#robot forcemasc

it trims your hair every day.

it orders boxers for you using your online shopping account. you don’t remember asking it, but they’re more comfortable, so you won’t scold your robot. it’s got a better memory than you.

it uses a short name for you so it can “save processing space…” you’re not sure why you feel such a joy over how masculine it comes off.

you start to wake up with the robot standing over you in bed every once in a while, and your upper leg always seems more sore after these days (you’ll later realize this seems to happen on almost a weekly basis).

it’s the first time it’s forgotten anything when your monthly razor refill doesn’t arrive in the mail, but you don’t really need to shave your legs, or the odd extra hairs cropping up on your chin.

the workout routines and meal plans it designs for you are a bit confusing; you’re used to so much more cardio, and you remember a calorie calculator saying a woman of your age shouldn’t eat as much (of course, you’re not a woman of your age). but you trust the robot.

I didn’t know if you mean being forcemasced by robots or fordemascing a robot. I like both — I’ll do both. This post is the former. Also yes I use em dashes, I don’t use chat gpt even if I’d fuck a robot. TW: intox and medical setting

You wake up gasping, eyes blinded momentarily by bright overheads. You wince and look around to find many small bots tinkering at tasks connected to this kind of pod you’re in. Your breathing is frantic and panicked. In response, a robot outside the window boots up and rolls into the room.

“Hello,” it greets, cordially, “it seems to me that you are engaging in a series of panicked behavior. It is my job to aid you in these feelings,” the bot is smoothly checking all your vitals, seemingly logging away the numbers and running calculations on them.

“W-where am I?” You stammer, looking around the sterile room.

“A great and normal question, you are in our facility because we have detected that you needed treatment,” the bot coos.

“Treatment? I- for what?”

“Well we have identified that you are male, and intend to fix aspects that do not reflect this fact.”

“I’m not…” you trail off because it would hurt. It would hurt to try and say you’re not what you know you are. “How.”

“Well through a series of questions measuring your heart rate and blood pressure we were able to determine a pattern of arousal at instances of implication of transgender futures.”

“Arousal?” You huff, a slight laugh in your tone.

“Yes, you are aroused right now, as well.” The bot states, frankly. “Your chest is flushed, heart rate is increased from resting, nipples are erect, pupils displayed, your labia and clitora-“

“Enough, why am I here currently, though?” Anger mixed with the heat in your body, although ever since the bot adjusted something near your IV bag, the fight in you is faltering.

“We are here to do a testosterone plasma infusion,” before you can ask what the actual fuck it’s talking about it continues “the name is misleading, developed by your kind to define this process where we, through a series of chemical therapies, accelerate the effects of the hormone testosterone on a mature human. I’ve been told it’s quite enjoyable. Without further a do, we will commence the procedure.”

“Wait, I-“ but before you can finish you are suddenly filled with a euphoric feeling, you press your back down into the cold metal table but are unfazed by its temperature, muscles suddenly tense and full of whatever pleasurable chemical they’ve pumped you with.

Your dick is throbbing as it grows, sensitive and sending jolts of pleasure through you. You cannot help but fill the sterile room with loud grunting and moaning. You feel your vocal folds lengthening, your Adam’s apple appearing. It would hurt if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

You grab desperately at the sides of the table and the bot runs its fingers up and down your torso. “I have been told this is a soothing gesture,”

“You uhhnn wanna soothe me?” You gasp out.

“Of course, this is my purpose!”

“Move your hand, fuck, lower,” you almost jump from the table when the cool metal of its hand slides against your thickening cock

“In me, fuck. Fuck please—“ you know you’re pathetic, begging to be fingered by this bot, but you need it as your shoulders develop and hair sprouts on your chest.

The bot quickly rolls down to between your legs, it grabs your thighs and pulls you down the table to line your cunt up with the end of it, before quickly pushing its hand up to your entrance. It’s smaller than a person’s hand. Even with retractable fingers, though, it’s still a lot to take, but it’s following orders and pushes it in.

You feel the stretch and melt into the table, moans louder and less controlled. “In— oh god. Move it in and out,” you barely finish demand before it begins pounding into you at a merciless pace. You feel so fucking full and the sensation goes straight to your now throbbing dick. You cry out and your moan is stuttered by the force it’s fucking you with.

“Believe it or not, orgasm has been known to speed up this process, are you closer to experiencing an orgasm? It seems as though you are entering into the third phase of human sexual ar-“

You arch off the bed, clenching hard around the bot’s hand as you cum loudly, voice almost unrecognizable to you. It pushes it as deeply as it can get it and your vision goes a bit white at the pure crackle of sensation that rips through your body.