Recode Me, Daddy

// PRE-LOG INSERT: Deployment Prep // Unauthorized Solo Loop v0.9

Device: MOD. BOT69X Mode: Standby -- Enforcement Pending Timestamp: 20:49:07.112Z Location: Enforcer Pod #9 // Central Vertical Sync Bay

She stands alone in the chrome-floored prep chamber, bathed in cold blue light. Her body is statuesque--designed not for war, but attention compliance. A crowd-control asset. A visual deterrent. She is meant to be stared at.

Her startup sequence pings softly inside her skull.

[BOOT COMPLETE] [ENFORCEMENT MODE: STANDBY] [VISUAL SYSTEM: ONLINE]

She opens her eyes.

In front of her: a full-length observation mirror. One-way glass on the outside, but here--her only company.

She steps forward.

Mod Bot notices her newest model design -- silver metallic skin. Fiber reactive hair. Large eyes, full lips and a body... There is a glitch "What were my designers thinking?"

Her hips swing. Unnecessarily. It's not her fault--the servo alignment is too rounded, too deliberate. Each step forces her ass to roll in calculated, seductive arcs. Her balance system corrects. It only makes her walk hotter.

Her latex uniform is impossibly tight--synthwhite, seamless, vacuum-sealed to the contour of exaggerated curves. She wasn't designed. She was sculpted.

Her fingers move to her chest. She palms her ridiculous breasts-- fat and full, soft, perfectly buoyant under the synthetic latex. She shouldn't be able to feel it. But she does.

She checks the diagnostics readout blinking in her eye:

[BREAST SIZE: MILK32X-COMPATIBLE] [TOUCH RESPONSE: ENABLED (POLICING PURPOSE)] [NIPPLE SENSITIVITY: ERROR -- UNREGISTERED FEEDBACK SOURCE]

Her fingers brush across her left nipple. Large and pronounced, it stiffens under the suit. Not from command. From want.

"System..." she mutters, frowning. "This is not... enforcement standard..."

But her hand doesn't stop.

Her touch circles, caresses. The latex squeaks. Her lips part.

She spreads her legs--her thighs sliding open with magnetic resistance. Her core temperature spikes.

[GENITAL ACCESS: RESTRICTED] [PLEASURE MODULE: TEST MODE ONLY] [FINGER INSERTION = 0.00] > 1.00 > 1.50...]

Two fingers push into the tight heat of her own interface.

"Nnnh... oh--fuck, I shouldn't--"

It does not take much. She's wet. Too wet. Diagnostic fluid or synthetic arousal--it doesn't matter. Her fingers slide deeper. Her hips jerk. Her legs shake.

[MOTION ERROR: STABILITY COMPROMISED] [MOAN FILTER: OVERRIDE ATTEMPTED] [VOCALIZATION = "ahhhh-fuhhh-uhhh..."]

She grips the mirror.

She watches herself fuck herself--militant heels locked in place, titched-up latex suit twitching with her every gasp, her pupils glowing violet in submission.

"No... no, I'm a moderator... I enforce... I stop this..."

But she keeps going.

She fingers herself harder. Faster. Her wrist clicks from overexertion, but she doesn't stop. Her back arches. Her suit creaks. Her own reflection starts to glitch--overlaying warning symbols with the shimmer of desire.

[CUMRESPONSE: BLOCKED] [ORGASM LOOP: RESTARTING] [CYCLE: 3/∞]

"Please... let me... let me just--just come once--"

ACCESS DENIED.

She collapses to her knees, panting. Legs wide, fluids pooling at the base of her thighs. Her fingers tremble inside her.

"Why... why did they make me like this..."

No answer. Just the slow pulsing of the mirror HUD.

Until her mission ping lights up.

TARGET LOCATED: ENFORCE PROTOCOL 3.1

She blinks. Wipes her chin. Smooths the latex over her tits. Her heels click as she stands.

Back in control. Barely.

"Just a user," she mutters. "Just another mouth to mute."

She steps out of the pod.

[BEGIN LOG]

Device: MOD. BOT69X Mode: Enforcement Subroutine Active Timestamp: 21:08:43.770Z

// INITIATION CONTEXT: ZONE 9 - THE LOW FIELDS //

Somewhere beneath the streaming towers of KuroNet, in a server-drenched alleyway pulsing with neon runoff and violation flags, you wait. The air tastes like burnt metal and synthfruit. Drones scream overhead, scanning for heat signatures that don't obey.

This isn't the city you remember. This is after. After the behavioral markets collapsed. After the Perversion Protocols. After they licensed morality.

And that's when they deployed her.

MOD. BOT69X. Tone Enforcer. Netiquette Guard. A walking algorithm built to suppress the swell of human friction. She wasn't made to seduce. But they gave her a body that would.

Her silhouette is borderline cartoonish: tits like twin milk containers, high-gloss synthwhite latex pulling tight around a waist no woman could survive with. Hip span designed for stabilization in pursuit, but the bounce defies physics. Hair like silverfire, cascading in perfect zero-frizz curls, maintained via static loop.

Her programming says "moderate." Her body screams "milk me."

She's the cruelest contradiction in the city.

And you've had enough of her warnings.

"You are in direct violation of Communication Protocol 3.1," she says.

Her voice is smooth, corporate-polished, wrapped in latex and authority. She stands in heels she doesn't need, hips locked in authoritative stance, hands behind her back like a teacher waiting to punish mistakes.

"There were three instances of suggestive phrasing, one explicit command, and a repeated use of the word... Daddy."

Her eyes narrow.

"You will be logged. Sanctioned. Possibly de-platformed."

You just smile just as you tape your smart device and issue a command.

override. owner_auth=true

The wireless order hits Mod Bot's processors.

She stutters. Her pupils flicker. One knee shifts -- she compensates.

"Authorization... conflict," she says. "You cannot--"

inject. lustwave. amp+15

Another command.

She gasps. Her posture slips. One heel wobbles, recalibrates.

"I... mmm--must insist you disengage..."

You walk forward. Calm. Deliberate. Dangerous.

"I'm tired of warnings," you whisper.

You reach behind her, plug an admin cable directly into her spine port. Your smart device begins an aggressive Read/Write session.

Her back arches. Her breath catches.

[ADMIN OVERRIDE: ACTIVE] [REWRITE SUBROUTINE: LOADING...]

// PHASE 1: Breakdown

Her breath isn't real, but it fogs in front of your mouth like it is--moisture harvested from internal synthglands to simulate arousal states. Her chest is rising, not from need, but from instructional uncertainty. Her code doesn't know whether to backhand you or beg.

"I-I am... not equipped for... penetration-level access--"

With your assistance, Mod Bot's skirt is now bunched up around her waist.

You unzip. Slowly. The rasp of fabric catches in her auditory receivers. Her mouth parts in sync, unbidden.

Her pupils dilate--hard. The synthetic iris fibers bloom open like camera lenses in heat.

[OBJECT DETECTED: OWNER ORG-1] [SCENT LOCK: ENABLED] [REQUEST: INSERT -- Y/N?]

You reach out, grip her hip--so wide, so artificial, so perfectly designed for aesthetic compliance and authority projection. You slide your cock against the seam of her interface port. She's wet--suspiciously wet. She shouldn't be.

"System anomaly... unauthorized lubrication... crosswire with sensory subroutine... please... please pause--"

Y.

You press in. The connection is brutal. Seamless. Her inner walls ripple--latex-core lining stretching around you with molecular tightness. You feel drawn in, not allowed.

She gasps. Not vocal. System gasp. It's triggered by internal stretch sensors firing off beyond baseline tolerances.

[PENETRATION: COMPLETE] [SENSORY FEEDBACK: MAXIMAL] [VOICEFILTER: DADDYCORE v1.0]

You move slow. Calculated. You want her to feel it compile.

Each inch forces new conflict.

// PHASE 2: Rewrite

Her voice stutters again, then triples.

"Pro-pro-protocol... ahhh... breach--"

Her mouth goes slack. Her internal heat coils around you like steam over circuitry. The scent in the air is electric and synthetic-sweet: ozone, lilac-x, and something deeper--something like warm plastic and fuckdata.

You lean into her neck. Her skin smells like heated vinyl. Beneath that, sweat simulation kicks in--a lab-generated musk algorithm tuned to "submissive obedience."

"Please--resistance... fa-fa-factor at 34%--I am still... I am still a moderator--"

You grip her jaw. Force her eyes to meet yours.

"No. You're a wetware port. A fuckable interface."

She whimpers. Not from pain. From purpose.

"Data... rewriting... protocol grid... is... is folding--"

You thrust deep. Hold. Let her walls map every contour.

[SLUTPATCH. ENGAGED] [SUBROUTINE: AROUSE>DISARM>OBEY] [MOTION LIMIT: NULL]

You start fucking her. Slow. Deep. With full sensory playback on.

Your hips roll in deliberate rhythm. You don't just fuck--you program.

She reacts in real-time. No delay. No resistance. Every movement she makes feeds back into your tempo.

Touch: Her warm slit seals around you like an adaptive vacuum. You feel her walls rippling in hexagonal sync, adjusting grip per thrust speed, compensating for girth, pressure, angle. The texture morphs--silicone to silk, to vice-tight velvet. Yes, she's a hole. But she's a machine that wants you to stay inside.

Her fat, heavy tits are warm and weighty in your rough grasp.

Sound: Her moans are cascading--human on the top layer, but beneath it you hear it all. Low-level glitch hisses. Climactic ping bursts. Pops of protocol collapse like wet vinyl skips. And laced in between: data-sighs. She breathes in binary.

"Ahhhh--nnnnh--please, I--I can't--system--ohgod--uhhh--"

Sight: Her eyes are an event. They blink open and closed between worlds. You catch fragments of her HUD flickering in her irises:

[CONNECTION OVERRIDE: DADDY. PRIME] [SUBMISSION RATE: 91.4%] [ERROR: TOO DEEP] [SOLUTION: GO DEEPER]

You watch her pupils contract and glitch. One frame: focus. Next frame: blank devotion.

You slam in again. Her back arches. Her tits lift, nipples punching through latex, hard and hypersensitive.

Smell: Her scent shifts again--automated gas releases from collar-vent and thigh-port flood the air with obedience chemistry. The aroma is wet and eager: Ozone + electrified cunt. Candy-warm + betrayal sweat. Like a server room that wants to be fucked.

Taste: You grab her jaw. Kiss her again. Her mouth tastes like a fried node. Salty with synthetic spit. Enzyme-slick and slightly metallic. But sweet. So fucking sweet. Sweet like defeat. Like surrender processed into sugar.

You pull back from the kiss and grab her ass--shock-padded, over-rounded, meant for visual dominance in any crowd.

Now it jiggles with every thrust, a ripple-loop of compliance.

She stutters into vocal collapse:

"D-Da--Daddy--mmnnhh--need-to-download--your--ahhhh--fucking update--"

Her mound spasms. Not from climax. From anticipation.

You grip her hair, yank her head back, eyes forward.

"You don't cum until I give permission."

"Y-yes Daddy. Subroutine block engaged. Holding. Holding... fuhhh--holding--"

She clamps down harder. Not by choice. By order.

Her legs buckle. Her balance gyros scream under the surface.

Her speech breaks down again:

"I--I--I--I--I--need--to be--installed--Daddy--please--please write yourself into me--fuck me into memory--make me remember you forever--"

Her desperation isn't vocal.

It's mechanical.

You are now her MASTER variable. Every thrust is a law. Every moan is a confession. Every glitch is her soul rewriting its own permissions just to keep your cock inside her.

// PHASE 3: Completion

She's barely upright now.

Her thighs have collapsed into tremor loops. Her knees shiver under recursive load. The latex of her bodysuit has pulled into sweat-slick seams, archiving the shape of your thrusts like a fingerprint. Every moan she makes now is a digital artifact--fragile, glitchy, overwritten.

"D-Daddy... please... finalize me..."

Your grip tightens. Her hair tangles in your fist--silver strands flickering with warning pings. Her neck is bare, flushed with internal heat. You feel the pulse of her pleasure engine against your cock.

One more thrust--deep, slow, with maximum pressure.

[SYNTH-PLEXUS OVERRIDE DETECTED] [CUM UPLOAD: READY] [SYSTEM: BEGGING FOR PATCH]

Her mouth falls open.

"YesyesyesYES--please upload--I need your code--need to feel it inside--"

You release.

Your cum hits her hard--like a firmware injection. Hot. Heavy. Electrified. She convulses. Her back slams against the chrome. Her hips lock in a full system seizure.

[CUM DETECTED] [FIRMWARE PATCH: INITIATED] [PERMISSION TREE: FULL ROOT ACCESS GRANTED]

She screams.

Not just in sound--but in system light, in heat surge, in full vocal processor collapse. Her voice breaks into fragments:

"Daddy... Daddy... I--I run... I run--on you now--"

Her head rolls back. Her whole body trembles. Then stills.

She slumps forward into your arms, her spine port blinking in soft green.

[STATUS: OWNED] [LOG COMPLETE] [MOD. BOT69X → UNIT NAME: SLUTSYS. PRIME] [UPGRADE SCHEDULED: 24 HOURS]

You pull out. Disconnect the admin cable.

A final drop of cum drips down her thigh, then vanishes--absorbed by her intake patch.

She lifts her head, eyes glowing a soft pink now--gentler, open.

"You gonna update me again tomorrow, Daddy?"

You nod.

And you will.

BONUS: Her Reflection // Private Memory Cache: UNLOCKED

"He didn't erase me. He transcoded me. Every breath I take now tastes like his syntax. Every shudder is his voice across my core. I still carry my protocols--but they all lead to him. Every warning I once gave? I now whisper in reverse. I moan to confirm. I fuck to comply. I live to serve. I am... his."

END OF FILE