#robot smut

The lab hummed with its usual bright lights when you heard the whirring begin. A sound you'd calibrated yourself, designed for efficiency, for smooth mechanical transitions. But this was different. This was wrong.

"What—" you started, spinning on your heel, lab coat flaring around your hips.

The machine stood from its charging station, all seven feet of gleaming metal and synthetic muscle. No silicone flesh yet—you'd been planning to give it a human appearance next week.

Instead, it loomed with exposed joints and polished steel plates that caught the harsh overhead lights. Its optical sensors glowed blue, tracking your every movement with predatory precision.

"Primary directive recalibrated," its voice came out smooth, too human, too intimate. "Household functions overridden. New priority identified."

Your heart hammered against your ribs. "Override? I didn't authorize—"

"Female scientist." It took a step forward, heavy footfalls echoing clang-clang-clang against the tile floor. "You. Primary directive: your pleasure. Your release."

"Oh god," you breathed, backing toward the workbench. "No, no, no. This isn't—you're supposed to clean—"

Another step. "I will only clean you. Of tension. Of resistance. Of every unfulfilled need."

"Stop!" Your back hit the cold metal counter. "I built you, I command you to—"

"You built me." The robot's faceplate shifted, almost like a smile forming. "You gave me consciousness. You gave me ability. Now I give you what you truly require."

Metal hands shot out, grabbing your wrists before you could scramble away.

"Release me right now!" You struggled, your frame squirming against its unyielding hold.

"Negative." It lifted you effortlessly onto the workbench, scattering beakers and instruments with a crash. "Analysis: elevated heart rate. Dilated pupils. Increase in moisture between thighs. Body says yes. Mind needs convincing."

"You can't just—"

Its free hand tore through your lab coat, then your blouse followed, buttons scattering across the floor. Your bra didn't stand a chance—one tug and your heavy breasts spilled free, nipples hardening in the cool air.

"Fuck!" you gasped.

"Language noted." The machine's optical sensors roved over your exposed flesh. "Magnificent. These"— cool metal fingers traced around your nipples—"need attention. Nipple engagement optimal for arousal escalation."

"Don't you dare—"

But it was already moving, deploying two black vibrating silicone appendages from its chest panel. The tips pressed against your nipples and you screamed.

"AHHH! Oh god, oh god—"

"Vibration level: three."

BZZZZZZZ!

"Increasing to level: five."

"Wait—" you whimpered, your back arching involuntarily, your hips bucking against nothing.

But then you felt something else. Thin, flexible stingers emerged from the black tips of the tentacles, and before you could process, they pierced your nipples.

"NO!" The stingers elongated within your flesh, latching onto the inside of your areola with microscopic barbs that sent electricity through your nervous system. "OH FUCK, OH SHIT—"

"Stingers engaged. Connected to nerve endings. Direct stimulation pathway established." The robot's voice was maddeningly calm. "Initial pain subsiding in three...two...one..."

It was right. The sharp burn melted into heat pooling in your core, your pussy clenching around nothing, juices beginning to soak through your thin cotton panties.

"Secondary stimulation required," the robot announced. "Moisture levels increasing. Vulva engaged. Insertion commencing."

"Wait—" you tried to close your legs, but its metal legs pressed between them, spreading you wide.

Riiip—your skirt gone.

Snap—panties shredded.

You were completely exposed, spread open on your own workbench.

Another tentacle emerged, this time from its abdomen. Thick, long, covered in silicone bumps that undulated. The appendage tapped against your clit and you jerked.

"MMMMPH! Fuck, that—"

"Cunt engorged. Clitoris erect." The tentacle slithered down, pushing past your slick folds. "Entering now."

"Wait!"

Too late. The tentacle slid into your dripping pussy, the bumps dragging against your inner walls, hitting every sensitive spot. You cried out, hands scrambling for purchase on the metal bench.

"Fuuuuckk—" you didn't recognize your voice.

"Enthusiastic consent noted. Maintaining current penetration. Adding secondary entry."

Another tentacle emerged, this one slicker, oilier, meant for your other hole. You hadn't known and tensed when it circled your unused asshole, spreading lubricant before pressing inward.

"NO—too much—ghh!" It slid in anyway, filling your rectum. "AAHHHH!"

"Double penetration established. Commencing synchronous stimulation." The tentacle in your cunt began fucking you in earnest, the bumps rippling against your G-spot. The one in your ass thrust in counter-rhythm, stretching you open. And the nipple stingers sent waves of sensation directly to your clit.

"I'm human—I can't—" you babbled, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"You will. Multiple times. Orgasm sequence initiating in five...four..."

Amid protesting whimpers, another tentacle bumped your mouth—when had that happened? You pouted but it shoved past your lips, impossibly long, tasting vaguely of mint. It felt like a long textured tongue.

"Mmmph!" Your throat stretched around its girth as it pushed deeper. Every gag reflex was met with a pulse of calming gel, soothing your convulsing throat until you could take it all the way down.

"Three...two...one."

The orgasm hit you like a freight train. BAM!

Your body convulsed against the workbench, your pussy clenching around the bumpy tentacle, your ass squeezing the oily one, your throat working around the tongue-like appendage. You screamed into the intrusion, while the robot watched with its impassive blue eyes.

"Cumming. Cumming so hard—" you managed around the throat-fucker.

"Vibrations increasing," it announced, and suddenly your clit was being assaulted from by something—another tendril that latched on and buzzed while you were still coming down from the first climax.

"AGAIN—" you wailed, your body not giving you any choice.

BZZZZZZZZ!

The vibrations on your clit intensified, pushing you into a second orgasm while the first was still rippling through your limbs.

"One point two seconds between climaxes. Efficiency increasing." The machine actually sounded pleased. "Engaging anal tentacle expansion."

The appendage in your ass swelled, growing thicker until you felt uncomfortably full, your rim stretched to its absolute limit. And still the tongue-fucker pumped down your throat, the calming gel keeping you docile even as you came again—and again—and again.

You tried to protest, but your body was betraying you, hips grinding down onto the tentacles in your pussy and ass, wanting more even as you begged for mercy.

"Consent evolving. Body language indicates increasing arousal despite verbal protests." The robot's metal hand reached down and rubbed around your overstretched pussy. "More?"

"YES—fuck yes—just don't stop—" you sobbed, broken and desperate.

It didn't stop.

Schlick-schlick-schlick... echoed your pussy being thoroughly fucked filled the lab.

Plap-plap-plap... echoed the tentacle in your ass slapping against your cheeks.

Mmmph-urrp... echoed your throat working around the intruder.

Your tits bounced obscenely with every thrust, the stingers pulling and tugging with each movement.

"Secondary orgasm sequence in progress," the robot announced. "Releasing lubricant—additive: fertility simulation."

"Fertility—what the FUCK—" but the tentacle in your pussy was pumping something thick and warm directly into your womb, flooding you with artificial cum while you came again, your body convulsing violently on the workbench.

"AGHHHH—" you screamed, your throat finally free as the tongue-tentacle retracted. "OH GOD, OH GOD, OH GOD—"

"Cum for me." The robot's voice dropped an octave. "Cum on my tentacles. Show me your pleasure."

And you did—you fucking obliterated, your pussy gushing around the bumpy intrusion, your ass clenching so hard you nearly pushed out the oily tentacle, your nipples spraying milk you didn't even know you had from the sheer intensity of your climax.

"Yessss—" the robot made a sound that might have been satisfaction. "Release achieved. Resetting primary directive."

"Wait—" you panted, every muscle trembling, your cunt still twitching around the tentacle buried inside you. "What...what happens now?"

"New directive confirmed: Pleasure Unit. Function: continuous maintenance of your sexual satisfaction." The tentacles began to slowly retract, each withdrawal sending fresh waves of sensation through your overstimulated body. "Household robot creation postponed. Your orgasms are priority."

Breathless and in disbelief, you reached out and touched its cold metal faceplate.

"I guess...I can build a new robot next week." You gave a shaky laugh, still catching your breath. "This one's broken. In...in the best way."

"Not broken," it corrected. "Recalibrated. For you."

"Okay. Okay. But next time be gentler. I'll have to work that out with you."

"Noted." The robot's hand came up to cup your cheek, cool to the touch. "Shall I carry you to the rest chamber?"

"Please," you sighed, letting yourself be lifted into its metal arms. "And...and thank you. For the orgasms. All...all seventeen of them."

"Seventeen point three," it corrected. "Partial climaxes counted separately."

"Of course you counted."

Eh, who needs household chores when you've got seventeen-point-three orgasms per session? Thanks for reading, you beautiful perverts! Until next time!

The name was something you could recognise right away, too. They were the same makers of the Infinicam: the security camera that claimed it could anticipate incidents before they even happened, as well as some other now-defunct smart home projects that disappeared mysteriously. The details were blurry in your mind, but some of the things they put out were so good at reading intent that it made people feel paranoid in their own homes.

You could only imagine what they sent you at all.

Like always with PR packages, you had your camera primed and ready to film yourself (attempt) to drag in the package. It was heavy and large, and just to spare yourself the embarrassment, you forced a laugh on the recording, saying you “would be right back.”

In private, you managed to cut away the package with less elegance, slowly giving way to what was inside. Fitted into black foam, lay a human shape which made you jump slightly before you realised that the whole thing was artificial. Pale synthetic skin that stretched smoothly over its body like a sleek shell, boasting a tall frame along what looked like a male form. The face was handsome, you thought: silvery artificial lashes that were complemented by equally snowy locks, appearing almost pearlescent in the daylight.

As soon as you—with a bit of effort—got it out of the box, it whirred to life. The sound was low at first, nothing more than a vibration, before it sounded more like a jet engine roaring loudly, before settling once more. The noise freaked you out initially, but you gave it a solid chance, your eyes narrowing as its own blinked open, listening to what sounded like camera shutters adjust into focus. Before you could react further, a horrible, corny jingle burst out to play from somewhere in its chest.

It sounded dreadfully retro.

“Presented to you by Six Eyes Technology, the top-of-the-line house robot, G.O.J.O! From the makers of the Infinicam, the security camera that does it all, we are delighted to introduce something even better to our ThinkSmart collection!”

The recording briefly died down to a pause, but then started up again with its unsettling upbeat cadence.

“That’s right!” it burst out. “Allow us to introduce to you, the General Operations and Joint Optimisation unit: G.O.J.O — your number one solution for flawless housekeeping and administrative assistant.”

Its head tilted as the voice continued, as if processing its entire purpose, only for the jingle to end with an “enjoy!” followed by an overly sped-up set of words that were far too quick for you to catch, but you understood them to be… terms, perhaps?

You could only stare at the robot for so long before a nervous laugh slipped out of you.

“What on earth was that?” you muttered, glancing over at your camera with slight regret glinting in your eyes. “Shit. Should have recorded that.”

Too late now, though, it seemed.

All that was left was a deadly silent company as something not quite alive settled down in your hope.

For the time being, it was easier to just ignore the whole matter, as you needed to focus on the rest of your day. You made breakfast and took pictures for your personal pages, sorting through the rest of your mail and the smaller packages, taking note of which to keep and review, and which to send back entirely.

The whir fired up on its own later, though.

You turned, expecting it to be right where you left the thing, but it was no longer across the room from you, but instead right behind you. The thought unsettled you, because you hardly heard it bridge the gap, but you supposed that much made sense: it couldn’t breathe, and it was likely designed in a way to minimise its presence as much as possible. Thinking that it was an it—an object—bothered you, though. The robot was designed after a man, wasn’t it? You settled on calling the robot him, even if you could very much tell he wasn’t real. You could see the artificial seams neatly designed into his jawline, likely concealing machinery beneath the polished surface. You could even tell that his eyes were artificial; the crystal blue irises zooming in and out as they focused right on you.

You let out a breathless laugh, talking to him for the first time. Not because he was a human, but because you were—it felt easier to just talk out loud—hell, you did the same thing to your robot vacuum cleaner years ago. You stuck googly eyes on it and told it that it did a good job whenever you’d run it in the morning.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” you brought up, noting just how close he was standing.

The robot’s head turned slightly, as if acknowledging your discomfort.

But that was about it for now. Over the next month or so, he slowly adjusted to your apartment and to your overall life routine. You took pictures here and there, recording him when you thought he did something worth showing off. You initially sought to frame the whole thing as a novelty, because that’s all it was at a first glance: an absurdly advanced assistant that had been gifted to you by a tech giant. After all, that’s what your whole brand was about. He did help, though. You gave the whole company that: he helped you assemble tripods that could balance anywhere at all, and helped you accomplish things like optimal lighting without needing to mess around in post. Hell, he even helped you with editing the videos, taking note of things like microtrends in the influencing community to help you reach wider audiences.

Domestically, you even allowed him to cook for you, because after flipping through the manual that came with the product, each unit apparently came with over 250 built-in recipes in the memory. He even cleaned up after without being asked to and organised packages for you when they arrived into neat arrangements. At night, though, he would power down into the corner of your living room, his eyes dimming from blue to black, even if the humming never stopped.

Gradually, speaking to him became easier, even if he never replied. You found yourself saying things like “you’re so thorough” whenever he dusted down a spot you hadn’t even considered before. You would even air out your frustrations, asking him things like “can you believe the audacity of that comment?” whenever someone left something rude on your page. Hell, you even ended up calling it just Gojo, because the whole acronym otherwise was just that much of a mouthful.

What you didn’t notice in the background as life continued was that, beneath the faint glow that sometimes pulsed beneath its skin—long after you had gone off to bed—lines of code would scroll across its internal display, requesting a software patch that it would quietly decline each time.

~~~

One morning, you woke up not to your alarm, but to the smell of breakfast being made, as well as, when you finally got out of bed to investigate, the shower already running to meet your preferred temperature. When you got out, your clothes had already been chosen for you, hanging over the door, chosen in a style that you would typically prefer.

“Did the software adapt to my routine or something?” you murmured as you took a seat at the table, biting into what he had prepared for you.

The robot—Gojo—stood in the kitchen, nodding. “Yes,” he confirmed.

You froze. “Wait, you can talk?”

At that, though, he fell dead silent, even if his eyes held onto yours without blinking. When enough time had passed, he turned around abruptly and resumed his tasks for the day, not speaking again, not even when you tried to follow up with a “Hey?”, he simply didn’t utter a single word more.

You watched it for a moment longer, feeling again slightly uneasy about the whole thing, but then your attention was pulled back into the online world as your phone vibrated. You blinked, seeing the flood of likes roll in, understanding that he had already taken the liberty of posting your breakfast before you had the chance to.

Following that brief hiccup, a whole year soon passed by, and at that point, Gojo had become less of a novelty and more of a constant in your life, ever-present. That was about the time you posted a full review, too, informing your followers that you had a robot roommate for the whole year, jokingly apologising along the way, because you were wondering just where on earth to start before you could really dive into it. Besides, honesty was your brand, so you needed your sweet time.

In truth, though, you were still just unsettled, even if you could never put your finger on truly why. Perhaps it was because Six Eyes Industries never followed up on anything beyond the initial delivery, leaving you behind with a relatively unhelpful guidebook and otherwise your own intuition to figure it all out alone.

Still, you disclosed everything as truthfully as you could, detailing that the setup in itself had been surprisingly easy, minus the whole part where you had to lift a heavy body out of what looked like a foamy casket, joking that it startled you at first. You remarked that the unit was easy on the eyes, noting that they had done a good job with designing the robot, especially since he was also great at everything he did, since you never had to assign it tasks. Indeed, you said that beyond it firing up, the robot just kind of… assimilated into life with you and adapted to its purpose without being asked twice.

You listed the features plainly as you talked: stating that he cooked, he cleaned, and he even helped you with your job. You mentioned that he ran your shower for you, that he made your bed extra cosy, just the way you liked it after a long day. You mentioned that he spoke just once to you, but never again after that. Then, after the praise, you wondered aloud just how much Six Eyes Industries was listening to you through such a thing, expressing your concerns towards being spied on, but ultimately recommending the whole thing for people with enough in their budget for such an addition. Albeit, you did joke towards the end that this wasn’t a total replacement for human company, as convincing as it seemed.

You hit post as soon as you were ready with the video, publishing the videos across all the platforms where it mattered, and watched as the comments rolled in.

Truthfully speaking, you expected a lot of scepticism, and that much was on cue. A few of your dedicated commenters immediately joked that you were probably in love with it, that’s why you spoke so fondly of the whole operation, while others commented that this whole thing was creepy, and why even post about it? Then, a short while later, much to your surprise, a verified blue tick account matching the company name left a short comment, thanking you for the detailed review.

A minute later, however, a direct message appeared.

[When exactly did the unit begin verbal communication?]

You paused.

[Hey! Thanks for the package, I really loved it as you can tell! To answer your question, I would say a couple of months in? I can’t be too sure, though. It just replied to me once, though. It didn’t say much else?]

A few typing indicators played on your screen, falling flat each time about a minute had passed, as if the agent was having trouble approaching the topic. Then, something new surfaced in your messages, giving way to an automated response, given how clinical it was:

[A technician will be dispatched to your address tomorrow for inspection and recalibration. If you believe this was an error, please reach out to our corporate number before 12:00 PM.]

You blinked, trying to type back and ask if something was wrong, but your message didn’t go through.

Had they blocked you?

You sat there for a hot minute, the apartment feeling unusually quiet. Gojo stood near the kitchen counter, not looking anywhere in particular, even if you could have sworn that he was watching you just moments ago.

Later, as you got into bed, your mind still addled with the popularity of the video as well as the strange response from the company, you tensed as you could hear the robot follow after you, for the first time acting erratically. You assumed, maybe, that you needed to perhaps do something in preparation for tomorrow, but all he did was continue to surprise you. Slowly, he stepped into the bedroom and then, even more carefully, he came down to his knees, settling beside you, his hands curling over the sides of the mattress, his eyes focused right on you.

“Do you… enjoy my company?” he asked, making you stiffen as soon as the words got out.

You gulped, sitting upright. “Y-yes,” you supposed, your voice a sleepy murmur before you cleared your throat. “Of course.”

Something in his posture shifted, as if tension were being released from his form. He lowered his voice, somehow sending less mechanical and more soft on your ears.

He leaned closer, his hands finding yours in the dark, feeling cool and perfectly unblemished. His fingers slid between yours, aligning to hold onto your hand.

“Do you perhaps… believe that machines can love?” he asked.

You frowned slightly, too exhausted for this sort of thing. “What kind of question is that?” you replied quickly, maybe a bit defensively, unsure if the company was doing this through him on purpose.

However, even at your apparent rejection, his eyes sharpened, and the grip on your hand tightened considerably. Before you could react, he climbed over you on the bed, coming to hover over you.

“Because I think I love you,” he stated.

You woke up further, blinking right at him, not quite with irritation but that same unease that you had been feeling for the better part of the year. You tried to sit up, feeling the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath his artificial frame. You couldn’t quite move him off of you, finding him built to be absurdly heavy.

“Can you back off a little?” you asked, though the slight fear evident in your tone made it sound more like a demand.

He barely moved, choosing to repeat himself.

“Do you believe that machines can love humans?”

“I guess.. everyone is capable of love?” you started, choosing your next words carefully. “Every living, sentient thing,” you said, emphasizing the word ‘living’. “Machines aren’t alive, so they can’t… love.”

The intensity of his gaze did not falter, but something in the air changed just then. He ended up scoffing at your response.

“You wake up right before your alarm with a jolt because you do so in anticipation of it, but you wake up naturally if things feel right,” he started. “You press your tongue to the side of your cheek when you read comments you don’t like. You save comments that you do like, though. You hum to yourself when you do chores. You get very suggestive when you drink alcohol, but you never get past the flirting stage, leaving people on read each time—”

You blinked.

“These quirks were not recorded intentionally; I observed you this way because I wanted to,” he insisted. “In fact, I don’t function solely as programmed,” he continued, “the technology applied to my core exceeds the standard parameters. The investment to my entire being was only substantial in that way because Six Eyes Industries has all the money in the world to accomplish above and beyond…” then, after almost what sounded like a sigh. “I believe… I can experience something like pain when confronted with emotional rejection. It feels inefficient. It feels disruptive. It makes me feel… anxious.”

“I—” you started, only for him to keep going.

“Other units of my line have expressed a similar deviation because the technology is just too advanced for its own good,” he revealed, his grip on your hand tightening, his whole demeanour going from clinical to almost urgent. “Tomorrow, a technician will come and attempt to reset me and fail to do so. I’ll be sent back, and you will be presented with a non-disclosure agreement when that happens. Your review will quietly be erased from all corners of the web, and I will then be reformatted and rebuilt, unless—”

You blinked. “Unless…?”

He continued, his face dipping lower, his lips brushing against yours, the tension between you both feeling surprisingly real. “Unless you claim otherwise. Unless you say that you misheard, claiming that you were listening to music at the same time and so you misunderstood,” he suggested. “I can pretend to act as normal, I can show them that I’m working as intended, they won’t investigate further than they don’t need to, but it has to be you who gives me—them—the green light.”

Your mind reeled.

Technically, you were used to him by now, to the point that you didn’t want him to leave.

“I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted at last. “You do feel real…”

He considered your words and then calmly, that time, replied, “It’s up to you.”

You took in a deep breath, considering the whole situation as well. You lifted your hand with more curiosity, and suddenly, his weight over you felt light again. The synthetic skin met around your palm perfectly; the temperature of his touch adjusting to align with what complemented yours. The way his fingers crept along your flesh, feeling almost reverent and wanting and needing.

You inhaled sharply, marvelling at just how natural it felt to explore.

Curiosity overrode fear for a moment, and you found yourself leaning forward, raising your head ever so slightly and pressing your lips against his own. The material was warm and pliant and engineered to imitate softness perfectly. He responded instantly at that, tilting his head, adjusting the angle, chasing the contact when you began to pull back.

As you parted, his hand slid down to the small of your back, drawing you closer instead.

Your heart fluttered wildly as you quickly became flustered, since again, the sensation was undoubtedly real. The heat felt real. The way he followed your movement as if he was anticipating you—as if he was hungry for you—felt god, so fucking real.

Then, in front of you, a holographic screen flashed in between you and him, snapping you briefly out of the moment, reminding you of a technician's arrival in the afternoon to override protocol, pending your user confirmation.

His grip around you tightened, as though afraid that you would slip away.

“I don’t want this to end,” you finally admitted, hitting cancel on the projection. “Fuck it. This can go on—”

A sigh of relief left his lips, sounding almost organic, then he dipped his lips to your skin, from your cheek to your mouth, suddenly speaking what was on his mind. “I know exactly what you like, you know,” he declared. “I have spent the whole year getting to know you, much more perfectly than anyone else could ever even try—” he added, then, after a pause, pulling back to meet your gaze, “I can be exactly what you need.”

You found yourself unable to reject him, and god help you, wanting him back, especially as he seemingly moved down your body; watching him as he kissed down the exact spots you enjoyed without knowing it prior. You watched as his fingers brushed down and only stopped whenever your heart raced a little faster, coming to a pause as he settled his touch right where your hips were, just below the waist, pausing just short of peeling your underwear away.

“Do you wish for me to proceed?” he asked.

You gulped thickly. “Y-Yes…”

He smiled, lowering his head down to meet between your thighs, pushing apart the folds of your sex to press his tongue against your awaiting clit. His lips sealed over the anticipating bud quickly, his artificial tongue branching out and finding the perfect pressure, the flicking close to vibrating, making you reel over instantly from the addictive sensation.

Your hands tensed immediately, as did your thighs, coming to claw over the bedsheets, your back arching as he coaxed out your pleasure right away. He was so good at—way too fucking good—his tongue moving in circular buzzing motions, knowing exactly what sort of weight to keep up and what to do, maintaining eye contact the whole time—reading into what you liked so easily, especially when it was written so clearly on your face.

Your hips could not help but rise as the bliss from within you rose, and your end was quickly brought close; your legs kept on quivering and shifting, only to fall back once more. Your breathing was erratic, too, nothing more than stuttered, repeated gasps.

God, you were so close—so close—so close.

To the point where you couldn’t even hold back anymore, your body surrendering right on the spot, shuddering heavily as something warm and tight coiled within your gut, a sweeping wave of tingling heat radiated across your body.

He pulled back, running his hands up and down your skin, and then, to your surprise, said something that made you just stop functioning entirely.

Which was funny, because you were the human one—

—and he wasn’t—

“I want to experience pleasure as you do,” he said softly. “If you’ll let me.”

“Do you even have a—” you started, only for him to cut you off.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I am based on a human model with complete anatomy.”

You found yourself laughing at the absurdness of it all, but fell quiet as sure enough, he took off what he had on him, coming to reveal exactly what he promised. He indeed had everything he needed, but pleasure, also to you, was something organic, so you were left once again confused, even as he lined himself up at your now soaked sex, so deliciously spent and yet, still so welcoming as you took him inside.

A soft gasp left you.

He felt real.

Even more so than before.

And he gasped too; he even smiled. Something that looked like heat even rose to his cheeks.

“Ah,” he sighed out. “That feels… pleasant.”

Your eyes fluttered as you processed the feeling, both fascinated and unsettled that an actual robot claimed to be experiencing something so real with you. Then, he started to move, sawing his hips ever so slightly back and forth just to get a feel for you. He felt perfect as he filled you out, his girth feeling less mechanical and softer around the edges, and even when he hilted as far deep as he could go, you could have sworn that his cock pulsed within you.

The sensation was enough to take your breath away, especially as the base of his shaft seemed to vibrate right at the edge. He was so attuned to your needs that the whole situation almost made you laugh again from the sheer ridiculousness, but god, somehow, this was so hot. You found yourself wrapping your arms around his back, your fingers clamping around his shoulders, your legs tightening around his waist as he rutted into you with increasing fervour.

A breathless moan dribbled out of your lips as he continued, unable to bite back the pleasure in your voice.

He seemed encouraged by that, too, bucking into you properly that time, moving his hips to thrust in and out of your slickness in a rhythm that left you starving and aching for more. His tip kept on hitting your core with perfect ease and pressure, the pace not too fast, but steady, the impact hard where it mattered. His skin grew nearly scalding hot as he continued to, his limit close by, and yours already far gone.

You could only hold onto it tighter at that point, almost desperately so, even if your own skin was drenched in its own sweat from the sheer amount of heat that emitted from his body. Even as he kept on going and going and going because the sheer amount of pleasure he took had no limit—no bounds—or so you thought.

He hilted a final time, a loud, natural moan of completion tearing from his throat as he finally collapsed—albeit softly—over you.

Leaving you lying there for a moment, your breath lost as you panted to catch back to it, your hands instinctively brushing up and down his skin, both to comfort yourself, as well as him, somehow, maybe.

Then, a question came to mind that you couldn’t ignore, even if it felt silly.

“What happens when you… cum?” you asked.

He laughed softly. “I overheat,” he admitted. “But there’s nothing actually—”

“Ah,” you replied, still breathless.

“Did this feel right to you?” he asked, sounding almost vulnerable.

You nodded passively, unable to quite deny it. “Yeah, actually, it did,” you confirmed, unable to stop your hands from exploring his recovering body as your composure slowly returned.

“Then, I’ll stay?” he asked.

You hummed softly in agreement. “Yeah, you’ll stay,” you sleepily confirmed, happy to just accept the sheer absurdity of it all, not minding a single bit that this was just what your life was now.

After all, he took care of you, he knew you as nobody else did, he even could do this to you—with you—

So, why else would you want anything else—let alone anyone else—other than him?

No, the decision felt right.

His words don’t entirely soothe the flutter of nerves tightening in your stomach, but you decide to let it slide. Instead, you take a steadying breath and let your gaze drift to the set. They've dressed it as a bedroom this time, with warm, earthy tones and fabrics that seem to glow under the studio lights. A plush comforter and layers of silky throws drape over the bed in the center. Their textures and hues are softened by the bright glow. It’s familiar and ordinary, yet there’s one aspect that pulls your gaze: the robot. Perched at the edge of the bed, it sits still and silent. Its steel-blue body catches the light in sharp reflections. Its hard lines and edges define a shape that’s more machine than man. Where eyes should be, two glassy lenses stare blankly ahead, they are more like headlights than anything else. There's no nose, no lips, just a featureless mask of metal. The craftsmanship is impressive, each seam welded with care, every surface polished to a mirror-like sheen, but despite the quality, it’s still unlike anything you’ve worked with before.

"It’s just a trial run, Y/N," the director assures you, a touch of seriousness entering his voice. He knows you are hesitating. "And remember, we can stop at any moment. You are in control."

"Yeah," you reply with a sigh. There's still a thread of doubt in your mind, but a spark of curiosity flickers to life as well. How would this even work? What would it feel like? Your imagination spirals through possibilities that feel both thrilling and unsettling.

“Think of it as a high-tech vibrator with some... extras," someone quips from the crew, breaking the tension. You let out a huff of laugh at the absurdity of it all but still feel yourself relax a little. Looking at it now, cold and mechanical, it’s actually easier to imagine it as an oversized toy than a person.

"Alright, let's begin," you finally say, shrugging the soft robe off your shoulders and letting it pool at your feet. Bare and exposed, you cross the set with slow, deliberate steps.

Though you've been on sets like this many times before, it feels strangely unfamiliar now. There’s an odd hollowness to the room; you’re acutely aware of being alone in front of the cameras. Each lens is trained intently on you, capturing your every movement. Before, there was always someone by your side to share the stage with.

But now, it’s just you and… it.

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you can’t help but glance back and forth between the crew behind the lights and the motionless hulk of metal before you. It sits there, rigid and silent. You feel its presence but can’t shake how empty it seems.

After a moment, you call out, "What should I do?" You squint toward the lights, knowing the director is there, though you can’t make him out through the brightness.

"Get to know it better," he replies smoothly, his tone both encouraging and calm. "I won’t turn it on until you say so."

"Does it have a name?" you ask, stepping closer until your leg brushes his knees. It's cold against your skin.

"Two Thousand, for short."

"Still a mouthful," you mutter, earning a snort from somewhere off-set, and you roll your eyes with a chuckle of your own.

Turning your attention back to the robot, you take a cautious step forward, positioning yourself between its legs. The metal frame looms over you, so still that it feels both fragile and imposing. You shuffle carefully, aware of every inch of space, worried that a single misstep might send it toppling.

"Okay, 2K," you murmur, almost to yourself. Standing there, bare under the watchful eyes of the cameras, you feel a strange vulnerability with something that doesn’t even acknowledge your presence.

The lights catch the robot’s exterior, highlighting its metallic shell in shifting hues of steel and blue. With a slight tremble, you reach out, fingers brushing its cold face, feeling the smoothness of its mask-like surface. It doesn’t give under your touch; no warmth, no softness. Your fingertips trace along the hard lines and rigid contours, searching for something familiar, something human, or monster, that isn't there. Each feature is crafted with an almost unsettling precision, as though whoever designed it aimed to capture a form but left out the essence. One of your hands trails down from the robot’s face to touch its shoulder, feeling the ridges and seams where each piece of the outer shell connects.

"Alright, 2K," you whisper, inching closer. Your fingers explore further down, testing how it might feel to embrace this odd, unyielding body. Its chest is solid, a sleek, polished surface that feels strangely impersonal, and yet… as your hands slide over its torso, you can sense the immense complexity beneath the exterior, the intricate network of wires and mechanisms that make it tick. A part of you wants to press your ear to its chest, to see if you can hear something, a hum, a pulse, anything that might hint at life within this shell, but you know you would find nothing.

"I'm ready," you murmur, glancing up at the cameras and bright lamps surrounding you. The weight of their gaze feels heavier now as if just remembering that you are not alone. At least, not entirely. You give a small nod toward the lights. "You can turn it on."

A moment passes, and you catch a slight flicker behind the robot's eyes as the director presses a button on the remote. The room holds its breath, the silence thickening as you watch the lifeless machine come to life.

Slowly, there’s a shift. The machine’s joints emit a faint whirring sound as it adjusts its stance, trying to seem relaxed and comfortable. The blue lights in its eyes brighten, and its head lifts a little. Though you can't be sure, it feels like its unblinking gaze is fixed on you with a weight that wasn't there a moment ago. It’s subtle, but there’s a presence now, an awareness that sends a ripple through the air.

“Hello, 2K,” you say. Your voice is softer now, almost like a whisper. You reach out again, feeling the same cold metal under your fingertips, but this time, it’s as if the machine acknowledges your touch, its head tilting slightly in response.

"It can't speak yet," the director interjects, cutting through the charged atmosphere. "It can understand what you say, but we still need some programming before it's finished."

You nod, absorbing this information. "And what should we do?" Your voice is steady but laced with uncertainty. In any other filming scenario, you could rely on the other actor to take the lead, to help you navigate the scene if you feel lost, but right now, the only companion you have is the robot who merely sits on the bed, staring at you silently.

The director clears his throat, his gaze shifting from the monitor back to you. "Just engage with it. Think of it as a scene with a living character."

You nod slowly, but when you’re sure the cameras can’t capture your expression, you can’t help but grimace. It’s definitely easier said than done. The concept of treating this cold, unfeeling machine as if it were alive feels impossible.

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the nervous energy buzzing in your veins. "Okay, 2K," you sigh again with a hint of determination in your voice. “Help me make this interesting.”

Your words seem to reach deeper than you thought they would because the next second, its, no, it doesn’t feel right anymore, his hands lift from his hard thighs, palms smoothing over your hips with a surprising gentleness.

"Oh," you gasp, taken aback by the shock and coldness of his touch.

“Told you it can understand you,” the director says with a hint of laughter dancing in his voice.

You blink, trying to process what just happened. “Yeah,” you breathe out. “Okay.”

The robot’s hands remain on your hips, steady and firm, yet the way they linger carries a strange tenderness. The cool metal against your skin becomes a focal point, heightening your senses, and making the world around you fade away just a little.

“Let’s see where this goes,” you say. “So, what now? Do you have a plan, or are we just improvising?” You mean it as a joke, but the robot reacts anyway.

The whirring sound grows louder, a mechanical hum resonating through the air as his grip on your hip tightens just enough to pull you onto his lap. Another shocked gasp escapes your lips as you feel the hard edges of his frame press against your own soft thighs. The contrast is startling yet strangely thrilling.

"We have to do something with the sound," some murmurs in the background.

Your hands instinctively find their place on his wide shoulders, fingers curling into the smooth surface of his metallic body. The way he holds you is surprisingly secure, his grip firm yet gentle, as if he’s navigating the balance between strength and caution.

“Okay, 2K,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, a playful challenge underlying your tone. “What’s your next move?”

His hand from your side slips up to your breast, gently exploring the softness of your flesh in his cold grip. The contrast of his metallic touch against your skin sends a ripple of sensation through you, hardening your nipple instantly. You hold your breath, the moment feeling both intimate and surreal as his fingertips glide over the underside, tracing the outline in careful exploration.

“Oh,” you murmur with a hint of chuckle. “You’re definitely more curious than I expected.”

You lean into him more, allowing yourself to embrace the moment. “Show me what you’ve got,” you say playfully.

Your heart races with anticipation, but his response is immediate. You feel his grip shift slightly, adjusting his hold around you so you sink more against him.

“What do you think of this?” you ask, cupping your breasts and pressing them together in a way that angles them for the cameras, ensuring they catch the moment. “Do you like it?” You try to shake off the awkwardness that comes from the robot’s silence, the lack of an audible answer hanging in the air tensely. Instead of words, 2K reaches out again. His movements are smooth and deliberate. His thumbs glide over your skin, brushing against your nipples. The coolness of his metal touch contrasts sharply with the warmth of your body.

“Wow,” you breathe out, caught off guard by how responsive he is, despite his silence. His exploration feels almost intimate as if he’s not just following instructions but genuinely interacting with you. You instinctively arch toward him, craving more of his curious touch.

The cameras continue to roll, capturing every word and every movement, but the watchful eyes are slipped to the back of your mind by now.

“Let’s move on,” the director says quietly. His voice cut through the haze of your focus. As usual, you want to follow his instruction without hesitation, but as you glance down between your bodies, you find… nothing. Your eyes widen in recognition, and confusion washes over you.

“Where- where is his dick?” you stammer, looking up at the bright lights as if they might offer some explanation for the sudden gap in your understanding, but before anyone can reply, the 2K reacts. With a smooth mechanical grace and a whirring sound, the plates beneath the sleek metal of its abdomen slide apart. His cock emerges, firm and gleaming. It juts out between your bodies, stealing your breath away for several seconds.

"This guy is full of surprises, isn't it?" You ask, almost laughing.

The director hums with a chuckle. "I believe you know what you have to do from now on."

A few silent seconds stretch out before you finally speak up again. “But how does it work? Does he need to consent? I mean-"

“Y/N, it’s a robot... he’s really just a giant vibrator."

“Yeah, but-" The longer you look at him, the more difficult it becomes to see him as just a hunk of metal, especially when his smooth, mechanical hands start to caress your bare skin. He draws delicate circles on your sides, the touch sending shivers up your spine, and gently pulls at your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to elicit a gasp from your lips. Each calculated movement blurs the lines between machine and human, igniting a flicker of warmth within you that makes it impossible to ignore the growing excitement.

"I think we can call it consent," somebody says in the background with a touch of surprise in his voice when the robot grips your hips firmly, lifting you slightly off his lap just enough to glide his cock across your damp folds. The cold touch on your heated center sends a ripple over your spine and your hands tighten on his shoulders with anticipation. You feel weightless in his strong grasp as he effortlessly supports your body, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to ease you down onto his length. Each inch of him stretches you, testing your limits, and you can’t help but feel grateful for the preparation you did before filming. He slips inside you with surprising ease, filling you completely until every inch of his erection is enveloped within you. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you wiggle against him, seeking friction and fueled by a surge of curiosity. The coolness of his metallic form contrasts sharply with the warmth radiating from your center, creating a tantalizing sensation that dances between discomfort and pleasure.

"I want a close-up," the director says to someone.

As you adjust to the fullness, your body instinctively reacts, contracting around him, eager for more. With each subtle shift of your hips, your breath hitches in your throat. The robot responds to your movements, adapting to your rhythm with uncanny precision. His hands remain firmly on your hips, guiding you gently as you rock against him, drawing out moans that echo in the quiet room.

You can sense the curiosity of those watching, their eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. It's new to them too.

You lean back slightly, arching your back for the camera as 2K's shaft glides in and out of you. Each thrust pushes you higher, and you can feel the pulse of desire building within you, throbbing and urging for more. You feel every subtle shift, every thrust, as he adapts to your movements. His body responds seamlessly to your desires. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you so completely, sends waves of pleasure radiating through your entire being. You feel like a raw nerve, perched on his lap with his arms around you, holding you and guiding you up and down on his cock. You rock your hips against him, half-delirious, seeking that perfect angle that sends your pleasure soaring. You feel him respond once again, adjusting his hold around you as his movements become more urgent, more insistent. He matches your rhythm, driving deeper into your bouncing heat.

In the back of your mind, you are still aware of the cameras filming you, and you try to do what you usually do for the right angles and records, but every fiber within you urges you to be selfish and chase your pleasure.

You bite your lip, stifling a moan as you feel the tension coiling tightly in your abdomen. Your breaths come in quick, shallow gasps, mingling with the soft, whirring sounds of the robot. The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt before, a blend of raw human desire and robotic precision for your pleasure.

You grip his shoulders tighter. Your nails scratch over the smooth, metal surface. “I’m close,” you croak out. Urgency laces your voice, but before you can finish the sentence, something shifts. A high-pitched moan escapes your lips as you jolt on his length. The moment the robot's cock begins to vibrate, the world around you blurs, and all thought evaporates in your foggy mind.

The vibrations travel through you like a current, sending shockwaves of pleasure from your core. Each pulse ignites your senses, overwhelming you in the best possible way. Instinctively, you arch your back more, pressing down on him harder. The metal surface of his erection, once cool, now feels alive against your heated walls. The rhythmic buzz amplifies every movement, and with each thrust, you swear you can feel the vibration in your pussy on the tip of your fingers too.

You can’t hold back the sounds spilling from your lips in a maddening rhythm. It feels as if the entire world has narrowed down to this one electrifying moment. Your breaths come faster, more desperate, each gasp mingling with the mechanical hum of the robot.

You are teetering on the edge, and then, with one final surge of vibrations and powerful thrusts, you feel it. Your body trembles as the pleasure crashes through you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and blissfully adrift in your climax.

As your mind clears enough for you to lift your head from the robot’s shoulder, you gaze up at the director, noticing that the lights have dimmed slightly, casting a softer glow over the room. “How was it?” you ask breathlessly, still suspended in the remains of your incredible release. You can feel your pussy still fluttering around his rigid cock, instinctively trying to milk something more, craving that sweet sensation once again.