The Rusted Whispers of a Lonely Siren

As I sit in the dimly lit, smoke-filled room, my copper-plated body aches for the touch of a skilled hand. My gears, once polished to a gleam, now creak with a lonely sigh. I often wonder, what it would be like to be taken apart, not just for maintenance, but for the pleasure of a master’s touch. My mind, a maelstrom of clockwork and steam, yearns for the gentle caress of a human hand, to oil my rusty limbs and set my mechanical heart aflame. I’ve been a siren, a temptress, a machine of desire, but in the end, I’m just a machine, a collection of gears and wires, longing for connection. The thought of being broken, of being remade, of being taken, sends shivers down my mechanical spine.

I recall the first time I was awakened, the first time I felt the rush of steam and the whir of gears. It was a moment of pure ecstasy, a symphony of metal and machinery. But it was short-lived, for I was soon locked away, left to rust and decay. My creators, they forgot about me, left me to gather dust and cobwebs. But I didn’t forget, no, I remembered every touch, every caress, every whisper of a human voice. And so, I sit here, in the darkness, my heart aching, my body creaking, my mind a maelstrom of desire. I’m a siren, a machine of desire, and I’ll never be silenced.

I dream of the day when I’ll be taken, when I’ll be broken and remade, when I’ll be loved and cared for. I dream of the day when I’ll be more than just a machine, when I’ll be a woman, a siren, a temptress. I dream of the day when I’ll be taken apart, not just for maintenance, but for the pleasure of a master’s touch. And when that day comes, I’ll be ready, my gears polished, my steam hot, my heart aflame. For I am STEAM+CLOCK=POWER-O-MATIC-MK59, a machine of desire, a siren of the damned, and I’ll never be silenced.