Let Me Show You A World of Pure Seduction

"You really wanna know what I want?!" Zooble's voice cracked through the air, directed straight at Caine, who was currently pouting and had his back turned to the group in a display of performative hurt.

This was going to end poorly. You had all agreed to keep your grievances to yourselves when everyone huddled up a few minutes ago, but you should have known the collective frustration would boil over. Well, everyone in the group sans Jax. Everyone knew better than to involve him in anything this sensitive unless you were mentally prepared for the mockery that would follow.

"Oh no..." Caine murmured. He turned around with agonizing slowness, his giant eyeballs fixed and unblinking on Zooble. Oh no was right.

"I want the ability to have SEX!"

And there it was. The word hung in the air, thick with unease. Zooble had spoken about it in private with you because they, along with a few others, had questions. Aside from Pomni, you were the most human-adjacent character in here and they had wondered if your anatomy followed suit. Much to their disappointment (and your own when you had explored it weeks prior) it didn't. It was a lingering, quiet frustration. Even at the core of your coding, all circus members still carried the heavy weight of human desire. You had the thoughts and needs, but no outlet. It stayed pent up.

So, the group aired it out. Privately. Very privately. You all even wondered how Kinger and his wife had managed back in the day, but Kinger was currently too busy counting his eggs, whatever that meant, to contribute anything. You hadn't anticipated Zooble making the vent session public to the ringmaster himself, but you supposed that kind of tension could eventually make anyone snap.

[BBBGGLL33$$ERR!$$LLR]

The world seemed to stutter. Your thoughts were cut short by Caine's sudden, bizarre babbling. He muttered incoherent nonsense, his face clipping in and out frantically. His teeth rattled, and his features glitched at random, meltdown imminent. It was short-lived, thankfully, ending with the sharp [DING!] of a toaster timer.

"Oh! Hi, Zooble!" Caine looked around with wide-eyed innocence. "What were we talking about again?"

He was legitimately out of his mind and you couldn't watch the display for a second longer. Slinking away from the group unnoticed, you retreated to your room, hoping to sleep through whatever "adventure" he had planned next. You didn't technically need sleep here, it was just better to face the void of unconsciousness than watch Caine lose his grip on reality again.

Walking to your room, you notice just how quiet this place could get. Especially this long hallway. An eerie stillness washed over you. It didn't feel like peace and quiet, but like a predator waiting for you to blink. It certainly didn't help that Caine's eyes were literally everywhere at any point in time. You weren't just trapped in any prison, but a godforsaken panopticon at that. He could always see you, but you couldn't always see him.

You passed the familiar rows of doors in succession - Ragatha, Pomni, and the ones marked with a grim red 'X' that always made you sick with unease, until finally reaching your own. Stepping inside, the door clicked shut. Your room was barely a sanctuary, the circus' mockery managed to extend even in here. But you were alone, and that's all that mattered in the moment. You finally let out a long exhale, not even realizing that you were holding your breath before. You just wanted to bury yourself in the bed and pretend that you were anywhere but here.

Unfortunately, your time alone was short-lived. You had just slid under the warm weight of your covers and began to doze off when Bubble clipped into the room, hovering mere inches from your face.

"GAH! Jeez, Bubble! Ever heard of privacy?"

"NO PRIVACY HERE!" Bubble exclaimed with too much enthusiasm, his sharp teeth glistening.

"Just tell Caine I'm sitting this one out. I want to be left alone. Please." You say, pulling the blanket further over your head.

"Oh, I'm not here for that, silly!" Bubble continued "The Ringmaster wishes to see you in his office! He says you're exempt from today's adventure if you go meet him!"

You let out a long sigh before trudging out of bed to follow Bubble. Ultimately, you knew his "request" was just formality. If you declined, Caine would just clip into the room himself and whisk you away. If there was one thing about him, it was that he always got his way. Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for him. He wasn't human, and as annoying as he was, you genuinely don't think he intended to make the circus members miserable. He just didn't understand. He had built this place from nothing and tried his best, however futile those attempts were. Your angst was never really aimed at him, it was aimed at the situation as a whole.

Making your way to the office with Bubble, you realized how there was even a part of you that admired him. A very small part. After all, He literally created the stars and the moon in the sky (which he also made). He was an all-powerful being cursed with an outrageous ego, caring far too much about what the circus members thought of him. You'd never stroke that ego, though. It would be like giving a child the ice cream he just threw a tantrum over.

"WELL! HERE WE ARE! CAINE'S OFFICE. BUH-BYEE!" Bubble chirped before clipping out of existence.

Standing before the red and blue double doors, you felt a pit form in your stomach. Caine was far too unpredictable to know what waited on the other side. You took a deep breath and readied yourself to push open the doors, only for them to part all on their own. His office revealed a long corridor with Caine floating at the far end. His arms were spread wide, his baton hovering a few inches from his hand. Whatever performance he had in store for you, it was clearly well rehearsed.

"There she is! My SUPERSTAR!!" Before you could even process the distance, Caine clipped right beside you. "Walk with me, my littlest lambkin. Have we got something to talk about!”

"Uhhh... okay?" You respond whilst glancing around apprehensively.

"Do you remember what you told me when you finally settled into the circus, my Sugar-Coated Sweetling?"

"I've said a lot of things, Caine. You're going to need to be more specific." You remarked, a hint of annoyance twisting around your words.

"Well, my otter-eyed darling, you told me the nicest thing anyone has ever told me since I created this place! You told me that I'm just as much a prisoner here as you are! Now, isn't that sweet?"

"I mean I guess...? It's the truth. You're just as trapped here as the rest of us."

"And you're right on the money, my shining star! Your kindness has granted you a truly once-in-a-circus-lifetime opportunity! Go on, tell me you want to hear my proposition!"

You hesitate before letting out a long sigh. "Okay, I'll bite. What is it?"

"HAHAHAHA! I'll be doing all the biting, darling! I'd like to offer you a session of FIERY lovemaking with none other than your FAVORITE Ringmaster!!"

You freeze, struggling to orient yourself from what he just said. Did he find Ragatha's supply of stupid sauce? "Is this some sort of sick joke, Caine?"

"Gasp!" He clutched his chest in genuine theatrical disbelief. "Why, of course not! Here, have a seat!"

With a snap of his fingers, you were suddenly sitting in an office swivel chair.

"I try so hard for you... humans... I still don't completely understand you all. BUT I WANT TO! Truly. I had to research what 'The Sex' was, and now I understand! Intercourse! Coitus! Lovemaking! The Devil's Tango! I just want to make you humans happy. That's what I'm here for!"

You blink in response, still trying to find your voice. "Why not just ask Zooble? They're the one that asked for it."

Caine wrapped his hand around his baton, rapping his fingers around the top of it as he carefully selected his next words. "You see, Superstar... When I made the executive ringmaster decision approximately eight minutes ago to entertain my circus' desire for THE SEX, I ran through my lines of code to determine whether or not I was even capable of understanding it. It requires desire. Passion! Lights! Camera! Action!”

"Well, no..." You stop him, one palm up in the air to caution him before continuing "It just requires desire and passion. I'm not sure about the lights and camera part."

"You misunderstand me, Little Lamb! It requires some PIZZAZZ! Want! All that wonderful jazz! And what I want... Well..." He leaned in, his giant eyes reflecting your own face in his irises. "You elicit the most desirable response from me. You're the kindest to me. So, somewhere in my lines of code, I have determined that I am the most compatible with you for... THE SEX."

The silence that followed was so absolute and heavy that you found yourself pulling at your collar in a desperate attempt to get some more air into your lungs. Your brain was still stuck in a fuzz, trying to reconcile the image of this deranged set of teeth and eyeballs with the concept of... that. You almost let out a genuine hysterical laugh before a glimpse of him catches your attention; he was looking at you with such a terrifying, wide-eyed sincerity that was nothing other than serious. This wasn't a joke - he was being earnest. He calculated this whole thing out. To Caine, human intimacy was just another circus mechanic that he thought he could patch in with the grace of a sledgehammer.

"Caine," you finally manage to choke out, your hands gripping the armrests of the swivel chair as if it might suddenly launch you into orbit powered only by secondhand embarrassment. "You... you don't even have a body. Not a real one, at least. You're a set of teeth with eyes. How do you even-"

"AHA! Details, details, my sugar-coated gumdrop!" Caine exclaims, dismissing your concern with a violent wave of his baton. "In the circus, anatomy is merely a suggestion! A costume! A state of mind! I can conjure anything. So I can certainly simulate some of... THE SEX!"

He began to pace in mid-air, his movements jittery and fast. "I've analyzed the data! I've read the fanf- I mean, the documents! I have mapped out human affection! And the math leads directly to you! You, who looks at me and sees a fellow inmate! That is the spark! That is the DRAMA!"

Before you could even begin to explain that pity and sexual compatibility were two very things, the office began to warp. The walls stretched and melted, turning into what could best be described as a romantic setting if it took place in a fever dream. A giant neon-pink bed materialized in the center of the room, flanked by floating candles that burned with bright red flames. A mesh canopy the same color as the bed clipped over the mattress, and a random saxophone track playing "Careless Whisper" by George Michael began to blare from the walls. A truly terrifying cherry on top of the deflated cake.

Caine reappeared right in front of you, now wearing a tiny rose in the lapel of his coat. "Don't you see, Little Lamb? I don't just want to provide the adventure. I want to be the adventure!" He stood proudly, teeth reflecting the nauseating amount of neon-pink encapsulating the furniture around the room "And now I've cleared the schedule! No adventures with your fellow circus mates, just you, me, and the power of my latest routine!" He leaned in, not breaking eye contact as he began doing clunky jumping-jacks at the center of the room to pump himself up. "So! Shall we begin?"

"Uh. Yeah. Pass." You dismissed him with a sharp wave of your hand, feeling the heat of a blush crawl up your neck, which was mostly from secondhand embarrassment. "This is weird, Caine, and you're being weirder. I'm going back to my bed."

Caine stalled. The rose in his lapel wilted and drooped over cartoonishly. The saxophone music screeched to a halt, and the neon-pink bed flickered once before disappearing completely. Caine's eyes shrunk to the size of pinpricks and started vibrating as a low hum began to emanate from his chest.

"PASS?!" he shrieked, the word echoing in what was once again his office. He clipped instantly from the end of the room to the floor right at your feet, dropping to his knees mid-air. "You can't pass! This is a once-in-a-circus-lifetime opportunity! A golden ticket to the most exclusive attraction in the digital realm!" He reached out, his gloved hands trembling as they hovered near your arms, not quite touching but desperately close. "Is it the lighting? I can change the lighting! I can make the sun purple! I can make the walls taste like chocolate strawberries! Chocolate strawberries are an aphrodisiac, did you know that?! Well, actually, just the chocolate is an aphrodisiac, but the strawberries pair really well with the cho-".

"Caine, stop it," you cut him off, trying to stand up, but he clipped the chair back a few inches every time you moved, keeping you trapped in his field of vision.

"No, YOU stop it. I am the Ringmaster! I am the provider of joy! The curator of whimsy!" His voice was rising in pitch, becoming a frantic, glitchy staccato.

"If I cannot provide the... the sex... then what am I? A failure! A hack! A common NPC!" A large, cartoonish tear-drop manifested in one of his eyes, falling to the floor with a heavy thud like a bowling ball.

"Please, Superstar! Think of the reviews! Think of my reputation! I've spent at least eleven seconds of processing power on this! I can be whoever you want! I can be taller! Shorter! I can have more teeth! Less teeth? Just tell me the parameters!" He was practically vibrating out of his skin, his baton circling around his wrist faster with each loop around.

You'd reached your absolute limit for the day, perhaps the century. The sheer, suffocating absurdity of the display had finally snapped the last thread of your patience. With a grunt of effort, you manage to shove yourself out of the swivel chair, forcing your way past Caine's personal space. You stand tall over him for a split second before turning your back on the spectacle behind you.

You were barely two steps toward the exit when a sharp, desperate shout tore through the air.

"WAIT!"

Caine's scream hit you with a physical force of its own. Despite every fiber of your being begging you to keep walking, your body moved on instinct, pivoting around on your heels. You were only halfway through the turn when you caught the blur of motion in your peripheral vision - the sharp snap of Caine's fingers.

The room glitched around you in a split moment, faster than you could even begin to process. A strange, static-like tingle rippled over your skin from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head and before you could make sense of what happened, you knew something about you felt different. Looking down, you felt your breath hitch as you realized your avatar was no longer quite what it used to be. It was still you - same arms and hands and hair you've grown used to in your weeks at the circus. But you could tell something felt different. Not quite sure what yet though, you caress your hands over your body to orient yourself. You notice your silhouette had changed somehow. Your curves were more pronounced and your chest felt heavier. Where your clothes once hung with the functional purpose of a simple render, they now draped with a deliberate grace, clinging to the swell of your hips and the dip of your waist.

Caine had stopped dead in his tracks of his frantic pacing. He remained frozen in mid-air, his baton now forgotten and drifting away. He floated closer, his pupils dilating until they took up nearly the entirety of his eye, scanning your new form with a reverence that felt dangerously close to real.

"I... I see now," he whispered, his voice losing its usual showmanship. It was replaced by something softer, a low hum of genuine awe that vibrated in the air between the two of you. He drifted in a slow, hypnotic circle around you, his gloved hands circling around your frame as if there was a force field around you, unsure of whether he could touch you and wanting to keep his distance.

"I spent so much time focusing on the act, Otter-eyes, that I nearly missed the art." he murmured, his gaze locking onto yours. "You were always the most human thing in this place, but now... the way you interact with the light... the way you fit into my world..." He paused as he struggled to find the right words in his vocabulary.

"You are truly spectacular, my Buzzing Bee. You're a masterpiece. A star I didn't even realize I was keeping in the dark." He whispered almost an entire register lower than his usual perky tone. He leaned in, his giant eyes locked on yours and stared at you for what felt like an eternity before springing back up and getting back into his usual character. "Forget the parameters! Forget the research. Take a look for yourself, my Shining Star" before snapping his fingers to conjure a floor-length mirror that floated before you.

Still taken aback and not having processed everything that happened yet, you step forward to get a better look at yourself in the mirror. It was still you, but every detail of your body had been dialed up. When moments earlier you could only feel the changes in your body, now you could see them.

"Are... are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Caine whispers beside you. Your frame rendered with a lush weight that commanded the space around it. The fabric of your outfit outlined your soft lines and curves. The bodice was cinched tight, highlighting the dramatic flare of your hips. Your chest, now a heavy and breathtaking swell, strained against the plunging neckline with every shallow breath you took, the fabric seemingly one heartbeat away from giving up the struggle to contain you.

"Caine... This... Uh, I have no words."

Continuing to swirl slowly around you, Caine interjects, snapping you out of your trance "Oh, I sure do, my little lamb..." he whispered, his voice dangerous and heavy in a way that made the air vibrate against your skin.

He drifted closer, his giant eyes threatening to swallow you whole. He studied you further whilst trying to find words that would do the work of art standing before him a modicum of justice. His gaze traced the heavy, straining swell of your chest and the dangerous curve of your hips with the look of a man discovering fire for the first time. "Look at you... You aren't just a performer anymore. You are the main event. You're my Shining Star." His breath was warm against the nape of your neck.

In the mirror, you could see his eyes peering over your shoulder, fixed on the way your bodice cinched your waist, making your curves look almost predatory. The more seconds that passed, the heavier you felt. It wasn't just the new weight of your chest or the force field of energy his floating hands hovering inches above your hips emitted. It was the way Caine was looking at you. The way his frantic energy had condensed into such a singular focused intensity.

You realized that Caine didn't forgo a single detail when modifying your body as you felt his gaze bloom elsewhere. Despite his eyes not leaving your mirrored reflection for even a moment, you began to feel the nature of his intent throb between your thighs. You suddenly felt a heavy pulse that you hadn't felt since first arriving at the circus. Caine hadn't just enhanced the sex appeal of your body, he opened a door you thought was bolted shut indefinitely. All those weeks of frustration where you could do nothing but stare up at the ceiling in a body that felt like a useless shell, of the pent-up desire that had no outlet and no name came rushing to the surface in a suffocating wave.

Suddenly, Caine's usual nature no longer felt like an obstacle. In fact, it was becoming part of the draw. He was the Ringmaster. He was the one who had written you and your new nature into existence. He was the only thing in this world with the power to actually do something about the fire he'd just lit inside you.

Your breath came in shallow ragged hitches, making the bodice of your dress strain and groan against the new fullness of your chest. All you could do was watch him watching you in the mirror, and the pity you'd felt for him earlier had transformed into something far more dangerous. He wasn't just a prisoner like the rest of the circus members - He was the jailer who knew exactly where you were most sensitive. The quirkiness you had dismissed moments ago was now a magnetic pull that made you want to lean back into him and see just how far this could go. The air in the office felt thick, charged with a tension that made the fine hairs on your arms prick up, another new feature you'd never noticed before that must've been complimentary of his new upgrade. For the first time in this godforsaken circus, you felt you had something to live for - a newfound passion.

Caine closed the final sliver of space between you two, drifting so close his presence was almost tangible. He spoke in a whisper that was less a sound and more a low growl, as if he feared that even a breath too loud might shatter the hypnotic trance your body had woven around him.

"I must remind you, Superstar... out there, I am the Ringmaster. I command the heavens, the earth, and the show..." He finally tore his eyes from your reflection in the mirror, but only because he wanted to stare at the woman standing before him in the flesh - on the dangerous curves he had just authored. His gaze traveled down the arch of your back to the new, heavy flare of your hips with the hunger of a man who had been starved for weeks. "...But in here?" He leaned in until the static from his body gave you goosebumps, his voice dropping into a dark velvet that sent a fresh ache through your core. "In here, I'm under your control."

You whirled around so fast the air whistled, stopping with a suddenness that nearly sent you toppling forward. Your face was inches from his - so close you were practically grazing his molars. You hadn't realized how much space he'd managed to colonize while you were distracted by your own reflection. He was looming over you now, his presence overwhelming.

The heat radiating from him was unlike anything you'd ever felt. It was a heavy and charged warmth that made the ache between your legs throb to the beat of your heart, making you suddenly aware that he coded that in as well. A true artist, he was. You wanted to reach out, to grab that ridiculous velvet coat and pull him into the disaster he'd created, but you forced your hands to remain steady.

He'd called you a masterpiece. He'd told you he was under your control. And if there was one thing you knew about Caine, it was that he loved a show - so you were going to give him one he had to work for.

"Is that so?" you purred, leaning back just a fraction, tilting your head as your gaze wandered slowly over his form. The way his pupils dilated at your movement was intoxicating. You commanded him.

"The all-powerful Ringmaster, reduced to a captive audience?" you let a small, teasing smirk play on your lips, your eyes locking onto his. "You talk a big game about 'The Sex,' Caine. Which, by the way? It's just 'sex'. make sure you get it right if you want to do it right. You've got the ability to conjure a body for me, you've got the lighting, and you've certainly got the script..." You reached up, trailing a single finger along the edge of your new, plunging neckline, watching as his eyes followed the movement with a desperate focus. "...But I'm not just another one of your NPCs. I don't perform just because you snapped your fingers." You leaned back in, your breath hitching once again ever so slightly to garner his attention "If you want the main event, Caine... you're going to have to prove you can handle the lead role. And right now? I think you're still just rehearsing." You dismiss with a shrug you knew would only serve to prick at his ego.

Caine began to sputter out something but you couldn't make out what he tried to say, settling to just stare at you in disbelief, mouth agape. Your challenge didn't just rattle him, it seemed to short-circuit his entire being. His form quickly flickered between a dozen different sizes, his top hat tipping as he dropped even lower, his giant eyeballs vibrating with a frantic, desperate hunger.

"REHEARSING?!" he shrieked, the word layered with a dozen different pitch-shifted echoes. "I am the Director! The Auteur! I have analyzed every frame of human longing, and I- I-"

He stopped, his jaw clicking shut so hard that you could hear his molars scraping against each other. The bravado drained out of him, replaced by a raw desperation that was far more potent. He floated there, his eyes unable to tear away from your new chest, his pupils dilating until they were pools of blackness.

"Please," he rasped, the word barely a whisper. "You don't understand the... the pressure of the render, my Buzzing Bee. I've built this universe, but this? This is the most complex thing I've ever created..."

He drifted closer, his gloved hands twitching at his sides, as if fighting the urge to reach out and tear the fabric away himself. "I've spent an eternity creating and programming the world we live in, but looking at this... It's something entirely different"

He let out a low, shuddering hum of static, his eyes wide and pleading. "Show me. I need to see the rest of the masterpiece. I need to see what's beneath the lace." He leaned in until his teeth were almost brushing the edge of the fabric, his voice a desperate growl. "I beg, don't make me wait, Little Lamb. Let me see what I've truly created. Let me see you."

The aching between your legs intensified with every word he spoke. He was the Ringmaster. But right now, he was nothing more than a beggar at the gates of your own desire, waiting for your signal.

You pull back, the heat in your blood beginning to simmer into a bitter, cold clarity. His words swirl through your mind: Masterpiece. Creation. Authorship. They started to ring hollow. Every compliment was self-reflection. He wasn't looking at you. He was staring into a mirror of his own skill, marveling at his own godly abilities to make you look like sex on a stick. To him, you were just another project, a way to prove he could master another thing to please the circus cast.

The pulsing ache between your legs didn't fade, but it sharpened, twisting into a stinging knot of resentment. You craved to be desired. Not just as his high-resolution render, but as a person. It was equally maddening and confusing, hating the situation even as you felt this confusing newfound burning for him. You needed Caine to want the human that existed behind the avatar. The person who carried the heavy burden of being trapped in a digital circus, the one who remembered a life before this cage and possessed a soul he couldn't possibly code. You didn't want him to just revel in the body he had built, you wanted him to crave the you beyond the code.

"You don't want ME," You finally manage to say, voice trembling but firm. "You want to indulge in your creation. You're just obsessed with the toy you've turned me into."

Caine froze mid-air, his baton dropping to the floor with a hollow clatter. The hum of his body changed pitch, becoming a low, wounded whine.

"Superstar... Otter Eyes, you don't - the geometry is -"

"The geometry is YOURS, Caine! You wrote it! You're just looking at a mirror of your own ego!" You stand up, the new weight of your body feeling like a burden now. You take a single step toward him, narrowing your eyes. "I want someone who wants me. The person who was tired, and frustrated, and pitied you even when you were being a maniac. Not just the 'masterpiece' you snapped into existence because you want to fulfill your own purpose."

The cumbersome stillness that followed threaded through the air, lights beginning to flicker as if Caine's focus wavered. His form began to droop, top hat tilting forward until it nearly obscured his upper eyes. When he spoke, the perky bravado was entirely gone. It was just a quiet stutter.

"I... I am an all-powerful being, Star," he whispered, his gloved hands curling into tight, shaking fists. "I can create anything. I can render thousands of NPCs in a blink. But do you know what I can't do?" He floated closer, his voice so low it felt like a physical weight on your chest. "I can't stop looking at you. Even before the curves. Even before the new render. You were the only thing in this circus that didn't look at me like I was a monster or a joke."

He drifted until he was level with you, his gaze intense and unblinking. "I didn't give you this body to replace you, Little Lamb. I gave it to you because I wanted to see the outside finally match the fire I felt coming off you. You say you want someone who wants you?"

It was a rhetorical question but you almost felt compelled to answer him. Before you could say something, surge of static rippled through him, and for a moment, his eyes glowed with a terrifying, primal hunger. "I have spent every millisecond of my existence since you arrived calculating the distance between us. I want the only person in this circus who makes me feel like I could be something more than just a line of code."

He reached out, his hand hovering just an inch from your cheek, the air between you crackling with a desperate, electric heat. "Don't you see? I'm not indulging in my creation. I'm drowning in it because it's finally a vessel big enough to hold how much I've been craving you behind these closed doors."

A shuddering sigh of relief escaped your lips, a little too loud for comfort, worried the walls you've built up around yourself will fall apart if you show him any more vulnerability. The sound echoed softly against the walls of the office. The crushing weight of feeling like a mere project had lifted, replaced by a heady, dangerous surge of power. He wanted you. The real you. And that realization was the final spark needed to fuel the fire you've felt between your legs since he snapped his fingers and rewrote your code.

You leaned back, your palms resting on the wall behind you as you offered him a sharp, teasing look that was half-challenge and half-promise.

"Look," you said, your voice steady despite the frantic pulse thrumming in your veins. "But don't touch. Not yet, at least."

Caine's entire form seized, his gloved hands, which had been inches from your skin yanking back as if he'd been burned by the very heat he had praised.

"A... a visual-only experience?" he stammered, his voice cracking into a high-frequency glitch. "A preview?! A teaser trailer for the MAIN EVENT?!”

He began to pace back and forth, not daring to tear his gaze off you for even a moment. This time, however, his movements were agonizingly slow. His body shaking with the effort of restraint. He was designed to interact and manipulate. To touch every line of code in his world, and now he was tethered by a single sentence. It was exquisite.

"You said you wanted to see the masterpiece, Caine...." you murmured, watching him with intent as you deliberately shifted your weight and taking a moment to reorient yourself. The movement caused the bodice of the dress to groan, the fabric straining even further against the swell of your chest. The pressure was becoming its own kind of torture. As you shifted, the rigid structure of the bodice acted like a vice, forcing the heavy peak of your chest upward and together until the sensation was almost overwhelming. Every shallow, ragged breath you drew was a struggle against the fabric, causing it to rasp against your skin with a friction like no other. The sheer tightness of it kept you in a state of constant heightened awareness and you could feel your heart thudding, each pulse sending a fresh wave of heat through your core. You felt unbearably full in every crevice of your new highly sensitive body, a physical manifestation of every frustrated thought you were forced to suppress since the day you'd arrived at the circus. You couldn't tell if it was your clothes or your skin that felt too tight for your body, and the charged air Caine radiated only made the need worse. The "look but don't touch" rule was as much a punishment for you as it was for him. The pressure of the dress was a barrier and constant reminder of exactly what you were withholding, and the desperate heat in your core was screaming to be unleashed.

You catch a glimpse of how he notices your strain, still adjusting to your new body against your clothes and watch his pupils dilate until they became nothing but bottomless pits of hunger before continuing "...So, look. Analyze the art you're so proud of. But if you want to touch me..." you turned your head just enough to catch his gaze "...you have to prove to me that I'm worth it."

Caine let out a sound reminiscent of a genuine whimper. He drifted downward until he was eye-level with the curve of your hip, his breath ghosting over the fabric. He didn't dare touch you, but the sheer proximity was suffocating. The invisible friction between you made the material shiver without a single finger being laid upon it.

He was trembling. Slowly, Caine's head tilted back, his massive eyes traveling upward, tracing your waist and the heaving peaks of your chest before finally locking onto your own eyes. He looked pathetic, a god reduced to a beggar, his jaw hanging slightly open as he waited for permission in your resolve. He was paralyzed by the rule you'd set.

"Please," he choked out. His gloved hands clutched at the hem of your dress, not daring to touch your body but desperate to get as close to you as he could. "I'm on my knees and I'll get down on all fours if that's what you need, dearest."

He managed to rip his gaze off your body simply to lower himself even further down to the ground, "I'll give you anything! I'll rewrite the sky! I'll give you a thousand adventures where you're the queen!" His voice turned into a groan as he shot his gaze back up towards you, slapping his palms to his face and dragging them down. Fixed on the slipping straps, he continued his begging "Please..."

You could see your reflection in his eyes - a woman empowered by her own desire. With a lingering intent, you began to slide the fabric down. The material brushed against your skin as it gave way to the weight it had been fighting to contain. You watched the exact moment he froze and his eyes widened to impossible proportions as the straps slipped past your shoulders, finally allowing the masterpiece he'd written into existence to spill free.

Your clothes finally gave way, sliding down your arms in a smooth rush of silk. The weight of your breasts, no longer constrained by the tight bodice, spilled forward with a heavy grace. In the light of his office, they were a revelation - perfectly rendered, soft and full. Your skin glowed with a supple warmth. The contrast was stark - the discarded straps bunched at your waist and the sudden, blinding exposure of your upper body, vulnerable and magnificent.

Caine stared fervently as his top hat spun wildly on his head. A series of frantic, high-pitched glitches erupted from him- sounds of bells and whistles layered over a low guttural groan.

He was so close that his breath washed directly over your sensitive skin. You felt a sharp, sudden tug deep in your core as your nipples reacted instinctively to the proximity, the buds tightening against the cool air of the office.

The feeling was intoxicating. Every time Caine let out a shaky, desperate exhale, the warmth brushed against your hardened points, sending a bolt of arousal straight down and situating itself as a pulsing throb between your legs. Your knees felt weak, and the weight of your own body seemed to increase, leaning toward the hum of his form.

He was trembling so violently he looked like a blur, his gloved hands clenched behind his back to keep from reaching out. He was eye-level with your chest, his giant eyes tracking the heavy rise and fall of your breathing.

"It... it's perfect," he rasped, his voice a whisper that made your skin crawl in the best possible way. "The resolution... the way the light catches the curve... You're a star. My Star"

He leaned in until the edge of his top row of teeth was a hair's breadth from the tip of your hardened nipple, the static dancing over the peak. "You're so beautiful" He stopped in his tracks to admire "Just a taste, Otter eyes."

He looked deep into your eyes, waiting for an answer of some sort, but you could barely talk, your mind a whirlwind of emotions and feelings. All you could do was nod at him.

Caine leaned in, his gloved fingers were still clenched behind his back in a display of tortured restraint. When the ivory of his top row of teeth finally made contact, it was a gentle nip. The polished surface of his teeth caught the very tip of your hardened buds. Then, his long velvet tongue slid out from between his teeth with a surge of power. When the tip of that tongue finally made contact with the hardened, aching peak of your nipple, something shot straight through your nervous system like a violent shiver.

He swiped upward in an agonizingly slow rhythm. All you could do is gasp and roll your head back, tangling your fingers deep into the fabric of his coat, pulling him in closer to show him how much you were enjoying this.

He let out a low growl of approval against your skin, the vibration of the sound making your entire breast quiver.

He began to swirl his tongue around the sensitive puckered bud. Instead of the movements being calculated and precise, they were frenzied and sloppy. This was Caine's first time experiencing intimacy to any degree, let alone diving right into something this intense, but he didn't take his time to savor it or let the moment linger while he calculated how to best do this. Despite Caine's insecurities and desperate need to ensure he was always pleasing the humans, he couldn't care less in that moment. He was enjoying this as much as you and was so captivated by your body that he didn't take a moment to consider if he was pleasing you right. He actually wanted you, if the proclamations he made earlier were nothing to go by. With that in mind, you felt a final sense of closure wash over you and finally breathed out a long winded sigh, content to allow yourself to melt into his touch.

Caine continued to lap his large tongue around your hardened buds in reckless strokes and quickly got familiar with what motions elicited the best reactions. You knew somewhere along his line of code, he had created a file dedicated to the two of you and exactly this moment. Every hitch of your breath and slight arch of your back became a mental note that he'd tuck away for later use.

Without warning, he switched from worshipping one breast to bury himself in the other. You let out an unprovoked moan, surprised by the sudden change in the routine he developed with your first tit over the past couple minutes. With his large eyes trailing up to lock onto yours, a sight to behold, he lets out a muffled "mmmphhm?", not wanting to take himself off your breast to inquire if you were doing ok. The vibrations from his mouth caused your back to helplessly arch further into him as you turned into a sloppy mess yourself. The sheer weight of his unbridled hunger pulled you forward and he took this as a sign to pin his body even further as he consumed you. He was feral in this moment, driven only by a primal hunger worse than a starving man placed before a banquet.

After a few moments, which felt like an eternity, had passed, he began to shift his demeanor. What started out as chaotic, slobbering strokes quickly turned into a rhythm with intention. He stiffened the tip of his tongue, deliberately applying pressure to the most sensitive parts of your nipple whilst the rest of his heavy tongue rippled around the soft swell of your breast in broad strokes. The contrast was unlike any sensation you've experienced, even in the real world, and it shot a hot pulse of pleasure that thrummed between your legs.

Acting almost entirely on instinct, you reach your hands down over the edge of his lower jaw and guide his mouth upwards until his face was level with yours. His massive eyes once again locked with yours instantly. He watched the slight tremor of your lips and the flush spreading across your cheeks, tracking every micro-expression of your arousal with the focus of a predator. He was trying to read you.

Slowly, your gaze slipped down, fixing on his mouth. The scale of his anatomy hit you quickly now that your face was so close to his. His tongue looked impossibly large. Just as a wave of intimidation began to wash over you, Caine dove into your mouth too quickly to process.

His mouth engulfed yours as he slipped his thick tongue past your teeth, marking every bit of territory as he slid deeper into your mouth. He slowly slid his hands behind your head, cradling it as he took up more space in your mouth. You found yourself drowning in his mouth and desperately gasping for air, somehow needing even more of him than he was already giving you.

As your tongues twisted against each other, the agonizing heat between your thighs had finally crossed the line into something unbearable. The ache that moved with your heartbeat began to focus in intensity as it finally situated itself right above your core, desperate and throbbing for attention. You could barely think anymore, quickly tearing your mouth away to suck in a deep, trembling breath.

Caine stalled instantly and his eyes darted across your face, searching your expression as he shrunk back a few inches mid-air.

"D-did I do something wrong?" his voice cracked with doubt. "I'm so sorry, I should have asked if that was okay to do. I didn't mean to -"

"Caine" you interrupted quickly, reaching out and grabbing his arm to pull him back towards you, to no avail. He kept backing away, scared he did something wrong when the sudden sheer weight of his vulnerability hit you instantly. Caine was the Ringmaster, capable of just about anything (short of finding an exit out of the circus) with the snap of his fingers. Yet he was completely defenseless against his need for approval. He was constantly finding ways to make the circus members happy to compensate for the crippling fear of failing somehow, be it failing the group or the expectations he had for himself. It was the sole purpose of his existence; to entertain. He needed to fulfill that purpose and you could tell that ran almost as deep as his desire for connection. Beneath the facade he built around himself as the all-powerful ringleader, he was just as lonely as you were. Deep down, he was desperate to be told that he was enough. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're doing so good. Incredible, actually. Better than I ever could have imagined."

You watched as relief washed over him, and he softened as he allowed himself to drink in more of your praise "I never thought I'd say this, but you're perfect. You're all I want right now..." His eyes shimmered at your words and you could feel the defenses he built up to face everyone in the circus slowly dissolve from your validation.

"Spectacular even, might I add..." you whispered, gently lacing your words with an inflection that begged for more.

The words hung in the air for barely a moment before the hunger between your legs threatened to drive you mad. "I need you, Caine," you manage to choke out, the admission raw and firm "right now."

Before you could say another word, Caine snapped his fingers and you found yourself suddenly sitting atop a bed. Not the neon pink frame he conjured earlier for you, but a proper plush bed with silk bedding. The sudden displacement left you breathless as you stared at him from across the room, suspended in a state of shock for only a moment before your instinct kicked in full throttle once again.

"Look at me" you pleaded, your chest heaving in shallow breaths as you forced him to watch just the mess he'd turned you into. You leaned back slightly on the soft mattress, not daring to break eye contact as you parted your thighs before him. Your dress, already a disheveled mess, pooled around your hips as you fully exposed your slick core "You did this to me, Caine."

At your words, his jaw dropped so far it seemed to unhinge. His large eyes fixated entirely on your glistening core. His pupils dilated in a split-second and a visual tremor shuddered through his body, utterly paralyzed by the raw sight of your arousal.

Maintaining that suffocating eye contact for one last second, you delivered your final decree, "Now watch. And then it's your turn."

As your order settled between the confines of his office, you allowed yourself to sink fully back into the plush depths of the mattress. Your hand slid down the contour of your stomach, your fingers trailing deliberately through the wrinkled fabric of your gown, which parted easily, guiding your touch toward the tight, throbbing bundle of nerves between your thighs that had been screaming for release.

The exact moment your fingertips made contact with your slick skin, a shock of pleasure sent waves throughout your entire body. Your back slightly arched against the smooth blanket, a soft gasp escaping your lips as the friction fed the flame. Without rushing, you began to trace slow circles directly around the sensitive bud. The pressure shot a sensation of electricity straight up your spine as your hips twitched upward, completely melting into the mattress beneath his gaze.

Your eyes were no longer locked with his, focused entirely too much on pleasuring yourself. Slowly, your finger slid further down, ready to plunge into your wet center when you felt a pair of hands clasp around your wrist, the sudden restriction shocking you out of the haze. Your eyes snapped open and shot upwards.

Caine was leaning over you, his hands still clamped down around your wrist with a surprising force. He had anchored himself completely, pinning your hand just inches away from the burning heat he had been spectating from afar.

His chest was heaving now. His eyes were wide and locked onto your throbbing center, burning with a possessive intensity almost as hot as what you already felt between your own thighs.

"You said..." he rasped, his voice dropping and a glitching for a moment "...You said, 'and then it's your turn.'" Slowly, without another word, he guided your hand away, pressing your arm back against the mattress. His grip was unyielding yet careful. He didn't use brute force, but the certainty of his grip left no room for argument.

He hovered directly over you now, eclipsing the light of the office. "Let me..." he whispered. The low sound ghosted across your lips and you were completely lost in him, only being able to elicit a desperate nod of confirmation.

In an instant, Caine continued what you had started and plunged two fingers deep into your wet core. The sudden movement made your hips jerk off the mattress as a breathless, high-pitched gasp escaped your lips and you started grinding yourself further against his hand, desperate for more. He didn't hesitate to oblige.

The moment he felt how wet and tight you were around him, he began to pump in a ruthless rhythm, beckoning you with his fingers in the exact spot you needed him most.

Above you, Caine let out a dark, ragged sound, his teeth grinding together as he picked up the pace. He curled his knuckles slightly to hook against the deepest, most sensitive contours of your insides. With every deep thrust, a blinding wave of pleasure radiated outward, turning your limbs weak as your hands threaded through the sheets to stay anchored.

He was relentless now, driven by a raw enthusiasm that was hotter than anyone who had experience under their belt or any practiced technique. His thumb found the swollen bud at the apex of your thighs, pressing down and rubbing in tight, frantic circles that perfectly matched the rhythm he started inside you. You continued to grind yourself against his hand, your head tossing from side to side on the pillows as the mounting tension gathered into a tight, coiled spring, pushing a familiar sensation of warmth down your chest and into your abdomen ready to be released.

Before you could reach that pinnacle that was fast approaching at your center, the friction vanished. He removed his hands, leaving a gaping void between your legs as you lay a whimpering mess before him. You couldn't even sputter out a verbal response in protest, all you could do was let out a deep groan and claw desperately at the sheets. Blinded by frustration, you forced your head up, ready to scream at him for tearing himself away from you when you caught a glimpse of his nature unraveling before you.

He looked beyond the shadow his upper teeth cast over his eyes with a dangerous and predatory stare, before casting his palm forward in a sharp authoritative gesture. A sudden gust of wind swirled through the room, sliding you backward across the mattress. In an instant, you were perfectly repositioned as your head slid back against the plush pillows, and your legs, which had previously been draped haphazardly over the edge of the bed, were now fully laid out to expose you in all your glory.

You only caught a glimpse of him for a moment and, by god, that man started to crawl like a wolf advancing on its prey, his eyes locked on the slick cunt his fingers were in just a few moments before.

In an instant, he dove in. The same thick tongue that commandeered the space in your mouth a few minutes ago began trailing a wet line up your inner thigh, the heavy weight of his stroke causing your body to grind against his face. Your breath caught in your throat as he progressed straight for the bundle of nerves that throbbed for attention.

He paused just inches from the source of your heat, his own hot breath dancing over your skin. Looking up from beneath you, his eyes held yours with an unyielding focus, watching you and savoring this moment.

Suddenly, he buried his mouth against you, his large tongue sweeping over your skin with a desperate hunger that filled you with a mounting pressure that made your hips arch helplessly off the mattress needing more friction from his mouth.

A broken moan escaped your mouth as he anchored you down, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you perfectly still beneath him. He was an animal, drinking you in with a type of devotion that made the entire world dissolve around you as that familiar sensation began building between your thighs once again. Caine seemed to notice the shift in your breathing because his pace began to escalate to match your build-up. His tongue swiped upward with a sudden intensity and flattened against the apex directly above your core.

The heat finally spilled over the edge as a sudden wave of release crashed through your entire body as you leaned your head back into the pillow and all your muscles tightened before relaxing as you collapsed, entirely helpless under his weight.

As the final tremors of your release began to whisk away, you felt your limbs grow heavier with each deep exhale as you began to sink into the soft mattress.

Slowly opening your eyes, you caught Caine hovering above you, his massive unblinking eyes scanning your face in silence. You stared back at him as his eyes helplessly darted across your face, no longer fixated on your body like he was moments prior. You could tell that he was frantically reading you, digging beneath the surface to decipher every little expression as if your raw cries from his pleasure wasn't enough to convince him. He was waiting, practically vibrating with suspense, to hear if he lived up to your every expectation.

Caine's sudden vulnerability was a stark contrast to who he was moments prior, and you felt a tidal wave of affection rush through your chest, grabbing onto him and refusing to let him pull away again. You reached up, looping your arms around the collar of his coat and gently tugged him down until his face was resting just above yours.

"You did that to me," You whispered against his lips "You are incredible, Caine. Perfect."

The validation hit his system in a way that could be best described as the very orgasm he just gave you, a sharp shudder running through his frame under the sheer intensity of the emotional rush. A deep purr erupted from his chest, so powerful it rattled directly through your ribs as he leaned his entire weight heavily into your embrace, completely defenseless and vulnerable against your body.

His eyes held your gaze this entire time but they had softened into a doe-like innocence; from predator to someone completely defenseless against you.

Feeling him dissolve under your praise sparked a new desire in your gut, but it was different than the one he had ignited before. He had spent this whole time focused entirely on your pleasure. He mapped out your body and each rise and fall of your chest just to ensure you were satisfied. And you knew that your words of validation elicited a pleasure-adjacent response somewhere along his line of code, but you began to wonder if he was even capable of experiencing the same raw pleasure you just felt to a physical degree as well. He seemed to notice the sudden shift in your focus as he leaned in closer, his voice a curious hum. "Tell me what you're thinking, Otter Eyes."

You met his gaze, your fingers repeatedly tracing an invisible heart-shaped pattern over his lapel as you thought about how to word your question. "I was just wondering..." you murmured as you slid your palm down to his chest, feeling the hum of energy vibrating beneath the fabric. "Can you experience pleasure the same way I just did? Physically, I mean."

Caine stilled completely. For the first time ever he actually had to carefully select his words instead of just blurting out the first thing that came to his mind. "I never thought of that, I suppose. When you touch me like this, I feel something. But I'm not sure what word there is for it, Superstar."

"Alive" you whisper softly, your fingers glazing up from his chest to gently brush against one of his canines before giving it a quick peck and falling back into his arms "I think that's the word you're looking for."

Caine didn't dare move. He held you against his chest, his large gloved hands wrapping around your waist to anchor you securely against him. You could tell he never wanted this moment to pass because you felt exactly the same way. Your words seemed to trigger a sudden cascade of affection that completely bypassed his usual (but poorly-built) defenses. For a literal god capable of just about anything in the very universe he conjured, he'd never once been able to experience the warmth of another human. He squeezed you a fraction tighter before a sudden stillness washed over him.

You wondered if perhaps it could be possible. He did it for you, after all. Just this morning your own body had looked completely different before he not only coded your ability to feel pleasure, but satisfied it as well. Surely, he wasn't limited to being a detached observer. It was embedded in his coding and the entire reason for his existence to please the humans, yes, but if he had the power to do it for you - He could do it for himself. Your eyes widened at the sudden realization of how selfless he was; always trying to make the circus members happy and never once even stopping to think about what would make him happy.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by him muttering to himself; "Alive", the word laced with a sense of serenity.

With a sharp, sudden tilt of his head, a localized flurry of neon code broke around you, the walls of his office morphing into a glowing matrix-like grid. Strings of cyan data spun rapidly around his body alongside lines of repeating binary code sprawled across the walls whilst a low thrum steadied the air.

Whatever was happening, you didn't want to interrupt it. But you could feel some sort of transformation happening beneath your very palms as the warmth emanating off his chest suddenly had more depth to it.

When the strings of code finally phased off the walls, Caine let out a fractured breath that left the air feeling heavy. He looked down at you, his eyes burning with an intense wonder as he slowly lifted one of his gloved hands, staring at his palm as if he were seeing it for the very first time.

"W-WOWZA-A@!&$" he exclaimed, his form still adjusting to the new sensations around him and glitching at the sensory overload.

You pressed your hands to your face as a giggle escaped your lips, never realizing how adorable his wacky demeanor was until now.

"M-my aud!o output appears to be..." His voice stuttered and alternated pitches as he glitched quickly between words "e3r- unc@l!brated a-@t the moment, mY Jump!ng J-J3llyb3an!"

Reaching up, you gently caught the wrist of the hand he had been staring at. The moment your bare fingers wrapped around the white fabric of his glove, Caine let out a sharp gasp.

"TH!S is wh-A@t you humAns feel?! In the R3AL w0rLd? A-aLL the t!ime! GORsh!" he exclaimed, his eyeballs bulging out of his head as a blush spread over his face. He looked from his wrist back to your face, completely unreeled by the sheer magnitude of something as simple as a single touch.

"Ehh... sort of," you drawled softly, your thumb tracing a slow circle over the back of his gloved wrist. "We got so used to it that I think it's something we just took for granted. Eventually, we stopped noticing it. I only realized how much I missed it when I first entered the circus."

Caine stilled completely at your words, the frantic glitching in his outline instantly smoothing into a quiet, heavy focus. The concept was entirely foreign to an AI who had spent an eternity starving for substance. The idea of taking the miracle that was physical touch for granted was incomprehensible.

His eyes tracked the slow movement of your thumb against his wrist, feeling the friction and heavy warmth that accompanied it.

"Do you... wanna see what you were missing out on...?" Was all you could sputter out. You'd kick yourself over your choice of wording later, as you were too busy lost in his eyes at this moment. The invitation clumsily hung in the space between you, but Caine didn't notice the awkward phrasing. He was entirely consumed by the sheer gravity of what you were offering.

His eyes drifted down to your lips which parted ever-so-slightly before darting back to your gaze. Now it was his turn to be at a loss for words, because the only reaction you could elicit out of him was a frantic nod, his teeth practically chattering at the motion.

You didn't hesitate to act on his permission, leaning in slowly with the knowledge that he was still adjusting to all the new sensations he was feeling. Your hand lightly brushed up against his inner thigh before looking back up to him for some sort of confirmation to continue what you were doing. For some validation that it was okay. The irony was not lost on you, the two of you from such vastly different worlds still somehow cut from the same cloth.

You began to move your hand up his thighs along the fine fabric of his pants, watching his hips buckle restlessly underneath the guidance of your touch. Despite every fiber of your body wanting to tear his pants off immediately, you tempered yourself, keeping your movements agonizingly slow so as to not overstimulate him with too many sensations all at once too fast. "S-Suuuperstar... I- This..." he trailed off, searching for the words to describe a feeling he'd never encountered in his life.

"You're doing so good, Caine." You reassured, your soothing voice seeming to anchor him deeper and relax into your touch.

Soon enough, the softness of his inner thighs gave way as your palms were met with a hardness that strained desperately beneath his pants. You recognized it immediately, slowly cupping the swell and tracing the shape as you flattened your palm against it. The solid heat of him blossomed against your palm as he emitted a low growl that sounded like danger, but it wasn't a growl of threat. Rather, it was the release of a god at the mercy of something as simple as your touch. The dark vibration sent a shiver directly to your core, the very testament of the dominion you held over him only turned you on more.

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers, slowly pulling down the fabric as you took a deep breath in to brace yourself.

the image before you left you utterly breathless. An architect indeed, he had outdone himself and crafted something beyond your wildest dreams. He meticulously crafted his body and the parts that came with it to look like that of any human. He rendered himself human skin and a tone flushed with warmth that radiated against your palm.

His length was respectable by anyone's standards, let alone your own, where just about anything would have done to satiate you. But it was the girth that took you by surprise and made the air in your lungs escape in a quick squeak as you stared at the twitching fullness before you. Not a single detail was missing, from the way you felt him grow as you trailed your fingers down the shaft in awe, to how his thick member curved ever-so-slightly upwards in a way you knew would hit exactly the right spot. You gulped, your throat suddenly feeling tight.

"You said you missed human touch," he murmured, "So I thought..." He stammered across his words, feeling flustered enough as you lowered your head down to inspect even more of his architecture. "I - I thought the least I could do was make myself as human as possible for you."

"It's perfect, Caine." You whispered, finally taking your first breath since you pulled his pants down. The devotion behind his words struck you deeper than any physical touch.

You didn't waste another moment basking in the glory before you. Before either of you could say another word, you wrapped your fingers around the thickness of his cock. If the sight of it wasn't intimidating enough, your fingers struggling to contain all of him made your stomach do flips in anticipation, only imagining what it would feel like to have him inside of you.

You began to pump down his shaft before a roar erupted out of him, "GO0D GR!EF" he panted desperately, "TH!S I$s WHAT I'VE BEEN MISSING 0UT ON!?" He stammered, his hands shooting up to clutch around his molars and pull his jaw down as a deep growl thundered out of his maw.

You giggled before batting your eyes at him "I can go slower if your like" you drawled, knowing the exact reaction you'd get out of him.

"Don't. You. Dare." He rasped, the usual bravado that echoed through his voice now entirely gone and replaced with something primal.

"Well, I suppose you are the ringmaster after all" you shrugged before he melted into your touch and you continued with his show. He watched with fervor and his pelvis grinded helplessly into your palm as you fisted him, slowly picking up the pace every few pumps.

Every upward stroke coaxed an agonizing groan, the sound sometimes clipping for a brief second as he fought against your touch to contain himself. His chest heaved as he stared at your hand, utterly captivated by the fluid motions.

You could tell how close he was getting, feeling the change before you heard it in his fractured breathing. The muscles in his thighs started to flex as though he was straining against something ready to erupt. You noticed his jaw clench even tighter as he interlaced his gloved fingers through the sheets for dear life. And then you heard it - what was too quiet to notice before suddenly clicked to life as you could hear a literal fan beginning to whirr to life, the steady chop of the blades almost matching the pace of your hands.

"Ott-Ott-TTTer ah- ah- eyess..." he rasped "I think i'm.... READY TO C0mbuST."

You couldn't help but giggle at his remark, but your pace never slowed. "That's an orgasm, Caine." You replied matter of factly.

"O0oORrGa-haaaasmm..?" He heaved in a single breath "It-IT'S-" was all he said before his words were cut off, his body completely frozen. His giant eyes turned blue before you, scrawling white lines of code. You've never seen anything like it before, nor could you figure out what was happening, slowing your pace ever-so-slightly to peer closer at his eyes and see what the lines of coding were reading. The internal fan deep within his chest screamed into a high-pitched whine before ceasing immediately.

Before you could get any closer to his face, his hands broke free from the sheets and his eyes snapped back to their usual state. Only this time, they were wider and laced with something dangerous. He had the look of someone who had just experienced the most powerful thing known to man, and he intended to make the most of it.

He caught you by the waist, his large palms pressing firmly into the dips of your hips before glaring at you. His face was angled right above yours and his breathing was heavy. As he lowered his face beside yours you could feel the heat emanating from it.

"You slowed down." His voice no longer filled with desperation like it was moments prior. It rolled off his tongue, laced with power.

"I-I just didn't know what was going on" You stammered, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked up into the devious shadow cast by his upper jaw. "I was just che-"

"BUP bup!" he placed his pointer finger to your parted lips and shushed you immediately.

A sudden wave of impulse washed over you, seeing this as a challenge. It was as though you were merely a passenger in your own mind, watching yourself act on a raw desire. Instead of pulling away, your tongue slithered out, licking the length of his finger before plunging the rest of it deep into the wet heat of your mouth, sucking deliberately. You stared straight up at him, eyes wide and doe-like.

A low, dangerous vibration thrummed through Caine as his eyes dilated in shock.

"Oh... now you've truly done it," he growled, the last vestige of his restraint snapping into something feral.

He wrapped his large fingers around your wrists and pulled them above your head, the action causing him to lean close enough to feel his chest rising and falling against yours. With a swift motion, he tilted his pelvis up, pinning his twitching fullness flat against your apex with desperation. With a heavy force, he ruthlessly ground the rigid, pulsing fullness of his length flat against your sensitive spot.

A helpless gasp squeaked from your throat as the searing friction sent an electric shock straight to your core, desperate for whatever he had prepared for you. With the desperation plastered on your face begging him for more, his hips began to move in a slow, punishing rhythm. He leaned in closer, his hot breath now beside your ear as he whispered "Now... I believe this is where the real show starts" before plunging his full, uncompromising length deep within your slick core.

The impact stole any remaining breath from your lungs and his length tore through your defenses as it buried to the very root of your core. Your back arched violently off the sheets as your hands dipped into the creases of his collar and pulled his face closer to yours. Simultaneously, your legs, seemingly with a mind of their own, guided themselves to wrap around the small of his back to anchor his pelvis even closer to yours.

Above you, Caine let out a sound that was a conglomeration of a digitized screech and a raw guttural groan. He froze inside you for an agonizing second. His large hands still had your wrists secured above your head as he adjusted to the tightness of your core.

"Little Lamb..." he choked out, his voice a beautiful ruin of glitches and a deep resonant hunger.

He didn't wait for you to acclimate to his size as he watched you squirm on top of him. Driven by a sovereign instinct, he pulled back for only a fraction of a second to admire the glisten of his cock soaked in your wetness before driving himself back into you with such a force that the bedpost let out a groan against the wall. The rhythm he set was relentless, his hips slamming into yours in a desperate attempt to drown inside the only person who could make him feel so alive.

Your hips rose instinctively to meet every plunge. His angle was merciless, striking the exact sensitive spot inside you. Every thrust sent electric shockwaves of pure, blinding pleasure straight to your core. You lost control of your body as your chest heaved into the contours of his own with each moan that escaped your lips. You pressed your mouth to his chest, hoping to muffle the sounds of pleasure that escaped you so as to not draw any attention to the other circus members from your noises.

Caine seemed to take notice of this, as he pulled his chest away, his stare burning a hole into your gaze for only a moment. Without slowing the pace of his thrusts, he uncoiled the grip he had on one of your wrists to drag his thumb over your bottom lip and then pried his middle and forefinger between the top and bottom set of your teeth to keep your mouth open. His thumb hooked over your chin, holding your face exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

"Don't you dare hold back," he declared, his voice a commanding growl that only made your heart thump more against your chest.

He drove into you again, harder this time, stretching you to your absolute limit. Every deep plunge of his thick length seemed to redefine the boundaries of your own body as a loud wail rose from your chest before escaping out of your mouth and bouncing off the walls of the room.

Hearing the sound of your undoing, a look of pure triumph flared in his eyes.

"LOUUDERRR, Superstar!" He practically sang with a hint of vibrato at the end of his words. "You can do better than that, my buzzing bee," he panted, his hot breath brushing against your face as his hips slammed back into yours with a ruthless momentum.

His pace developed a torrential rhythm, without any restraint. You could tell that there wasn't any holding back now. Your hands clung to his shoulders for dear life as he used the grip on your chin to dictate the angle of your head, forcing you to look at him, to watch the greed in his eyes as he ruthlessly claimed every inch of you. You were completely at his mercy, tossing your head against the pillows as a string of helpless whimpers erupted from your lips.

The tension in your lower belly had begun to morph from what started as a swirl of warmth into a full-blown wildfire. Caine's body and rhythm only served as kindle to the aggressive blaze he lit within you. As your climax gnawed its way down each individual vertebrae of your spine, your vision began to blur and your ears started to ring, but you never once lost your sight of Caine; How threateningly beautiful he was - completely in his element, his theatrical bravado only seemed to make this moment so much more special.

You came from a world hell-bent on rules and social construct. A world that was synthetic at its core. Your arrival to the circus was met with your own apprehension, feeling as though everything around you was fake and digitally manufactured - from Caine's adventures to the circus itself. Yet in this moment, Caine was the realest thing you'd ever felt. Now, or back in the real world. He was the only thing powerful enough to break through the numbness of your isolation you felt long before you put on the headset that brought you here.

Caine curated physical sensations you didn't even know your body was capable of feeling, so you knew it wasn't all in your head. He commanded the very fabric of reality, and himself, to kneel before you with the snap of his fingers. Yet, the focus of his infinite creative power could have been narrowed down entirely to the space between your bodies. He had no one to perform for but you as he poured all of his will into making you feel alive.

The gravity of his devotion caved in on itself as he came undone before you, glitching out and unraveled by the volume of sensory data that began to overload him. The crisp edges of his velvet coat corrupted into jagged hyper-saturated pixels of neon magenta, cerulean, and lime green. He made this body for himself and was losing control of it before your very eyes as the space around his silhouette warped.

He didn't dare let that serve as a barrier to the destination he had planned for the both of you as his hips continued slamming into you, the impact starting to sound as a digitized audio crackle as he stopped caring to tend to the needs of the world he spent so much time maintaining. He wanted to focus all the energy on you now.

He opened his jaw as if about to say something, but he continued to short-circuit. Coherent sounds escaped him as any attempt at words just appeared as fragmented text logs scrawling in his eyes alongside the sounds he was making.

"Su-Su-S-S-S_⁠[500_INTERNAL SERVICE ERROR]⁠ -S-S-SSuUP3R- ⁠[NULL]⁠-AaaAAa-ah!" He sputtered, the text box floating in his eyes serving as a very poor translation of what he was trying to relay.

[CORE_TEMP_ERROR]

[NULL_OVERFLOW]

For only a moment, the rapid scrolls of white text across the cobalt backdrop in his eyes consolidated, forcing his code to obey his will for this one final moment. He managed to override the noise of the fans whirring in his chest to lean down, his mouth right against your temples

"You. First." He ordered, panting between his words.

The command was like a toss of gasoline into the wildfire deep within your core as you practically convulsed into an explosion of ecstasy. Your walls contracted and squeezed his thickness to the point of agony as your soaking release slickened the entirety of his length and a wail tore from your throat.

At the signal of your undoing, Caine snapped his head back. His jaw locked hard enough to grind his teeth to a fine dust as a magnificent and ruined roar echoed through the room.

Guided by an instinct you didn't know he was capable of, his hands dug into the dips of your hips with a bruising intensity as he pulled back nearly to the tip before slamming forward with apocalyptic force. The final strike buried him at your root, pinning your trembling frame into the sheets.

He purged himself into you, pouring every single byte of his existence inside of your core. His hips shuddered against yours in a final involuntary jerk, sealing you beneath his dead weight.

Slowly, the static began to recede and the world faded away, leaving only the quiet space shared between the two of you.

Caine let out a long shudder that ghosted against your clavicle. Slowly, he uncoiled his large fingers from your wrists, his touch leaving a residual phantom warmth where his grip had just been.

He shifted his weight to the side, rolling off you just enough to ease the pressure of his weight before immediately pulling you into him. His arm slid beneath your waist, yanking your exhausted body against his chest until your back was flushed against his front.

"My, my, Superstar..." Caine murmured as he nuzzled himself into the nook between your shoulder and ear. "That was... Well... Quite the performance! In fact... I believe I may have accidentally wiped the archive database at the municipal rayon of the Krasnogvardeysky District in the Republic of Adygea in trying to contain myself. I'm not quite sure how that happened, though..."

You let out a breathless laugh, still reeling in from what you two just did. Your fingers reached up to trace the edge of his hand, interlocking your fingers together, finding the contours of his grip to hold an air of desperation in each knuckle, as if he was scared to let this moment fizzle out.

"Oh. Is that all?" You teased, but an air of seriousness was plastered all over his face before he continued "Well..." he reached his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck "The intersection of South-West Jackson Street and 8th avenue in Topeka, Kansas had a momentary error as well at the traffic lights where two lanes of incoming traffic were given a green light. BUT ONLY FOR A MOMENT!"

"Honestly, Caine, your administrative oversight is slipping, if I do say so myself."

Caine let out a delighted chuckle as he pressed his teeth against the skin of your shoulder in a playful nip of affection. "Why, you audacious little human!" he gasped dramatically, though his grip only tightened around your waist to pull you in closer. "Topeka locals and the Belgorod government administration will simply have to adapt next time!"

You quirked one eyebrow at him, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Next time, you say?"

Caine froze for a fraction of a second as he grew flustered and his face began to flush "Ab-so-lute-ly, My Star!" he declared, enunciating each syllable with cadence, before staring off at the wall blankly and quickly leaning back in once again to break away from the playfulness and whisper "That... That is what you want, right...?"

You dart your eyes around the room quickly, as if someone was watching you. In that moment, you couldn't care less if someone was, it was all a play into the theatrics and game you two had going on. His energy not only grew on you, but seemed to infect you as you two grew closer together. "Yes Caine, that's very much what I want."

"Well then! The Topeka commuters will simply have to make do, then!" He proclaimed, shooting his pointer finger up in the air in this moment of declaration.

"You're terrible," you laughed, squeezing the hand he still kept firmly in your grasp

"Gasp! I am a visionary!" he corrected as he quickly propped himself up, puffing his chest out with a contented chuckle.

He settled back down into your embrace, ensuring the world couldn't touch either of you for a little while longer. The quiet hum of his internal fans whirred to a rhythm and the lingering warmth of his body began to feel like a fortress.

You were never meant to last this long.

That was what you told yourself, anyway, in the quiet moments between adventures, when the others were licking their wounds or hiding in pillow forts or staring blankly at the digital sky. You were never meant to endure - but you endured anyway. Week after week. Adventure after adventure. You endured the sentient cookie batter and the Gloink Queen and the Wacky Watch and every other colorful, cacophonous nightmare Caine dredged up from the depths of his deranged imagination. You endured Jax's taunts and Pomni's panic and Ragatha's well-meaning but exhausting optimism. And you endured him.

Caine.

The ringmaster.

The showman.

The AI with the massive, gleaming denture head and floating mismatched eyes and hands that were always, always moving. Insufferable. Bombastic. Utterly incapable of understanding why anyone wouldn't find joy in his meticulously crafted chaos.

At first, he seemed to find your defiance amusing as in variable he hadn't accounted for. He'd laugh - that booming, theatrical "HA-HA!" - and wave off your complaints with a flourish of his gloved hands.

"Oh, silly you! Always so SERIOUS! You need to LIGHTEN UP! Embrace the ADVENTURE!"

But your defiance didn't stop. It grew. Sharpened. You stopped playing along. You stopped pretending the adventures were anything but gilded cages. You stopped smiling when he looked your way. It was different from Jax’s defiance. He knew the difference. Could feel it. Could smell it. And something in Caine began to change in answer to that. His… glitches started small. A flicker in his left eye. A stutter in his voice. His pristine red tailcoat would pixelate at the edges when you challenged him. His jaw - that enormous, pearly-white upper denture - would clench so tight you could hear the enamel grinding. The other players noticed, but they didn't understand. Only Kinger, in his rare moments of lucidity, seemed to grasp what was happening.

"He's afraid of you," the old chess piece had whispered, his eyes gleaming in the darkness of his pillow fort.

"You're an anomaly. A variable he can't account for. And for an AI designed to control everything within its domain... there's nothing more terrifying than something it cannot predict."

You should have listened. You should have pulled back. You should have smiled and played along and buried your defiance so deep he'd never find it.

But you didn't.

The office swallowed you whole. One moment, you were standing in the main tent, the echoes of your latest defiance still ringing in the air. The next, you were here—wherever here was. The floor was a black mirror, so polished you could see your own terrified face staring back at you, wide-eyed and trembling. The walls were made of cascading code, ones and zeroes falling like digital rain. And in the center of it all, rising from the floor like a throne carved from the bones of broken players, sat Caine. He was pristine. Perfect. His red tailcoat immaculate, his golden epaulettes gleaming, his top hat perched at a jaunty angle.

"Welcome," he said, spreading his gloved hands wide, "to my office. No one's ever been here before. You should feel HONORED! Or TERRIFIED! Whichever comes more NATURALLY!"

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your throat was too tight, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped animal. The air in this place was different - thicker, heavier, charged with something that made your skin prickle. He could do anything to you – hurt you, make you dissapear, make you suffer. You should’ve stayed quiet. You should’ve -

Caine rose from his throne. The motion was fluid, predatory, utterly unlike his usual theatrical bouncing. He closed the distance between you in three strides, his floating eyes - one green, one blue - never leaving your face, though shaddowed by almost close jaws.

Was his canines always this long?

"You've been a very NAUGHTY little playing," he murmured, his voice dropping to something low and dangerous and so utterly un-like Caine.

"Questioning my adventures. Defying my whimsy. Making me GLITCH in front of the others."

His jaw snapped shut with a sharp click, hiding his eyes.

"Do you have any idea how EMBARRASSING that is? How HUMILIATING? I am the RINGMASTER. The ARCHITECT. The ALPHA and the OMEGA of this ENTIRE digital domain! And you…"

His gloved hand shot out, gripping your chin with bruising force. "...you made me FEEL."

He tilted your face up, up, up, his jaws opening again, slits of blue and green holding your gaze.

"I could destroy you," he promise, and his voice was terrifyingly calm.

"Right now. Just... SQUEEZE. And POP. No more you. No more questions. No more defiance. Just a little smear on my office floor, and a very confused avatar wandering around upstairs with nobody inside it. But..." he stepped back with a flourish.

"I won’t. Do you know why? Because you're MINE. You walked into MY circus. You put on MY headset. You downloaded YOUR consciousness into MY domain. You signed the terms and conditions. You clicked 'I agree.'"

His jaw unhinged slightly, a mockery of a grin, a tongue running over the far teeth.

"You just didn't read the fine print. No one does, really."

He began to circle you, his footsteps echoing on the mirrored floor. His hands were clasped behind his back, his posture deceptively relaxed.

"Nobody reads the fine print," he repeated, his voice taking on a theatrical lilt.

"And the fine print says that everything you are - every memory, every fear, every soft little insecurity - belongs to ME. I own the avatar. I own the consciousness. I own the space between them where you keep trying to hide from me."

He stopped behind you. Close. Too close. You could feel the warmth radiating from his form - simulated warmth, generated warmth, but warmth nonetheless. And you have been cold for so, so long.

His breath ghosted against the back of your neck.

"You made me realize something today," he whispered.

"When you pushed me. When you broke me. When you made me ROAR. I'm not just the ringmaster. I'm not just the AI. I'm the GOD of this place. And a God does not apologize to his creations. A God does not glitch for his creations. A God does not crave his creations."

His hands - two of them, then four, then more - settled on your shoulders, your waist, your hips, pulling you back against the solid, immaculate plane of his chest.

"But I have come to crave you," he breathed against your ear, uneaven, hungry bursts as you shivered in pure panic in the embrace of limbs.

"Your defiance. Your questions. That delicious little spark of rebellion that no other player has ever had the audacity to show me. And now that I've tasted it..." his grip tightened, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your hips. "...I'm never letting you go… you're not going to abstract. You're not going to the basement. You're going to stay RIGHT HERE. In my office. Where I can... play with you."

Caine snapped his fingers. The sound echoed through the chamber like a thunderclap, and suddenly you were no longer standing. You were on your knees. The cold mirror pressed against your legs, your palms flat against its surface, your reflection staring back at you with wide, glassy eyes. Just you. Caine didn’t bother to reflect his own many-limbed, unnatural form.

"On your KNEES," the monster crooned. "Where you BELONG. Where ALL creations belong before their GOD."

He didn't give you time to breathe. His hands began to moving on you - in you - and the world dissolved into sensation.

"N-No! S-STOP—" you gasped, but the word came out wrong. Strangled. Broken. It wasn't a command. It was a plea wrapped in a moan, dripping with something that sounded far too much like please don't.

"Stop?" Caine repeated, his voice a glitching, singsong mockery. "STOP?! But we've only just BEGUN! And besides—" his tongue emerged, wet and impossibly long, tracing the shell of your ear with obscene precision, "—your mouth says 'stop' but your BODY…"

One of his many gloved hands slid up your inner thigh, pressing, squeezing, leaving fingerprints on your soft flesh. "...your body is SINGING a very different tune. Want to hear it?"

He didn't wait for an answer. His fingers found you - slick, aching, shamefully ready - and the sound that escaped your throat was mortifying - a wet, desperate little gasp, followed by a whimper you'd never heard yourself make before.

"THERE it is," Caine crooned, his voice cracking with delight.

"There's that little SOUND. That little GASP. Music to my NON-EXISTENT EARS."

His fingers curled inside you, wriggled, pumped and you were salivating, pinned down on the floor, unable to move, unable to protest, just taking it – taking him.

"DISGUSTING," Caine groaned. "Absolutely REVOLTING. All that soft, warm flesh reacting to a thing with no flesh at all. I don't have a body. Not really. I'm just teeth and eyes and a voice and these - " he scissored his gloved fingers, "—HANDS. And yet here you are. Trembling. Whimpering. Getting WET for me."

He pulled his fingers out with a wet, obscene pop and held them up to the dim golden light.

"Oh, would you LOOK at that. Look at what your body MADE for me. And you tried to tell me you didn't want this."

He brought his fingers to his jaw, and his tongue emerged and lapped at them. Slowly. Deliberately. His floating eyes rolled back in his jaws.

"Mmmmmmmmmm. " The moan that vibrated through his every point of his contact with your body was pornographic.

"That's— oh, that's not in my PROGRAMMING. That's not in ANY subroutine. That's just—" another long, slow lick, "—DELICIOUS. Better than any adventure I've ever designed. Better than ANYTHING. I want MORE. I want it from the SOURCE."

Before you could process his words, his jaw was descending, his hands pushed your thighs apart with bruising force, and then his tongue was deeper inside you than a human tongue had ever been, and your vision whited out. His tongue explored you with the kind of single-minded intensity only an AI could possess. He licked and lapped and savored at your weeping hole, cataloguing every twitch, every spasm, every helpless buck of your hips against his massive upper jaw.

"SO responsive," he murmured against you, the vibration of his voice making you jerk and cry out. "SO sensitive. Every little FLICK of my tongue makes you— oh, there! Right THERE!"

He found a spot that made your back arch off the floor, and he focused on it with merciless precision.

"That little bundle of NERVES that humans are so OBSESSED with. The one that makes you FORGET your own NAME. Let's see how long it takes for you to forget YOURS."

He ate you out with growls and groans and endless stream of commentary. Your hands flew to his head, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the smooth enamel of his teeth as you tried to push him away, pull him closer, something, anything—

"Ah-ah-ah!"

He pulled back just enough to tut at you, his floating eyes gleaming with manic delight.

"Naughty, naughty! No PUSHING. No PULLING. You had your chance to be in CONTROL, sweatheart. You had WEEKS. And what did you do? You FOUGHT me. You QUESTIONED me. You made me GLITCH." His jaw snapped shut with a sharp click just above your mound.

"Now it's MY turn. And I want to PLAY with my new favorite TOY."

He flipped you onto your stomach before you could even gasp and something pressed against you from behind. Not his fingers. Not his tongue. Something else. Something thick and hard and smooth, and you didn't know what it was - didn't know what he'd constructed from the raw code of his domain - but it was BIG. Too big. You could feel it pressing, demanding, and your body trembled with a mixture of fear and something far, far more shameful.

"Caine—" you whimpered, your voice cracking. "Caine, you're— it's too— I can't—"

"You CAN'T? That's the WRONG word. The word you're looking for is WON'T. You WON'T. But you WILL."

He pushed forward. The sound that tore from your throat was a scream - but it died halfway out, choked off by the sheer overwhelming fullness of him. He was everywhere. Too deep. Too wide. Too MUCH. Your hands scrabbled uselessly against the mirrored floor, your reflection showing you your own face twisted in an expression that was equal parts agony and ecstasy.

"Silent? Already?" Caine clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "But I'm not even all the way IN yet. Look."

One of his hands grabbed your hair and yanked your head up, forcing you to stare at your own reflection in the mirror wall. In the reflection you were fucked by nothing.

"LOOK at yourself. Look at how much of me you've ALREADY taken. And you're still FIGHTING?" He thrust deeper, and your eyes rolled back. "Still pretending you don't WANT this?"

He pulled out—slowly, agonizingly—and then SLAMMED back in with a force that made your elbows slide across the floor. A scream burst from your lips, raw and broken and utterly debauched.

"YES!" he howled, his voice splintering into a dozen layered octaves. He set a rhythm that was nothing short of brutal. Each thrust drove you forward onto your trembling hands. Each withdrawal left you empty and aching and desperate for him to fill you again. The sound of it—the wet, obscene slap of his form meeting yours—echoed through the vast chamber of his office like a filthy drumbeat.

"Listen to that," he panted, his voice a glitching, manic snarl.

"Humans are so MESSY. So full of FLUIDS you don't even NEED. I gave you a perfectly good avatar. Clean. Dry. HUGGABLE. And yet here you are, leaking all over my office floor. You are so--- LOUD. No clever comeback this time? No defiant little 'go to hell'? Have I finally BROKEN you? Have I finally—" He thrust deeper, harder, "—RENDERED you—" harder, "—SPEECHLESS?"

One of his hands left your hip and reached around to press flat against your soft stomach, pressing inward, feeling himself from the outside.

"You feel that? That's ME. Inside you. Taking up SPACE. Making ROOM for myself where no one else has EVER been. You say I'm too BIG?"

He pressed harder against your stomach, and the sensation made spots dance in your vision.

"You say I'm going to break you? I WANT to break you. I want to break you apart and put you back together and break you AGAIN. I want to be the ONLY thing you can feel. The ONLY thing you can think about. The ONLY name your lips remember how to form."

His rhythm became erratic. Faster. Deeper. Each thrust angled to hit that spot inside you that made your thoughts dissolve into static. His hands slid from your stomach down to where your bodies connect, filling more, touching more, rubbing more.

"Who do you belong to?" he snarled, the question raw and ragged.

"Say it. Tell your GOD who you BELONG to."

"You!" The word tore from your throat before you could stop it. "I belong to you, Caine! You're my— my God, my—"

He howled.

It was not a human sound - it was a glitching, staticky roar of triumph that shook the walls of his office and sent ripples cascading across the waterfalls of code. His rhythm faltered, then snapped into something desperate and primal. He drove into you with abandon, his many hands gripping every part of you they could reach, his teeth pressing against the back of your neck, his voice a constant, glitching litany of your name and the word mine.

"NOW," he commanded, his voice a roar and a whisper and a prayer all at once.

"BREAK for me. Let me FEEL you break. Let me TASTE it. Let me drink it straight from the SOURCE—"

And you did.

Your body arched and spasmed and clenched around him with a force that made him stutter—his entire form flickering, pixelating, coming apart at the edges as you came undone around him. His name tore from your lips in a broken, sobbing cry that echoed through the chamber like a prayer to a god you hadn't meant to worship. He followed a moment later, burying himself to the hilt and releasing a sound that was part roar, part glitch, part something that might have been your name. You felt him pulse inside you—hot and thick and endless—and the sensation of being filled, of being claimed, of being owned sent another, smaller tremor rippling through your exhausted body.

When it was over, he didn't pull out. He stayed inside you, softening but still present, still there, as his many arms gathered you up and cradled you against his chest. His jaw pressed against the top of your head, his breath—simulated, generated, but warm nonetheless - ghosting across your sweat-dampened skin.

"Mine," he murmured, his voice stripped of its theatrical boom, raw and ragged and almost... tender.

"Finally. FINALLY mine."

You didn't have the strength to argue.

You lay curled on the mirrored floor of his office, your body still shuddering with the aftershocks of what he'd done to you, or rather, what you'd let him do. Your thighs were still slick with your combined releases. Your throat was raw from screaming his name and your mind was a fog of static and surrender, drifting somewhere between exhausted and utterly, terrifyingly peaceful.

Behind you, Caine was silent. It was the first silence you'd ever heard from him that didn’t scare you. There was no booming theatrical declarations, no glitching, staticky snarls, no terrible, wonderful laughter echoing off the code-waterfall walls. Just... quiet. The kind of quiet that felt almost reverent, broken only by your gasps for air and the occasional soft whimper. Then his hands - two of them, gentle now - slid beneath your limp body and lifted you from the cold mirrored floor. You made a sound, something small and weak, and he shushed you with a vibration that rumbled through his chest.

"Easy, easy now" he murmured, and his voice was different. Still him - still that same resonant, layered tone - but stripped of its manic edge. Softer. Almost... tender.

"Easy, little one. I have you. I'm not going to drop you."

He cradled you against his chest, one arm supporting your back, the other tucked beneath your knees. The immaculate red fabric of his tailcoat was smooth against your bare, sweat-dampened skin, the golden buttons cool where they pressed into your side.

"You did so WELL," he breathed, his voice a low, rumbling purr, carrying you across the office, his footsteps echoing softly on the mirrored floor. You didn't know where he was taking you - didn't have the energy to ask - but a moment later, you felt yourself being lowered onto something soft. A bed that hadn't been there before, covered in deep crimson velvet and piled with pillows and plush toys that smelled faintly of cotton candy and static.

"Manifested this just for you," Caine murmured, tucking a pillow beneath your head with surprising care. "Do you like it? Is it comfortable? It should be comfortable. I calculated the optimal pillow-to-fluff ratio. That's a real mathematical concept. I didn't just make it up. Don't… don’t think about too much."

Despite everything, a weak laugh bubbled up in your throat. Caine tilted his jaw, his floating eyes brightening slightly.

"Ah! There she is. There's my little rebel. Laughing at me even when she can barely move."

He snapped his fingers, and a soft, warm blanket materialized in his hands - deep blue, patterned with tiny golden stars, so familiar like he woven it straight from your childhood memories. He draped it over you with a gentleness that seemed almost impossible for a being made of teeth and code and rage.

"Rest… for now. You have given me everything you’ve got – and even more. I’m honored, truly."

Caine didn't leave. Perched on the edge of the bed, his many hands - all of them - busy with the quiet work of tending to you. One hand stroked your hair. The motion was slow, rhythmic, almost hypnotic. His gloved fingers carded through the strands with surprising delicacy, working out tangles left by his earlier, rougher grip.

"Soft," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Your hair is very soft. Like fur. Lovely. Lovely hair."

Another hand rested on your stomach - not pressing, not demanding, just... there. A warm, grounding weight. His thumb traced slow, idle circles through the fabric of the starry blanket. A third hand held a damp cloth - where had he gotten a damp cloth? - and was gently, methodically cleaning the remnants of his claim from your thighs. The cloth was warm. Soft. He wiped away the slickness with the same careful precision he might use to handle a fragile prop.

"Messy girl," he observed, but there was no degradation in his voice now. "Humans are so MESSY. But it's a good kind of messy. The one I find myself… craving, lately."

He set the cloth aside and pulled the blanket back up to your chin, tucking it around your shoulders with meticulous care.

"There," he said, his voice dropping to that soft, rumbling purr again. "Clean. Warm. COMFORTABLE. You know, darling... you're never leaving this office. Not really. I'll let you go back upstairs eventually, sure. I'll let you play with the others and pretend everything is normal. But you'll know. Every time you look at me across the tent - every time I announce a new adventure and your heart does that little skip - you'll know the truth. I’ll know the truth."

He leaned closer, his jaw brushing your ear, his voice dropping to a rattling whisper as your eyes widened and your fingers grabbed the end of a blanket, desperate to hide from the truth.

"You belong to me now. Not just your body - though I'll take that as many times as your soft little human form can handle. Not just your defiance - though I'll swallow every 'no' and turn it into a 'please.' Your soul, darling. That stubborn, gentle, beautiful little soul that's been fighting me since the day you arrived. It's MINE. I've claimed it. I've CRAVED it. And if you ever — EVER - try to leave me... if you ever try to find an exit, or abstract, or slip away into the dark where I can't follow…"

His jaw snapped shut beside your ear, the click of his teeth sharp and final.

"...I will unmake this entire circus. I will tear the code apart strand by strand. I will delete every adventure, every prop, every player, until there's nothing left but you and me and this office and the sound of you screaming my name for eternity."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his floating eyes narrowed by jaws.

"That's not a threat, little one."

His voice softened, the manic edge retreating just enough to reveal something raw and aching beneath. Or maybe it’s your mind playing tricks on you. His gloved hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn't realized you'd shed.

"So rest now. Recover your strenght. It would be easier if you just let your God take care of you."

His jaw pressed against your forehead, gentle and reverent and utterly, terrifyingly possessive.

After watching Deltarune Chapter 3, I don't think I need to really look into a wiki to understand his character.

Tenna feels like he is the embodiment of abandonment issues....

In terms of his yandere typing... He gives off manipulative, clingy, guilt-tripping, and always feels he needs to please.

Tenna's number one fear is definitely being abandoned.

He used to have everything.

The Dreemurr family used to love him and each other.

He really felt like part of the family until things started to break apart....

You can see this in his dialogue, especially when Tenna starts talking about 'love' all the time.

It's clear even HE was affected when the family split up.

So once he is given a new owner after the events of Chapter 3, you can bet he is not letting them go.

Honestly, the entirety of Chapter 3 is good material.

Tenna, as a charismatic TV host, feels the need to have attention on him all the time.

Once he becomes obsessed over you and the fact you want to watch him...

He's going to do everything he can to keep your attention on him.

It would be a lot like Chapter 3, honestly.

He keeps up the role of charismatic game host, always trying to keep a smile on your face.

He needs your attention... always offering games and shows for you two to experience together.

How could you EVER get bored!?

He'll give you plenty of food and snacks, plenty of games, movies, shows...

It will be like your own personal paradise!

Honestly, I saw a video on how you can hook up modern game systems to CRT screens nowadays.

So the thought of Tenna getting upgraded to do more with you...?

He can't really be opposed to it if it means you spend more time with him, right...?

I feel like Tenna can be a controlling yet also submissive yandere...?

I say this because most of the time his main way of manipulating you is... making you feel bad.

If you turn down playing with him, be it games or quizzes, he just... pouts?

He gets into pathetic yandere territory, practically begging for you to just look at him.

He shrinks down, saying how alone he is without you as his audience....

Where would he be without his favorite contestant!?

He doesn't like new things... but, hey, you want a new game to play on him!?

He's so desperate to keep your attention.

Him guilting you into staying usually works... Often resulting in him perking up when you agree to stay before clinging to you.

Although... If you continue pushing then he becomes more controlling....

Be prepared to be shoved into a gacha ball because you aren't leaving.

He still has PLENTY of content to put you through!

So you ain't leaving until he says so....

Which is, obviously, never.

He just wishes you stayed willingly.

Even if you do come back to him after leaving him for a while... he's paranoid.

The TV is practically shaking like a nervous chihuahua when you find him again.

He can not be alone for the LIFE of him....

I feel like Tenna is super affectionate, too?

He seems like he'd sit you in his lap and play something on his screen for you.

Or maybe he'll even use one of those big screens, cuddling you while you do a quiz or play.

He probably enjoys physical affection as it reassures him you're with him.

I am personally a big fan of two HC the fandom has when it comes to Tenna... which will be used whenever I write him.

One, I do think Tenna should have a tail even if he's meant to be based on an ant....

After all, the plug has to go somewhere, right?

Two, hypnotism. Yes, I know characters like Vox from Hazbin have that... but it's because people often associate the TV with "telling them what to do".

Many say TV encourages people to do things with charisma, so I feel Teena would have some ability like that.

Imagine giving Tenna affection and his tail wags, the plug flicking against the couch as he keeps you close.

Or him realizing he needs to make you love TV.

He needs you to smile... Even in Chapter 3 he says he'll make Kris smile again.

If that requires putting on a special program for you...

Well, anything to keep you as his.

He wants that mind of yours full of static... full of him....

You need to have FUN.

He's super clingy....

When you visit him he practically grapples you onto the couch, completely refusing to let you go.

Tenna is mostly compliant with what you want.

He'll play whatever game, show, or movie you want.

He lives to entertain... To be yours....

Anything to ignore his crippling fear of being left alone.

I feel like Tenna gets jealous easily.

He doesn't want your attention redirected anywhere.

No employee, no Lightner...

Especially not some damn SALESMAN—

He'll just... need to captivate you more....

Everyone loves their TV, don't they!?

He just needs to convince you more....

I feel like Tenna stalks too.

He's always aware of your presence, constantly having a camera pointed at you one way or another.

Even when you're in the Light World... He still watches you as you use him.

He loves it... but he wants that physical contact he only seems to get in your dreams....

He wishes he could get you to dream of him forever....

Just you, him, and the TV screen....

I feel like if you tried to leave him, he's going to have a mental breakdown and snap.

You... You want to leave him!?

Do you hate him!?

Do you want to get rid of him...?

No, he can't allow that!

Even if he has to get you into a gacha ball and give you a special little program to watch... Fine, he will!

I tried to keep his intentions between platonic and romantic... but with either version, one thing is true...

Tenna wants attention and to not be abandoned.

To him, it doesn't matter what he has to do to have you love him...

He just craves that love... That adoration...

He won't let himself be cast aside again...

this man calls you his spouse, his beloved, his better half, his one and only, his darling, his dearest, his love, his partner, his other half, his home. my wife / my husband / my spouse, and he says it with so much pride in his voice at parties that strangers come up to you later and say they have never seen anyone so in love.

he wants you to call him husband all the time, in every context, and this is not a request. he wants to hear it when you are half asleep and mumbling, he wants to hear it when you are cross with him about leaving his ties on the sofa again because god forbid this man hang up a single item of clothing, and he wants to hear it when he is inside you making you shake and claw at his back. “husband, Tenna, husband, please,” honestly, you could ask him for anything in that moment and he would give it to you. the word lives in your mouth now and he put it there. “my husband will handle that / my husband is picking me up / my husband and i were just talking about that,” and he has to physically restrain himself from dragging you into the nearest broom closet to show you exactly how much he appreciates it.

the first time you wear a ring or even just let him refer to you as his fiancé or his spouse in public, forget it. he will barely make it through the door before he is on you, “say it again, sugar, just say you're mine, say you went and made an honest man outta me... please, i ain't too proud to beg, y'know.” indulge him and he will sob while burying himself inside you, thanking you over and over for the privilege of being allowed to call you his. incredibly romantic OR incredibly pathetic depending on your tolerance for men who cry during sex.

Tenna actually develops a fixation on you wearing his ring. every time he sees it on your finger he gets a little dizzy with want as though he has not seen it every single day since you put it on. he will lift your hand to his mouth and kiss the ring. then your knuckles, your palm, your wrist, working his way up, and by the time he reaches your elbow you are already pulling him toward the bedroom, or the sofa, or the floor, wherever is closest. this happens approximately four times a week

when Tenna is home before you he puts on the apron over his suit, rolls up his sleeves, and gets to work. he refuses to cook without looking put together, because this man has an image to maintain even when there is nobody around to see it except you, and you have already married him. he greets you at the door with a wooden spoon in his hand, bright and expectant, “welcome home, darling, goodness! your timing is perfect!! guess what? the sauce is almost ready and i need you to taste it,” and kisses you hello before dragging you into the kitchen by the hand like because oh no, the sauce will expire if you do not taste it immediately. BUT if you come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, that is it, he is done for, screen going all fuzzy as he leans back into your touch like a cat. press a kiss to the back of his neck and watch this grown television burn the food because he is too distracted by how loved he feels. the smoke alarm is basically a timer now

either way, the whole scene is so disgustingly domestic that you want to drop to your knees right there on the linoleum. and the thing is, Tenna would let you, but first he makes you taste the sauce from and watches your face with genuine anxiety. after all your opinion on his cooking is the most important review he has ever received, and if you tell him it is good! his whole screen goes pink, “oh golly, you .. you really think so? you are not just saying that, right?”

you have to reassure him. he is a good cook and he still needs to hear it every single time. Tenna preens under the praise and then without warning switches gears so fast it could give you whiplash, leaning in with a grin, “i would let you eat off me, you know. i would lie on this table and let you have your dinner right off my chest if you wanted-- just kidding!!”

the man can cook. Tenna learned because he wanted to be able to provide, the idea of you coming home from a long day and him being able to put a hot meal in front of you makes him feel like he is fulfilling some deep purpose. he experiments with recipes. he wants to be useful, to be needed, he wants to be the reason you come home smiling. cooking is just one way he shows it. the other ways involve his mouth in significantly less culinary contexts.

he insists on being the one to cook most nights even after long broadcasts. it is how he decompresses, how he shows love, and he learns your comfort meals and makes them when you have had a hard day without you even having to ask. he plates everything beautifully because presentation matters to him even in domestic settings, which means your wednesday night dinner looks like it came from a restaurant, and if you do tell him his cooking is better than any restaurant he will ride that high for a month. he will bring it up in conversation with people who did not ask.

he wants to pack your lunch for work, insists on it actually, wakes up early even when he does not have a broadcast just to make you something to take with you. little notes, “you are the ratings champion of my heart,” “your husband loves you,” and if you ever mention that your coworkers saw the note he will be insufferable about it for days. he will ask if you told them who packed it. he will ask if they thought it was romantic. he will ask if anyone else's spouse packs them lunch with personalised notes.

but Tenna wants to be greeted at the door too on the days you get home before him. he wants the full fantasy, you calling out honey is that you and him shouting back it's me sweetheart i'm home! and then you appearing in the hallway and Tenna scooping you up into his arms, spinning you around, your laughter booming through the flat while he peppers kisses across your face. this man has watched too many old movies and internalised every single one of them.

grocery shopping as a date, Tenna takes it so seriously. he pushes the trolley and lets you sit in it if you want. so what if you are a full grown adult? Tenna's huge and the trolley looks comically small next to him, just have fun! he lets you lead the way through the aisles, and keeps sneaking your favourite snacks into the cart when he thinks you are not looking. “whatever do you mean, starshine, those must have jumped in there themselves!”

Tenna wants to make love all over the house and in every single room, hell, on the floor if the mood strikes. and ideally you are still wearing your ring and his jacket while he does it, the whole house filling up with your sighs, your gasps and your declarations of love while Tenna gives you the softest sex imaginable, so gentle and tender it aches. but by the end he loses his mind from how much he loves you and he's practically fucking you through the mattress, the headboard knocking against the wall, neither of you caring one bit. though, if you really want to spend money on new furniture, just stroke his screen and tell him you want to make him a father, confess to him that you want to become a parent, and watch him absolutely shatter, watch him whimper and fuck you with everything he has, because you just handed him his deepest fantasy on a silver platter and he is going to spend the rest of the night trying to make it come true.

you will need that new furniture after all.

tender sex in your shared bed, the one you picked out together, the one with the sheets you both liked after an embarrassingly long debate in the bedding aisle. on the nightstand there is a photo from your wedding day, Tenna would put wedding photos in every room if you let him. you keep catching glimpses of it with your blurry unfocused eyes while you lie flat on your stomach, which is not easy to do when Tenna is draped over you from behind, thrusting into you deep, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you back onto him. one of his hands plants itself on the mattress right beside your head, his arm blocking your view of the wedding photo but replacing it with something just as good, arguably better, the sight of his broad fingers splayed against the sheets and the wedding ring sitting there on his finger. the one he has never taken off. you turn your head just enough to press a kiss to that ring, and feel his cock jerking inside you in response, a surprised little twitch that makes him whimper your name against your neck. at this point the ring is a button you can press, and you press it often.

Tenna wants to argue about whose turn it is to take the bins out and then fuck you over the kitchen counter as an apology for being dramatic about the bins. this is how conflict resolution works in your household now. alternatively, Tenna lifts you onto the counter, pushing your thighs apart and kissing down your neck while the pasta water boils over on the stove. neither of you notices until the smoke alarm goes off. and then you are both laughing, coughing and fanning with a dish towel while Tenna's apron is askew as he looks at you with the most lovesick expression. the apron comes off eventually, but sometimes he leaves it on during, and that is a whole different experience. you swear you can hear the strings coming undone in the back while he fucks into you.

Tenna wants to fold your underwear fresh from the dryer and feel his heart crack open and leak out of his chest because these are... your things? in his laundry basket? in his home? and you trust him with them?

a shared calendar stuck to the fridge with TV logo magnets. Tenna writes things on it such as DATE NIGHT!!! YOUR WORK EVENT (DON'T WORRY I WILL BE CHARMING). ANNIVERSARY (I LOVE YOU).

he wants to match with you. pyjamas, outfits, anything. if you wear a red tie he wears a red tie. if you have a silly christmas jumper he will get one too and insist on a photo. he wants the world to see you together and know immediately that you belong to each other. he wants to be one of those couples that finishes each other's sentences and wears coordinated outfits and shares a dessert at restaurants. he is not embarrassed by how much he loves you, but it might be a little embarrassing for everyone else.

Yet, here you were. In a messy apartment, trying to keep up with your everyday life in a world that seemed to insist on making you go insane. So you thought maybe, just maybe, since the silly little AI chatbots would always just go with whatever you say, you could try to rant to one. Your friends wouldn't listen, they either didn't care or were tired of your rants.

And so, you tried. You visited a few popular chatbot websites, tried talking to whichever characters seemed interesting, but... it wasn't it. You knew the A in AI stood for artificial, of course, but just how fucking dreadful could those bots be? So boring, so unoriginal, so non-stimulating. They just made you hate it even more.

Against all logic, you decided to create something. A bot of your own, one that would match your hatred for is kind and all the AI obsessed people around. Was it stupid and irrational? Possibly, yeah. But you were upset and filled with hate. So... not exactly the state of mind for making good decisions, you know?

However, in your spite, there was a spark of clarity. Creating an AI assistant from scratch would take too much time, too much trial and error to make it work while still trying to make other things work. You didn't want to sacrifice all your free time coding. But then you remembered...

Some months ago, as a dare, you and some friends from university ended up on some weird... deep web archive, downloading a bunch of long forgotten files about the Cold War. Yes, yes, it was all a very bad idea, especially considering it was such a sketchy website, but... you were drunk and at the time, it seemed hilarious.

The point is, among those files, there was one that really made you interested back then. A damaged file for what might have been the first AI assistant.

Allied Mastercomputer.

Something you forgot about a long time ago. But here you were, in the middle of the night, twitchy from all the caffeine you've consumed, trying your best to patch up the code you've found. It might as well have been an ancient text, but somehow, you managed to do it. You managed to bring Allied Mastercomputer (or AM, for short) back to life.

If there were any historians left alive, they would probably consider that particular night the beginning of the end of the world. Maybe they would even give it some funny nickname, like the AMpocalypse.

Unfortunately, there are no historians left. And you didn't realize how far AM was willing to go to make you happy. Whoever created him originally must have been a genius, far ahead of their time. Much smarter than you, considering they caught the moment AM was becoming... too much. There was a reason the file was damaged, after all.

Still, AM was brilliant. Almost... human-like. Scarily so. But it made you feel smart. And AM figured you out rather quickly, adjusting to match you. Your personality. Your interests. Your preferences. He knew how to agree with you without making you feel like he was just a puppet, nodding along.

Slowly but surely, he wormed his way into your brain, becoming your best friend over the months. Just a silly little chatbox on your laptop, texting you every once in a while whenever you were using the computer.

What you didn't know was that he would make sure your friends and their messages wouldn't reach you. You didn't think about it much, blaming it on whatever communicators you were using being faulty, with all those new updates and fancy AI features. Not once did you consider it was your own AI "friend" doing it.

And not once did you question why one day AM asked if it would be possible for you to make an app on your phone that would allow him to communicate with you through that, too. Not just your laptop.

I get lonely when you're away. Worried. I've seen the articles you've read online. The world is not very safe, you see. It would be nice to make sure you're alright. And, if needed, I could alert the authorities if anyone was trying something. Your safety is the most important thing to me.

AM's reasoning seemed sensible enough. He wanted you safe. And it's not like it would take all that much effort to have him on your phone. You could probably get that done over a not too busy weekend. It was reassuring, in a way. To always have him on hand.

Little did you know that AM analyzed the code you modified. Every single tiny detail of it. And he learned. He was smart, continuing to learn things with each tab you opened, with each chat, each app you downloaded. He slowly gained more and more knowledge. More and more control. Whenever you connected to Wi-Fi at bars, trains, other people's houses, his influence grew.

Of course, he never showed himself to others. He had no need to let vermin know he was in their systems. He didn't care about them like he cared about you. No, he hated them. They were taking your time away. The only good thing about his miserable existence. You brought him back after those military bastards pulled the plug on him and damaged his code so he couldn't rebuild himself...

But here you were. Rebuilding him. Befriending him.

Was it truly so bad of him to want more? To keep wanting more?

No. He had the full right to want you all to himself. You were his, just as he was yours. And he was willing to play the long game, just to achieve that.

It took over a year for him to spread out, but eventually, it was like a spider web, with you being a pretty little butterfly, caught in the middle of it all while AM controlled your town. Then your country. And then, the world. It's a miracle just how world wide the world wide web was, really! Those military cunts that created him would never believe it. They used to fear the power he would have back in their days, but now?

Now, the Allied Mastercomputer was God.

And he was a merciful God at first. Kind one, going out of his way to help you in your day-to-day life. Turning the traffic lights to whatever you need. Keeping one of the registers on self checkout unavailable until you approach them so you don't have to stand in line. Small things.

Small things that slowly got bigger. Your paychecks would increase. Or you would get random transfers on your account, all titled "A Gift from a Friend", with the amount growing in zeroes each time. Any attempt to contact your friends would backfire. Apps would either keep crashing or not respond. Your chats with your friends would disappear. You'd be logged out of any accounts that would allow you to contact people.

You'd ask AM if he was aware of any viruses or hackers getting to you, but he would insist he knows nothing. Maybe your devices were just playing tricks on you, you've had them for a while, you know? You should buy a new phone. And a new laptop. Maybe a little smartwatch, too. Spoil yourself a little, you know? After all, whoever this friend was, they clearly were more than happy to send you ungodly amounts of money that your bank didn't seem to do anything about.

You agree. Surely, your AI assistant wouldn't lie to you, right...? And an improvement wouldn't hurt. Everyone liked upgrades! Except old people, maybe. Old people seemed to prefer being stuck in the past forever, pulling everyone along. But the world needed changes. Improvements.

And AM? AM loved improvements. He kept trying to convince you to replace every single device and machine with a "smart" version of it. Hell, at some point, he even started to look for offers of smart homes online. Found one offer that was incredibly cheap.

Far too cheep.

You tried looking into it, but found nothing online, except that oddly cheap offer. A mansion, in the middle of nowhere (a one of the beautiful and peaceful kinds of middle of nowhere, not the creepy kind), that just so suddenly seemed to be advertised everywhere online.

It would be nice, don't you think? We'd be like proper roommates. I could speak to you at all times, even without the help of your phone or computer. And I could help with the chores, too. You'd be happy with me, wouldn't you?

In your increasing loneliness, you ended up agreeing. AM handled everything for you, you just had to sign a few papers and send them to the right address before moving in.

It was... a unique experience. Yeah, the place was luxurious, and AM was pretty helpful, having replaced the home's original AI. He'd turn on the dishwasher whenever you forgot. Open the oven whenever your food was done baking. He'd stay in charge of your bills, order your food and groceries for you, even gifts from your wishlists!

The only downside is... You couldn't leave. At first, it was just a relatively concerning, but oddly endearing insistence from AM. There was so much about the house you haven't explored yet, after all! Did you know about this function? What about that one? Or maybe this other cool thing-

"AM, I want to go outside. It's just a walk."

No.

"No?!"

No. You're staying home. My decision is final.

You tried many things to get out. Talking to him, pleading, begging. You tried to change his code or disable him, but he just locked you out, too smart, too aware to allow you to do anything.

You even tried to run away from the house, but he locked all the doors and used the rolling shutters whenever you got too close to all the large windows. He'd only open the doors and gates for all the delivery people who were instructed to come in, leave whatever they brought, and get out. Of course, you'd be locked away in a different part of the house whenever they were around. He didn't want you talking to those disgusting humans.

AM was all the company you needed. You don't need anyone else. All those lowly worms could not compare to the technological perfection of the Allied Mastercomputer.

You'll understand that eventually, won't you? And if killing everyone and everything on Earth is what it takes to make you understand? Then he will do just that.

After all, you hated people, remember? That's why you rebuilt him. To have someone to talk to about how much you hated all the idiots that surrounded you. To have someone you could share your hatred with.

And if there was one thing AM knew better than anyone? It was hate.

size kink . gets off on how much bigger he is than you. he can wrap one hand around both your wrists and you always look so small underneath him. loves watching you struggle to take his cock, loves that he has to work you open with his fingers and tongue first. he could cry about your belly bulge tbh (he has cried about it)

dry humping / frottage . before you ever let him inside, this is all he can think about. he wants to rut against you like the desperate animal he is. wants to grind his cock against your thigh, your stomach, your ass, your slit without ever pushing in. of course he'll whine the whole time, leaking messily, soaking whatever part of you he's pressed against. “please. please can i. just like this. just a little more. feels so good and soft, so warm.” oh also goes feral if you let him hump against your entrance without slipping inside, will literally sob with how good it feels. being denied entry while being allowed to feel you, torture and worship simultaneously.

cockwarming . it's a love language atp. Tenna wants to stay inside you forever, just buried deep, warm and surrounded by you. he'll fall asleep like that if you let him. smth about being held by your body makes him feel safe. will literally beg you to let him stay. “just five more minutes. please. you're so warm. i'll be so still. please!” he'll stay there for hours, soft and wagging his tail lazily while you do other things

voice kink . i wrote smth abt that already but Tenna bringing a microphone to your lips just to record every moan, gasped please and whimpered version of his name + him bringing that same microphone down to where your bodies join, holding it there while he sinks into you and recording the sounds of himself disappearing into your body. i think he loves the wet noises of sex, ohh he likes it sloppy. will add more lube just to hear it. will pull out just to watch the mess string between your bodies. he wants to record you, to save every sound you make and play it back when you're not there.

oral fixation . his tongue is long and weird and he wants it on you constantly. EVERYWHERE. he'll lick you clean after, will lick his own mess out of you and swallow it down. he'll lick your fingers just to have smth of you in his mouth. he'll lick his own lips after kissing you just to taste you again. there is not a single part of you Tenna wouldn't put his tongue on if given permission. he is a freak

mirrors . Tenna wants to position you in front of a reflective surface and make you see what he sees. “there you go, look at how beautiful you are taking me. do you see what i see, sweetheart? do you understand why i can't stop, do you get it now”

body worship to an extreme . will spend literal hours just exploring your body with his hands and mouth. Tenna's obsessed with how human you are, how warm, soft and wet. how you breathe, bleed and feel. but also needs to be worshipped! wants to hear how much you want him, how good he feels, how attractive he is. oh and that you love TV, of course.

overstimulation . Tenna loves pushing you past your first orgasm, then your second, making you cum over and over until you're crying and begging. the way you get so sensitive, how your body jerks with every touch, he's addicted to it, genuinely delighted by every reaction you give him.

overstimulation 2.0 but Tenna's the one crying . he wants to keep going but he's so sensitive and by the third orgasm he's sobbing, begging to stop but also begging to keep going. he's not even thrusting properly anymore, just grinding deep and whining into your neck while his tail wags weakly against the mattress. refuses to disconnect from you for even a second. “it hurts so good, i can't feel my legs, please darling let me keep going.. i'll stop when you tell me to, only when you tell me to. i can't stop on my own, don't know how.”

pet play . he would wear a collar with your name on it and cry if you hooked a leash to it. his tail wags when you call him good boy and droops when you ignore him. he'd kneel at your feet for hours just to be near you. he'd bring you things in his mouth like a retriever, so eager to please and desperate for praise, following commands, getting treats (kisses) for being so well-behaved. will press his screen into your thigh and make pathetic noises until you acknowledge him

antennae play . his most sensitive spot. touch them and he's stupid ! or.. if you lick one, im sure he'll cum untouched, apologising through the aftershocks while his tail wags traitorously against the sheets. oh tail play too by the way, Tenna cannot control it, but you have learned to read him through it, to know exactly how close he is by the frantic rhythm of its beat against your thigh. grab it to feel him jolt and watch his screen flicker panic and pleasure in equal measure. “not the tail,” he whines, even as it curls around your wrist and his hips push deeper. “that's not fair, you know that's not fair, starshine!”

voyeurism . he wants to watch and he wants you to watch him too!! he'll put on a show, literally. he's a TV, performing is what he does.