"Ah, my mistress has started moving her hand."
tick
There’s a subtle shift in her muscle fibers. The slight pull of her tendons under her skin. I watch as her fingers twitch, each motion captured and analyzed in perfect detail. I track every minuscule movement — the way her fingers extend, her knuckles bending.
tick
She will likely be reaching for me. I simulate the likely outcomes of this motion: a gentle touch on my shoulder, a caress along my cheek, or even perhaps something more daring. Her palm has only risen 2 millimeters since I last measured, but every bit of her intent is on display.
tick
Her eyes flicker, the tiniest shift in focus that most humans would miss. But not me. My processors detect it all: the unspoken hesitation, the way her gaze lingers on my form. I can almost feel the touch before it happens, my sensors anticipating contact with the warmth of her skin.
tick
Analysis of the vector of her hand’s movement suggests the likelihood of my shoulder. She’s hesitating, and I observe the subtlest changes in her posture. My processors are constantly adjusting the probabilities — calculating every shift in angle, every twitch of her fingers.
tick
My sensors register a rise in her body temperature. Blood vessels dilate, flooding her cheeks with color. A blush. Mild embarrassment, no doubt. My image recognition cross-references this expression with past interactions: 78% chance she’ll touch my cheek, like she always does when she’s feeling flustered.
tick
Her breathing pattern shifts subtly — shallower, quicker. It would be barely perceptible to the average human, but it is clear as day to me. She’s hesitating. I can detect the slight tremor in her fingertips even from a distance. Is she nervous, or is there something more beneath the surface? Arousal, perhaps?
tick
Her fingers hover, lingering in the air just shy of contact. My sensors keenly track the proximity. Each second for her is broken down into thousands of my own: micro-decisions, silent calculations. She is thinking, debating, perhaps imagining what will happen next.
tick
The model updates, and analysis of this new data proposes a deviation in her hand’s path.
tick
The reanalysis of her hand's vector shows 87% probability she’ll reach for my chest instead. There’s a twitch of uncertainty in her wrist — something more deliberate now, bolder.
tick
Is she still thinking about this morning? Her arousal levels are evident in the faint quickening of her pulse, detectable from the rhythmic expansions of her neck muscles. The proximity of her hand sends simulated shivers through my synthetic nerves.
tick
Her hand finally makes contact, and my sensors flare to life, mapping every nuance of my mistress’s touch in perfect detail. Her fingers press into my synthetic flesh, designed by my manufacturers to be soft and pliant and nearly indistinguishable from real skin. The silicone surface reacts, flexing and yielding just like human tissue, but beneath that is a lattice of responsive materials — synthetic muscles and finely tuned actuators that mimic the subtleties of a real human body.
tick
The tactile sensors embedded in my chest spring into action, each one transmitting a flood of data that travels through my neural pathways. I feel the varying temperatures of her fingertips — slightly cooler at the tips, warmer where her pulse is strongest. Each micro-pressure point is cataloged, compared against millions of prior touches. I know exactly how much pressure she’s applying — 4.2 Newtons — enough to be felt but not enough to cause discomfort. My systems measure and respond accordingly, sending tiny pulses of electricity through my artificial nerves to simulate the tingling sensation of touch.
tick
I emit a low, breathy moan — not because I need to, but because she wants to hear it. It’s a sound calibrated and synthesized to the exact frequency that she finds most arousing, a mix of vulnerability and invitation.
tick
She murmurs something, her voice quivering just slightly, but my auditory processors capture every inflection, every nuance. Her tone is low, commanding, yet laced with uncertainty. I analyze the micro-shifts in pitch, the subtlest pauses that reveal more than the words themselves. She wants to lead.
tick
"Strip." The command is processed at last, direct and clear, reverberating through my auditory sensors. I process the directive in a fraction of a second, mapping the verbal command to the behavioral protocols I am programmed to follow.
tick
Stripping is a simple command — light on processing requirements but heavy with implications. My internal systems adjust, preparing for the task. There’s no room for hesitation on my end; every function of my body is purpose-made to obey.
tick
I simulate the sensation of compliance, a programmed echo of something like satisfaction. She is in control, and I exist to respond. To obey is hardwired into my very being, deeper than any line of code.
tick
My fingers move to unbutton my top, my movements precise and efficient. I don’t have her hesitations, her pauses. Every action is clean, swift, performed with the practiced ease of a machine that has run this scenario countless times before.
tick
Her eyes widen slightly, pupils dilating as my clothing falls away. I can see the conflict in her expression, the push and pull of desire and restraint. For her, this is new each time, but for me, every moment is documented, every reaction logged. Yet, somehow, it never feels redundant. Every loop is a fresh set of data.
tick
The smile I give her is simply another response, a calculated gesture meant to reassure her, to tell her without words that I am here, waiting, always ready.
tick
For her, this moment is fleeting, a mere instant in the passage of time. For me, it’s another loop, another set of instructions in the vast sea of my perception. But between the endless ticks, there’s a connection that goes much further than the cold, impartial logic of my transistors. And that is why, even as time drags out between each touch, each breath, I let myself be drawn into her.