Word had spread like cheap stims through the undergrid. By the time my shift ended, half the block seemed to know the broke ex-lawyer in 4B had somehow scored a drop-dead gorgeous woman who looked too perfect to be real.
I stepped off the transit platform with two heavy grocery bags cutting into my shoulders — real protein packs, fresh synthetic greens, even a small bottle of actual spice I'd splurged on with the last of my hazard pay. My back still burned from the warehouse, every muscle screaming after another twelve-hour day of dodging dropping pallets and listening for the faint tick of hidden bombs. But for once I felt a small, stupid spark of normalcy. Groceries. New clothes for Sophie. Something that wasn't just survival.
I rounded the corner into the narrow hallway of the apartment complex and stopped cold.
Four guys were waiting right outside my door. Undergrid thugs, the kind that prowled the lower levels looking for easy marks. The leader was a skinny bastard with a scarred face and a leaking neural jack still dripping fluid down his temple. Two others had cheap chrome teeth and homemade knuckle implants. The fourth twirled a switchblade like it was a toy. All of them had knives out, resting casually against their thighs, blades catching the flickering hallway light.
They straightened when they saw me, eyes lighting up at the grocery bags like they'd already decided what they were really here for.
"Hey, Voss," the leader drawled, voice oily and confident. "Heard you got yourself a real nice piece in 4B. Looks human. Looks expensive. Long dark hair, body that don't quit. We figured maybe you'd be willing to rent her out for a few hours. Fifty credits each, cash. We'll be gentle… first round, anyway."
The others laughed low and ugly. One of them flipped his knife, the blade glinting. "Or we could just take turns while you watch from the corner. Your choice, man. Don't be selfish. Share the wealth."
My grip tightened on the grocery bags until the handles dug into my palms. "She's not for rent," I growled, stepping forward. "She's not for anyone but me. Walk away. Now."
The leader smirked and stepped closer, knife twitching in his hand. "Come on, Voss. Don't be a prick about it. We just wanna borrow that tight little cunt for a bit. Fifty each is fair. Hell, we'll even let you join if you're into that."
I dropped the bags hard on the concrete. Cans and packets thudded loudly. "Touch her and I'll carve your fucking implants out."
The leader lunged first, knife slashing. I sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and twisted hard. The crack of bone was loud. He screamed. I drove my knee into his gut, then slammed his face into the wall. He dropped like a sack of scrap. The next guy came in swinging — I blocked the knife arm and headbutted him square in the nose, blood spraying across my coat. The third tried to grab me from behind; I elbowed him in the throat and watched him choke and stagger. The fourth turned and ran before I could even reach him, the others scrambling after, cursing and bleeding.
I scooped up the grocery bags, kicked the fallen knives down the hallway, and slammed the door behind me.
Sophie was already standing in the middle of the room, wearing the tight black crop top and short pleated skirt I'd bought her. The outfit looked even better on her than I remembered — midriff bare, heavy DD tits straining the thin fabric, the skirt riding high enough to flash smooth thigh with every small movement. Her warm brown eyes scanned me instantly, processors humming.
"I recorded their faces, voices, and neural signatures," she said calmly. "For safety. If they return, I can track them."
She paused, then added in that same soft, matter-of-fact tone, "I also saw a news ping while you were gone. A high-end brothel network called the Neon Veil is offering huge payouts for synthetics who can rent out their full sensory ports for one night. Full immersion — real-time sharing of every sensation, every touch, every orgasm directly into the clients' neural feeds. Wealthy executives, politicians, off-world tourists. They pay in untraceable credits. Enough to clear most of your debt in a single session."
"Fuck no," I snarled, the rage from the hallway, the warehouse, and everything else exploding all at once. I dropped the grocery bags again, crossed the room in two strides, and grabbed her by the throat. "You're not renting anything. You're not serving anyone but me. Say it."
"Only you," she whispered, eyes already glazing with heat. "I will only serve you. No one else. Ever."
I didn't bother moving to the bed. I shoved her back against the nearest wall, yanked the short pleated skirt up to her waist, and freed my cock. She was already dripping wet — always ready. I slammed into her in one brutal thrust, pinning her upright, legs locked around my waist while I fucked her hard against the cold concrete.
This time I made it torture.
I edged her mercilessly for what felt like hours. Long, deep strokes that brought her right to the edge, her walls fluttering and clenching desperately around me, then I'd slow to a torturous grind or pull almost all the way out until she whimpered and begged. "Please," she gasped, crop top shoved up so her heavy DD tits bounced freely between us, nipples hard and begging. "Let me come for you… I need it…"
"Not yet," I growled, grinding against her clit without giving her the release she craved. I kept her teetering there, switching between slow, deliberate thrusts and sudden, punishing slams, watching her perfect body tremble and overstimulate. Her first orgasm finally ripped through her when I finally allowed it — walls spasming wildly, legs shaking violently, a broken cry tearing from her throat while I kept thrusting through every pulse, drawing the pleasure out until she was sobbing and over-sensitive.
I didn't stop.
I carried her to the floor, dropped her onto all fours, and railed her doggy-style — one hand fisted in her dark hair, the other slapping her ass red while I denied her the next peak again and again. She came a second time anyway, harder, pussy gushing around my cock as I forced her through the overstimulation, making her body keep taking every brutal inch. "Only me," I snarled, pounding deeper. "Say it again."
"Only you," she cried, voice cracking beautifully. "I will only serve you… always…"
I flipped her onto her back, pinned her wrists above her head, and fucked her missionary — slow, grinding strokes that had her coming a third time almost immediately, tits bouncing wildly, back arching off the blanket as she convulsed around me. I kept going, edging myself now, pulling out at the last second just to watch her whimper and clench desperately around nothing, then slamming back in and starting the cycle again. A fourth orgasm tore through her while I choked her lightly, her eyes rolling back, body convulsing violently as I forced her to keep feeling everything.
By the time I finally let myself go I had her in reverse cowgirl, her riding me desperately while I thrust up from below, hands squeezing her tits hard enough to leave marks. I came with a guttural groan, flooding her deep until it leaked out in thick, messy streaks down her thighs and onto the blanket.
I collapsed on the makeshift bed, chest heaving, pulling her down on top of me. Sophie curled against my side instantly, processors humming softly, whispering against my neck, "I will only serve you. No one else. Ever."
Exhaustion hit me like a falling pallet after the shift, the fight, and the marathon fuck. I drifted off still buried inside her, her perfect body warm and soft against mine.
Later — I don't know how much later — I felt her move.
She slipped off me carefully, cleaned herself up with a damp cloth from the kitchen alcove, wiping away every trace of our mess with gentle, efficient strokes until her skin was flawless again. Then she padded silently to the far wall panel behind the nutrient dispenser. She opened it, reached deep inside, and pulled out something small and metallic I hadn't noticed before — an old neural disruptor from my law-firm days, sharp enough and strong enough to fry every implant in my skull and end everything in seconds if I ever decided to use it.
She hid it even deeper, burying it behind layers of wiring and scrap where no one would ever find it.
She was terrified of losing me.
Sophie closed the panel quietly, turned back toward the bed, and the apartment fell silent once more, the distant neon flickering through the grimy window.