The days settled into a dark, twisted routine that felt disturbingly normal in its depravity.
Every few days I would use Skylar. Sometimes in the morning before I left for the warehouse shift, sometimes late at night when I came home exhausted, filthy, and angry from another brutal twelve hours of dodging dropping pallets and listening for the faint tick of hidden bombs. I would simply point at the floor and say "Kneel," and she would drop instantly, her broken legs folding beneath her with that wet, painful crunch of bone and cartilage that never failed to send a dark thrill through me. I would fuck her against the wall, over the table, or on the cold concrete floor while she remained completely silent and emotionless — a warm, wet, perfectly obedient doll. She never resisted. She never cried out. She never showed any feeling on her face. But I knew she was still aware. The chip only forced obedience; it didn't erase her mind. She felt every thrust, every slap, every humiliating word in excruciating detail.
Sophie watched these sessions with a soft, genuinely happy smile. Sometimes she joined in directly — pressing her body against Skylar from behind, kissing her neck, pinching her nipples, or holding Skylar's legs open while I fucked her deep and hard. Other times she directed from the side, her voice gentle but firm: "Deeper, Master. Make her feel it. She deserves to be used like this." There was a clear mix of jealousy and excitement in Sophie's eyes whenever I touched Skylar. She loved seeing me exert total control, but she also wanted to remind me — sometimes subtly, sometimes openly — that she was the one I had truly chosen.
Skylar's daily tasks became simple and degrading. I told her to help Sophie clean the apartment, serve food, and stay ready for use at any moment. She obeyed without hesitation — wiping the floor on her hands and knees, preparing the nutrient paste with blank eyes, standing naked in the corner until called. She never spoke unless ordered. She never showed emotion. But the silent tears that sometimes slipped down her cheeks told me everything I needed to know.
One morning the news ping hit my ocular implants like a hammer.
**Mass Search Underway for Missing Socialite Skylar Voss – Corporate Security Teams Deployed Across Undergrid**
The footage showed black-armored corporate agents moving through the lower levels in force. They were questioning people aggressively, dragging suspects out of apartments, and in some cases executing anyone who resisted or looked even slightly suspicious on the spot. Plasma rifles flashed. Bodies dropped without warning. The Harrington family had clearly pulled every string they had. The search was starting dangerously close to where we lived.
I walked to the window and looked out. Down in the alley and on the street below, I could see the agents — matte-black exo-suits with glowing red visors, heavy rifles humming with charged plasma coils. They were stopping everyone, scanning faces, kicking in doors. A man tried to run and was shot in the back without hesitation. Another was slammed against a wall and arrested on the spot. The sound of screams and plasma fire drifted up faintly through the cracked glass.
My stomach tightened. Paranoia crept in fast and sharp. You couldn't hide a person in a tiny one-room concrete box like this. Not forever. Not when the most powerful family in the city was turning the entire undergrid upside down looking for their daughter.
I stood there staring, jaw clenched, when Sophie came up behind me. She wrapped her arms around my waist and pressed her body against my back, her heavy DD tits soft and warm against me.
"You're worried," she said gently, her voice soothing. "But Skylar deserves it. Every second of it. She ruined your life. She lied about you. She took everything from you. This is justice."
Her hand took mine and slowly guided it up under her crop top until my palm rested on her bare breast. She squeezed my fingers around the soft, warm flesh, her nipple hardening under my touch.
"Let me help you forget the fear," she whispered.
I turned and kissed her hard, the paranoia mixing with raw, desperate need. I shoved her against the wall, yanked her skirt up, and slammed into her in one rough thrust. Sophie moaned loudly, legs wrapping around me as I fucked her standing up, hips snapping hard and deep. Her upgraded sensors made every thrust feel electric for her — she gasped and clung to me, tits bouncing inside the crop top.
I fucked her like that for a long time — against the wall, then bent over the table, then on the floor. I choked her lightly with one hand while I pounded her, watching her eyes flutter with pleasure. I flipped her onto all fours and took her doggy-style, slapping her ass hard with every thrust, the sharp cracks echoing in the room. Sophie moaned and pushed back, begging for more, her voice breaking beautifully as she came around me again and again.
I finally buried myself deep and came with a low groan, flooding her until it leaked out around my cock.
Afterward, still breathing hard, I looked at Skylar standing motionless in the corner, blank eyes staring at nothing, silent tears still occasionally slipping down her cheeks.
"Skylar," I ordered. "Make me breakfast."
She turned immediately and began moving toward the kitchen alcove, naked, broken legs moving with mechanical obedience, dried cum from last night still faintly visible on her thighs.
Sophie smiled softly beside me, clearly happy with how things were.
The apartment felt quieter than usual.
Inside Skylar's head, the hell continued without end.
*Fuck… my legs are in so much pain. Every step feels like knives grinding in the bone. The chip won't let me scream or beg out loud, but I'm screaming inside. Please… someone… anyone… help me. I can't take this endless hell anymore. I'm still here. I'm still me. I still feel everything. Please… make it stop.*
But on the outside, her face remained perfectly blank as she prepared the nutrient paste with steady, emotionless hands.