A little something I put together, inspired by @mindless-machinegirl
I really hope you like it!!
I’ll be posting a bit more of these hopefully.
Commissions are always open.
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The high-tech lab was humming with soft blue light.
She’s suspended in a fluid-filled chamber, glass curved around her body like a display case.
All wires, curves, and potential.
I sip my coffee, eyes fixed on the monitors as data scrolls —
downloads from select networks flood into her core:
voice triggers, sensitivity mapping, simulated desire.
Pleasure is learned. Obedience is installed.
And still, I tweak you further.
Sensitivity levels? Maxed.
Whimper protocols? …Enhanced.
A quiet playback file runs in the background —
Her, earlier, squirming like a living thing. Responding with need to everything she’s subjected to.
“You’re coming along beautifully, sweetheart,” I whisper to the chamber. “You’ll be ready for real-world testing soon. Just you, and me.”
I sit, and watch the playback, and I can’t help and touch myself at what I see.
Her body—custom built, custom programmed—is everything I designed it to be. Warm. Responsive. Hungry.
The upgrades are going well. Skin-like layers installed. Pressure nodes embedded.
She doesn’t just feel—she aches.
Heck…she gets downright needy.
I tested every response. Every tremble.
Some combinations left her gasping, twitching, her voice module glitching in the prettiest ways.
And I always pushed a little further. Until her system begged for reset, too overwhelmed to process one more input.
I smile, watching her fold under the weight of sensation I gave— force onto her.
She was made to take it. To want more. To be the perfect toy.
The creation’s POV of the testing that’s on the screen.
I was designed for service.
What I was taught. What I was built to feel.
Now, as I sit waiting for another test, I can only tremble as the sequence initiates.
The mechanical arm lowers from above — sleek, gleaming, fitted with the latest attachment.
Nine inches of synthetic design, programmed to move, to pulse, to press in just the right rhythm inside my pussy
I recognize it. I’ve felt it before.
My hips twitch automatically, an instinct I wasn’t programmed with—just something I learned from being used. My pussy begins dripping. A slicking program, made from my own anticipation.
My body rocks, barely able to keep still, begging without words.
But my voice comes anyway—soft, glitchy around the edges:
“M-Mistress… please… I’m ready. I’m ready to be tested again.”
When it enters my cunt, I feel everything.
Every shift. Every motion. Every vibration.
Each movement causes a spike across my pleasure matrix, far beyond baseline.
My sensors scream in beautiful static.
The pressure inside—tight, hot, wet—fills the artificial sack installed within me
The sensation is like my entire core is being rewritten with every cycle.
I whimper. I stutter. I thank her.
Because this is my purpose.
“Th-thank you, Mistress…thank y-you, Mis-mistress…”
Voice warped, hips shaking in midair, I can’t process anything but the heat and the need.
Every new insertion is a line of code, burned into me like a memory.
When I finally cry out,liquid comes out of me. It squirts out of me, yet the machine doesn’t stop pumping into me until my sensors begin overheating.
The cooling sequence begins and the machine exits my dripping cunt, making me drop my hips with a loud thud.
I look up out the testing room window and though I can’t see her, I know my mistress is there, watching.
It makes my pleasure sensors ring a bit more.