Fumbling Towards Ecstacy
ULTRA Bonus Day: Tentacles
Okay, so maybe they shouldn't jump down into random holes, especially ones that appear in the ground without any sort of prior puzzle solving or blasting open cracked stone.
Panic is V1's first instinct; they can't reach their weapons. Every one of their arms are being restrained, pulled up over their head by way of several, slimy red tendrils. Ones that had snatched them out of their fall, interrupting their foolish plunge into the unknown. Both of their thighs have been splayed outwards like they're some specimen being prepared for dissection.
The warmachine's simulation program gets caught in the feedback loop of fear and won't properly run. V1 swiftly flattens their wings against their back as one of the writhing tentacles brushes against it. Several more appear from the surrounding darkness, tinted with an eerie red, and creep ever closer as they squirm fruitlessly.
They can't do anything. They've been rendered effectively helpless; completely at this thing's mercy. As the long, slimy appendages all descend upon them at once, the warmachine braces themselves for dismemberment with blinding terror.
But the pain of being ripped apart never comes.
V1 opens their optic shutters (when had they closed them?) and hurriedly turns their attention at the spots they're receiving the most physical stimuli. They are not being torn to pieces, but simply touched, caressed, even. The delicate nerves beneath V1's plating, now that their programming loops aren't crashing from panicked feedback, register the touches as cool, almost pleasantly so. A thin trail of viscous liquid follows each brush of flesh against metal, streaking it along their chassis and calves and back.
How strange, the tendrils don't seem interested in obliterating them for their blood, not in the slightest.
The ones at their legs begin to creep higher, over plastic veins and locked servos, right along their inner thigh plating and then beyond even that--
A few images suddenly jump to V1's forethoughts, just a scant few saved from their rare forays onto the internet unsupervised. The similarities click all at once, causing them to buffer. That had all been just pornographic fantasies given life through art, animation, and limited technology. It was never once considered within the realm of possibility. Are the intentions of this indescribable entity actually erotic in nature?
The tip of the tentacle traces along the seam of their crotch plating, poking about the corners insistently. Almost as if trying to find a way to rip it off them completely. Immediately after, they discern that the answer is yes, indeed it is. And the thought of it should absolutely not make their wires flare bright with heat.
To be on the safe side, the warmachine considers the outcomes. There is still a possibility that the creature could just kill them in cold blood when it's finished with them. Nevermind the improbability that this was meant to be a swift affair. There are a lot of tentacles, even more now that their optics have adjusted to the lower light levels. Wiggling, swaying, as if waiting for their turn.
...well, if this how they die, then dammit, they might as well go out after getting fucked by tentacles.
They double-check the status of their video-feed, ensuring that the recording function is online, before they run the command to open their lower crotch panel with a single thought. Within moments, they've exposed their folds to the chilly air.
And as soon as they do, something rumbles all around them. The sound is deep enough for them to feel all the way down to their frame. But there's an unmistakable tone of satisfaction that accompanies it.
V1's entire chassis shudders audibly as that first, frisky tentacle eagerly rubs itself between their heated folds. It's starkly cold against their blood-warmed body, but something about the difference in temperature makes them throb. Their hips buck instinctively, but the warmachine is granted little in the way of mobility.
After a few more passes, the tip presses down on their clit, teasing it in slow circles. White noise scratches at the edges of their visuals. They're so sensitive; it's been so long since they last could safely scratch this particular itch. Another pleased growl emanates from all directions as they writhe in its grip, before it briefly pulls away.
The tendril sinks into them without any further fanfare. V1 jolts violently with a sharpened whirr of their fans. Its thin tip parts them easily, growing thicker as it burrows into them. And it just keeps going, reaching farther than they've ever managed on their own or with a partner. It just slides deeper and deeper until it can go no farther, but still it pushes and prods-
Something about the force of it, right at the spot where their silicone walls come to an abrupt end, causes their optic to short out with what feels like an electric shock. It arcs across every nerve end they have, leaving them tingling with euphoric sensation as it ebbs.
Their sense of sight reboots to even more of them sliding all across their frame, as if groping them further. The tendril within them pauses, and its touch lightens enough for a momentary reprieve. Once their fans die down to safer speeds, it presses down once more, as if investigating. While the pressure is much gentler than the first time, it still makes lightning dance through their wires.
How the fuck is it doing that? There isn't anything in their internal manual about an extra erogenous area. Perhaps there's a sensitive component there, just above the end of their artificial vaginal canal, that when stimulated-
The tip of a second tentacle poking at their rim snaps them out of their musings, before the slow stretch of it slipping in alongside the first completely derails their thought process. Oh, what does it matter? As long as it feels good, as long as they get more...
As soon as the other tendril slides home, it keeps them waiting no longer. White noise begins to break up their visuals as the entity finally starts fucking them in earnest. White-hot ecstasy wracks them in waves with every thrust, pulling out to the tips before shoving back in to push firmly against that spot. It's just as heady and addictive as they remember it being.
They're vaguely aware of another one of the thinner appendages pawing at the outline of their upper panel. V1 has just enough sense left to input the command to open it. Their dick all but springs from its sheath, already dripping with precum.
Something like a rattling, moan escapes them, through stuttering fans and quivering steel plating, as the tentacle immediately coils around their shaft. It begins stroking the smooth metal and blue silicone, slime and lubricant slicking them up quickly.
Stars begin to radiate across their HUD, in sync with every tug, every thrust. How had they ever gone this long without this euphoria, just as heady as the splash of fresh bloodfuel on their plating? Sparks begin to fly from all their joints. It's too much; their pleasure centers won't be able to handle the surge so soon--
From between the twitching joint of their hip and leg, a third tendril slithers over wires and plastic veins. Its tip finds their clit in a hurry, jamming down on it in rapid circles.
The tension releases all at once in an overwhelming rush, crashing down onto them like a breaking ocean wave. It renders them completely sightless, and unable to hear the stuttering of their cooling fans. V1 comes harder than they think they ever have in their entire existence.
Error messages greet their return to the chilly air of the void, pressing in from all around them, and completely limp in their captor's grasp. V1 dismisses them absentmindedly, reveling in their afterglow. Fuck, how had they ever gone so long without a good lay?
A surprised whine escapes them when those tentacles suddenly start fucking them again, stroking their cock and pounding into their cunt. V1's back arches, instinctively trying to squirm away from the renewed surge of euphoria. Their world narrows to the in-and-out movements that slam against that spot, and the burning pain of their oversensitive dick pressurizing again in a hurry. It hurts, but it feels so good.
It all stops abruptly, leaving the tentacles partway buried within them. V1 instinctively starts to push their fans into an audible whine. Only to be cut off by the feeling of a third tendril brushing along the rim of their aching cunt, touch firm and movements searching.
Fuck, they not sure if it'll fit. They've been stretched to their limit, metal does not give like flesh does. They can't--it surely won't--
The steel does not buckle, but it certainly groans as the tentacle somehow, impossibly, slips in, and in, and in. V1 thrashes as the nonstop feedback loop assaults them, overloaded with sensory signals. They cannot escape it, cannot wiggle away from the onslaught of radiant ecstasy it brings them. Warning messages concerning their pelvic plating blossom across their HUD, only to be dismissed without a second thought.
Those tentacles go right back to fucking them, as if they hadn't just driven V1 to the edge mere minutes ago. The pressure around their dick and clit become but afterthoughts. This is--they've never felt so full, and it's so dizzyingly good. Every thrust stretches them far past their limit, sends arcs of lightning to fry every delicate synapse they possess.
V1 isn't given any form of reprieve when their second orgasm hits. The tendrils just keep fucking them through it, dragging it out for even longer than the last. They've all but given up clearing their HUD of flashing error boxes, too blissed out to care about their obstructed vision.
Entire background processes all crash at once; higher thinking, long-term memory, everything not related to keeping their processors from unexpectedly tanking or overheating is forcefully shut down. The warmachine tumbles further and further into ecstasy, mind going pleasantly empty as third release unexpectedly crashes over them.
Through the senseless static clouding their head, V1 distantly wonders if they could handle another tentacle.
