USER_7793[11:47 PM – Saturday] I’m lying in bed scrolling through Twitter when I see his post. Looking for ATM service. DM if available. No picture. No introduction. Just a functional request. My cock gets hard immediately. I open a DM. Available. His response comes in under a minute. Stand by. [Internal – 11:51 PM] This is what I need tonight. Not conversation. Not “good boy.” Not acknowledgment of my humanity in any form. Just—function. I want to be treated as exactly what I am in this moment: a machine that dispenses cash. No name. No personality. No complexity. Just: insert request, receive cash, complete transaction. My phone buzzes.PIN 4729 [Chat transcript – 11:53 PM]
[Internal – 11:55 PM] $100 gone. My bank account is dropping. I’m sending money. To someone who treats me as a literal ATM. No words outside the script. No acknowledgment of humanity. Just: select amount, send payment, transaction complete. In any other context, this would be concerning. Sending $100 to someone in minutes with zero personal interaction. But this isn’t any other context. This is the context where I specifically sought out someone who would treat me as an object. Where I chose to be reduced to pure function. Where being seen as a machine rather than a person is the entire appeal. Send. Screenshot. Return. Wait for next prompt. My hand is moving slow—long strokes, barely enough to keep the edge alive. I’m already throbbing. If I go any faster I’ll lose it too soon. I need to hold on until the amounts get bigger. Until the pressure builds so high I can’t think straight. [Chat transcript – 11:56 PM]
[Internal – 12:01 AM]
My hands move automatically. Open payment app. Enter $100. His payment details are already saved from last time. Send. Screenshot the confirmation. Send it. No thought. No hesitation. Just—function. The machine was asked to dispense cash. The machine dispensed cash. My strokes are slower. Tighter. Every time I send, the edge gets sharper. I’m right there—balls tight, pre-cum dripping—but I can’t let myself finish yet. Not until the numbers get bigger. Not until the pressure is unbearable. [Chat transcript – 12:03 AM]
[Internal – 12:06 AM] $50 this time. Smaller. Testing my capacity probably. Send. Screenshot. Return to ATM interface. I am a machine. Machines don’t think. They execute commands. Dispense cash. Confirm transaction. Wait for next input. But I’m hard because this is exactly what I need. No recognition. No “good job.” No acknowledgment that a person just sent money. Just: transaction complete. Next transaction? My hand is shaking now. Every stroke feels dangerous. I’m right on the edge—precum running down my shaft, balls drawn tight—but I force myself to slow down again. Not yet. Not until the numbers are bigger. I want to cum on the biggest payment. I want the release to match the amount I’m giving. [Chat transcript – 12:08 AM]
[Internal – 12:16 AM]
This is more than I’ve sent in any single session. More than I’ve sent in most months. And it’s happening with zero human interaction. Just a script. Just an interface. Just the mechanical language of a banking machine. I am a human ATM. Someone is using me the way they’d use any other ATM. Insert request. Receive cash. Move on. My humanity is irrelevant. My feelings are irrelevant. My financial situation is irrelevant. I’m a machine that dispenses cash. That’s my only function. That’s all I am in this interaction. And god, that’s exactly what I needed tonight.
Send. Screenshot. Return. I need to cum so badly. Im going to make the next one the most I’ve ever sent.
[Internal – 12:22 AM]
The last $500 leaves my account as I stroke faster—desperate, sloppy, no control left. I can’t hold it anymore. The number flashes in my head—$500—and I cum hard, ropes hitting my chest, my stomach, my hand. My whole body shakes while the confirmation sits on screen. I’m gasping. Empty. Spent. Satisfied in a way that only comes from giving everything while being reduced to nothing but function. The chat ends with the standard sign-off. I lie there, covered in cum, bank account drained, cock finally softening. I was the machine. I dispensed. I finished on the biggest withdrawal. And that’s exactly what I needed. [Internal – 10:04 AM] I’m drinking coffee and thinking about what happened last night. So much money. In less than half an hour. To someone who hasn’t said my name, asked about my life, acknowledged my sacrifice, or treated me as anything other than a cash-dispensing mechanism. In any other dynamic, I’d want acknowledgment. Recognition. Some indication that what I’m giving matters. But in the ATM dynamic, the absence of acknowledgment is the point. Real ATMs don’t get thanked. They don’t get praised. They don’t get told “good job” for dispensing cash. They just function. And when they’re no longer needed, users walk away without a second thought. That’s what happened last night. I functioned. He got what he needed. He walked away. And I’m sitting here feeling more satisfied than I’ve felt after sessions where I was praised, acknowledged, told I was a good boy. Because those sessions required me to be a person. Required me to perform humanity. Required me to carry the weight of personality and presence and self. Last night I didn’t have to be any of those things. I was just a machine. And machines don’t carry weight. They just function. [Twitter – 2:47 PM] I see a new post from User_7793. ATM service was efficient last night. Will use again when needed. That’s it. No tag. No mention. No indication of who he’s referring to. Just: service was efficient. Will use again. A review. Like you’d leave for any service. Functional. Impersonal. Evaluating performance rather than acknowledging a person. My cock gets hard reading it. “Will use again when needed.” Not “thank you.” Not “appreciated.” Not “good boy.” Just: will use again. Because that’s what you do with machines. You use them when you need them. And when you don’t need them, you don’t think about them at all. [Three weeks later – Thursday, 11:52 PM] My phone buzzes. DM notification.
My heart rate increases immediately. He’s back. Three weeks later. Needing cash. Reaching out to the machine he used last time. |