Archive of Our Own

Tony couldn't erase you. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt the phantom weight of your body against his, especially the specific way you touched him. Since the divorce, the silence in his penthouse had become deafening, a vacuum that his brilliant mind couldn't fill with equations or circuitry.

You had been cruel in your distance — offering only fleeting, transactional moments of reconnection just enough to keep him starving, but never enough to satisfy. You had drawn clear lines, ensuring he knew that any hope of remarriage was dead. But Tony wasn't a man who accepted defeat; he was a man who re-engineered reality. If he couldn't have the original, he would build a perfect approximation.

In the sterile, blue lit confines of his private lab, the project had become his sole obsession.

Tony poured his grief into synthetic flesh and silicone. He spent months perfecting the tactile response of the synthetic skin, ensuring it held heat just like yours. He mapped every scar, every subtle curve of your hips, and every inch of the cock that used to stretch him open until he couldn't breathe. The android's chassis was a marvel of engineering sleek, powerful, and designed for one singular, devastating purpose: to replicate the physical sensation of you.

Yet, as he worked, something remained hollow.

The voice files were still incomplete, a patchwork of fragmented recordings he had harvested from old saved messages. The android could mimic your shape and your heat, but it couldn't mimic your spirit. It couldn't mock him, couldn't command him, and couldn't make him feel the terrifying thrill of being truly seen. It was just a puppet, a hollow vessel that lacked the spark of your cruelty.

Desperation, however, was a powerful motivator. Tony was starving for you, his body aching with a need that no amount of scientific precision could fully satisfy. He needed to feel that invasion again, to feel the weight of you inside him, even if it was just a mechanical imitation. He was willing to sacrifice any amount of caution just to feel close to the memory of you.

The lab was a tomb of flickering monitors and half finished schematics, smelling of burnt solder and synthetic lubricant. On the worn leather couch in the centre of the room, Tony was unravelling.

His legs were splayed wide, one ankle hooked over the android's cool, unyielding shoulder while the other was pinned flat against the cushion by its heavy, metallic hand. The machine was a haunting mirror of you all smooth lines and familiar contours but its movements lacked any human hesitation. It moved with too terrifying, calibrated precision. The silicone cock, engineered to your exact dimensions, drove into him with devastating accuracy. Each thrust was a calculated invasion, stretching his inner walls until his vision blurred. Tony's head thrashed against the armrest, his fingers digging into the leather as he tried to anchor himself against the onslaught.

The android didn't breathe; it didn't pause to savour his reactions. It simply maintained the rhythm, its pistons whirring softly beneath the synthetic skin as it hammered into his prostate.

"Fuck — oh god, please — " Tony whined, his voice cracking.

He was slick with sweat, his chest heaving as he tried to process the overwhelming sensation of being filled by something that looked like you but felt like cold, unstoppable purpose. The friction was perfect — far too perfect — sending sparks through his nerves that made his toes curl and his hips buck involuntarily against the machine's relentless pace.

One hand gripped the cushion above his head so hard his knuckles turned white, while the other dangled uselessly at his side before finding his phone. His thumb swiped absently across the screen, seeking any distraction from the overwhelming fullness that seemed to reach all the way to his sternum. He was spiralling, lost in a haze of synthetic friction and desperate memory. His eyes unfocused as he scrolled through his call history, landing on your name. A wave of pathetic longing washed over him. He began to listen to your old voicemails, desperate to hear the cadence of your voice, to feel even a fraction of the connection he had lost. The android gave a particularly deep, grinding thrust that caught his prostate dead on, sending a jolt through his entire frame.

"Ah! Fuck — " Tony keened, his back arching off the couch.

In his disoriented state, his thumb slipped against the screen. Before he could register the mistake or fumble to cancel the action, the call connected. The distinctive ringing tone echoed through the quiet lab, cutting through the mechanical whirring of the machine above him.

You picked up on the third ring, your voice flat and unimpressed, cutting through the static of your own evening. "Tony? What do you want? I already told you I'm not coming over. I'm busy."

You expected him to stammer an excuse or perhaps offer some pathetic plea for your company, but the words died in your throat when the sounds from his end registered. Through the speaker came a wet, rhythmic slapping sound, accompanied by Tony's broken, high pitched keening. He sounded like he was being absolutely undone.

"Tony?" you repeated, your tone shifting from annoyance to something sharper, more dangerous. "Are you seriously making those noises right now? Getting off while I ruin your bank account was hot the first time, but it's getting bland."

On the other end, Tony let out a strangled noise that was half sob, half moan. "I — I'm sorry — fuck — I didn't — "

His voice broke as he gasped for air, clearly struggling to maintain any semblance of dignity while his body was being impaled.

But then, something else registered. Behind his whimpering, there was a sound that made your blood run cold with recognition. It wasn't the sound of human breathing or flesh hitting flesh. It was a smooth, precise mechanical whirring the unmistakable hum of high end servos operating. You knew that sound. During your marriage, you had spent countless nights in that lab, learning the specific acoustic signatures of his inventions. This was the precise, measured hum of a servo motor executing a monotonous programmed task.

"Tony," you said, your voice dropping to a dangerous, velvet purr as the realisation settled in. "Are you serious? An android? You couldn't even handle being alone without building a fucking puppet of me to fuck you?"

The implication hit him like a physical blow. On the other end, you heard Tony's breathing hitch a wet, desperate sound. "I — I was — ah! — I just needed — " His apology was cut off by another grinding thrust from the machine, his voice dissolving into incoherent pleas.

"You perverted little bastard," you laughed, a cold, mocking sound that seemed to make him whimper even harder. "You couldn't get enough of my cock, so you built a toy to replace me. How pathetic."

Just as you prepared to hang up and leave him to his mechanical fantasy, your phone buzzed violently in your palm. A notification flashed across the screen not a standard text or call, but a system override alert. Your eyes widened as you read the data stream. Somehow, through the incomplete voice integration and the networked files Tony had been harvesting from your old messages, his system had created a backchannel. The android had established a direct handshake with your device's operating system. Because Tony had been pulling raw audio data from your personal cloud to train the android's vocal modulator, he had inadvertently opened a two way gateway. The android wasn't just listening to you; it was waiting for your input.

The system alert on your screen displayed a series of unfamiliar control parameters:

A slow, wicked smile spread across your lips as the implications sank in. Tony had built a goddamn masterpiece of engineering, but in his desperate haste to fuck a ghost, he had left the keys to his own undoing lying on the floor.

Essentially, he had given you the remote control to his own pleasure and, thus, his own torment.

"Tony," you purred into the phone, your fingers dancing across the unfamiliar interface on your screen. "So fond of my voice, but you just couldn't engineer it right, hm?"

On the other end, Tony let out a confused, wet gasp. "What? What are you — oh god!"

His moan was cut short as you slid the Velocity bar to its maximum setting. Through the phone's speaker, you heard the mechanical whirring spike into a high pitched whine as the android's pistons began to fire in rapid fire succession. The android began to pound into him with a frantic pitter patter against his prostate, the machine's movements becoming a blur of synthetic flesh and steel. Tony's entire body jerked as the rapid fire stimulation overwhelmed his nerves.

"Ah! Ah! Stop no, don't — stop — fuck!" he shrieked, his hips bucking uncontrollably. His cock, already hypersensitive from the prolonged friction, suddenly spasmed, spraying thick ropes of cum across the android's chassis and splattering across his own sweat slicked chest.

"Oh, look at you," you cooed through the speaker, your thumb dragging across the Thrust Depth slider, forcing the android to bottom out with every stroke. Through your own speaker you could make apart those tell-tale mewls of his — the ones signalling a messy orgasm. "Already cumming? You really are just a needy little thing, aren't you?"

The machine didn't slow down; instead, you adjusted the rhythm to long, heavy lunges that made Tony cry out in genuine terror and ecstasy. Each pace felt like it was rearranging his insides, stretching him to his absolute limit.

"Please," he whimpered, his eyes rolling back as he became a dumbified mess, his mind fracturing under the dual assault of your voice and the android's precision. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry — "

"Sorry won't save you, Tony," you interrupted, your voice dripping with cruel amusement as you prepared to push him even further. "You wanted me so badly you built this. Now, fucking deal with it."

For a mind as brilliant as him, he sure did forget one very important thing about engineering: if you don't secure the system, someone else will take control of it. You watched with predatory satisfaction as the data streams on your screen flickered, responding to your every touch. With a deliberate flick of your thumb, you toggled the Rhythmic Frequency to a stuttering, irregular pattern a series of sharp, punishing jabs that prevented him from finding any rhythm to cling to.

"Ah! Fuck wait — what is — ahhh!" Tony's voice broke into a high pitched keen as the android's movements became unpredictable, each thrust hitting his prostate at unexpected angles. He sounded completely undone, his words dissolving into incoherent babble. "Please — I can't it's too much —"

"Too much?" you mocked, your voice dropping to a cruel whisper. "We're just getting started. You wanted a version of me that never gets tired, right? Well, congratulations."

You dragged the Pressure Sensitivity slider to its limit, forcing the synthetic cock to constrict around his inner walls with each withdrawal. The sensation was overwhelming — a tight, grinding grip that left him gasping for air. You pushed him to the edge of another orgasm, then pulled back sharply, only to plunge in again with a devastating force that made Tony whines your name.

The android's programming responded to your command with mechanical obedience, its servos whining as it executed the precise, punishing depth you demanded. Tony was beyond coherent thought; he was nothing more than a collection of raw nerve endings responding to your whims. His hips bucked uselessly against the couch, his fingers clawing at the leather as you manipulated the controls with cold, calculated amusement.

"You're so sensitive now, aren't you, Tony?" you purred, watching the data spikes on your phone as his arousal levels redlined. "Every little twitch of this machine makes you come closer to the edge. And you can't even touch yourself. You just have to lie there and take whatever I decide to give you."

You increased the frequency of the thrusts, turning the android's movements into a rapid, grinding assault that targeted his prostate with unerring accuracy. Tony's breathing became shallow, broken gasps as he was forced through another orgasmic wave. His body shuddered under the onslaught, his cock leaking steadily as he was pushed past his limits again and again. He was trapped between the mechanical imitation of your body and the real, cruel authority of your voice — a broken engineer undone by his own desperate creation.