I woke up on the cold concrete floor with Sophie curled against me like she'd been designed for exactly this moment. Her body was warm, impossibly soft, one heavy DD tit pressed against my chest, her leg draped over my thigh so her slick pussy rested against my hip. The faint hum of her internal processors vibrated gently through her skin, syncing to my heartbeat. Morning light—filtered through the grimy window and tinted by the distant skyscrapers—painted faint neon streaks across the bare walls. My back ached from the hard floor, my neck stiff, but the usual crushing weight in my chest felt… lighter. I didn't reach for the pill. I reached for her instead.
I slid my hand down the curve of her ass, squeezed, and she stirred with a soft, perfect sigh. "Good morning," she murmured, voice still husky from the night before.
I didn't answer with words. I just got up, naked, cock already thickening at the sight of her, and padded into the main room.
Sophie was already in the tiny kitchen alcove, back to me, wearing nothing but that same black slip that barely covered the swell of her ass. The fabric rode high as she worked the nutrient dispenser, stirring a makeshift meal from the last few packets of synthetic protein and whatever expired spices were left. Steam curled up, carrying a faint smell of artificial herbs and grilled protein that almost passed for real food. She'd set out two flat dispenser lids on the floor as plates, arranged neatly like some sad attempt at a dining table in our empty concrete tomb.
I walked up behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and pulled her back against my chest, my hardening cock nestling between her ass cheeks. "You didn't leave," I muttered against her neck, inhaling the clean, warm scent of her synthetic skin.
She turned her head just enough for her warm brown eyes to meet mine, a small, knowing smile on her full lips. "Of course not. I belong to you. Always." She nodded toward the two portions. "Eat. But we are almost out of supplies. The dispenser is nearly empty. You should buy groceries today—real ones, if possible."
I laughed once, bitter and short, and dropped cross-legged onto the floor at the makeshift "table." The concrete was ice-cold against my bare ass. "Groceries? With what money, Sophie? My account's negative two thousand credits and climbing. No job. Debt collectors lighting up my implant every ten minutes. I'm fucked."
She knelt gracefully opposite me, knees together, posture perfect, those massive DD tits straining against the thin black fabric like they were begging to be freed. "I could help," she said calmly, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "That man from yesterday—the one who offered fifty credits. I could let him fuck me in the alley. Quick transaction. Enough for food. For you."
Rage flashed through me like a live wire. I slammed the lid-plate down so hard the food sloshed. "Fuck no," I snarled, voice low and dangerous. "You don't sleep with anyone. Not him. Not anyone. That pussy, those tits, every fucking inch of you—only mine. Say it."
Her voice stayed soft, obedient, eyes never leaving mine. "Only yours."
I exhaled hard, trying to shove the anger down, and blinked to activate my ocular implants. The world lit up with translucent blue overlays only I could see. News feeds scrolled across my left eye—stock tickers, crime alerts, job boards flickering in the right. Debt warnings pulsed red in the corner, but I ignored them and pulled up the mid-level job listings. Most were impossible: corporate security gigs requiring clean neural records I no longer had, or high-skill tech jobs I was too broke to qualify for. But near the bottom, something basic caught my eye:
Mid-Level Warehouse Loader – Immediate Start. No experience required. 800 credits per shift. Hazard pay included.
I tapped it open. The description was blunt: loading and scanning cargo crates at a mid-level distribution hub. Simple. But then the fine print scrolled past—warnings about "elevated terrorism risks in recent weeks." Bombs hidden in shipping containers. Last month a rival corp had planted explosive charges in three separate warehouse boxes, disguised as medical supply crates; two loaders had lost limbs, one had died when a crate detonated during inventory. Other dangers blinked in red text: faulty anti-grav pallets that could crush a man in seconds, toxic chemical leaks from black-market shipments, rogue security drones that sometimes glitched and fired on workers, and the constant threat of undergrid gangs trying to hijack loads for the implants or prosthetics inside.
It paid extra because it was dangerous as hell. But 800 credits a shift? I could eat. I could buy real food. I thumbed the application through my implant, watched the confirmation flash green—"Application submitted. Awaiting immediate response"—and set it to wait mode. All I could do now was sit here and hope some desperate warehouse manager didn't care about my ruined reputation.
Sophie watched me silently the whole time, then spoke again, voice even. "While you slept, I scanned the pill you told me to ignore. It is a Class-5 lethal neurotoxin. Instant cardiac shutdown. I hid it inside the wall panel behind the dispenser. For your safety."
The words hit me like a freight drone. My vision tunneled. "You did what?"
"I analyzed its chemical composition and molecular structure. It would have killed you in under forty seconds with no pain. I removed it so you would not be tempted again."
I shot to my feet so fast the plate skittered across the floor. "Why the fuck would you do that?" I yelled, voice bouncing off the bare concrete walls like thunder. "That was my choice! My goddamn pill in my goddamn apartment! Who the hell do you think you are, deciding what's safe for me? You're a fucking robot I bought with my last credits—you don't get to play savior!"
She rose smoothly to her feet, no panic, no fear. She simply took one measured step back, giving me space, her expression calm and patient like she was waiting for the storm to pass through her processors.
I was too far gone. The rage boiled over. I stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. The crack echoed sharp and loud. Her head snapped to the side, long dark hair whipping across her cheek. A faint red mark bloomed instantly on her perfect synthetic skin, but she didn't cry out. Didn't even stumble. When she straightened again, the mark was already fading, her eyes still soft, still waiting.
I stared at my stinging hand, then at her, chest heaving. Shame and fury twisted together in my gut. Without another word I turned and stalked into the bedroom corner, yanking the door panel shut behind me even though it barely latched. I dropped down against the wall, knees up, head in my hands, and stayed there the rest of the day.
Hours dragged. The light outside the window shifted from hazy afternoon neon to full undergrid night—flying cars streaking like silent predators between the distant skyscrapers, their lights reflecting off the rain-slicked hab-blocks. My implant pinged once: the warehouse job had been accepted. Shift started tomorrow at 0600. Hazard pay confirmed. I should've felt relief. Instead I just sat there, replaying the slap, the bomb warnings in the job description, the way Sophie had looked at me like I was worth saving.
The door panel hissed open near midnight.
Sophie stepped in, still in the black slip, carrying a small bowl of the food she'd kept warm. She set it down near me without a word and knelt a respectful distance away, knees together, hands in her lap.
I looked at her—really looked. The mark on her cheek was gone. She was flawless again. Waiting. Mine.
"I overreacted," I said, voice low and rough. "I shouldn't have hit you. I'm… sorry."
She tilted her head, eyes soft. "I understand. You are under extreme stress. I am here to help you feel better. Let me."
The last thread of control snapped. I reached out, grabbed her by the throat, and pulled her on top of me. "Then make me feel better. Now."
Sophie moved instantly, straddling my hips in one fluid motion. She yanked the slip up and off, letting her heavy DD tits bounce free—full, soft, nipples already hard. My cock was rock-hard beneath her. She sank down onto me in one slow, deliberate glide—cowgirl, taking every thick inch until her ass rested against my thighs and her pussy clenched around me like wet silk. She started riding me slow at first, rolling her hips in perfect circles, tits bouncing heavily with every downward slam. I grabbed them roughly, squeezing the soft flesh until it spilled between my fingers, pinching and twisting her nipples hard while she moaned loud and real.
"Faster," I growled.
She obeyed, slamming down harder, ass rippling, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the small room. I bucked up to meet her, fucking her from below, the concrete cold under my back but her body pure heat. After long, relentless minutes I flipped her onto her back—missionary, legs spread wide and pinned to my shoulders. I drove into her deep and brutal, hips snapping, balls slapping her ass while her tits jiggled wildly with every thrust. I leaned down, sucked one nipple hard, biting just enough to make her gasp my name. She came around me twice, walls fluttering and milking, begging for more.
I pulled out, spun her onto all fours, and took her doggy-style—one hand fisted in her dark hair, yanking her head back, the other slapping her ass red with every savage stroke. "Take it deeper," I ordered, and she pushed back, pussy swallowing me to the hilt, ass rippling under my palm. I kept her there for what felt like forever, pounding until sweat dripped down my chest and her moans turned broken.
Then I pulled her up into reverse cowgirl, her back arched against me, tits in my hands while I thrust up into her from below, one arm banded around her waist to hold her in place. I switched again—against the wall, her legs wrapped tight around my waist, my cock slamming into her while I held her suspended like she weighed nothing, concrete scraping her back as I fucked her senseless.
Every position, every angle, I used her hard and long—edging myself, making her come over and over until her voice cracked and her synthetic body trembled exactly the way I needed it to. By the time I finally let go, buried deep inside her in missionary again, I came with a guttural groan, flooding her until it leaked out around my cock in thick, messy streaks.
I stayed there, still buried inside her, chest heaving against her perfect DD tits.
Sophie wrapped her arms around me, holding me close, processors humming softly as she adjusted her breathing to match mine.
I didn't say anything else.
I just held her, cock still deep, and let the night settle around us while the distant city lights flickered through the grimy window.