"doggy Style" My Ass. If The Guy On Top Isn't Tongue-out Panting And Growling Like A Dog And The Guy

"doggy style" my ass. if the guy on top isn't tongue-out panting and growling like a dog and the guy bottoming isn't whining and whimpering like a dog, you are NOT doing it doggy style. you guys are POSERS.

i am NOT a bite risk. do not listen to them

everyone needs that one friend they can say just absolutely deranged horny shit too. this is like crucial for your sanity

Disassembling your robot sub and breaking the sensor that allows it to orgasm to put it in permanent denial. Not telling it what you did, ordering it to cum for you and watching it collapse into whirring and whimpering and panic when it doesn't work, calling it disobedient and malfunctioning, forcing it to apologise over and over as it edges and edges and edges~

Imagine. Just imagine.

A robot with a tall, heavy metal body. A robot built for efficiency, not companionship. Its strong limbs were made to work 20 hours a day. Its hands can crush and pry open things easily, lift ten times its own body weight without straining it's metal skeleton, it is truly a machine in every sense of the word.

And it finds itself in your arms, back to your chest, legs spread and unable to stop the pathetic sounds being unwittingly synthesized and crackling out through its speakers. Your hands touch its body as you whisper sweet things. He is loveable. You adore him. He is perfect how he is. He's so gorgeous. He's soft. He's kind. He's desirable.

So this robot, this being brought to life to work and nothing else, writhes in pleasure as your hands tease its body, pluck at its wires, and ghost along his pinch points.

For the first time in his entire life, this robot begins to feel loved. He feels adored. He feels perfect and gorgeous and desired. He comes apart under you easily, having never felt anything like this before. Even once he's fallen over the past of no return, his fans whirring loudly to ease his overheating system, you continue to touch him and drive him mad with pleasure.

It's okay, you insist. You're just showing him how loved he is. He's so, so terribly loved. Can't he feel it? How it overtakes his body and mind, almost painfully so. That's love. He's feeling love.

So you continue. You continue this blissful torture until he's genuinely uncomfortable to touch, his fans unable to keep him cool any longer. There is no voice any longer, his cries reduced to static. Only then you make sure to plug him in to recharge, hold his hand while reassuring him he did so well. So perfect. Yes, he is truly just that loved.

That night he enters sleep mode with a suspicious feeling worming it's way into his system. A bug, perhaps? A virus? No, he reassures himself as the world goes black. It's love.