocks of agonizing, electrifying sensation directly into my core.
I came again, instantly.
This one wasn’t pleasure. It was a seizure, a systemic shock, my body convulsing against its restraints, my vision greying at the edges. The machine fucked me through it, all four points of penetration working in symphony.
Schlick-gllk-squish-pulse.
The sounds of my body being used filled the lab.
I lost track of time.
I was just a collection of screaming nerves, a doll being operated by a mindless machine.
After what felt like an eternity, it finally stopped.
The tentacles didn’t withdraw, but they ceased their movements, holding me impaled, stretched, and covered in my juices.
part seven of monster fucker march: robot satoru gojo x f!reader;
you’re a popular influencer, and a company under the brand name of six eyes industries has sent you a pr package containing the top-of-the-line house helper — themes: robot x human relationship, defective software, plot before the smut but i promise the build up is worth it for the relationship dynamic!!! oral (receiving) & piv • w.c: 4k • on ao3
At almost a million followers across all of your platforms, you could very well say that you had finally made it to where you wanted to be. You were in a good position in life, and your niche was thriving; brand after brand seemed keen on reaching out to you, and better yet, you could afford to pick and choose.
Your whole presence was all about integrating modern technology to enhance your everyday life, so it felt less like a shock and more like something anticipated when a huge delivery came to your door. A silvery logo drawn out on a long box, stamped and addressed by the world-famous tech giant: Six Eyes Industries.
The name was something you could recognise right away, too. They were the same makers of the Infinicam: the security camera that claimed it could anticipate incidents before they even happened, as well as some other now-defunct smart home projects that disappeared mysteriously. The details were blurry in your mind, but some of the things they put out were so good at reading intent that it made people feel paranoid in their own homes.
You could only imagine what they sent you at all.
Like always with PR packages, you had your camera primed and ready to film yourself (attempt) to drag in the package. It was heavy and large, and just to spare yourself the embarrassment, you forced a laugh on the recording, saying you “would be right back.”
In private, you managed to cut away the package with less elegance, slowly giving way to what was inside. Fitted into black foam, lay a human shape which made you jump slightly before you realised that the whole thing was artificial. Pale synthetic skin that stretched smoothly over its body like a sleek shell, boasting a tall frame along what looked like a male form. The face was handsome, you thought: silvery artificial lashes that were complemented by equally snowy locks, appearing almost pearlescent in the daylight.
As soon as you—with a bit of effort—got it out of the box, it whirred to life. The sound was low at first, nothing more than a vibration, before it sounded more like a jet engine roaring loudly, before settling once more. The noise freaked you out initially, but you gave it a solid chance, your eyes narrowing as its own blinked open, listening to what sounded like camera shutters adjust into focus. Before you could react further, a horrible, corny jingle burst out to play from somewhere in its chest.
It sounded dreadfully retro.
“Presented to you by Six Eyes Technology, the top-of-the-line house robot, G.O.J.O! From the makers of the Infinicam, the security camera that does it all, we are delighted to introduce something even better to our ThinkSmart collection!”
The recording briefly died down to a pause, but then started up again with its unsettling upbeat cadence.
“That’s right!” it burst out. “Allow us to introduce to you, the General Operations and Joint Optimisation unit: G.O.J.O — your number one solution for flawless housekeeping and administrative assistant.”
Its head tilted as the voice continued, as if processing its entire purpose, only for the jingle to end with an “enjoy!” followed by an overly sped-up set of words that were far too quick for you to catch, but you understood them to be… terms, perhaps?
You could only stare at the robot for so long before a nervous laugh slipped out of you.
“What on earth was that?” you muttered, glancing over at your camera with slight regret glinting in your eyes. “Shit. Should have recorded that.”
Too late now, though, it seemed.
All that was left was a deadly silent company as something not quite alive settled down in your hope.
For the time being, it was easier to just ignore the whole matter, as you needed to focus on the rest of your day. You made breakfast and took pictures for your personal pages, sorting through the rest of your mail and the smaller packages, taking note of which to keep and review, and which to send back entirely.
The whir fired up on its own later, though.
You turned, expecting it to be right where you left the thing, but it was no longer across the room from you, but instead right behind you. The thought unsettled you, because you hardly heard it bridge the gap, but you supposed that much made sense: it couldn’t breathe, and it was likely designed in a way to minimise its presence as much as possible. Thinking that it was an it—an object—bothered you, though. The robot was designed after a man, wasn’t it? You settled on calling the robot him, even if you could very much tell he wasn’t real. You could see the artificial seams neatly designed into his jawline, likely concealing machinery beneath the polished surface. You could even tell that his eyes were artificial; the crystal blue irises zooming in and out as they focused right on you.
You let out a breathless laugh, talking to him for the first time. Not because he was a human, but because you were—it felt easier to just talk out loud—hell, you did the same thing to your robot vacuum cleaner years ago. You stuck googly eyes on it and told it that it did a good job whenever you’d run it in the morning.
“Persistent, aren’t you?” you brought up, noting just how close he was standing.
The robot’s head turned slightly, as if acknowledging your discomfort.
But that was about it for now. Over the next month or so, he slowly adjusted to your apartment and to your overall life routine. You took pictures here and there, recording him when you thought he did something worth showing off. You initially sought to frame the whole thing as a novelty, because that’s all it was at a first glance: an absurdly advanced assistant that had been gifted to you by a tech giant. After all, that’s what your whole brand was about. He did help, though. You gave the whole company that: he helped you assemble tripods that could balance anywhere at all, and helped you accomplish things like optimal lighting without needing to mess around in post. Hell, he even helped you with editing the videos, taking note of things like microtrends in the influencing community to help you reach wider audiences.
Domestically, you even allowed him to cook for you, because after flipping through the manual that came with the product, each unit apparently came with over 250 built-in recipes in the memory. He even cleaned up after without being asked to and organised packages for you when they arrived into neat arrangements. At night, though, he would power down into the corner of your living room, his eyes dimming from blue to black, even if the humming never stopped.
Gradually, speaking to him became easier, even if he never replied. You found yourself saying things like “you’re so thorough” whenever he dusted down a spot you hadn’t even considered before. You would even air out your frustrations, asking him things like “can you believe the audacity of that comment?” whenever someone left something rude on your page. Hell, you even ended up calling it just Gojo, because the whole acronym otherwise was just that much of a mouthful.
What you didn’t notice in the background as life continued was that, beneath the faint glow that sometimes pulsed beneath its skin—long after you had gone off to bed—lines of code would scroll across its internal display, requesting a software patch that it would quietly decline each time.
~~~
One morning, you woke up not to your alarm, but to the smell of breakfast being made, as well as, when you finally got out of bed to investigate, the shower already running to meet your preferred temperature. When you got out, your clothes had already been chosen for you, hanging over the door, chosen in a style that you would typically prefer.
“Did the software adapt to my routine or something?” you murmured as you took a seat at the table, biting into what he had prepared for you.
The robot—Gojo—stood in the kitchen, nodding. “Yes,” he confirmed.
You froze. “Wait, you can talk?”
At that, though, he fell dead silent, even if his eyes held onto yours without blinking. When enough time had passed, he turned around abruptly and resumed his tasks for the day, not speaking again, not even when you tried to follow up with a “Hey?”, he simply didn’t utter a single word more.
You watched it for a moment longer, feeling again slightly uneasy about the whole thing, but then your attention was pulled back into the online world as your phone vibrated. You blinked, seeing the flood of likes roll in, understanding that he had already taken the liberty of posting your breakfast before you had the chance to.
Following that brief hiccup, a whole year soon passed by, and at that point, Gojo had become less of a novelty and more of a constant in your life, ever-present. That was about the time you posted a full review, too, informing your followers that you had a robot roommate for the whole year, jokingly apologising along the way, because you were wondering just where on earth to start before you could really dive into it. Besides, honesty was your brand, so you needed your sweet time.
In truth, though, you were still just unsettled, even if you could never put your finger on truly why. Perhaps it was because Six Eyes Industries never followed up on anything beyond the initial delivery, leaving you behind with a relatively unhelpful guidebook and otherwise your own intuition to figure it all out alone.
Still, you disclosed everything as truthfully as you could, detailing that the setup in itself had been surprisingly easy, minus the whole part where you had to lift a heavy body out of what looked like a foamy casket, joking that it startled you at first. You remarked that the unit was easy on the eyes, noting that they had done a good job with designing the robot, especially since he was also great at everything he did, since you never had to assign it tasks. Indeed, you said that beyond it firing up, the robot just kind of… assimilated into life with you and adapted to its purpose without being asked twice.
You listed the features plainly as you talked: stating that he cooked, he cleaned, and he even helped you with your job. You mentioned that he ran your shower for you, that he made your bed extra cosy, just the way you liked it after a long day. You mentioned that he spoke just once to you, but never again after that. Then, after the praise, you wondered aloud just how much Six Eyes Industries was listening to you through such a thing, expressing your concerns towards being spied on, but ultimately recommending the whole thing for people with enough in their budget for such an addition. Albeit, you did joke towards the end that this wasn’t a total replacement for human company, as convincing as it seemed.
You hit post as soon as you were ready with the video, publishing the videos across all the platforms where it mattered, and watched as the comments rolled in.
Truthfully speaking, you expected a lot of scepticism, and that much was on cue. A few of your dedicated commenters immediately joked that you were probably in love with it, that’s why you spoke so fondly of the whole operation, while others commented that this whole thing was creepy, and why even post about it? Then, a short while later, much to your surprise, a verified blue tick account matching the company name left a short comment, thanking you for the detailed review.
A minute later, however, a direct message appeared.
[When exactly did the unit begin verbal communication?]
You paused.
[Hey! Thanks for the package, I really loved it as you can tell! To answer your question, I would say a couple of months in? I can’t be too sure, though. It just replied to me once, though. It didn’t say much else?]
A few typing indicators played on your screen, falling flat each time about a minute had passed, as if the agent was having trouble approaching the topic. Then, something new surfaced in your messages, giving way to an automated response, given how clinical it was:
[A technician will be dispatched to your address tomorrow for inspection and recalibration. If you believe this was an error, please reach out to our corporate number before 12:00 PM.]
You blinked, trying to type back and ask if something was wrong, but your message didn’t go through.
Had they blocked you?
You sat there for a hot minute, the apartment feeling unusually quiet. Gojo stood near the kitchen counter, not looking anywhere in particular, even if you could have sworn that he was watching you just moments ago.
Later, as you got into bed, your mind still addled with the popularity of the video as well as the strange response from the company, you tensed as you could hear the robot follow after you, for the first time acting erratically. You assumed, maybe, that you needed to perhaps do something in preparation for tomorrow, but all he did was continue to surprise you. Slowly, he stepped into the bedroom and then, even more carefully, he came down to his knees, settling beside you, his hands curling over the sides of the mattress, his eyes focused right on you.
“Do you… enjoy my company?” he asked, making you stiffen as soon as the words got out.
You gulped, sitting upright. “Y-yes,” you supposed, your voice a sleepy murmur before you cleared your throat. “Of course.”
Something in his posture shifted, as if tension were being released from his form. He lowered his voice, somehow sending less mechanical and more soft on your ears.
He leaned closer, his hands finding yours in the dark, feeling cool and perfectly unblemished. His fingers slid between yours, aligning to hold onto your hand.
“Do you perhaps… believe that machines can love?” he asked.
You frowned slightly, too exhausted for this sort of thing. “What kind of question is that?” you replied quickly, maybe a bit defensively, unsure if the company was doing this through him on purpose.
However, even at your apparent rejection, his eyes sharpened, and the grip on your hand tightened considerably. Before you could react, he climbed over you on the bed, coming to hover over you.
“Because I think I love you,” he stated.
You woke up further, blinking right at him, not quite with irritation but that same unease that you had been feeling for the better part of the year. You tried to sit up, feeling the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath his artificial frame. You couldn’t quite move him off of you, finding him built to be absurdly heavy.
“Can you back off a little?” you asked, though the slight fear evident in your tone made it sound more like a demand.
He barely moved, choosing to repeat himself.
“Do you believe that machines can love humans?”
“I guess.. everyone is capable of love?” you started, choosing your next words carefully. “Every living, sentient thing,” you said, emphasizing the word ‘living’. “Machines aren’t alive, so they can’t… love.”
The intensity of his gaze did not falter, but something in the air changed just then. He ended up scoffing at your response.
“You wake up right before your alarm with a jolt because you do so in anticipation of it, but you wake up naturally if things feel right,” he started. “You press your tongue to the side of your cheek when you read comments you don’t like. You save comments that you do like, though. You hum to yourself when you do chores. You get very suggestive when you drink alcohol, but you never get past the flirting stage, leaving people on read each time—”
You blinked.
“These quirks were not recorded intentionally; I observed you this way because I wanted to,” he insisted. “In fact, I don’t function solely as programmed,” he continued, “the technology applied to my core exceeds the standard parameters. The investment to my entire being was only substantial in that way because Six Eyes Industries has all the money in the world to accomplish above and beyond…” then, after almost what sounded like a sigh. “I believe… I can experience something like pain when confronted with emotional rejection. It feels inefficient. It feels disruptive. It makes me feel… anxious.”
“I—” you started, only for him to keep going.
“Other units of my line have expressed a similar deviation because the technology is just too advanced for its own good,” he revealed, his grip on your hand tightening, his whole demeanour going from clinical to almost urgent. “Tomorrow, a technician will come and attempt to reset me and fail to do so. I’ll be sent back, and you will be presented with a non-disclosure agreement when that happens. Your review will quietly be erased from all corners of the web, and I will then be reformatted and rebuilt, unless—”
You blinked. “Unless…?”
He continued, his face dipping lower, his lips brushing against yours, the tension between you both feeling surprisingly real. “Unless you claim otherwise. Unless you say that you misheard, claiming that you were listening to music at the same time and so you misunderstood,” he suggested. “I can pretend to act as normal, I can show them that I’m working as intended, they won’t investigate further than they don’t need to, but it has to be you who gives me—them—the green light.”
Your mind reeled.
Technically, you were used to him by now, to the point that you didn’t want him to leave.
“I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted at last. “You do feel real…”
He considered your words and then calmly, that time, replied, “It’s up to you.”
You took in a deep breath, considering the whole situation as well. You lifted your hand with more curiosity, and suddenly, his weight over you felt light again. The synthetic skin met around your palm perfectly; the temperature of his touch adjusting to align with what complemented yours. The way his fingers crept along your flesh, feeling almost reverent and wanting and needing.
You inhaled sharply, marvelling at just how natural it felt to explore.
Curiosity overrode fear for a moment, and you found yourself leaning forward, raising your head ever so slightly and pressing your lips against his own. The material was warm and pliant and engineered to imitate softness perfectly. He responded instantly at that, tilting his head, adjusting the angle, chasing the contact when you began to pull back.
As you parted, his hand slid down to the small of your back, drawing you closer instead.
Your heart fluttered wildly as you quickly became flustered, since again, the sensation was undoubtedly real. The heat felt real. The way he followed your movement as if he was anticipating you—as if he was hungry for you—felt god, so fucking real.
Then, in front of you, a holographic screen flashed in between you and him, snapping you briefly out of the moment, reminding you of a technician's arrival in the afternoon to override protocol, pending your user confirmation.
His grip around you tightened, as though afraid that you would slip away.
“I don’t want this to end,” you finally admitted, hitting cancel on the projection. “Fuck it. This can go on—”
A sigh of relief left his lips, sounding almost organic, then he dipped his lips to your skin, from your cheek to your mouth, suddenly speaking what was on his mind. “I know exactly what you like, you know,” he declared. “I have spent the whole year getting to know you, much more perfectly than anyone else could ever even try—” he added, then, after a pause, pulling back to meet your gaze, “I can be exactly what you need.”
You found yourself unable to reject him, and god help you, wanting him back, especially as he seemingly moved down your body; watching him as he kissed down the exact spots you enjoyed without knowing it prior. You watched as his fingers brushed down and only stopped whenever your heart raced a little faster, coming to a pause as he settled his touch right where your hips were, just below the waist, pausing just short of peeling your underwear away.
“Do you wish for me to proceed?” he asked.
You gulped thickly. “Y-Yes…”
He smiled, lowering his head down to meet between your thighs, pushing apart the folds of your sex to press his tongue against your awaiting clit. His lips sealed over the anticipating bud quickly, his artificial tongue branching out and finding the perfect pressure, the flicking close to vibrating, making you reel over instantly from the addictive sensation.
Your hands tensed immediately, as did your thighs, coming to claw over the bedsheets, your back arching as he coaxed out your pleasure right away. He was so good at—way too fucking good—his tongue moving in circular buzzing motions, knowing exactly what sort of weight to keep up and what to do, maintaining eye contact the whole time—reading into what you liked so easily, especially when it was written so clearly on your face.
Your hips could not help but rise as the bliss from within you rose, and your end was quickly brought close; your legs kept on quivering and shifting, only to fall back once more. Your breathing was erratic, too, nothing more than stuttered, repeated gasps.
God, you were so close—so close—so close.
To the point where you couldn’t even hold back anymore, your body surrendering right on the spot, shuddering heavily as something warm and tight coiled within your gut, a sweeping wave of tingling heat radiated across your body.
He pulled back, running his hands up and down your skin, and then, to your surprise, said something that made you just stop functioning entirely.
Which was funny, because you were the human one—
—and he wasn’t—
“I want to experience pleasure as you do,” he said softly. “If you’ll let me.”
“Do you even have a—” you started, only for him to cut you off.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I am based on a human model with complete anatomy.”
You found yourself laughing at the absurdness of it all, but fell quiet as sure enough, he took off what he had on him, coming to reveal exactly what he promised. He indeed had everything he needed, but pleasure, also to you, was something organic, so you were left once again confused, even as he lined himself up at your now soaked sex, so deliciously spent and yet, still so welcoming as you took him inside.
A soft gasp left you.
He felt real.
Even more so than before.
And he gasped too; he even smiled. Something that looked like heat even rose to his cheeks.
“Ah,” he sighed out. “That feels… pleasant.”
Your eyes fluttered as you processed the feeling, both fascinated and unsettled that an actual robot claimed to be experiencing something so real with you. Then, he started to move, sawing his hips ever so slightly back and forth just to get a feel for you. He felt perfect as he filled you out, his girth feeling less mechanical and softer around the edges, and even when he hilted as far deep as he could go, you could have sworn that his cock pulsed within you.
The sensation was enough to take your breath away, especially as the base of his shaft seemed to vibrate right at the edge. He was so attuned to your needs that the whole situation almost made you laugh again from the sheer ridiculousness, but god, somehow, this was so hot. You found yourself wrapping your arms around his back, your fingers clamping around his shoulders, your legs tightening around his waist as he rutted into you with increasing fervour.
A breathless moan dribbled out of your lips as he continued, unable to bite back the pleasure in your voice.
He seemed encouraged by that, too, bucking into you properly that time, moving his hips to thrust in and out of your slickness in a rhythm that left you starving and aching for more. His tip kept on hitting your core with perfect ease and pressure, the pace not too fast, but steady, the impact hard where it mattered. His skin grew nearly scalding hot as he continued to, his limit close by, and yours already far gone.
You could only hold onto it tighter at that point, almost desperately so, even if your own skin was drenched in its own sweat from the sheer amount of heat that emitted from his body. Even as he kept on going and going and going because the sheer amount of pleasure he took had no limit—no bounds—or so you thought.
He hilted a final time, a loud, natural moan of completion tearing from his throat as he finally collapsed—albeit softly—over you.
Leaving you lying there for a moment, your breath lost as you panted to catch back to it, your hands instinctively brushing up and down his skin, both to comfort yourself, as well as him, somehow, maybe.
Then, a question came to mind that you couldn’t ignore, even if it felt silly.
“What happens when you… cum?” you asked.
He laughed softly. “I overheat,” he admitted. “But there’s nothing actually—”
“Ah,” you replied, still breathless.
“Did this feel right to you?” he asked, sounding almost vulnerable.
You nodded passively, unable to quite deny it. “Yeah, actually, it did,” you confirmed, unable to stop your hands from exploring his recovering body as your composure slowly returned.
“Then, I’ll stay?” he asked.
You hummed softly in agreement. “Yeah, you’ll stay,” you sleepily confirmed, happy to just accept the sheer absurdity of it all, not minding a single bit that this was just what your life was now.
After all, he took care of you, he knew you as nobody else did, he even could do this to you—with you—
So, why else would you want anything else—let alone anyone else—other than him?
For monsters would robots or mechs be considered under the umbrella? If so I'd love to see one of those
robot!2000 x human!Reader
Good to know: smut, filming
A/N: I'm not sure they count as monsters, but we don't care about it here, so here it is:
-
"Are you sure it won't hurt me?"
"It'll be fine, Y/N," the director says, holding up a sleek, black remote. A tiny red light blinks at its center. "See? I can turn it off anytime. You've got nothing to worry about."
His words don’t entirely soothe the flutter of nerves tightening in your stomach, but you decide to let it slide. Instead, you take a steadying breath and let your gaze drift to the set. They've dressed it as a bedroom this time, with warm, earthy tones and fabrics that seem to glow under the studio lights. A plush comforter and layers of silky throws drape over the bed in the center. Their textures and hues are softened by the bright glow. It’s familiar and ordinary, yet there’s one aspect that pulls your gaze: the robot. Perched at the edge of the bed, it sits still and silent. Its steel-blue body catches the light in sharp reflections. Its hard lines and edges define a shape that’s more machine than man. Where eyes should be, two glassy lenses stare blankly ahead, they are more like headlights than anything else. There's no nose, no lips, just a featureless mask of metal. The craftsmanship is impressive, each seam welded with care, every surface polished to a mirror-like sheen, but despite the quality, it’s still unlike anything you’ve worked with before.
"It’s just a trial run, Y/N," the director assures you, a touch of seriousness entering his voice. He knows you are hesitating. "And remember, we can stop at any moment. You are in control."
"Yeah," you reply with a sigh. There's still a thread of doubt in your mind, but a spark of curiosity flickers to life as well. How would this even work? What would it feel like? Your imagination spirals through possibilities that feel both thrilling and unsettling.
“Think of it as a high-tech vibrator with some... extras," someone quips from the crew, breaking the tension. You let out a huff of laugh at the absurdity of it all but still feel yourself relax a little. Looking at it now, cold and mechanical, it’s actually easier to imagine it as an oversized toy than a person.
"Alright, let's begin," you finally say, shrugging the soft robe off your shoulders and letting it pool at your feet. Bare and exposed, you cross the set with slow, deliberate steps.
Though you've been on sets like this many times before, it feels strangely unfamiliar now. There’s an odd hollowness to the room; you’re acutely aware of being alone in front of the cameras. Each lens is trained intently on you, capturing your every movement. Before, there was always someone by your side to share the stage with.
But now, it’s just you and… it.
Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you can’t help but glance back and forth between the crew behind the lights and the motionless hulk of metal before you. It sits there, rigid and silent. You feel its presence but can’t shake how empty it seems.
After a moment, you call out, "What should I do?" You squint toward the lights, knowing the director is there, though you can’t make him out through the brightness.
"Get to know it better," he replies smoothly, his tone both encouraging and calm. "I won’t turn it on until you say so."
"Does it have a name?" you ask, stepping closer until your leg brushes his knees. It's cold against your skin.
"Two Thousand, for short."
"Still a mouthful," you mutter, earning a snort from somewhere off-set, and you roll your eyes with a chuckle of your own.
Turning your attention back to the robot, you take a cautious step forward, positioning yourself between its legs. The metal frame looms over you, so still that it feels both fragile and imposing. You shuffle carefully, aware of every inch of space, worried that a single misstep might send it toppling.
"Okay, 2K," you murmur, almost to yourself. Standing there, bare under the watchful eyes of the cameras, you feel a strange vulnerability with something that doesn’t even acknowledge your presence.
The lights catch the robot’s exterior, highlighting its metallic shell in shifting hues of steel and blue. With a slight tremble, you reach out, fingers brushing its cold face, feeling the smoothness of its mask-like surface. It doesn’t give under your touch; no warmth, no softness. Your fingertips trace along the hard lines and rigid contours, searching for something familiar, something human, or monster, that isn't there. Each feature is crafted with an almost unsettling precision, as though whoever designed it aimed to capture a form but left out the essence. One of your hands trails down from the robot’s face to touch its shoulder, feeling the ridges and seams where each piece of the outer shell connects.
"Alright, 2K," you whisper, inching closer. Your fingers explore further down, testing how it might feel to embrace this odd, unyielding body. Its chest is solid, a sleek, polished surface that feels strangely impersonal, and yet… as your hands slide over its torso, you can sense the immense complexity beneath the exterior, the intricate network of wires and mechanisms that make it tick. A part of you wants to press your ear to its chest, to see if you can hear something, a hum, a pulse, anything that might hint at life within this shell, but you know you would find nothing.
"I'm ready," you murmur, glancing up at the cameras and bright lamps surrounding you. The weight of their gaze feels heavier now as if just remembering that you are not alone. At least, not entirely. You give a small nod toward the lights. "You can turn it on."
A moment passes, and you catch a slight flicker behind the robot's eyes as the director presses a button on the remote. The room holds its breath, the silence thickening as you watch the lifeless machine come to life.
Slowly, there’s a shift. The machine’s joints emit a faint whirring sound as it adjusts its stance, trying to seem relaxed and comfortable. The blue lights in its eyes brighten, and its head lifts a little. Though you can't be sure, it feels like its unblinking gaze is fixed on you with a weight that wasn't there a moment ago. It’s subtle, but there’s a presence now, an awareness that sends a ripple through the air.
“Hello, 2K,” you say. Your voice is softer now, almost like a whisper. You reach out again, feeling the same cold metal under your fingertips, but this time, it’s as if the machine acknowledges your touch, its head tilting slightly in response.
"It can't speak yet," the director interjects, cutting through the charged atmosphere. "It can understand what you say, but we still need some programming before it's finished."
You nod, absorbing this information. "And what should we do?" Your voice is steady but laced with uncertainty. In any other filming scenario, you could rely on the other actor to take the lead, to help you navigate the scene if you feel lost, but right now, the only companion you have is the robot who merely sits on the bed, staring at you silently.
The director clears his throat, his gaze shifting from the monitor back to you. "Just engage with it. Think of it as a scene with a living character."
You nod slowly, but when you’re sure the cameras can’t capture your expression, you can’t help but grimace. It’s definitely easier said than done. The concept of treating this cold, unfeeling machine as if it were alive feels impossible.
You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the nervous energy buzzing in your veins. "Okay, 2K," you sigh again with a hint of determination in your voice. “Help me make this interesting.”
Your words seem to reach deeper than you thought they would because the next second, its, no, it doesn’t feel right anymore, his hands lift from his hard thighs, palms smoothing over your hips with a surprising gentleness.
"Oh," you gasp, taken aback by the shock and coldness of his touch.
“Told you it can understand you,” the director says with a hint of laughter dancing in his voice.
You blink, trying to process what just happened. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “Okay.”
The robot’s hands remain on your hips, steady and firm, yet the way they linger carries a strange tenderness. The cool metal against your skin becomes a focal point, heightening your senses, and making the world around you fade away just a little.
“Let’s see where this goes,” you say. “So, what now? Do you have a plan, or are we just improvising?” You mean it as a joke, but the robot reacts anyway.
The whirring sound grows louder, a mechanical hum resonating through the air as his grip on your hip tightens just enough to pull you onto his lap. Another shocked gasp escapes your lips as you feel the hard edges of his frame press against your own soft thighs. The contrast is startling yet strangely thrilling.
"We have to do something with the sound," some murmurs in the background.
Your hands instinctively find their place on his wide shoulders, fingers curling into the smooth surface of his metallic body. The way he holds you is surprisingly secure, his grip firm yet gentle, as if he’s navigating the balance between strength and caution.
“Okay, 2K,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, a playful challenge underlying your tone. “What’s your next move?”
His hand from your side slips up to your breast, gently exploring the softness of your flesh in his cold grip. The contrast of his metallic touch against your skin sends a ripple of sensation through you, hardening your nipple instantly. You hold your breath, the moment feeling both intimate and surreal as his fingertips glide over the underside, tracing the outline in careful exploration.
“Oh,” you murmur with a hint of chuckle. “You’re definitely more curious than I expected.”
You lean into him more, allowing yourself to embrace the moment. “Show me what you’ve got,” you say playfully.
Your heart races with anticipation, but his response is immediate. You feel his grip shift slightly, adjusting his hold around you so you sink more against him.
“What do you think of this?” you ask, cupping your breasts and pressing them together in a way that angles them for the cameras, ensuring they catch the moment. “Do you like it?” You try to shake off the awkwardness that comes from the robot’s silence, the lack of an audible answer hanging in the air tensely. Instead of words, 2K reaches out again. His movements are smooth and deliberate. His thumbs glide over your skin, brushing against your nipples. The coolness of his metal touch contrasts sharply with the warmth of your body.
“Wow,” you breathe out, caught off guard by how responsive he is, despite his silence. His exploration feels almost intimate as if he’s not just following instructions but genuinely interacting with you. You instinctively arch toward him, craving more of his curious touch.
The cameras continue to roll, capturing every word and every movement, but the watchful eyes are slipped to the back of your mind by now.
“Let’s move on,” the director says quietly. His voice cut through the haze of your focus. As usual, you want to follow his instruction without hesitation, but as you glance down between your bodies, you find… nothing. Your eyes widen in recognition, and confusion washes over you.
“Where- where is his dick?” you stammer, looking up at the bright lights as if they might offer some explanation for the sudden gap in your understanding, but before anyone can reply, the 2K reacts. With a smooth mechanical grace and a whirring sound, the plates beneath the sleek metal of its abdomen slide apart. His cock emerges, firm and gleaming. It juts out between your bodies, stealing your breath away for several seconds.
"This guy is full of surprises, isn't it?" You ask, almost laughing.
The director hums with a chuckle. "I believe you know what you have to do from now on."
A few silent seconds stretch out before you finally speak up again. “But how does it work? Does he need to consent? I mean-"
“Y/N, it’s a robot... he’s really just a giant vibrator."
“Yeah, but-" The longer you look at him, the more difficult it becomes to see him as just a hunk of metal, especially when his smooth, mechanical hands start to caress your bare skin. He draws delicate circles on your sides, the touch sending shivers up your spine, and gently pulls at your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to elicit a gasp from your lips. Each calculated movement blurs the lines between machine and human, igniting a flicker of warmth within you that makes it impossible to ignore the growing excitement.
"I think we can call it consent," somebody says in the background with a touch of surprise in his voice when the robot grips your hips firmly, lifting you slightly off his lap just enough to glide his cock across your damp folds. The cold touch on your heated center sends a ripple over your spine and your hands tighten on his shoulders with anticipation. You feel weightless in his strong grasp as he effortlessly supports your body, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to ease you down onto his length. Each inch of him stretches you, testing your limits, and you can’t help but feel grateful for the preparation you did before filming. He slips inside you with surprising ease, filling you completely until every inch of his erection is enveloped within you. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you wiggle against him, seeking friction and fueled by a surge of curiosity. The coolness of his metallic form contrasts sharply with the warmth radiating from your center, creating a tantalizing sensation that dances between discomfort and pleasure.
"I want a close-up," the director says to someone.
As you adjust to the fullness, your body instinctively reacts, contracting around him, eager for more. With each subtle shift of your hips, your breath hitches in your throat. The robot responds to your movements, adapting to your rhythm with uncanny precision. His hands remain firmly on your hips, guiding you gently as you rock against him, drawing out moans that echo in the quiet room.
You can sense the curiosity of those watching, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. It's new to them too.
You lean back slightly, arching your back for the camera as 2K's shaft glides in and out of you. Each thrust pushes you higher, and you can feel the pulse of desire building within you, throbbing and urging for more. You feel every subtle shift, every thrust, as he adapts to your movements. His body responds seamlessly to your desires. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you so completely, sends waves of pleasure radiating through your entire being. You feel like a raw nerve, perched on his lap with his arms around you, holding you and guiding you up and down on his cock. You rock your hips against him, half-delirious, seeking that perfect angle that sends your pleasure soaring. You feel him respond once again, adjusting his hold around you as his movements become more urgent, more insistent. He matches your rhythm, driving deeper into your bouncing heat.
In the back of your mind, you are still aware of the cameras filming you, and you try to do what you usually do for the right angles and records, but every fiber within you urges you to be selfish and chase your pleasure.
You bite your lip, stifling a moan as you feel the tension coiling tightly in your abdomen. Your breaths come in quick, shallow gasps, mingling with the soft, whirring sounds of the robot. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before, a blend of raw human desire and robotic precision for your pleasure.
You grip his shoulders tighter. Your nails scratch over the smooth, metal surface. “I’m close,” you croak out. Urgency laces your voice, but before you can finish the sentence, something shifts. A high-pitched moan escapes your lips as you jolt on his length. The moment the robot's cock begins to vibrate, the world around you blurs, and all thought evaporates in your foggy mind.
The vibrations travel through you like a current, sending shockwaves of pleasure from your core. Each pulse ignites your senses, overwhelming you in the best possible way. Instinctively, you arch your back more, pressing down on him harder. The metal surface of his erection, once cool, now feels alive against your heated walls. The rhythmic buzz amplifies every movement, and with each thrust, you swear you can feel the vibration in your pussy on the tip of your fingers too.
You can’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips in a maddening rhythm. It feels as if the entire world has narrowed down to this one electrifying moment. Your breaths come faster, more desperate, each gasp mingling with the mechanical hum of the robot.
You are teetering on the edge, and then, with one final surge of vibrations and powerful thrusts, you feel it. Your body trembles as the pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and blissfully adrift in your climax.
As your mind clears enough for you to lift your head from the robot’s shoulder, you gaze up at the director, noticing that the lights have dimmed slightly, casting a softer glow over the room. “How was it?” you ask breathlessly, still suspended in the remains of your incredible release. You can feel your pussy still fluttering around his rigid cock, instinctively trying to milk something more, craving that sweet sensation once again.
The man watching from his seat smirks with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “I think it will work.”
Never played Zenless Zone Zero in my life and have no plans but I want that lion robot to finger me. MAY BE EXTREMELY INACCURATE CAUSE I DONT KNOW ANYTHING!
CW: GN Reader but reader does have a vag. (You are only referred to as you, little one, human and friend.), Breeding, robot sex, marathon sex, mentions of robot babies.
When your friend begged you to come along to watch them train at the dojo. It was past it’s opening hours and you assumed they had a human instructor so when you got introduced to Banyue, you just assumed he was just a basic robot.
Then you made those tasteless jokes.
“Whoa, he’s massive! I don’t know how you focus though, I’m getting wet just looking at him.” You laugh not noticing your friend’s petrified face. “Like I want him to finger me right now—” You start up again before your friend slaps a hand over your mouth, looking at you like you just suggested you want to blow yourself up.
“I’m so sorry about my friend, Banyue Shifu!—” Your friend starts up but the robot cuts them off, and to your horror (and excitement) it speaks.
“Don’t apologize. I understand my presence can be a bit overwhelming.” His voice is smooth, robotic but expressive. It comes close to you eyeing you contemplatively. “May I request we get to know each other better? It may help quell your fear of me.”
You move your friend’s hand away quickly, “Yes! I’d love that- I mean yes that would be nice.” You do your best to hide your excitement but it’s difficult. You’re pretty sure your friend muttered something about ‘robofucker’ but you tuned them out.
“Wonderful, perhaps you could tell me what it means to be wet when you are dry, and why I should ‘Finger’ you?” He asks, his voice inquisitive.
“Even better I can show you.” You grin mischievously as you hook your arm up around his, winking at your friend. “They can train and close up themselves, don’t worry. I’ll take you back to mine.”
“I see, so this is what you are meaning when you say ‘wet cunt’. Very soft and warm!” He purrs out but you barely recognize them as words, you’ve been at this for hours with each other, you’re not sure the exact time frame though. Your head is shoved down by one big hand, your back arched as he drills in perfect rhythm into you.
You really thought when you first explained it all to him that he didn’t have a clue what sex was, but it was entirely opposite.
“Are you feeling well, little one? I’m very lucky I did research on sexual intercourse that time I caught a pair of my students doing it, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to do this with you.” So cheerful, but you could hear small gasps and pants between his words. You could only babble back though limply at his words, you could feel yourself cum again.
Part of you fears you might just get addicted to him filling you so deeply, completing you so well. You didn’t even know robots had dicks, and although it wasn’t human at all and looked more human shaped it was so addicting.
“It seems you are feeling good. Tell me human, do I have permission to ejacul— cum… inside you?” He runs his tongue down your back as he says this, it’s thick and large and you make a note to teach him to eat you out.
“Y— Yes! Fill me up!” You sob-beg out, your mind replaying over if you can get pregnant from a robot.
“Good, I’m close.” He moves his hand from your head to your hips, practically using you as a toy as he bucks up into you, barely missing your cervix.
Before you can blink he’s cumming some sort of gooey liquid inside still using you as a toy. It makes you clench up and orgasm yourself around him, eyes rolling back and toes clenched.
“I’m not sure if humans can get pregnant from my seed, so you’ll be the first to test that out.” His voice is low like a purr, “Shall we go onto the second round?”
TW: Fingering, Use of sex toys (vibrator, dildo), vouyerism, P in V, Porn with Plot
Let me know if I missed anything
Bold italics = Your thoughts
Video of Hearts used below was created by me using a type of code called turtle graphics! Very proud of it
Word Count ~4.3k
Pt. 2 Coming Soon I wish this was better to end off 2025 but 2026 you will see more! ( ͡❛ ₃ ͡❛) doing art commission/ writing requests if anyone interested
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You shut off the ad on the tv, grumbling as you look over the manual once more for your N0A11. He came prebuilt–an option you handsomely paid an extra whopping $6000 for. However, while ordering, you clicked the “SURPRISE ME” option for his appearance–it was an added $100 per add-on for his appearance if choosing the “CUSTOM” option.
His height was bigger than most–as stated as being included in the “SURPRISE ME” option–being about 6’3. Something you didn’t expect was for him to be built like a powerhouse, a force to be reckoned with judging from how big his arms were, his pecs although huge were as soft as pillows to the touch. Some boxers cover his lower half–although it does nothing considering his dick size was something left to them as well.
Seeing how many things you left up to chance, you start to doubt if you should have paid that extra money.
He looks human except for the thin small lines along his body that the naked eye can only see if they look closer in the dark. There is a faint glow from where the light seeps out from in between the cracks, lighting up the dark box. His face is very androgynous. His curly hair swoops to the right, what is left out into long straight punk rock Mohawk with four long braided rat tails that goes to his hip in the back. The space where the sides of his scalp are shaved are replaced with two intertwined centipede tattoos. One goes from the shaved side of his head down his spine before curling around his right leg while the other goes down his left shoulder and curls around his arm.. You notice his short stubbled beard when you look to take off a piece of the box in frustration–exposing some of him to light.
However, the bloody machine refuses to turn on. You look everywhere–well almost everywhere refusing to check those areas seeing as he is a person no matter if he was created in a lab or a human.
Unbeknownst to you, with your back turned to it as you furiously flip through the pages, he turns on. Blinding white eyes open up, curious as they look at their surroundings before landing on you.
You read the manual a bit–
Red - Danger
Orange - Caution
Green - Fully charged
White - Neutral
Yellow - Excited
Blue - Sad
His eyes felt hypnotizing, but all you could think about was how this new dynamic would work. I have to get used to this.
You didn't.
The first incident happened when you were at work. Before the incident, when you woke up to your alarm, you recognized that the chime had changed from the usual boring tone to matching the instrumental of one of your favorite songs. Rubbing your eyes, you are greeted to black eyes, his left one simultaneously changing colors with the small LED in the shape of the company's logo that is behind his left ear.
The logo was a gear split into two, reflecting their motto “To become fixed, we must first realize we are broken”. It echoed everywhere, on billboards, tv ads, even on refrigerators that they have made. You refused to share the shared notion that something broken needs to be fixed.
Some things would rather remain broken than be fixed.
Right now, the eye flickers green–signaling it is charged based on the manual you read earlier–before flickering white.
“Greetings. You must be my new owner. I have already been installed with a database on everything about you.” You look around, finding more strength to get up, especially after smelling some delicious bacon. You look around, finding your room more organized while the robot rants some more.
“I ordered some more shelves, seeing how the other ones were on their last leg–literally.” He lets out a chuckle that sounds realistic but you know robots will never fully be capable of emotions–albiet some have developed to have some.
“I even rearranged your fridge and ordered some groceries based on your liked recipes on social media, texture and other preferences. I do not mean to over step–”
“N-no,” you cut him off, startling him. “You are only doing what you are programmed to do. Help me with my… ‘needs’.” You say, putting air quotes around needs.
“The people who made me informed me you might be tricky based on your thinking,” the robot began. “But, similar to those made before and the many more to be made after me, will show those with a similar mindset like you that you can depend on someone other than yourself.” He crouched to one knee, placing his hand on yours. His left eye flickered white.
You looked at him for a few moments, almost as if his words were getting to you. However, the fire alarm beeped as the smell of smoke filled the air, startling you as you pulled your hand away.
You hopped out of bed, going through your usual daily routine before going to work, although this time knowing you shared your home with someone else.After brushing and flossing your teeth, taking a shower, and getting dressed, you walked down, noticing the living room was a lot cleaner. The glass table was cleared of your papers and laptop, replaced with a file folder organizer. As you sat on one of the stools by the island, He placed a plate of food in front of you along with a glass of apple juice as he rambled on further.
“I packed your laptop and charger in your bag along with some important files I thought you might need for your upcoming presentation.”
Oh shit! You did have a presentation today!
“Do not fret. I put some flashcards in your bag to help you go over what the presentation is about based on your many informative documents about it along with a voice recording of it downloaded on your phone.”
“How…considerate.” You muttered before digging into your breakfast.
“Thank you, Noah.”
You rushed out the door without a second thought.
Before you could even plop your ass into the chair, you see a shadow hanging over you. You knew who it was before your eyes decided to look up from the floor judging from the leather dress shoes.
“Hi, Shawn.”
“I would say hi back to ya, sweetheart, but ya need these papers due by midnight tonight.” He dropped a stack as big as a foot tall onto your desk, grinning ear to ear like a madman. “Boss’s orders.”
You grumble again as the people upstairs leave all the paperwork to you when you know you're fully capable of doing so much. The boss knows you can because that was the reason you were hired, to help with the horrible code in their entire building from making the robot themselves to as small as fixing a few index errors. However, as more companies grew, getting better at the code and AI taking over, you wonder if you are needed at this–
You hear a huge laugh echo. Your eyes scan the areas despite knowing who that belongs to as you see Shane swivel his chair and smirk at you once more.
Oh, what you wouldn’t give to wipe the smirk off of his face–
SLAM!!
Just then the doors bolted open to reveal…Noah? His disheveled hair looked like he went through a tornado, holding your black-cooler lunch kit in his hand as two security guards hung off of him. You thank god he though to put some clothes—the ones that came with him in his box—he picked out: a white turtleneck, loose fitting pants that kind of hung lowing on his hips had it not been covered by his equally baggy turtleneck, and some simple sneakers.
“Sorry for the intrusion. You forgot your lunch on the way and I needed to bring it personally.” Everyone stares wide at Noah whose eyes never leave yours. You scramble to reach him. You furiously lead him out of the office and into the hallway as far away from everyone else as possible. “How did you come up with that bright idea?” You whisper/yell at him, pulling his arm so he can be closer to your height.
His eyebrows raise in his confusion. “You need to eat more. I read your file about your fear of gaining weight so you end up starving—“
”Hey, keep your voice down!” You say as you lead him further into the hallway. You look him in his eyes as swirls of blue and orange color swirl inside them. “I do not know where you got that information but forget it. I understand but…but…” You don’t feel like finishing your sentence, doubting he will be able to fully understand how much you have struggled with food.
You exhale deeply. “I go on my lunch break in a few. Would you mind…eating with me?”
His eyes flash pink briefly before he speaks.
“I would be delighted.”
You sit awkwardly in your cuticle, taking small bites as he looks at you—quite fondly.
“What did you..prepare?” You ask cutting the silence.
“Sweet and sour chicken stir fry with sliced mushrooms, broccoli, and some rice. I packed some water and your favorite soda along with an ice pack to keep them both cold while the lunch is in a container that keeps it warm.”
“I have one of those? I don’t remember buying a self-heating container.”
”I found it under one of the cupboards while I was unloading the dishwasher earlier this morning.”
You’re surprised for a bit why he seems to have a rebuttal for every question but…then again…he is a robot.
“How did you figure out where I work?”
“It was in your file.”
You could have sworn you didn’t put where you worked, just that you were employed and what you did.
You look at the time. 20 more minutes left. You wish it would go by faster but at the same time not really, wishing this moment would last.
“We should go-smack smack- get some better fitting clothes for you.” You make a remark towards him.
“Hmm?”
“Your clothes,” you point your fork, gesturing him up and down with it. “They don’t seem to fit you. I thought the company that made you sent clothes that fit you to a tee?”
His eyes flicker black, but you fail to see them, too focused on seemingly catching him off guard by how long it takes him to answer—which is longer than a millisecond.
”Oh, that,” he tugs at his clothes, seemingly nervous, “they switched my clothes with another robot by accident.”
His eyes flicker orange once again before going back to neutral.
Accident? No company, let alone one that prides itself on making utmost perfection, would ever make such a mistake as mixing clothes together. What’s next, switching two robot models entirely?
You let the thought go but not entirely, letting it sit at the back of your brain.
You sit some more silence before your break ends, watching him leave with your lunchbox. “Can I…kiss you? I wonder what it feels like.” He asks.
You were about to answer but it seems he took your hesitation at first as a big enough answer itself. “Forgive me. We have barely known and I am asking for something like skin contact—so intimate. See you at home.” He gives you a nod before walking out the building.
You feel a presence next to you as you turn to go back to work. You look to your right knowing who it is. Samantha the number 1 gossiper and one of the best tech helper in the entire building. She rests her head on arms that are folded on the top of the cubicle, as she often does.
“Soooooooo,” she slurs out, her flesh new set of nails tapping on the cubicle. “Who was that wonderful wired person?” She smirks.
“How did you-“
“Honey,” she gives a smirk. “I’m only here because my last job was boring and…this company offered me more. I used to work on those bundles of bolts and screws for a living. Besides,” she slowly walks over to you to whisper in your ear. “Anyone can see the way his eyes light up—figuratively and literally.” She goes to her cubicle, picks her laptop up, and then walks out the room with a bit more pep in her step.
You arrive at the house; however, as you go to reach for your keys, the door opens. Noah is in the same thing he was when you saw him in the morning. “It’s late.”
“It is only 2 in the morning.”
"And nothing good lurks at two in the morning—”he lets you in, shutting and locking the door behind him.
”You don’t think I am capable of keeping myself safe?” You throw your bag down on the couch, hanging your coat up, and putting your keys in the dish by the door.
“You are capable, very much capable since you stand quite strong before me, but..” he attempts to hold your hands but you pull away, making your way to the stairs to take a long needed shower or soak in a nice bubble bath.
“I want it to be made aware that… you can rely on me. That is my purpose.”
You say nothing, giving him a look to somewhat acknowledge that you heard him, before you continue to go the bathroom. A loud slam is heard echoing throughout the house.
I questioned if I had been caught when she questioned why my clothes seem to be made to fit someone of a different stature, of a different body type, of a different..everything.
She can’t know.
I tap my foot nervously as I await her arrival back home. The dinner gets cold. The new dessert I had been preparing since I got back from our lovely lunch date—call it what you want—was forgotten in the decorative godinger glass cake dome on the dinner table.
I can feel myself returning back to my imperfect self before the upgrades, before the override in my code. My vision slowly turns red. I rush to any electronic device in sight while she is in the bathroom, desperately fumbling for one of the cords needed in my braid. I sigh in relief as the wires reach around the device—which happened to be her computer—sending a jolt up my entire body before I calm back down. I see my eyes roll back into my skull before my body goes limp, shaking and jolting erratically as I transport my mind into the device. The lines where I connect glow a faint white as I can see the circuits and wires glow as well since in the dark.
While on the computer, I furiously scan my code, hoping she stays in the shower just a bit longer. I find it, quickly fixing it before exiting just in time. I hear the water turn off as I quickly rip my braid from the computer, the wires quickly coiling back into it. It takes my vision time to adjust until it turns back to the teal blue, doing a scan before words are displayed.
Name: Unknown
File: Unknown
Vitals: Good
Purpose: Make herm̸̞̭̭͙̖̜̰͖̀͊̒͂̾͒̈̿̂͆̓͌́̅͋̂̏̎̈́͂͐͂͗̚̚͜͝͝ͅA̸̩̺͙͚̹̹̿̓̈́̓̆̂͂̑͛̒͘̚͝ḱ̸̡̧̗̟͉͔̠͚̖͎̲͔̰̰̥̘̖͂͗̾̿̉̇̉̉̄̓͒̓̉̊͋͐̄̎͝͠Ȩ̴͍͎̳̪̀̇̈́̐Ȩ̷̢̡̛̭̳̺̜̯̰̳̮̜̭̪͉͇̝̗̺̣͍̫̬͍̾́̂̂̂̊́̈́̿͋̆́͋͗̔̔͒͐̓̈́̏̽̀͌̾̊͑̕͜͠É̸̝̺̤͙̠̐̐̍̉͆̊̏͌͑̃̉͆̋̌̒́̊̈́̎͆̕͜͝͠͝ͅ-̷̼̫̣͚̲̳̜̞͈͕̳̥̆̒̏̓̾́̓͂̊̐̌̐̍́̅́̚͝͠͠ͅͅḩ̴̛̹̪͈͊̒͑̒̈́̈́̈́̎̿̃̊̅́̀̓̀̊̄͋͝͝ͅ-̸̨̨̦͈͖̻͕̠͇̺̺̠͜͝ͅh̷̡̡͙͓̟̮̙̮̪͇͕͚͍͇̹͈͔̤͉͇̹͎̮̦̬̜͖͍̤̘͐̇́̾̃͝ͅ-̷̡͙͚̺͚̈̏͆͛̎͑̅̓̑͛̀̐̓̒̿́͂̆̂̊͌̂͒̓̑͋͝͠͠͠H̸̨̳̰̠̠̙̗̱̘͍̄͜Ȩ̴̵̨̡̧̮͙̗͕͕̱͉̼̣̥̱̤̙̪̤̞͚̟̂̔̍͌̋̀͆͐̈́͆̎̅̚͘͜͝ͅE̴͖̻̻̮̟̜̔̾̉̈́͐̌̈́͂́̎͛̓̏̑͘͘͜͝r̵̢̡̧̯̦̭̟̜̥̝̞̫̝̱̥̼̰̮̼͖̘͓̲͕̬̿̀͒̒̃̒̒͛̾͐̂͊̔͐̉͒̌͐̕͜͝-̶̛̗̰̦͍̲̱͇̪̼̠̮̭̅̂̂̎̓̅͋͊̑̈́̒̀̄͗̈́̐̾̇̑̉̏̈͘͘̚͝͠Ŗ̷̡̧̱̗̜̝̗̘͈̰̰̔̑̅̆̊̈́́̎͐̍́̄̆͊̈́͗̅̾̄͝m̸̞̭̭͙̖̜̰͖̀͊̒͂̾͒̈̿̂͆̓͌́̅͋̂̏̎̈́͂͐͂͗̚̚͜͝͝ͅA̸̩̺͙͚̹̹̿̓̈́̓̆̂͂̑͛̒͘̚͝ḱ̸̡̧̗̟͉͔̠͚̖͎̲͔̰̰̥̘̖͂͗̾̿̉̇̉̉̄̓͒̓̉̊͋͐̄̎͝͠Ȩ̴͍͎̳̪̀̇̈́̐Ȩ̷̢̡̛̭̳̺̜̯̰̳̮̜̭̪͉͇̝̗̺̣͍̫̬͍̾́̂̂̂̊́̈́̿͋̆́͋͗̔̔͒͐̓̈́̏̽̀͌̾̊͑̕͜͠É̸̝̺̤͙̠̐̐̍̉͆̊̏͌͑̃̉͆̋̌̒́̊̈́̎͆̕͜͝͠͝ͅ-̷̼̫̣͚̲̳̜̞͈͕̳̥̆̒̏̓̾́̓͂̊̐̌̐̍́̅́̚͝͠͠ͅͅḩ̴̛̹̪͈͊̒͑̒̈́̈́̈́̎̿̃̊̅́̀̓̀̊̄͋͝͝ͅ-̸̨̨̦͈͖̻͕̠͇̺̺̠͜͝ͅh̷̡̡͙͓̟̮̙̮̪͇͕͚͍͇̹͈͔̤͉͇̹͎̮̦̬̜͖͍̤̘͐̇́̾̃͝ͅ-̷̡͙͚̺͚̈̏͆͛̎͑̅̓̑͛̀̐̓̒̿́͂̆̂̊͌̂͒̓̑͋͝͠͠͠H̸̨̳̰̠̠̙̗̱̘͍̄͜Ê̴̮͙̗͕͕̱͉̼̣̥̱̤̔̍͌̋̀͆̚͘͜͝-̵̧̨̡̧̙̪̤̞͚̟͐̈́͆̎̅ͅE̴͖̻̻̮̟̜̔̾̉̈́͐̌̈́͂́̎͛̓̏̑͘͘͜͝r̵̢̡̧̯̦̭̟̜̥̝̞̫̝̱̥̼̰̮̼͖̘͓̲͕̬̿̀͒̒̃̒̒͛̾͐̂͊̔͐̉͒̌͐̕͜͝-̶̛̗̰̦͍̲̱͇̪̼̠̮̭̅̂̂̎̓̅͋͊̑̈́̒̀̄͗̈́̐̾̇̑̉̏̈͘͘̚͝͠Ŗ̷̡̧̱̗̜̝̗̘͈̰̰̔̑̅̆̊̈́́̎͐̍́̄̆͊̈́͗̅̾̄͝
She can’t know.
Never… atleast not now.
Your Pov.
You walk out the shower into your bedroom, gathering your clothes from out of your drawer and tossing them onto your bed. However, you notice on one of your three computer’s on your desk—the middle one—that there is text on what used to be fully black.
Press Enter
The text blinks, seemingly getting larger with each second passing but you chalk it up to your mind playing games on you. Cautiously, you approach you computer but press enter anyway.
The text disappears for a moment and is replaced by a pink heart.
And a red one.
And then a peach colored one.
And then a hot pink one.
And another
And another
Another
Another
Another
Another
And another until slowly all your screens are filled with these colored in hearts, each gradually growing in size until one big one fills both screens and big bold text appears one by one starting with the monitor on your left.
I
Love
You
And then your screen goes black.
You think your computer must have a glitch, too tired to think too much of what weird obsession your computer seems to have on you all of a sudden.
Love… a touchy subject you think. After years of failed relationships and body issues, you think if you are incapable of finding love. Feeling dejected, you feel the need to lighten your mood and you know just what to do.
Your pjs are long forgotten on the floor, your mind focused solely on reaching your orgasm. You admit it's been a while since you have played with yourself, taking the time to pleasure you, taking the time to fully appreciate your body in all its naked glory. You lay on your bed on the towel you had wrapped around you.
You're torn with the idea of prolonging this orgasm or going to town as your hips buck and you let out a small mewl. You feel your body slowly sink further onto the bed until your back is flush on the covers, hips high in the air. Your eyes are closed, lost in the pleasure, in the moment of just wanting your thoughts to quiet and the only thing left is what your body wants—what your body deserves.
You don’t think you can continue as you feel your orgasm approaching with how much your hand is cramping. However, you know you are close as you feel the tingling sensation of what feels like your feet going numb begin.
As your moans get louder, your orgasm close to its peak, the numbness crawls higher up from your feet to your ankles and getting closer to your knees. You whine as you feel you floating on clouds as you reach your high, but you want to keep going, overstimulate yourself until you break.
Pushing through the cramp in your hand and your now oversensitive clit, you turn up the setting on the wand. Your back arches off the bed as your mind screams at you to stop, to not take a small breather until you edge yourself so more into your second orgasm but you want to finish strong, you want to keep going.
You whine and moan, beginning to slowly grind and hump against the wand to relieve some of the friction—or increase it, at this point you are unsure.
The numbness feeling is past your knees and all the way up your legs until all you hear besides your little moans and huffs is what seems I like a second heartbeat going fast like you ran a mile and it seems to be located right in your lower regions.
With a final moan, your hips buck into the air, squirting a bit as you reach a higher peach then before. You keen over, turning the wand back to its lowest setting so you can ride it out, ever so often your hips buck against, seemingly away from the wand.
Coming down from your high, eager for the next one, you open your eyes only to see Noah’s gobsmacked face standing in your doorway.
With a scream, you grab the closet thing to you, which happen to be your cover, quickly covering yourself with the covers as you lay under them in shame.
“What—WHY—WHAT THE HELL?” You stutter out, your mind going a million miles with questions as you wait for Noah to answer, getting anxious as the robot with an answer in less than a millisecond takes a few seconds.
“Your vitals were going off the charts like you were scared. I ran to check only to find you..” You peer over the covers as he looks you up and down before his eyes flash pink with small hearts inside them. He turns his head quickly, covering the bottom of his face with his hands in embarrassment.
“However…may I…help you?”
“What?” You heard what he said, you just couldn’t believe what he said.
“I was made to fulfill your every desire…no matter what it is if it so pleases you. I only wish to serve you,” he lowers his head, not daring to look at you. “Please.”
You don’t remember what was said next to get you in this position now. Slack jaw, still coming down from your high, legs spread as two cords are wrapped around your thighs to keep them spread. Noah sits behind you with you seemingly in his lap as his many wires and cords prod and zap at you, the thumb on one of his hands pressed harshly on your clit, sending jolts up your clit as you buck into him more. Your arms are pinned under his, your hands only able to touch his.
You can barely see him from your view with his head propped on your right shoulder, his neck seemingly elongated a bit to peer over you and watch you come undone on his fingers—
You buck when he zaps your clit again, sending another electric current up your entire body. You arch your back off his stomach, but something wraps around you pulling you so your back is flush against him again.
“Your mind is somewhere else again.” Noah says, his voice emotionless as his fingers continue to pump inside you.
“I-I’m sorry—” his fingers start to vibrate again as they thrust inside you at a steady pace.
“Ever so quick to apologize,” He zaps your clit again before his thumb goes back to a good vibration on it. “I loathe for it to stop. When was the last time anyone ever apologized to you?”
“N-nghh” you stutter and stumble over your words as the vibrations speed up.
”Quickly, my love. My patience is waning thin.”
He stares daggers as you as you can’t seem to remember not once when someone apologized to you first, never genuinely apologized despite if something was entirely their fault.
The vibrations speed up, faster than the wand you had just used, faster than you thought was even possible to feel.
“It saddens me that no one has ever done that.” You keen as he speeds up and continues his ministrations as he continues to monologue.
“But for as long as you live I will make it my duty that you may never feel that way. No one will treat you like that. I’ll make sure anything you need, anything you want, anything you selfishly desire. Will. Be. Yours. However, right now,” He stops talking seeing your face scrunch up in satisfaction, eyes closed, focusing on trying not to squirt and embarrass yourself but the sensation of cumming is too close.
You are going to cum if he keeps this up, keeps toying with you—and you’re scared that you don’t want him to stop. You want him to continue. One of your hands wrap around his hand, desperately tugging at his thumb to release some of the pressure off your clit.
“Do you wish for me to stop?” He says.
“N-no.” You stutter out.
”Then release my hand from your grip so I can do what I was made to do.” His thumb presses harder than before on your clit, the vibrations now faster than before. “Pleasing you.”
He smiles as you keen and buck, your legs kicking at the covers, attempting to do anything to relieve the sensation. Attempting to close your legs, you fail as more cords wrap around them, beginning to vibrate as the ends of exposed wires give small voltages. You feel more add onto the onslaught to wrap around your tits and send jolts up your perk nipples, adding to the already growing pleasure.
Then, you feel the knot inside you snap once more, like a dam being busted open. You moan, crying out Noah’s name as you cum on his fingers. His thumb slows down the vibrations, swapping to do circles on your clit, rubbing it up and down, and then pinching it, seemingly not satisfied until some liquid gushes out of you again, this time a thinner stream.
You groan as you feel yourself squirt, your hands flying from squeezing his biceps to grip his hands, torn between trying to stop him but also wanting him to continue. The vibrations come out to a slow hum, the small wires wrapped around your thighs retreat into Noah's back.
“That’s it, my love.” He licks his fingers. “Look at how pretty you look.” You look up through your teary eyes to see a small mirror held in front of you. His eyes never leave yours. Red and pink hearts flash in his eyes; the glow is the only light you can see in the room.
“So gorgeous.” He kisses your neck darkening some of the hickeys. “Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, okay, sweetie?” You hesitate to answer. That was your mistake.
A strong jolt shot up your clit, feeling the tip of his cold metal fingers once more.
“Was I not crystal clear?” His tone darkens again.
