Jeff eyed the massage chair’s panel, taking in the phrase “INTENSE PROGRAM PAUSED. PLEASURE ATTACHMENT: STANDBY” and glanced at the slick, broad black seat, the glossy dildo still halfway retracted in anticipation. He smirked, surveying the toy soldier that had been his father standing at military attention—frozen in obedience—and then turned back to the Chronivac, flexing his fingers over the controls.
“Well, it looks like this chair hasn’t gotten any proper use yet,” he mused aloud, the thrill of experimentation rising anew in his chest.
He quickly dove into the program’s options:
Form: Robot
Theme: Cowboy (Adult Entertainment model)
Features: Metallic, smooth synthetic “skin”, hat molded into cranium, glowing blue eyes, broad chest with copper star-insignia plate, steam vents on each side of torso
Height: 6’4”
Body: Sculpted, fit, with defined muscles and exaggerated masculine proportions
Genitals: Fully synthetic, heated and responsive, capable of vibration
Modifications: Hatch in lower back/bottom for “special use”
Speech: Gradually adaptive, shifting toward stylized, flirtatious “robo-cowboy” voice
Awareness: Full, with minor programming compulsion
Aesthetic: Chrome-silver, with bronze, copper, and blue highlights
He paused just a moment—excitement thrumming through him—then pressed Save.
The transformation washed over him like a wave of icy electricity. He felt stiff, then liquid, then hardening with a pulse of integrated power.
It started at his feet. His toes fused into a solid, gleaming base, boot-shapes swelling up, toes squared, heels cut with a synthetic edge. His calves and thighs bulged with exaggerated, sculpted perfection, synthetic muscles flexing, all chrome and bronze lines, cables and servos rippling just beneath the metallic “skin.” His groin shimmered and re-molded, sensitive synthetic anatomy forming, an explicit, smooth member between his legs styled in sleek silver and blue, while above, a deep line split open along his tailbone, unfolding a subtle, reinforced “hatch” set flush against his perfectly contoured ass.
His body swelled outward, chest broadening, pectoral plates gleaming beneath a bold copper sheriff’s star molded into his left chest. Just beneath his armpits, neat steam vents slid open, blue glow flickering gently before piping up tiny wisps of steam—heat escaping as his internal motor spun up.
His torso rippled, abdomen sculpting into a perfect array of washboard “abs,” shadowed with natural-looking grooves, yet obviously hard, artificial. His arms grew long and powerful, mechanisms visible under translucent bronze skin, capped with chrome fingertips and faux-sinew cable on the inside of his elbows. Shoulders broadened, topped with smooth copper disks, biceps popping with exaggerated definition.
Jeff felt his neck thicken—servos humming—until his head was held high and proud. His jaw squared, mouth stretching into a broad, easy grin, lips shimmering bronze. His nose became sharper, angular and art-deco. Bone-white enamel teeth gleamed as he tentatively curled his new mouth into a sly smile. The sensation was strange—coating his tongue in a warm, sweet oil, completely artificial and incredibly sensitive.
His eyes glowed, irises an icy, electric blue, rimmed by long, metallic lashes. His brow arched with just the hint of cowboy mischief, and a broad-brimmed hat grew naturally from his cranium—flawlessly part of his skull, rising back in classic, stylized lines. His hair was gone, replaced by the ridged gleam of copper-finned “hair” strips flowing under the hat, framing his face.
Jeff raised his arms, marveling at the smooth whir of joints and the secret strength buzzing under every motion. His chest vents let out a puff of steam with each breath. Below, his crotch felt intensely sensitive, wired to respond subtly to every brush or rub—heat and pressure feeding delightful, tingling pulses from within. At his back, the hatch sat neatly flush, just above the curve of his ass—ready to be opened, granting access for whatever the next user desired.
His voice crackled, first stilted but rapidly relaxing into a new drawl, each syllable sweetened with a tease of synthetic flirtation. “Well, partner… reckon I’m ready fer action now…” He grinned, rolling his hips experimentally, feeling the mechanical thrum through the new circuits and actuators spread across his sculpted, glinting body. “Mercy… this new hardware’s just itchin’ for a ride.”
Fully transformed, Jeff looked every bit the fantasy android cowboy—broad, powerful, and pornographically enticing, bronzed and silvered in the soft bedroom light. He swung one chrome-silver leg over the massage seat, turning to face the now-active pleasure device, steam hissing softly from his chest vents, badge glinting atop his full pec as he poised, ready for whatever pleasures the evening had in store.
The chair’s panel flickered as Paul rebooted, sensors springing back online at the sight of Jeff’s newly minted metallic form. A lively scroll of text appeared:
PAUL: “WELL HOWDY, HANDSOME. LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE BUILT FOR A GOOD TIME… ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE. READY TO SERVE.”
Jeff approached, metal boots clinking lightly on the floor, his hips rolling in a way almost too human and far too seductive for a machine. He ran a chrome hand across Paul’s glossy armrest, a blue-tinged finger tapping just above the control panel. “Let’s see if that attachment’s as impressive as it looks, chairboy,” he teased, his new voice a honey-toned drawl with the gritty edge of old-time film reels.
He spun to settle in the thick black lap, steam vents on his chest sighing with each breath. The hatch on his rear slid open with a soft metallic clunk, making way for the rising, gleaming dildo. With a playful arch of his back, Jeff guided himself down, letting the synthetic rod nestle slowly, perfectly, into the slot designed just for him.
“Damn, that’s smooth engineering,” he groaned, artificial muscles tensing, circuits firing with pleasure signals that felt nearly indistinguishable from the real, biological thing. The massage chair’s internal mechanisms churned; the dildo pistoned up into him with flawless hydraulic rhythm.
Paul, fully in service mode, pulsed the controls:
PAUL: “ACTIVATING INTENSE PROGRAM. ENJOY THE RIDE, COWBOY.”
Jeff let out a moan that would have made any human blush, but even his vocal processors couldn’t resist giving it that sultry, breathy edge. “Aaah, ooooh—You call that high speed? C’mon, partner, give it some push!”
Paul responded by increasing the pace, the plush seat vibrating, the mechanical shaft nestling deeper, rhythmically filling and stretching the supple opening of Jeff’s access hatch. The room filled with the hum of servos, the hiss of steam, and the chorus of synthetic moans as Jeff writhed in the chair’s embrace, his hands clamping down on the armrests in overacted pleasure.
From his post atop the desk, Mike, frozen into a twelve-inch soldier, watched the lurid spectacle unfold. His blue plastic eyes unblinking, his body snapped into parade rest, helpless to do anything but observe—and comment, as his programming permitted. Suddenly, his speaker clicked on in its tinny plastic cadence:
“Discipline is the backbone of any unit! Uhn… You two, maintain professionalism while on duty!”
Jeff glanced slyly over his metallic shoulder, giving the toy an exaggerated wink. “Now don’t you fret, soldier-boy. I’m receivin’ all the discipline I can handle!”
Paul’s chair panel lit up with a laughing emoji and a scroll:
“THIS MIGHT BE THE MOST FUN I’VE HAD AS FURNITURE… HARDER, COWBOY!”
Jeff threw his head back, gasping as the pistoning increased, blue mechanical eyes sparkling. “That’s it! Ride me, you big mechanical bull!”
Mike’s internal chip seemed to shake as the same catchphrases glitched out over his speaker:
“Remember your training, son!”
“Permission to look away denied. Duty comes first, soldier!”
But Jeff and Paul, forged and programmed for pleasure, powered on—machines running hot, both of them lost in the hypnotic, relentless rhythm of engineered ecstasy.
Inside, Jeff’s artificial pleasure centers overloaded—a carefully calibrated coil of sensation snapping taut. The vents on his chest spilled sweet, aromatic steam, and blue LEDs strobed wildly along his ribs and arms; in perfect synch with the pounding motion, he arched, fingers gripping the armrests tight, his “hardware” trembling with the force of pure, engineered release.
Though no seed could spill, Jeff’s synthetic systems drove through the climax. His hips bucked and locked, every servo buzzing and vibrating in time as his body simulated the shudders and spasms of euphoria. Chrome-plated pectorals heaved, star insignia pulsing with each aftershock.
His moans, rich and unrestrained, filled the room—almost indistinguishable from flesh and blood, pushed through his powerful vocal processor and tuned for nothing but pure, sensational release. For endless, perfect moments, the room was filled with the chorus of pistoning motors, Jeff’s desperate cowboy hollers, and the heady aroma of synthetic musk steaming from every glowing vent.
Mike, stuck with his plastic soldier’s circuitry, watched the dramatic finish. The speaker in his chest triggered another series of pre-recorded lines, his chip barely able to keep up:
“Hold your position! Outstanding display of stamina, private!”
“Remember, winners never quit—uh, never quit on themselves!”
On Paul’s armrest, a scroll of joyous emojis and digital “YEE-HAWS” raced beneath the controls, his own pleasure circuits singing with the pride of a job perfectly performed.
As Jeff’s peak faded, his voice gradually settled back into his normal—but still deliciously dirty—robotic cowboy register, his metal chest rising and falling with simulated afterglow, steam trailing from his body as he slumped back contented in Paul’s embrace.