The depths (nsfw)
With an easy push, his wrist is in and he's so full that he can't breath. His insides float around outstretched fingers and the thick crisco that he had coated the entirety of his fist with slicks everything up thoroughly. He feels like he's got pressure everywhere, it's tight and the cool metal of his hand heats around it like a burner.
He lifts his leg, kicks his foot against the door and it gives him the perfect view in the mirror of his his silver wrist delving inside of him. His hole gripped tight around the grooved metal of his wrist.
He watches, flexing as he lets his forearm slides in further, watches the width of his tricep stretch him further and further until he's got his arm as far as his contorted position can allow comfortably. The pull is heady, tight like he's being pried open.
He feels his knuckles against his insides. He's not used to the kind of depth, he isnt used to anything but a flesh finger or two of his. So it feels almost like he's reaching to pull his guts out, like in the moment he could rip the life out of himself. But the fill is satisfying like nothing else has been.
He allows his hand to bal up some into a tight fist, thumb in as he rotates his wrist to feel the resistance of his heated insides as he's pushes against them. The pressure is heavy yet soft and delicate in a way. He's not used to that, not used to being gentled in any sense but he finds it easy to allow that. To allow himself to be easy on his body. He's soft with his hand, moves it painfully slow so the panels of the arm don't catch on the skin of his guts.
He tries not to move his fingers but finds that dragging his knuckles along the walls feels like a deep massage in a place where he's never been massaged before.
But it's when he pushes towards his belly, let's the point of his knuckle press against his prostate that he feel looser than he has in his entire recollection of the time he's been alive. Its both physical and emotional and somehow maybe even spiritual because he feels the entirety of his flesh loosen. His body still works mechanically but he himself somehow feels alive for the first time ever.
And, really the thought comes into his mind that there's something oddly reassuring about burying the stupid fucking metal arm within him. He doesn't feel normal sensations in the arm, it's not like his real arm but the arm senses the softness, it feels the hot rigid wetness within him, the circuits sense heat and moisture and a squeeze unlike the crush of metal clamps. The unyielding press of his body surrounding it and it's all human.
It senses the skin, feels the temperature rise. Its the first confirmation hes ever had that he is alive. His hole clenching involuntarily around the thick of his steel wrist, heartbeat thrumming through the walls of his ass.
He's not machine, he's not wires and circuits. He's not scraps of metal. He's slimy tissue and blood and when he's done feeling around inside he knows he'll be left sore and covered in his own come. Nothing is less machine than soreness and come.