She is worshiped and beloved; a vision of beauty, a figure of grace, and a symbol of sex, with a form crafted to be adored and to be an object of lust. Resting in her chamber, her tall, sweeping crown of spired horns curls back with a gleam in the light as she brushes her hands up a thigh, running the fingers from her knee and up across its length, fanning them out and letting each tactile sensor tingle with sensation as she draws them slowly and lustfully up. She waits for her visitor--a suitor of appropriately fine breeding and form--with an anticipation honed by the countless visitations and hours of passionate and savage ravagings; it is, after all, what she was made for; it is what she was programmed and shaped and perfected to be: a lover of android forms; a giver of pleasure; a performer of exquisite skill; a goddess of sex and joy.
The chamber opens, and her suitor waits in the door; a tall and handsomely built machine shaped with a wide and stout frame, whose sweeping lines and curling accents lead her eyes to all the places necessary to excite her senses. His own optics gaze on her, studying her full and voluptuous gynoid form from the tall crown of horns down over her long and slender neck, and over the round and full fluid-filled sacks that form her breasts. There he pauses, studying the transparent plastics and the clear fluid swirling within, transfixed by the attached sensors that are her nipples and the apertures that rhythmically twitch, opening and shutting just slightly with each breath in wild, yet restrained, anticipation, the tiny slatted receptacles offering him just enough of a glimpse at the machinery beneath to court his arousal.
At length he enters, the door shutting behind him for a measure of privacy, and he is drawn to the broad curves of her hips and legs as she stretches and kicks them out luridly, and even the coy bent of her arms on the seat behind her as she steadies herself lends sultry imagery to the vision; for the very act pushes her chest forward and up, and the twitching nipples reach longingly out towards him as he nears. Her expression remains placid and sedate, even as she bats her eyes slowly, and still her countenance is unreadable when he stops before her, takes her breasts in his hands, and rubs and squeezes and caresses them in small, taut circles on her chest; still placid, even, as he brushes her nipples against his thighs; still placid, even, as he squeezes them together against the dangling, slowly-rising organ between his legs.
She is a master of the game, always in control and always teasing in her actions, and even as he cups her head in his palms and gently lifts her up for a kiss she plays her role, submissively blinking and playing her hands over his chest and haunches; slowly making her way around to his crotch, and touching with such gentle pressure as to tickle at his tactile sensors. The cold, airy sensations tug at his psyche, and soon he's pulled her close to kiss and caress, his own hands gripping and drawing about the soft, pliable skin draped over her frame. Together they mingle, artificial forms falling into each other's arms, her ample breasts mashing against his chest as their attentions turn increasingly aggressive, until he's pushing her back onto the bed, controlling her weight with uncanny strength and grace as he climbs over the top of her.
With him straddled above her, she feels at once both submissive and excited by his exertion of control, and is further aroused as he strokes his member, pulling and aiming its ample length towards her chest; the very act teasing and torturing her with anticipation until simulated breaths turn to gasps as he taps the head of himself against a nipple. His attention is first on but one, and he draws the head over its twitching surface as he calibrates the mating surface, when his own member spins and twirls, altering its surface as slats and apertures open and close, its length changing in shape and form until a proper engagement can be made with her unique model. And then, at last, he removes his hand and pushes himself into the mating surface, the head engaging easily with the aperture and locking in place, and as he begins to pump in and out the rest of his pole grows taut and thick, pushing into the clear liquid in her breast while the head remains stationary.
Its width pushes her aperture wider, emitting electrical pulses with each thrust which disperse through the liquid as a flash of sensation that her sensors can only describe as pure and carnal pleasure. She gasps and pants as she watches the shaft plunge down into her breast, and exclaims as it retreats in tiny, gasping whimpers; quietly and silently entreating her suitor to continue, so that she can watch and feel his manhood penetrating deep into her, so that the visual stimulus can continue to arouse her desires ... but as a tiny wisp of fluid escapes his member and mingles with that of her breast's he abruptly stops, gently removing himself from her quietly panting form and allowing a drop of her clear liquid to spill onto her nipple, where it rolls slowly down the round bulge of her chest and onto her belly. He pauses then as she silently pleads for more, his member rearranging and re-calibrating, but even as she begs for the second breast she sees the reconfiguration and knows its import; in return playing her fingers about the aperture of her pussy, lifting and spreading the lips to let him inside. With ravenous and slow strength he pushes himself in, plunging his slatted metal cock down to the balls with each and every slow, deliberate, and grinding thrust deep into her body.
She gasps at first, and the stimulus of his hard surfaces rolling over the soft, synthetic material of her insides excites and arouses her, the tiny pulses of electricity flowing from the buds on his member and into the fibers of her interior. Slowly at first but soon faster he pushes in and out, plunging himself deeper and deeper into her, when after a moment of increasingly wild and excited panting she recognizes the model and fitment of his member as it expands, and lengthens, and expands again, growing wider and stiffer, and longer and deeper within her. In a moment it reaches into her sex; after another it reaches into her belly; and after another it reaches further still into her chest. She expects it to stop, her wild panting and whimpers surely exciting him, but it continues further still; longer and longer and wider yet until it reaches into her throat and finally emerges from her mouth, so stiff and thick that it pushes her head back into the bed; rolling in and out of her face with wet and thick pops as he rocks back and forth, the head so tantalizingly close to her eyes that she feels she could lick it ... that is, if it were not already locked within her jaws.
Impaled upon him, she suddenly finds herself helpless and under his complete control; unable to escape, and unable to prevent him from taking her; and the image upon the mirrored headboard drives her to still wilder excitement as she watches him push his pole in and out of her face. Her hands grip the sheets, and the sheer number of sensory inputs along her internal shaft nearly overwhelm her senses; soon she can think of nothing but the sex, see nothing but the head rocking in and out of her, and feel nothing but the raw and carnal, even savage desire driven by the image in the mirror and her helpless condition. He takes her legs in his hands to run his hands up and down her thighs, his fingers so gentle as he lifts her legs in the air that the tickling sensations only add to her desires, and when he draws his fingers down over her belly and towards her breasts she continues to hold them upright, arching her back until she is completely as his mercy, muffled, whimpering exclamations of joy voicing her satisfaction with his attentions as his fingers pinch, tug, and play with nipples that reconfigure to stand tall and erect for him.
An overload occurs, and as the inputs overwhelm her senses she loses control of her ejectors; a programmed response as she reaches orgasm, displayed in wild sprays and jets of fluid from her clit and nipples that coat his chest and crotch in her juice. The image, she thinks, must have worked, for his pole spits first a tiny spill of fluid, then another, and finally increasingly powerful shots of white fluid against the mirrored headboard, covering the reflection of her face in its juice; splattering messily against her forehead first, then dripping and spilling down the reflection of her crown until it falls onto the sheets. Each spasm that accompanies a burst rocks her body, the powerful cock seizing up tight with each spray so powerfully as to lift and roll her body, a round and light figure so tautly drawn about him that it is at the mercy of his orgasm, not unlike a thimble that must, as it is, be forced to move with the finger that wears it.
At last their shared orgasm subsides, and when finally he retracts his member she is able to look down, watching and feeling the travel of it through her as he removes himself, the act itself arousing in its own peculiar manner, and her inputs declare to her the emptiness of her reserves; a situation she has not experienced in quite a long time. The view of him certainly confirms it, with the pools of liquid still dripping down his chest and onto her own crotch, and as she licks her lips--cleaning them and tasting the last of his fluid as she swallows it down--he leans over gently, placing his hands aside her as he grants her one last kiss; one last silent expression of gratitude and farewell before standing back from the bed, turning easily on his heels and exiting, leaving her alone with her pleasure and satisfaction within a pool of their heterogeneous juices, so that she may stretch and splay her arms above her head for a long and pleasing rest, a quiet and smiling sigh being the last sound she utters before a cybernetic dream.
Gorgeous storytelling, exciting, poetic. I tip my hat to you sir, well done.