"Oh, my head!" you say raising your left hand to your temple. You're lying on a cold wooden work bench. You remember dancing, and the hot blond. You smile. The last thing you remember was the lights, the noise, and falling. And before that the hot blond handed you a drink. You're not sure if it was beer, or mixed drink now, you never took your eyes off the guy's hot bod to really look at drink. It was cold and kind of metallic tasting, you think, but are not sure.
Your hand brushes your naked chest, and you wonder whether you got lucky or rolled last night. You open your eyes, and look around. You're in some kind of workshop, a robotics workshop from the parts lying around. As part of your morning routine, you reach with your right hand to scratch your balls. You start as the robotic arm on the table next to you moves, and it's hand starts to scratch its tabletop. You turn to the right, and see wires and tubes sticking out of your shoulder: the arm on the other table is yours.
NO! you think, This cannot be. I am not a machine. I am a man my name is Erik... Your thoughts are interrupted by a rich melodic voice tinted with laughter.
"I see you're up sleepy head! We'll have you fixed up and running in just a bit," says the cute blond from the club. You can't see who he's talking to, but he's not looking at you. You see him reach for a dildo on the table next to your arm. He touches its head it grows bigger with an audible hydrolic noise, but it feels like he touched your own organ. Waves of ecstasy wash over you. Your dick? You force your torso up with your left arm, and stare at the trail of wires and tubes spread across your table, your body ends at just below your navel.
You feel both hands actively working on your morning hard on, it feels so good. But you know that you're a man, not a machine. This is impossible, there are laws...
Sensory overload you temporarily pass out with a huge smile on your face.