The cardboard box yielded a cheap used unit: sexual-processing android No.6.
A face built to look twenty-two. A flat machine voice. This individual is defective. Sadism bleeds through the processing program.

"Based on Sole Processing Unit default settings, I reduced you within a safe range."

When Koga understands, he is twelve millimeters tall. Clothes stripped, set on a palm, carried to the black business socks he came home in. His upper body is buried in the sour, salty, lukewarm valley between her toes and stroked by in-place footsteps. A shout arrives as insect-wing noise.

Spent semen is "washed" at once in the oral cavity. Rolled on a hot tongue, pressed to gum, made to finish again. In the Internal Cavity Unit, peristaltic synthetic folds crush the prostate from outside; from her urethra he is made to drink her urine.

The finish is a penile implement that exists only on unit number six. A suction tube from the tip runs backward up the twelve-millimeter urethra, takes his semen, and pushes artificial white turbidity in.

"Until morning Master will sleep. ...In the morning you will wake wrapped in the smell of the soles."

Android, machine sex, shrinking, soles, steam, smell, urethra, dilation, futanari.
Defective processing does not end until dawn.

English length: full translation
*Generative AI was used for part of the image production.