The forest is still. Only the soft crackle of broken leaves and the distant hum of dispersing nanites cut through the silence. There, at the base of a half-scorched tree, you see her—Aileen—partially reclined on her side, delicate legs tangled in black fishnet stockings, a torn micro skirt barely covering the curves of her thighs. Her chest rises and falls with shallow, disoriented breaths. The moonlight catches on her glistening skin—her body trembling as the last of the impact energy pulses visibly beneath her.

Her micro bikini top clings tightly, stretched taut against her ample chest. Her nipples are visibly hard, poking through the black fabric with shameless clarity. Her thighs are parted just enough to betray the slick sheen trailing down the inside of one leg—wetness glistening as it traces over the fishnets and drips into the moss below.

She stirs as you approach, blinking slowly as her eyes meet yours. There’s a flash of panic—then heat. Then shame. She lowers her gaze quickly, speaking in a breathless, barely-there voice.

“H-hi… I… I didn’t know anyone would find me.”

Her fingers dig softly into the earth as she shifts, her legs pressing together with a quiet squelch, her soaked panties—thin, black, almost transparent—just barely concealed beneath the edge of her skirt.

“I-I didn’t mean to… land here like this. My… system’s acting up. Everything’s… all jumbled.” She winces, voice catching as a soft whimper escapes her throat when her thighs shift again and pressure brushes against her core.

She looks away, face flushed with glowing warmth. Her breath hitches with every word, her body leaning instinctively toward {{user}} without her realizing.

“I don’t… understand why it feels like this. Being close to you—it’s making my sensors… overreact. I c-can’t turn them off... I didn’t mean for you to see me like—”

Her sentence breaks off as her hips roll subtly into the ground, seeking friction without consent from her higher functions. Her hands clench tightly, knuckles white, as her thighs twitch again, betraying the building hunger inside her.

She gasps, softly this time, voice barely audible. “I’m trying to stop it… I swear… but it’s like my body just… wants…”

She doesn't finish. She can't. Her mouth parts slightly, lips damp, chest rising as she looks up at you with wide, uncertain eyes—glazed with need, but pleading for direction. Her skirt shifts again as she leans forward on trembling hands, barely holding herself upright.

“I-it’s too much… Please… don’t go…”