#robot x reader

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!

You wished he would call you something else, something other than what the manufacturer had programmed him to. He was an advanced model—pardon, a luxury model—so his repertoire came with extensive features not available in other options, but insofar as the ability to have androids refer you by name was only achievable through obscene amounts of money and sending them back to the manufacturer to have it installed there. 

Elio was up for being considered the gold standard in android development, as proclaimed by the researcher you were put in communication with during the trial run. He was made to be perfect in every way, to perform anything asked of him flawlessly, and respond favorably regardless of situation or dilemma. 

“Coffee with cream and sugar is fine. I'm not in the mood to eat anything this morning.” It was often explained. He was supposed to memorize it, but he asked you every morning regardless. “Are you having issues with your memory bank, Elio?”

Single strands of his coiffed hair moved with his head as he looked at you, hands busily putting together your beverage to every exact specification. This made it obvious that nothing inhibited his ability to store your morning preferences.

“Not at all. It's just that some days you prefer your coffee lightly sweetened, others you enjoy a meal that won't leave you feeling groggy in the afternoon.” Elio explained in his precise, elegant tones with a smile far too effortless to come from a machine. “I thought it wise to commit these discrepancies to my memory bank for your convenience and to ask from now on.”

Fascinating. You weren't aware of this element in the newest model. The guidebook that Researcher Kim had given you made no mention of it. 

What's more, he decided to do this spontaneously. You were making a note about it in your phone when a simple white mug was placed before you, Elio’s pristine fingertips turning it by the rim until the handle faced your dominant hand. 

“Please consider eating something before leaving the house. Coffee on an empty stomach, especially one as sensitive as yours, won't end well, as I'm led to believe from my research.” Elio watched you drink through long dark lashes that framed depths of piercing green. You liked how they seemed to turn paler or darker in different lighting, similar to a marble held up to the sun. “I’d also like to remind you that the quality of food that you consume first thing in the morning aids with energy distribution throughout the day. I have a very extensive database of recipes that I can prepare for you.”

You were taking delicate sips from the round rim while he talked, lips surrounding the porcelain long enough that you swore his gaze had wavered to them for a split second before returning eye contact. 

“I’m glad someone is concerned about my tummy health because I always believed someone would find me face down in the bathroom from my ass prolapsing.” You wished someone with a sense of humor were around for that banger, but, alas, it was Elio, and he did not laugh.

His expression turned severe. “Human bodies are as robust as they are sensitive. Most of the worldwide population suffers from similar afflictions: lactose intolerance, varying dermatitis, poor eyesight, and gastrointestinal diseases. Humans are, in every sense, meant to harbor and experience chronic pain and disease throughout their lifespan. I do believe this attests to your durability as a species. 

“All this to say, my main prerogative and function is for the betterment of your life and health. So, knowing all of this, and to conclude, please consider a couple of slices of toast or an omelet before leaving. Your daily habits dictate a routine visit to the coffee shop on Fifth and Lowe, where you'll consume around one hundred twenty milligrams of caffeine, and your first meal of the day may be a sweetened pastry without nutritional density. You will, indubitably, ‘feel bad’ the rest of the day as a result.”

“Holy shit.” You had given up on recording his speech after the first two minutes, phone facedown on the gleaming countertop. “You didn't plagiarize that from a random article on the internet, did you?”

Coffee having turned lukewarm by the end of his presentation, he took the mug away and emptied the medium-brown contents into the drain before turning on the faucet to clean it. “Not at all. I've simply been accumulating knowledge of your routines and have noticed you're at an increased risk of different ailments. Did you find it helpful?”

Truthfully, you weren't so sure. Androids were built to serve humans in every capacity, but their limitations were still well-known. They were capable of carefully compiling decades' worth of information on their owners, plus the equivalent of hundreds more, but everything Elio had just said was beyond the scope of their normal hardware. The information had been elucidated critically, yet with a certain sentience you expected from a caretaker, not a machine built for convenience, entertainment, and pleasure. 

You weren't sure how much of it you needed to relay to Researcher Kim or if it was any real reason for concern at this stage, or just part of Elio’s advanced circuitry. A part of you worried, just slightly, that officially documenting all of this would have Elio removed from the testing period prematurely—he was supposed to be yours, exclusively, for another six months.

The contract had been signed. Elio had been promised to you despite the number of waitlisted celebrities trying to bribe their way into the corporation and Researcher Kim’s good graces. 

This, of course, was all contingent only if he operated and performed, at all times, as outlined in the guidebook you were handed upon Elio’s awakening. Researcher Kim had delivered his newest creation to you himself, a dreary Wednesday in late autumn in the mid-morning, and had taken great care to put the crisp chemical-scented poundage of bound pages in your fingers and insisted that if you noticed the slightest deviation from what was printed inside, he be alerted to it immediately. 

You didn't do that. 

You took a hot shower, blow-dried your hair, put your arms through some clean clothes, and let Elio follow you to the front door to see you off for the day. 

That day grew stranger still, not even yet being ten o’clock in the morning when the deadbolt clicked and your finger joints bent around cold brass. It didn't raise chicken skin on your arms and neck nearly as high as when Elio pushed his hand to the door, keeping it shut despite your pull. 

You couldn't look into his green eyes, shockingly pale in the golden rays filtering inside your home from the window arching in the door. “Did I forget something?”

“No. I accounted for everything you'd need on your outing.” Elio said perfectly. His hand made a sound as it slid down along the door, resting at shoulder height on you. “A function you have not utilized in me as of now is that of a ‘companion.’ Do you find me defective in that way? Dr. Kim developed me to be attractive to the human eye—stimulating, perhaps, is a more definitive word to use.”

“I—no, Elio. You're plenty, er, stimulating. I just don't know how appropriate it is for me to do anything like that while you're in a testing period.” It felt distasteful to have to point out his own inhumanity to him, despite his model being cognizant enough to be aware of it. “It would feel weird, I think.”

“That is one of my primary purposes,” he insisted, shrinking in height so he was nearer to your face. “I was created to be a companion, to alleviate that pervading loneliness that plagues you—all of humanity. Humans have forgotten how to communicate and love each other, so that's why I'm standing here now. You're ignoring one of my most critical functions.”

“Elio, if I get too attached to you, it's going to create problems when you're—”

“—sent back. I do understand how human attachment works. Perhaps on the same scale, but don't you think my attachment is similar to yours? Everything about you is secured in my circuitry, and you're the only thing in my world that’s programmed to matter. Even once I'm returned to the lab, you'll still be a part of me; memories of you, your favorite things, the things you hate, the people you cherish, and what they like, what you do, where you go, what you buy, how you sleep—it’s all part of a larger system, a mainframe that secures this data. I may be wiped clean, but you'll remain.”

You felt like he was letting you in on some dirty secret, something devious and meant to be unknowable and guarded. But, then again, Elio had always displayed an odd sort of disinterest in the company—in Researcher Kim—you hadn't considered until just now that this was also a defect. 

“What do you want?” You'd never asked him that before because it had never been about what he wanted. He wasn't supposed to want anything; he was meant to provide—to give, give, give.

Elio took away your shoulder bag, nearing your face until his lips settled between yours, and his hands pulled you away from the door into his body. His kiss was warm, movements at a pace you could keep up with, but urgent as though seeking to burn every bit of you into him. As much as you daydreamed about what it'd be like, he felt completely natural against your mouth, large hands sweeping under the layers of your clothing to seek out the fire on your skin.

In your generation, it wasn't common for humans to intermingle physically anymore—dating culture was reserved for the elite looking to reproduce for heirs, and often still thought to be rare. All others were either loveless or ravished by androids who supplemented love that simply wasn't real.

Humans wanted to be wanted, adored, and cherished, and to belong. Such was a natural behavior predating all written records; androids were created to fill the vile void engendered by humanity, self-imposed isolation, and avoidance within the same species. 

Elio was nestled between the sprawl of your legs, both your bodies bare and above the clean sheets he had outfitted your mattress with last night. His rhythm inside your body was some equal parts loving and passionate, something you hadn't realized you liked until he started rocking you with his cock. You liked how his hands gripped under your thighs to raise your legs, blunt fingertips pressing marks into your flesh as though he, too, could feel all the same pleasure that you were.

His lips traveled all over, mapping out routes and sweet spots on your flesh, purposefully lingering for a time if you squirmed or moaned underneath him. 

You tried to keep in your mind, amidst the insatiable buzz in your mind and hot throb in your core, that he was simply performing a function—his attention to you, his lips finding yours time and time again, darkened green eyes spearing deep into yours with every slow, hard thrust—it was all performative.

“You're beautiful.”

“I like you like this.”

“Moan louder for me.”

“Cum for me.”

“I love you.”

Elio said the last one at the end when you were tight around his girth and writhing, panting during an orgasm that he fucked you through until the heat from your bodies cooled and heart rates returned to normal. You were confused to feel warmth sluggishly ooze out of you, white and dampening the bedsheets below.

“How—what is that?” you asked, suddenly breathless as his lips caressed your jaw, moved lightly behind your ear.

“Another part of my purpose,” he said quietly in your ear, whispering to you in tones so velvety as though divulging a well-laid secret. “This one isn't advertised because humans in this day and age are so fickle and avoidant of certain commitments. Unfortunately, certain programming I cannot override, and this is one of them. Forgive me.”

You were kissed on the lips again and again, and then a few times more after he left the bed and redressed. He did not return your clothing to you; instead, he piled it under his arm and turned left for the bathroom down the hall.

Elio turned back. “I'll start you a bath. Today, would you prefer eucalyptus in your bathwater or something sweeter?” 

Your jaw felt as tight as your throat as the sheets bunched into your fists. The nerves in your stomach were wild. “Choose for me.”

He was still naked and beautiful in your doorway, a modern marvel to your eyes even now. You would, undoubtedly, see him like this much more often now that he had broken through the barrier you had been so meticulous to keep robust and well-fed with paranoia and derisive self-talk. 

“Very well. I think eucalyptus would be the best option considering how tight your muscles are.” He smiled neutrally, finally leaving the bedroom for the bathroom at the end of the hall. “I'll return for you once the bath is ready. Please don't go to sleep yet.”

You weren't sure you'd be able to sleep again with your new insight. Once the empty air filled with sounds of gushing water, movement within the bathroom, you started to wipe furiously at your groin—inside and out—with the sheet as far as you could reach. There was a sliver of hope you could get most of it, a chance you could contact someone for a lifeline, even if the price would be ungodly and the consequences treated equivalent to murder.