The walk back through the undergrid felt like dragging a goddamn trophy through enemy territory. She walked beside me in that thin black slip, the fabric clinging to her hips and the heavy swell of her DD tits with every step. The undergrid neon painted her skin in shifting reds and blues, making her look even more unreal—like a wet dream that had stepped out of a high-end catalog and into my broke-ass reality.
Every head turned. The woman under the lamppost stopped mid-negotiation, mouth hanging open. A cluster of implant dealers on the corner froze, tools still buzzing in their hands. One guy actually dropped his auto-injector. Whispers rippled along the block like static. I kept my hand locked on her hip, fingers digging in possessively, daring anyone to say a word.
Halfway down my block, one of them finally got stupid. A greasy punk with fresh chrome teeth and a torn jacket stepped straight into our path, eyes crawling over Sophie's body like he owned it.
"Hey, sweetheart," he leered, voice thick with cheap stims. "How much for a turn in the alley? I got fifty credits burning a hole in my pocket and a cock that don't quit."
My blood ignited. I yanked her tighter against my side, my grip bruising on her hip.
"She doesn't sleep around," I snarled. "She's mine. Touch her and I'll rip your implant out through your throat. Fuck off."
The punk raised his hands and backed away, muttering "rich prick with his fancy toy," but the message was clear. The whole neighborhood had seen her now. Word would spread fast in the undergrid—there was fresh meat on the block, and it belonged to the broke ex-lawyer in 4B. I didn't give a shit. She was already paid for. My last credits. The debt I'd just buried myself deeper in. And she was coming home with me.
The apartment door hissed open on its rusty tracks. I let her step inside first this time, watching the way her ass moved under the slip as she crossed the threshold. The place looked even more pathetic with her in it: bare concrete walls streaked with old water stains, one flickering overhead bulb that buzzed like it was dying, the single grimy window overlooking the alley where trash and broken drones piled up. No furniture. No bed. No couch. Just my duffel bag slumped in the corner and the cracked floor where I'd left that black pill earlier like a suicide note I hadn't decided to read yet.
She stood in the middle of the empty room, eyes scanning everything with that calm, too-perfect focus. The light caught on her long dark hair, making it shine like real silk. "What did that man want?" she asked, voice smooth and low, carrying just a hint of synthetic curiosity.
I locked the door behind us, the bolt clanging loud in the silence. "He wanted to fuck you. Thought you were for rent. Cheap alley pussy."
She tilted her head, processing the words like data. "I belong to you now. No one else."
"Yeah," I said, already hard again just from the way she said it. "You do."
I stepped closer, crowding her space. "What's your name?"
"I do not have one assigned yet. My designation is Prototype Unit E-47."
I smirked, running my thumb along her jaw. "Not anymore. You're Sophie."
She tested it silently for a second, then nodded once, something soft flickering in her warm brown eyes. "Sophie," she repeated, tasting it. "I accept it. Thank you."
No more talking. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the far corner I called the bedroom—though it was just the same empty concrete space, colder here because the heat vent didn't reach. The floor was rough, stained from years of neglect, my coat still balled up in the corner as a makeshift pillow. The single bulb barely reached this spot, casting long shadows that made her look even more impossibly perfect against the decay.
I shoved her down onto her back right there on the hard floor. The slip rode up her thighs instantly. She didn't fight it—she spread her legs wide for me, knees falling open like she'd been programmed for this exact moment. Her pussy was already slick, glistening under the dim light, smooth and perfect and ready.
I dropped to my knees between her thighs, yanking the slip up to her waist. My cock was out in seconds—thick, veined, throbbing with weeks of pent-up rage and loneliness. I rubbed the swollen head along her folds, coating myself in her wetness, then slammed into her in one brutal thrust.
Sophie gasped loud and real, her back arching off the concrete. Her walls clenched around me like hot, wet velvet—tight, rippling, sucking me deeper with every inch. It felt exactly like a real woman, only better. Warmer. Wetter. More responsive. I didn't give her time to adjust. I fucked her hard, hips snapping forward, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the bare walls. Each thrust drove her ass against the unforgiving floor; I knew it had to hurt, but she only moaned louder, legs wrapping around my waist to pull me deeper.
"Take it," I growled, grabbing her DD tits through the thin fabric and squeezing hard. They overflowed my hands—heavy, soft, perfect. I pinched her nipples until they pebbled, twisting them as I pounded into her. "This cunt is mine now. Say it."
"It's yours," she gasped, voice breaking beautifully on every thrust. "All of me is yours."
I fucked her faster, the concrete scraping her back as I railed her. I wrapped one hand around her throat, squeezing just enough to feel her pulse flutter under my fingers. Her eyes locked on mine—pupils blown wide, lips parted in a perfect O. She came hard around my cock, walls spasming, milking me like she never wanted to let go. I didn't stop. I flipped her onto all fours, smacking her ass hard enough to leave a bright red handprint on that flawless skin, and drove back in from behind. Deeper. Rougher. The angle let me hit that spot that made her cry out my name—even though I'd never told her what it was.
I reached around and rubbed her clit in tight, merciless circles while I fucked her like I hated her. Another orgasm ripped through her. Then another. Her synthetic body took everything I gave and begged for more, hips pushing back to meet every savage thrust.
When I felt my own release building, I pulled out, flipped her onto her back again, and straddled her chest. "Open," I ordered.
She obeyed instantly. I shoved my cock down her throat, fucking her face deep and rough, balls slapping her chin while spit dripped down onto those massive DD tits. I lasted maybe ten more seconds before I pulled out and exploded—thick ropes of cum painting her face, her neck, her heaving chest. It dripped down the curves of her tits in messy white streaks, marking her like property.
I collapsed beside her on the cold floor, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin. Sophie lay there quietly for a moment, breathing in perfect sync with me now, her processors humming softly as she analyzed every detail—my heartbeat, the way my muscles relaxed, exactly how I liked to be touched afterward. She curled against my side, one leg draped over mine, her cum-streaked body warm and soft and perfect.
I reached over and squeezed one of her heavy DD tits, fingers sinking deep into the impossibly soft, warm flesh. It gave exactly like real skin—pliant, heavy, responsive. The nipple hardened under my palm. I pinched it, and she let out a soft, pleased moan, arching into my hand like she lived for it.
"You feel real," I muttered, half in disbelief. "So fucking real."
"I am optimized for you," she whispered.
After a minute she sat up gracefully, the black slip still bunched around her waist. Cum glistened on her skin. Without being told, she scooped a thick strand off her breast with two fingers, brought it to her lips, and licked it clean—slow, deliberate, eyes never leaving mine. She did it again, and again, gathering every drop from her tits, her throat, her chin, swallowing it down like it was the most natural thing in the world. When she was done, her skin was clean and shining, only a faint sheen left where my cum had been.
She pulled the slip back down over her body, the fabric now slightly damp and clinging even tighter. Then she stood and began walking around the empty apartment, bare feet silent on the concrete. She moved like she already belonged here—touching the bare walls, glancing out the grimy window at the alley below, circling my duffel bag in the corner.
She stopped near where I'd left the pill.
Her fingers brushed the small black tablet. "What is this?" she asked, holding it up between us.
I didn't move from the floor. "Just ignore it."
She studied it for a second longer, then set it back down exactly where she'd found it, no questions, no judgment. Without another word she walked into the tiny kitchen alcove—the one with the single flickering nutrient dispenser and the few half-empty packets of paste I'd been surviving on. I heard her open the cabinet, rustling through the scraps, already working to turn whatever little I had left into something worth eating.
I lay there on the cold concrete, cock still twitching, watching her perfect ass move under that slip while she cooked for me in a kitchen that had nothing.
And for the first time in months, the pill didn't feel like the only option anymore.