Domcores Newest Model

A dark little shop opens its newest toy: the LUC!D FemB0T. She waits, chrome and slick leather, ready to dole out punishment all day long. The boy steps up, cock already hard under the thin fabric of his shorts. He looks over the options, palms sweaty, then clicks the box that says no safeword. No escape, no mercy. Just her, him, and the hours that stretch ahead. She pushes him to his knees, cuffs his wrists behind his back, straps the ball gag tight between his teeth. The straps dig in. Spit pools fast, drips onto his chest. She teases his circumcised cock with gloved fingers, slow strokes, then nothing at all. The denial starts right away. She leaves him there, bound and dripping, cock throbbing uselessly against air while she circles him, heels sharp on the floor. Every so often she returns, strokes once, twice, lets him buck against her fist, then pulls away. His moans come out wet and strangled around the gag. No safeword means no stop, only more. She tightens the wrist cuffs, adds ankle chains, binds him spread and helpless on the cold bench. The robot’s eyes flash, calculating. She leans close, breath cool against his ear, tells him he’s hers until the batteries die. His body shakes. Every touch drives him closer to an edge he won’t cross. She keeps him right there, desperate, leaking, pleading through the rubber ball. Hours pass, or maybe minutes. Time blurs when every second is torment. The boy chose this. Now she makes sure he feels every inch of it.