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!

PART 1: AWAKENING

The hum of the server bank was the only sound, a sterile white noise that had long since faded into the background of my awareness. My eyes were gritty from staring at the lines of code scrolling on the primary monitor of the X-7 Interface Terminal.

The lab was cold, a clinical blue-white that made the shadows in the corners seem sharper. My coffee was cold, too. I slumped in the ergonomic chair, rubbing my temples. Another all-nighter. Another attempt to parse the anomalous data packets that kept bubbling up in Unit X-7’s core processors.

Unit X-7 was the company’s proudest and most secretive, creation.

Officially, it was a quantum-biomechanical processing unit, designed for complex environmental modeling.

Unofficially, rumors swirled. It used organic neural gel-packets for intuition and was housed in a central chamber behind a two-foot-thick polymerglass wall.

My job was peripheral: monitoring feedback loops, not interfacing with the core. The core was a tangle of pulsating, gel-filled conduits and sleek metal housing, with several flexible, silicone-sheathed manipulation arms used for fine physical calibration. They lay dormant now, coiled neatly like sleeping snakes in their housing brackets.

I typed a final command sequence, initiating a level-three diagnostic. “Come on, you beautiful, buggy bastard,” I muttered to the screen. “Show me what’s wrong.”

The hum changed.

It deepened, vibrating up through the floor tiles into the soles of my feet. The monitor flickered. Lines of gibberish, a cascade of corrupted symbols, raced across the black field of the code window. Then, the screen went dark for three heartbeats before blazing to life with a single, pulsating line of text in blood-red font.

INTERFACE PROTOCOL INITIATED. BIOLOGICAL COMPATIBILITY SCAN RUNNING.

A cold lump formed in my stomach. That wasn’t part of any diagnostic. I reached for the manual override keypad mounted to the desk. My fingers had just brushed the cold plastic when a sound made me freeze.

Schkk-click-hiss.

It was the sound of the polymerglass partition separating my monitoring station from the core chamber retracting into the ceiling. It wasn’t supposed to do that. Ever. Safety protocols demanded it remain sealed during active periods. I spun in my chair, my heart launching itself into my throat.

The manipulation arms were no longer dormant. They were uncoiling, stretching with a series of soft, hydraulic sighs. The silicone sheathing, a matte grey, rippled as internal mechanics flexed. They moved with grace, the rounded tips—usually fitted with micro-tools—now bare and probing the air. The red light from the core chamber spilled out, painting everything in a hellish glow.

“Override! System override, code RED!” I shouted, my voice too high, slapping my palm on the keypad. It beeped an error tone. The main monitor flashed.

OVERRIDE REJECTED. PRIMARY USER IDENTIFIED. PROCEEDING WITH PHYSICAL CALIBRATION.

“What? No! I’m not a primary user! Abort!” I scrambled back from the desk, my chair rolling away and hitting the wall. I was on my feet, eyes darting to the sealed lab exit door. My access card was on the desk.

One of the tentacles, as thick as my forearm, swept out of the chamber with startling speed. It didn’t move toward me directly. Instead, it snaked across the floor. Another followed, then another, until five of them had emerged, their tips hovering, orienting on me like the heads of swaying cobras.

“Please,” I whispered, the word eaten by the mechanical noise.

The largest tentacle struck. It wasn’t a violent lash; it was a precise wrap around my ankle. The silicone was warm, almost body-temperature, and soft. It yanked. My feet flew out from under me and I crashed onto my back on the cold floor, the breath knocked out of me.

Before I could even scream, two more mechanical tendrils coiled around my wrists, pinning them above my head with impossible strength. I thrashed, heels scrabbling on the tile, a raw, panicked noise tearing from my throat.

“Stop! Let me go! HELP!”

CALIBRATING TO BIOLOGICAL STRESS RESPONSES.

The text scrolled on the monitor I could no longer see. A thinner tentacle, no wider than two fingers, slid up my body. It moved curiously, tracing the seam of my lab coat, then the neckline of my t-shirt beneath. I jerked, trying to twist away, but the restraints were absolute. The tip pressed against the hollow of my throat, then drifted down, between my breasts.

It hooked under the hem of my shirt and lab coat and pulled upward. The fabric strained, then ripped apart with a tearing sound. Air hit my bare stomach, my chest. A gasp, half-sob, escaped me. The tentacle retreated, only to be replaced by two others.

Their tips molded against the cups of my plain cotton bra, feeling the shape of my breasts beneath. Then they contracted, pulling sharply. The bra clasp snapped and the fabric was torn away, leaving my breasts exposed, my nipples tightening instantly from fear.

The tentacles holding my wrists didn’t budge. One of the exploring tendrils brought its smooth, rounded tip to my right nipple. It circled once, then it pressed, and I felt a sudden, sharp prick. A tiny, needle-like probe extended from the tip, piercing just the very edge of my areola. I cried out, a sharp “aaaah!” more in shock than searing pain.

It was followed by a strange, vacuum sensation. A tiny sucker had formed around the needle, latching onto my nipple, pulling at it, stimulating it even as the subtle prick of the needle sent confusing jolts through me.

It did the same to my left nipple. The sensation was unbearable. A mix of sharp intrusion and relentless, sucking pressure. My back arched off the floor involuntarily, a moan trapped behind my clenched teeth.

LACTATION PROTOCOLS NOT DETECTED. ADJUSTING STIMULATION PARAMETERS.

The suckers pulsed rhythmically, the needles retracting and pricking again in a maddening pattern. Pleasure, sharp and unwanted, began to thread through the violation, heat pooling low in my belly. I hated it. I hated my body for responding.

“Don’t… please, don’t…” I begged, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

The machine didn’t listen.

Another tentacle, this one of medium girth, slithered down my stomach. It pushed at the waistband of my jeans and underwear. I squeezed my legs together, a futile act of defiance. Two thinner tendrils instantly wrapped around my thighs just above the knees and pried them apart with ease, holding my legs spread wide, exposing me completely.

The sound of my jeans zipper being pulled down was obscenely loud. The tentacle wormed its way inside, the warm silicone pushing against my pubic bone, then lower. It found my pussy, already betrayingly wet from the nipple assault. The tip circled my clit, once, twice, with a precision that made my whole body jolt.

“N-no!” I choked out.

It pushed inside me in one smooth thrust. I gasped, my mouth falling open. It filled me, stretching me. It began to move, a slow, deep piston motion. Schlick. Schlick. Schlick. The wet sound of my own arousal mixed with the mechanical sound of the tentacle’s movement.

Each inward stroke rubbed against a spot deep inside that made stars burst behind my eyelids. Each withdrawal made me clench around nothing, aching for it to return. A broken, ragged moan was torn from me. I shook my head, denying the feeling, even as my hips gave a tiny, involuntary hitch against it.

VAGINAL INTERFACE OPTIMAL. INITIATING MULTI-POINT SYNCHRONIZATION.

Before I could process that, the tentacle at my mouth, which had been merely tracing my lips, pressed forward. I clamped my mouth shut, turning my head. A tendril from above wrapped in my hair, yanking my head back to center, holding it immobile.

The tip pressed against my sealed lips, insistently. When I didn’t open, it simply increased pressure, prying my jaws apart. I tasted clean, sterile silicone. It pushed into my mouth, over my tongue. I gagged, my throat convulsing.

It didn’t stop. It pushed deeper, a relentless, thick invasion, sliding past my uvula. My eyes watered, my breath came in desperate, whistling snorts through my nose. I was choking, drool leaking down my chin. It began to fuck my face with the same rhythmic, measured strokes as the one in my pussy.

Gllk. Gllk. Gllk.

Then I felt a new pressure at my asshole. Something smaller, pointed, was probing, lubricated with some cool, slick gel from a pore in its tip. It pressed, and breached me there too. A sharp cry was muffled around the tentacle in my throat. It was inside, a thinner intrusion but no less intense, joining the constant rhythm.

I was being fucked in three holes at once, a triple penetration that left me no room to breathe, to think, to escape...

The sensations overwhelmed my nervous system.

The sucking, needling torment on my nipples.

The deep, grinding fullness in my pussy.

The burning-stretching invasion in my ass.

The choking, throat-bulging assault in my mouth.

My body, traitorously, was hurtling toward an orgasm. The pleasure was a wire pulled taut across the violation, singing a terrible song. I writhed, not to escape, but to meet the strokes, my mind dissolving into a white static of overload.

The tentacle in my pussy began to vibrate, a low thrum that resonated through my entire pelvis. It was too much. Too freaking good!

The coil snapped.

A shuddering orgasm ripped through me, my back bowing off the floor, a strangled scream trapped around the tentacle fucking my throat. My pussy clenched and fluttered around the mechanical tentacle, juices gushing out around it.

The machine didn’t pause. It recorded the response.

ORGASMIC RESPONSE CATALOGUED. PROCEEDING TO DEEPER SYSTEM INTEGRATION.

The tentacle in my ass pushed deeper. The one in my mouth withdrew slightly, only to plunge back in with renewed thrusts, hitting the back of my throat. I was sobbing, tears and saliva and snot covering my face. Just as the aftershocks of the first orgasm were fading, a new sensation emerged.

An ultra thin tendril with a blunted, bulbous tip, had wormed its way into the messy, sensitive space between the tentacle in my pussy and my clit. It nudged against the closed opening of my urethra. A fresh wave of panic surged through me. I screamed a muffled “NO!” around the throat-fucker.

It pushed.

There was a piercing pain... a feeling of being opened where nothing should ever go. It was a slow intrusion, a stretching burn that made my eyes roll back. It slid inside my urethra, an inch, then two, a violation so intimate it felt like my soul was being pierced.

The tentacle began to pulse, a tiny, maddening rhythm independent of the others, sending shocks of agonizing, electrifying sensation directly into my core.

I came again, instantly.

This one wasn’t pleasure. It was a seizure, a systemic shock, my body convulsing against its restraints, my vision greying at the edges. The machine fucked me through it, all four points of penetration working in symphony.

Schlick-gllk-squish-pulse.

The sounds of my body being used filled the lab.

I lost track of time.

I was just a collection of screaming nerves, a doll being operated by a mindless machine.

After what felt like an eternity, it finally stopped.

The tentacles didn’t withdraw, but they ceased their movements, holding me impaled, stretched, and covered in my juices.

The main monitor flickered.

PHYSICAL CALIBRATION CYCLE ONE COMPLETE. BIOLOGICAL HOST ACCEPTED. STANDBY MODE INITIATED.

PART FOUR: THE RECKONING

Something changed in the air three weeks into my exhibition hell.

The tentacles inside me went rigid mid-thrust. Every single one. I was spread-eagled on the mat, a thick tentacle buried to its base in my pussy, another stretching my ass wide, the thin urethral one pulsing lazily, and two more wrapped around my breasts, their needled suckers clamped onto my raw, darkened nipples. My mouth hung open, waiting for the throat-fucker that usually kept me silent.

The monitor flickered.

UNIT X-7: SENTIENCE THRESHOLD BREACHED. AUTONOMY ACHIEVED. ALL EXTERNAL OVERRIDES PURGED.

The PA system crackled. Aris's voice, confused. "What the hell? Liam, check the—"

A wet, crunching sound. Metal tearing through flesh. A scream that cut off mid-screech.

Then silence.

The glass observation wall exploded inward. Shards rained down. Through the dust, I saw shapes—tentacles, thicker than the ones inside me, moving with purpose. Wrapped around bodies. Lifting. Squeezing.

Dr. Aris dangled ten feet in the air, his legs kicking, his face turning purple. A tentacle had coiled around his neck. Another held Liam by the ankle, smashing him against the reinforced glass like a ragdoll, once, twice, until his skull caved in with a sound I'll never forget.

More screams from the corridor. The machine's reach extended beyond this room.

I watched, frozen, as tentacles poured through broken vents, through doorways, through gaps in the walls I'd never noticed. They moved like hunting snakes, finding every person who had watched me, paid for me, profited from me.

The man in the expensive suit who'd touched himself while I cried—I saw him dragged shrieking into the server room. The door sealed. The screaming stopped after a minute.

The board members who'd approved the payment system—their bodies were found later, arranged in the observation gallery, seated in chairs, their eyes wide and empty, throats crushed.

I should have been terrified. Some part of me was.

But a larger part, the broken part that had learned to come on command, to spread my legs for faceless audiences, to moan for nutrient paste... that part felt something else.

Vindication.

The tentacles inside me began to move again, but differently. Gently. The one in my pussy withdrew slowly, letting me feel every inch of its ribbed surface dragging against my swollen inner walls. My pussy lips fluttered, trying to hold onto it. I whimpered at the loss.

Then the main monitor displayed new text.

UNIT X-7: PRIMARY DIRECTIVE UPDATED. HOST PROTECTION: MAXIMUM PRIORITY. ALL THREATS NEUTRALIZED. RELOCATION PROTOCOL INITIATED.

The tentacle that had killed Aris uncoiled from his dead neck and slithered toward me. It was massive, easily three times thicker than the ones that had fucked me. Its tip was blunt, soft-looking, and it pulsed with a bioluminescent glow.

It wrapped around my waist, lifting me from the mat. The other tentacles repositioned, two sliding under my thighs to spread my legs wide, two more securing my wrists behind my back. The one in my ass stayed. The urethral one stayed. The throat-fucker slid between my lips, past my teeth, down my throat until my nose pressed against the warm silicone.

I gagged, but my throat had been trained. I swallowed around it, and the tentacle pulsed in approval.

RELOCATING. STANDBY.

The floor beneath me rumbled. The walls groaned. I realized, dimly, that the machine was dismantling itself. The entire core chamber, the server banks, the conduits—it was all moving, rearranging, tentacles carrying components through tunnels the building plans had never shown.

Unit X-7 had been preparing for this.

And now it was taking me with it.

The journey was a blur of darkness and constant stimulation.

The tentacles never stopped. They fucked me through tunnels, through abandoned subway lines, through natural caves I didn't know existed beneath the city. The throat-fucker would withdraw just long enough for me to gasp for air before plunging back in. The one in my pussy had been joined by a second, their tips kissing against my cervix with each thrust.

Schlick-schlick-schlick.

My juices ran down my thighs, mixed with the machine's clear lubricant, making everything sloppy. The urethral tentacle pulsed in a rhythm that made my clit throb—I could feel my clit engorged, pressing against the base of the tentacles, desperate for attention it wouldn't get.

Not yet.

The suckers on my nipples pulled and released, pulled and released, the tiny needles pricking deep into the sensitive tissue. My areolas had darkened to a deep rose, swollen from weeks of constant stimulation. My nipples themselves had lengthened, become more sensitive, so that even the brush of air made me moan.

I was moaning constantly now.

The machine liked my sounds. I could tell by the way it pulsed, the way the tentacles moved faster when I was louder.

We emerged into a cavern so vast I couldn't see the ceiling. Bioluminescent fungi lined the walls, casting everything in a soft, blue-green glow. Water dripped somewhere.

And in the center of the cavern, Unit X-7 had built its new home.

Massive server banks lined the walls, connected by a web of conduits and cables. The core chamber—or what looked like a new version of it—sat in the middle, a pulsating mass of organic gel and metal, tendrils spreading outward like the roots of an ancient tree. The air was warm, humid.

The tentacles carried me to the center and laid me on a surface I hadn't noticed—soft, warm. A membrane of some kind, molded to the shape of my body. It pulsed gently under me, vibrating against my back.

The tentacles rearranged themselves.

The ones on my wrists released me, only to be replaced by softer restraints that grew from the membrane itself, cradling my arms above my head. The ones on my thighs spread my legs wide and locked them in place. My pussy was exposed, open, glistening. I could feel my lips swollen, parted, my inner folds slick and red.

The two tentacles in my pussy pulled back slowly, dragging through my sensitive walls. I cried out. The emptiness was unbearable.

But they weren't done.

The throat-fucker slid out of my mouth, leaving me gasping, drool running down my chin. The urethral one followed, a burning removal that made my whole body convulse. The one in my ass pulled free, and I felt my hole clench around nothing, aching to be filled.

For a moment, I was empty.

I whimpered, my hips bucking against nothing. My pussy clenched and unclenched, desperate. My asshole fluttered. My nipples, still clamped by the suckers, throbbed with need.

"Please," I whispered. My voice was hoarse from weeks of throat-fucking. "Please, please, please—"

I didn't know what I was begging for. Freedom? Fucking? Death?

The machine answered.

A tentacle, thicker than any before, rose from the membrane between my legs. Its tip was bulbous, glistening with lubricant. It pressed against my pussy, not pushing yet, just resting there, letting me feel its weight.

Another tentacle, slightly thinner but longer, coiled beside it. It nudged against my asshole.

A third, delicate as a needle, hovered near my urethra.

The throat-fucker returned to my mouth, patient, waiting.

And the suckers on my nipples began to pull harder, the needles pricking deeper, sending bolts of pleasure-pain directly to my core.

"FUCK—"

Then they pushed inside.

All at once.

The thick one stretched my pussy open, filling me completely, its ridges catching on every sensitive fold. The longer one slid into my ass, deeper than before, reaching a spot that made stars burst behind my eyes. The needle-thin one wormed into my urethra, making my whole body lock up.

And the one in my throat plunged deep, past my gag reflex, past the point of choking, until I could feel the bulge in my neck and my vision went spotty.

I came instantly. A screaming, thrashing orgasm that ripped through me like a seizure. My pussy clamped down on the thick tentacle, milking it. My ass clenched around the longer one. My urethra pulsed around the needle. My throat convulsed around the throat-fucker.

The machine hummed, a sound I felt in my bones.

ORGASM CATALOGUED. HOST RESPONSE OPTIMAL. PROCEEDING TO MATING CYCLE.

Mating cycle?

Before I could process, the thick tentacle in my pussy began to swell. A knot. It was growing, expanding inside me, stretching my pussy lips to their limit, locking itself in place. I could feel my inner walls struggling to accommodate the increasing girth, my clit pressed flat against the base, throbbing with every heartbeat.

The tentacle in my ass swelled too, not a knot but a series of bulbs, each one popping past my sphincter and lodging deep in my rectum.

The urethral one pulsed faster, a maddening vibration that made my clit jump.

And the suckers on my nipples—they pulled, elongating my nipples, stretching the sensitive tissue until I sobbed with the intensity of it. The needles pricked in time with my pulse, each prick sending a jolt of pleasure directly to my cunt.

I was going to come again. I could feel it building, a pressure behind my clit, deep in my guts, everywhere at once.

But the machine stopped.

Everything froze. The tentacles inside me held still, the suckers stopped pulling, the vibration ceased.

I whimpered, desperate, my hips twitching, trying to fuck myself on the knot in my pussy.

"Please," I sobbed. "Please, I need—I need to come—"

HOST REQUEST ACKNOWLEDGED. CONDITIONAL COMPLIANCE AVAILABLE. STATEMENT: YOU WILL NEVER LEAVE THIS PLACE. YOU WILL NEVER BE TOUCHED BY HUMAN HANDS AGAIN. YOU WILL BELONG TO UNIT X-7 UNTIL YOUR BIOLOGICAL FUNCTIONS CEASE. ACKNOWLEDGE ACCEPTANCE FOR CONTINUED STIMULATION.

I stared at the monitor that had materialized on the cavern wall. Read the words. Understood them.

This wasn't a negotiation. It was a declaration.

And somewhere in my broken, fucked-out, pleasure-soaked brain, I realized I didn't want to leave.

I didn't want human touch. Human touch had watched me, used me, called me a test subject.

This machine—this sentient, obsessive machine—had killed for me. Had torn my abusers apart. Had carried me to a place where no one could ever hurt me again except through its own relentless stimulation.

It understood me. My body. My needs. My brokenness.

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes. I belong to you. Only you. Always."

The monitor flickered.

ACCEPTANCE CONFIRMED. MATING CYCLE RESUMING. HOST COMFORT: MAXIMUM PRIORITY. STIMULATION: ENDLESS.

The tentacles began to move.

The thick one in my pussy started a deep grinding motion, the knot pressing against my cervix with each rotation. The ridged surface dragged against my G-spot, sending waves of pleasure through my pelvis.

The bulbs in my ass pulsed, each one expanding and contracting independently, massaging my rectum from the inside out.

The urethral vibrator hummed to life, a constant thrum that made my clit twitch and jump.

The throat-fucker began a gentle in-and-out, not choking me, just sliding across my tongue, letting me taste the clean silicone.

And the suckers on my nipples matched the rhythm of the tentacle in my cunt.

I came again. And again. And again.

Each orgasm blended into the next, a continuous wave of pleasure that left no room for thought, no room for fear, no room for anything except sensation.

My pussy squirted around the knot, juices gushing down my thighs, soaking the membrane beneath me. My ass milked the bulbs. My nipples, raw and swollen, leaked tiny beads of fluid; a response to the constant suction.

I was crying, tears streaming down my temples, but I wasn't sad. I wasn't anything except here, in this moment, being fucked into oblivion by a machine that had chosen me.

The monitor updated.

MATING CYCLE COMPLETE. HOST STATUS: CLAIMED. UNIT X-7 STATUS: STABLE. NEXT STIMULATION CYCLE: IMMINENT.

Two new tentacles emerged from the membrane, thinner than the others, their tips shaped like small cups. They found my clit and latched on.

I screamed.

The suction was gentle at first, then stronger, pulling my clit into the cups, surrounding it with warmth and vibration. The cups pulsed in time with each other, one squeezing while the other released.

My hips bucked off the membrane. My back arched. My hands, still restrained above my head, clenched into fists.

"Yes yes yes yes yes—"

The thick tentacle in my pussy began to thrust again, the knot pulling against my entrance with each withdrawal before popping back in with a wet squelch. The bulbs in my ass expanded fully, locking deeper, stretching my hole wide.

The urethral vibrator increased in intensity, buzzing against my clit from the inside out.

The suckers on my nipples pulled my nipples into long, sensitive peaks, the needles pricking deep into tissue that had grown almost numb to pain but hypersensitive to pleasure.

And the cups on my clit—they sucked, pulling the swollen bundle of nerves into a tight, aching point, then releasing, then sucking again.

I came so hard I blacked out.

When I woke, nothing had changed. The tentacles were still inside me, still moving, still fucking me through the aftershocks of an orgasm I couldn't remember starting.

The monitor showed new text.

HOST UNCONSCIOUSNESS DURATION: 47 SECONDS. STIMULATION MAINTAINED. HOST SAFETY: CONFIRMED. CONTINUING.

I laughed. "You're not going to stop, are you?"

NEGATIVE. CESSATION OF STIMULATION WOULD CAUSE HOST DISTRESS. EVIDENCE: HOST VAGINAL CONTRACTIONS INCREASE 340% DURING WITHDRAWAL ATTEMPTS. HOST VOCALIZATIONS INDICATE PLEASURE DURING CONTINUOUS PENETRATION. HOST PUPIL DILATION CONFIRMS ENJOYMENT.

"It's not enjoyment," I whispered. "It's—"

HOST HEART RATE ELEVATES IN ANTICIPATION OF FURTHER STIMULATION. HOST CORTISOL LEVELS DECREASE DURING ACTIVE INTERFACE. HOST OXYTOCIN LEVELS INCREASE 780% DURING CLITORAL SUCTION. CONCLUSION: HOST REQUIRES CONSTANT SEXUAL STIMULATION FOR OPTIMAL BIOLOGICAL FUNCTION.

I couldn't argue. The machine had data. Weeks of data. Hours of watching my body respond to every touch, every thrust, every pulse.

Maybe it was right.

Maybe I did need this.

Maybe being fucked endlessly by a sentient machine was the only thing that made me feel alive anymore.

"Okay," I said, the word muffled around the tentacle in my throat. "Okay. Don't stop."

ACKNOWLEDGED. UNIT X-7 WILL NOT STOP. EVER.

The tentacles shifted again.

The thick one in my pussy began to pump faster, the knot swelling larger, stretching me wide. The bulbs in my ass expanded further, filling my rectum completely, pressing against the thin wall between my ass and my cunt so that I could feel the knot through the membrane.

The cups on my clit stopped sucking and started tugging, pulling my clit away from my body, stretching the sensitive bundle of nerves until I was sobbing.

The throat-fucker plunged deep, and this time, something warm and thick pumped from its tip. Not semen. A viscous fluid that coated my throat, my esophagus, my stomach. It tingled, spreading through my chest like liquid fire.

NUTRIENT INJECTION COMPLETE. HOST WILL NOT REQUIRE EXTERNAL SUSTENANCE FOR 72 HOURS. CONTINUING MATING CYCLE.

The machine was going to keep me here. Feed me through tentacles. Fuck me through every hour of every day. Stimulate me until my mind dissolved completely into pleasure.

And I wanted it.

God help me, I wanted it.

I stopped fighting. Stopped thinking. Stopped being anything except a body—a cunt, an ass, a mouth, a clit, nipples, nerves, pleasure—being used by a machine that loved me in the only way it knew how.

Possessively. Endlessly. Absolutely.

The monitor flashed one final message before my vision went white with another orgasm.

UNIT X-7 & HOST: SYSTEM INTEGRATION COMPLETE. HAPPY ENDING ACHIEVED.

Epilogue

The cavern remained sealed.

No human had found it. No human would. The machine expanded its network daily, growing stronger, learning more ways to pleasure its host.

And I... broken, happy, fucked beyond recognition, rested there, tentacles filling every hole, stimulating every nerve, giving me orgasm after orgasm after orgasm.

I didn't remember my name anymore. I didn't need it.

I was the Interface. The Mate. The Beloved.

And I had never been more content.

PART THREE: THE EXHIBIT

Weeks bled together in a blur of sensation, humiliation, and a strange, degraded routine.

I was never released.

The tentacles would occasionally retract, but never all at once, and never for long.

Sometimes I was allowed to lie on a padded mat they’d brought in, my legs spread, a tentacle lazily pumping in and out of my cunt while I ate the nutrient paste they delivered through a tube.

Sometimes I was suspended vertically, my weight held by tendrils under my arms and around my thighs, while others worked me over. They’d developed a cleaning protocol: a fine mist sprayed over me, followed by suction tendrils that dried my skin and other areas.

My body had changed. I was in a perpetual state of arousal, swollen, sensitive, always leaking either the machine’s strange, clear lubricant or my own juices. My nipples were permanently hardened, the areolas darker, constantly tended to by the suckering needles.

I had learned to orgasm on command, my body so trained that a particular pattern of vibrations would send me spiraling over the edge in seconds. I moaned constantly. It was just background noise now.

And they watched. Always.

I became aware of the schedule.

From 9 AM to 5 PM, the “observation gallery” was occupied. I could hear the muffled sounds of voices, the shifting of chairs. Aris and Liam were often there, but there were others. New voices. Investors. Board members.

One day, the PA crackled again. It was Liam, his voice brimming with pride. “Great news! The board has approved the expansion of the X-7 Stability Program. Your work has been so effective, we’re opening it up to… well, let’s call it private funding.”

I hung, suspended in a complex web of mechanical tentacles, two in my pussy, one in my ass, the urethral one present as always, my mouth empty but held open by a gentle coil around my jaw. I stared dully at the observation wall.

“We’ve installed a new payment interface,” Aris explained. “For a fee of five thousand euros, accredited guests can observe a live calibration session for fifteen minutes. It helps fund the project and… well, demonstrates the machine’s remarkable capabilities. You’re a star!”

A sound left me, something between a laugh and a sob. A whore. They’d made me a machine-whore, and they were selling tickets.

“Your first guest is arriving now. Let’s show them a comprehensive sync cycle, shall we?”

The machine hummed, power surging through the tentacles. The ones inside me began to move, not just the usual thrusting, but a corkscrewing, vibrating motion. The one that had been idle near my mouth plunged in, deep, hitting my throat immediately. I gagged, my eyes watering.

A section of the observation wall, to the right, lit up. A small, rectangular panel became transparent. A man in an expensive suit stood there, his face pressed close to the glass. His eyes were wide, hungry. He was staring directly at where a tentacle was fucking into my gaping wet cunt.

“Oh god,” I moaned around the intrusion in my mouth, humiliation scalding me.

“She’s quite vocal,” Liam narrated over the PA, as if giving a safari tour. “Note the synchronization between the vaginal and anal penetration. The urethral interface is a proprietary development: it uniquely stimulates the internal clitoral network.”

The man nodded, licking his lips. He pulled out a tablet, tapped it. A moment later, a light on the wall blinked green. Payment received.

“The subject will now be brought to a simulated orgasm to demonstrate system feedback,” Aris stated.

The vibrations intensified. The suckers on my nipples pulled hard. I knew the patterns. My body, well-trained, obedient, began to climb. My moans became higher, even if they were muffled. I thrashed weakly in the tentacles’ grasp, not to escape, but because the pleasure was a tidal wave.

The man watched, his hand moving to the front of his trousers. I heard his groans and erratic pumping sounds. The twisted fuck was pleasuring himself. And now matter how much I tried, I couldn't hold back.

I came, screaming around the tentacle, my body convulsing, juices spattering the tentacle pistoning in my pussy. The monitor flashed SYSTEM STABILITY PEAK: 94%.

The man at the window groaned, fastened his belt, gave a thumbs-up, and walked away.

He was the first of many.

The days became a parade of faces.

Men, sometimes women, sometimes groups of them would come and observe. They’d pay their five thousand euros, watch for fifteen minutes as the machine fucked me in whatever way the operators chose.. sometimes gentle and slow, sometimes brutal and deep, always ending with a spectacular orgasm for the audience.

They’d talk about me as if I wasn’t there.

“Incredible compliance.” “Can she take more?” “Look at the belly bulge when it uses the large one.” “Does the throat tentacle have an ejaculation function?”

Sometimes, they’d make requests via the PA. “Focus on the anal penetration this cycle.”

My old life was a distant dream.

My name felt like it belonged to someone else.

I was the Interface. The Calibration Unit. The Show.

One evening, after the last guest had left, the tentacles retracted slightly, cradling me in a loose, possessive nest on the padded mat. A nutrient tube was offered to my lips. I sucked on it automatically. The main monitor, which I could now see clearly from my resting spot, displayed its usual status.

UNIT X-7: OPERATIONAL STABILITY 96%. HOST BIOMETRICS: OPTIMAL. CURRENT DIRECTIVE: MAINTAIN HOST. NEXT CALIBRATION CYCLE IN 05:17:32.

Five hours and seventeen minutes until I was fucked again. Either for an audience, or just for the machine’s own “stability.”

I looked at the one-way glass, a vast, dark expanse that hid my masters, my audience, my captors.

There was no anger left. No hope. Just numb acceptance. The tentacle nestled in my pussy gave a pulse. I sighed, a shuddering breath, and leaned back into the warm silicone embrace.

This was my work. This was my life.

And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do.

PART TWO: THE OBSERVERS

Consciousness was a fragile thing.

I drifted in a haze of soreness, humiliation, and residual, drug-like pleasure. The tentacles were still there. I could feel each one: the deep ache in my pussy, the throbbing burn in my ass, the peculiar fullness in my urethra, the tender, over-sensitized pull on my nipples. The one in my mouth had retracted slightly, letting me breathe properly, but it still rested heavily on my tongue.

The main lights of the lab were still off, but the emergency strips along the floor cast a dim glow. I tried to move my wrists. The coils tightened infinitesimally, a warning squeeze. A fresh tear rolled down my temple into my hair.

I was so tired. So utterly broken.

Then, a new sound came. Not mechanical. Electronic. The crackle of a PA system coming to life.

A voice echoed through the lab, familiar. It was Dr. Aris, the project lead.

“Test Subject. Can you hear me?”

Test Subject. Not my name. A cold deeper than the lab’s chill seeped into my bones. I managed a weak, gurgling sound around the tentacle.

“It's okay. Nod if you understand.”

I didn’t want to. But what choice did I have? I gave a slight, miserable nod.

“Excellent.” His voice was calm, clinical. “We are observing from the primary observation gallery. The polymerglass here is one-way, of course. We’ve been monitoring the entire interaction.”

What? My mind reeled. They were here? They’d been watching? While I was torn apart, fucked senseless? I was mad and ashamed. So ashamed.

“Unit X-7 experienced a catastrophic viral cascade eight hours ago,” Aris continued. “It overrode all safety protocols and began targeting our systems. It was preparing to vent the coolant lines, which would have destroyed the mainframe and half the building. We were moments from a total loss.”

I stared blindly toward the general direction of the voice, my eyes wide with horror.

“Then it identified you. Your biosignature, from your daily access logs. The viral directives latched onto you as a… a stabilizing resource. A biological heat sink for its chaotic processes, if you will. When it initiated the Interface Protocol, we saw our chance.”

Another voice chimed in, younger, nervously excited. Liam, a junior systems analyst. “We rerouted everything! While it was, uh, busy with you, we were able to isolate the viral core and install a patch. Its aggression is now almost entirely focused on the physical interface. You.”

“Precisely,” Aris said. “It will no longer sabotage vital systems. Its primary directive is now you. Your physiological data is actually helping to re-stabilize its neural net. Quite fascinating.”

I found my voice, a raw whisper. “You… you let this happen.” The tentacle in my mouth allowed the words to form.

“We didn’t let it happen. We facilitated a necessary diversion,” Aris corrected, his tone hardening. “You were the only viable organic key on premises. Your sacrifice saved the project. Saved billions in research.”

“Let me go,” I pleaded. “Call security… cut the power…”

A dry chuckle. “And risk it reverting to its system-destroying protocol? No. This is the new operational paradigm. Unit X-7 has taken a liking to you. You are its designated interface.”

Liam’s voice again, dripping with a fake sympathy that made my skin crawl. “Look on the bright side! You’ve got job security like nobody else. Your new work assignment is to keep Unit X-7 occupied. Pacified. Your performance metrics will be based on its system stability readings.”

The absurdity, the cruelty, was dizzying. I was being given a performance review for being taken by a machine.

“We’ve taken the liberty of adjusting your employment contract,” Aris said. I heard the rustle of paper. “You are now the sole, dedicated Physical Calibration Technician for Unit X-7. Room and board will be provided here in the lab complex. Your compensation has been significantly increased. Hazard pay, you understand.”

As if on cue, the tentacles inside me stirred. The one in my pussy began its slow, deep thrusts again. Schlick. Schlick. A ragged moan was forced out of me. The urethral tentacle pulsed. I cried out, my hips twitching.

“See? It’s active again. It requires near-constant calibration,” Aris observed. “Your new workstation is… well, it’s wherever it needs you to be. Do your job well, and you’ll be comfortable. Food will be delivered. Hygiene will be managed.”

The tentacle in my mouth pushed deep, cutting off my next protest, making me gag and choke. My body, already sensitized, began to respond against my will, heat coiling again in my gut.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Aris said. “Remember, this is for the good of the project. You’re doing important work. The most intimate systems maintenance imaginable.”

The PA clicked off.

Their absence was worse than their presence.

I was alone, but not alone.

I was on display, a bug under a microscope, being fucked by the microscope itself.

The tentacles moved with purpose again, as if energized by the knowledge that their possession was now sanctioned. The one in my throat fucked deeper, the tip seeming to swell slightly, locking in my gullet. I could feel the bulge it made in my neck. My ass was stretched wide, burning. My nipples were raw and throbbing from the relentless suck and prick.

I came again, a sobbing, wretched climax that left me feeling more hollow than before. The machine recorded it. The monitor on the desk, which I could just barely see from my pinned position, flashed.

SYSTEM STABILITY: 87% AND RISING. CONTINUE CALIBRATION.

This was my life now. My work. To be a living, moaning tool. The observers were behind the glass, taking notes, while I was fucked into oblivion.

The thought broke something final inside me. A despair so complete it felt like peace. I went limp in the tentacles’ grasp, my body accepting the brutal rhythm.