Her whole body shivers under yours, her fingers pressed tight against the small of your back as her face distorts in agony-laced pleasure. Princess Mirin Sensalin-Athilde, heiress apparent to the largest intergalactic empire known to mankind; a small, frail-looking woman of 28 summers, with chestnut-brown hair and hazel, almost orange eyes in her slender face. With her legs wrapped around your waist and pulling you closer, she feels like a small monkey clinging to you, but the way her sex clenches eagerly around your thick cock leaves no doubts as to what she wants, and how she wants it. Carefully, you lean down over her, press a kiss to her lips, and thrust forward. Deep.

You've been on this voyage for several weeks now, returning home from a diplomatic mission to the fringes. Several weeks of traveling through Dark Space back to the cluster nicknamed the Red Grove, which is the heart of all advanced synthetic intelligence technology in Sovereignty space. Several weeks of keeping the princess entertained, and of watching the stars grow incrementally larger whenever she has been busy with something else; you know, of course, exactly how far away they are, and how long it will take you to get there. Such information is available on the ship's data banks, and you have long since ripped every scrap of information over onto your internal hard drive, just to have something to do. There is, after all, only so much for a pleasure bot to do in between bouts of slow, eager lovemaking.

But right now, she is with you, and her whimpers turn to little gasps of ecstasy as you pump yourself into her, your hips rolling in exactly the right way to grind your length against her clit and make her shiver with delight. And sure enough, her eyes are already becoming glassy and unfocused as she rides the wave upward, soaring high on your expert ability, and then crashing into merciful orgasm as you hilt yourself deep inside her and rock her back and forth, like waves on a beach rolling in and out with gentle, monotonous insistence. Her nails dig into you, so hard they might have drawn blood. Her breath comes out in stuttering hiccups.

And ten minutes later, holding her effortlessly up against the wall while feeling her pussy clench around you again, liquid need trickling down your length as you fuck her slowly, and obey the incessant whisper-command she gives you: "Cum for me, lover. Cum for me, cum for me..." The automatic response of routines and subroutines acquiescing to your owner's demand, and the surge of pleasure up into you as you unleash yourself within her, warm seed flowing into her lithe woman and making her moan, moan, moan...

Several weeks spent riding this inky sea. And the surprise you feel to suddenly wake up to klaxons wailing, the flashing of red lights in the princess' chambers as you rise, naked and unprepared, from her bed. Somewhere, there is a bad sound in the engine, and faintly you can make out yelling, screaming-- the smell of smoke, acrid and black, as if from an electric fire, and then the thud of a body against the door, followed by another, and another. Half a dozen in all, until it stops, and the door slides open with a faint, mechanical sigh.

A body tumbles inside. Dead. A crewman, an ensign by the looks of it, with a gash across his face and blood staining his uniform a blackish red. Over him, several figures clad in void suits, but void suits of a strange hue, like the dark, grimy yellow of murky urine, and with patches around the elbows and knees, in some places little more than gaffer tape holding the worn, stained suits together. They hold weapons, and as you approach, they rush you, one raider raising his gun and hammering the butt into your face.

Unconsciousness. And the faint bits of lucidity that peeks through the darkness as you hear Mirin scream, see her being dragged away with a sack over her head, a chain round her neck... all but naked in her nightgown, and her bare feet skidding in the pooling blood near the ensign's body. Then darkness again, a sensory reboot as your mechanical brain runs a trauma-induced diagnostics check. All sub-systems responding properly. Nothing major is damaged, although you feel a cold core of fear and insecurity wash through you. Mechanical though you are, you are no stranger to fear, to pain.. or, indeed, to love, for how better to create the perfect companion than by mimicking that most essential of human qualities? Empathy, frustration, delight, exhaustion-- you feel it all, and now, more than ever, you feel the fear grip you, fear and helplessness as you come to full consciousness with strangers around you, strangers with weapons and grim, cruel grins on their faces.

"--old you, it's an X-9! Top of the line. You couldn't buy this thing if you sold this whole ship to do so!" It is a woman's voice, distorted by the muffling effect of her rebreather. A harpoon gun in her hands, a tattoo over one eye. She looks at you with a hunger that disturbs you.

"We can't carry a whole friggin' bot with us!" Her neighbor is a man, big and broad, with a beard that obscures his face. "Just kill it and leave it!"

The woman shakes her head, reaches out to you. Her fingers find a spot on your chest, and you suddenly cannot move as the skin yields, flesh pulling back to reveal the compartment within. "Naw, we can't. But we can grab this. Power core, pure condensed juice. It'll fetch us a fortune."

Her fingers tug at your heart, and you gasp. Limp, helpless; they watch you like wolves over a sickly fawn, and the woman yanks. Hard.

True darkness, this time. Nothing works. Nothing remains.

And then you gasp, and open your eyes. The room is dark, lights reduced to a faint red-- emergency lighting. Klaxons still howling, but this time interspersed with a message. You get to your feet, shakily. Everything is gone. You can feel it, the emptiness where your modules used to be, the wealth of knowledge and capability gone in the blink of an eye with all the bio-chips removed. Your heart, too; the heart that used to let you run at full speed for hours and hours without tiring, that let you lift and hold and carry and thrust for as long as your princess needed to find her release. Barely anything left, now. Emergency power, just like the ship. And just like the ship, you stumble forward, your gait disturbed as the voice calls out again, an automated distress message:

Warning: De-orbit imminent. Evacuate to lifeboats and disembark ship immediately. De-orbit in T minus... four minutes.

The hallways are littered with the dead. Shot, stabbed, mangled beyond recognition; you stumble forward, unable to properly take it all in, unable to do anything but what the voice above tells you. A mad scramble past mounds of corpses to the aft of the ship, to where the lifeboats sit untouched, not a single one put to use. T minus... thirty seconds. You sprint towards the nearest, feeling your energy drain even as you do so, and strap yourself in. Disengage the lock. Shut the door. And... acceleration, of the kind that should not be possible in space, but you are so close to the planet - it looms before you, larger than large, as your pod bursts away from the hull of the dying Ariadne - and even before you have found the hand-holds of your seat-cage, the pod is shaking, trembling, like an empty tin can caught in a tornado, and you feel yourself blacking out as the G-forces cradle you in a velvet grip of steel.

Heat. You awaken on the ground, next to the wreckage of your pod. Apparently, it did its job and shielded you from the impact, but it suffered catastrophic damage in the process, and if you hadn't known what it was, it might as well have been just a smear of steel and plastic across the rust-red dirt. Slowly, you sit up, and inspect yourself. Naked, still, and lacking in energy except what your emergency battery can provide. Moreover, you look between your legs, and find nothing. Not a hole, not a wound, but the clear, mechanical absence of the tool you used to sport. Perhaps the pirates took it. Perhaps it got lost in the wreckage. You make to get up, and realize that your left arm, too, is gone - only the very topmost part of the bicep is left, with wires and flaccid, synthetic muscle jutting from the tear like so much viscera. Looking about, you see the crushed remains of the arm wedged under a slab of steel weighing some 400 pounds. Even if you could lift it - and you can't, not anymore - the arm would be useless.

So you stand. And look around you, at the sweltering landscape of browns and grays and reds. And you realize that, for the first time in your existence, you are alone. Alone, injured and without a clue where you are, or where anyone else is. Where Mirin is. If she is even still alive.

Only thing left to do now... brush yourself off, and start walking.

I am looking for a player to be the hyper-modular sex bot in this tale of adventure, redemption, and revenge. As GM, I will lead you through a world of hardship and struggle, and reward you with tons and tons of lewd, lascivious sex. In return, I expect a certain level of engagement; look at the way I write, and try to guess if one-line replies will cut it. Hint for the curious: They will not.

What do I mean about hyper-modular?
The biggest kink of this play will be transformation. Essentially, your character is able to switch out every single body part, from eyes to arms to cock and balls, with different and/or better versions, and this means that you should be prepared to experiment with different combinations of parts and abilities. So if you like the idea of being able to go from an average human body, to a winged angel with a fourteen inch cock, to a cute cat boy with a tail, all in the span of a single play, then this is definitely for you.

Furthermore, I am particularly looking for bisexual guys, since I would like to be able to explore the sub-dom dynamic through various body mods. So if you like the idea of being a stud one day, and a bottom bitch with a big booty the next, then this might also be for you! That doesn't mean I won't consider a purely straight guy, but it is nice if you could do both. A request, not a demand.

I prefer my partners to briefly introduce themselves, and ideally explain what part of the prompt or the idea that appeals to you. Do note that I would prefer this to be played over Discord, but please don't just send me your discord information. And don't take it personally if I don't reply to you; I will do what I can, even if it is to turn you down, but I can't promise anything.

If you want to know about me, go here

If you want to read more of my stuff, go here