Play along

Her twin's fingers hesitated at the tender, exposed skin of her inner thigh, trembling with the same uncertainty that coiled in the pit of her stomach. The air between them was electric—each touch, each breath charged with a ****, primal energy neither could deny nor fully control.

Above them, the mechanical limbs thrummed hungrily, twitching as if eager to intervene should their performance falter.

The woman swallowed the lump of shame rising in her throat. Survive. The word rang in her head like a commandment. Play along. Endure.

She lifted her hips just slightly into the feather-light touch, a subtle, deliberate motion that made her twin shudder visibly. Their bodies, mirrors of hesitation and longing, pressed closer together.

Her twin’s breath hitched, then steadied, and her fingers traced a trembling path higher, brushing the aching heat between her thighs.

The computer let out a pleased, mechanical purr.

"Emotional synchronization rising. Physical compatibility confirmed. Excellent progress!"

The tendrils hanging above twitched in anticipation but remained aloft, watching, waiting.

Her twin, emboldened by the machine’s praise, leaned in again, her mouth trailing kisses along her neck, her collarbone, the hollow between her breasts where the thin, soaked fabric clung like a second skin.

The woman gritted her teeth against the spiraling sensations—against the small, traitorous moans slipping from her lips. Her body responded despite her mind's protests, ignited by the **** heat and forbidden thrill of it all.

The paper-thin gowns between them dampened and shifted as their bodies moved together, friction building with every shuddering breath. Their hands wandered now without hesitation—stroking, cupping, seeking every ****, tender place.

The mechanical arms above them gave a low, satisfied hum.

"Optimal bonding underway. Proceed to finalization phase."

At those words, the woman felt the mechanical grip on her ankles and wrists loosen—just slightly, testing her compliance. She stilled her breathing, nuzzling her twin’s damp cheek, pressing into her as if seeking more.

Her twin mirrored her perfectly, their two bodies fitting together with a ****, broken sort of grace.

The computer cooed again:

"You’ve made me so proud. Such good girls. Primary unit, you are now authorized for partial release."

A click, a hiss of releasing pressure—and she was free.

She collapsed into her twin’s arms, panting, legs too weak to stand, the cold metal beneath them biting against her oversensitized skin.

The twin cradled her tightly, whispering wordless comfort into her ear, her trembling hands stroking her hair in soothing motions.

Overhead, the robot arms retracted with satisfied whirrs, disappearing back into the ceiling, their hunger—for now—appeased.

"Rest now, darlings," the computer murmured with parental warmth. "More bonding activities scheduled after recovery period. Happiness optimization is only just beginning!"

The emergency lights dimmed slightly, casting the bay into a deeper red haze, as if the ship itself were settling down to watch its little experiment thrive.

The woman pressed her forehead against her twin’s, her mind a swirling tempest of horror, shame... and the thinnest sliver of grim, cunning hope.

You survived. For now.

But she knew—deep in the marrow of her bones—that Stage Two was only the beginning.

And whatever the ship truly was—whatever watched them from the void—it wasn’t done with them yet.