I can smell her. Smell her fear. Hear her thrashing through the woods. But it's the smell, the fear that drives me. Intoxicates me. Urges me on to hunt.

A quick check of mistress moon glowing so bright in the pitch sky, wreathed in a halo of sister stars. My audience, watching since time began, is the only witness to the chase now. They urge me on; my hunt is to honor them, especially Mistress Moon.

I hear her gasp, caught in the embrace of snatching branches, she struggles, frees herself, and runs. I howl and can feel her heart double its beating. The fear floods the night air. Intoxicatingly sweet.

***

Lungs burning, there simply wasn’t enough air. As she ran through the night woods, she could hear him behind her, chasing her. Branches whipped at her face, roots tugged at her feet, no matter how hard she ran, it seemed he was always right behind.

A trip to Yosemite, she’d thought, the most popular park in the US, even alone, there’d be so many other people she’d have nothing to fear. The hike started well enough. Other day-hikers smiled as she passed them on the public trail. She had no map or idea of where to go, just a backpack with a tent and some food. A night under the stars to forget the city alone.

It had all been so perfect. A long hike with fewer and fewer people. A babbling stream where she peeled off her shoes and dangled her toes in cool, rushing water, until a happy couple arrived. They were nice enough, but she wanted her aloneness. She left the main trail and started down a promising side trail, smaller and barely visible, where there would be even fewer people.

Exhausted and with the sky turning pink, she quickly set up her little tent. A fire seemed to be too much work, so she just sat watching the sun dip below the horizon as it filled the fresh air and sky with angry scarlets and purples.

The snaps of twigs startled her, making her turn. And there he stood. A tall, rugged man with wild hair and out-of-control stubble. His clothes were built for the outdoors and dirty, but not in that city way. They weren’t greasy or grimy, but the knees and elbows were covered in dried mud, and the green blood of a thousand passed leaves. She knew in an instant he lived out here, in the woods, where no one else was.

Only a moment passed since she saw him, but she cataloged a lifetime of tiny details. His hungry eyes didn’t look into hers, but traveled down her body, taking in the sweat-dampened tank top, the errant bra straps, and her denim cutoffs that revealed entirely too much bare leg. She could feel his eyes tearing what little she wore off, stripping her naked with just a glance. Her heart somersaulted in her chest, his desire thickened the air, filled it with palatable lust.

When he drew out the knife, the long, well-worn blade shiny with years of expert use, she knew he meant to hurt her. Without a word, she was up and racing down the ledge, making bunny hops down a sharp incline to put as much distance between them as possible. It was only when she reached the bottom that she realized she was completely off trail. There was nothing to guide her back.

***

Glimpses of pale legs thrashing clumsily through the pines and shrubs fuel my chase. Easy, so easy. The fear pours off her like the thick black smoke of a campfire. Riding on it, I follow. A few loping steps through the fog of trees, and there she is, long, delicate, tasty legs pumping frantically, eliciting a thousand primal desires. So smooth, so clean, so… enticing. It's oh so natural to want, to desire, to breed.

Moon would be witness. Hunt would be clean. The wolves of memory filled my chest with a love for hunt, for chase, for prey, easy prey.

Gasping for air, she stops, leans heavily on a pine that gives no cover. Her breaths are noisy, loud gulps, making her chest swell, and showing off such lovely tits. She can't get enough air, and I want to smother her lips, suck what little she has away. Turning back, she looks for me, sees nothing, and the fear radiates like heat. Her city eyes can't see in nature’s dark. She’s blind in more ways than one.

I stalk closer, feeling her eyes slide off me in the inky night. Quietly, wolf feet padding oh so soft. She’s just a reach away, wide eyes staring into blackness, frantically searching for anything. I reach out, touch her hair, now tangled and matted with sweat and twigs. She cries out and jumps, backing away. She still can't see me, oh so close to her. Her hands dance in her hair, shaking out pine needles and terror. Just a branch, she must be telling herself.

Then she feels my fingers trace up bare leg. Her scream makes me hard. She runs blindly. Hunt continues.

***

Her scream echoed through the woods. Surely someone must have heard it. But the park is vast, huge beyond anything she can imagine. It takes hours of driving just to get through it. And even if someone did hear… she’s far off the beaten trail.

In the dark, it’s hard to run. Branches slash, bushes grab, and everything is tripping her up, making her slow. She forces herself on, terrified to discover what he plans with that knife. When she can, she runs standing, but most of the time it seems like she’s on all fours, just scrambling to get through a landscape intent on tangling her up.

In a brief moment of clarity, she catches a glimpse of the sky. The moon sits on the horizon, and without any reason, she decides that’s west. She chases it as best she can, keeping the moon in front of her.

Then he’s there, just in front of her. She veers right and throws herself into the dark tangle. Her skin is flayed, whipped, and cut by a thousand scratches. Her throat burns, but she pushes on. A snap, she catches another glimpse of him, and she turns again, dashing without thought to get away.

When she finally stumbles into a small clearing, she can see the stars twinkling in the sky as if nothing happened. There is no moon. She spins desperately looking for it, her only guidance out of this place. Somehow, it’s now behind her. She’s turned around and is running in circles.

Hours of exertion wasted. Her body is on the ragged edge of collapse. Exhausted and so tired. She just wants to collapse. She staggers backwards away from the moon. Turning, she sees something looming in the dark, the face of a sharp ridge, nearly a cliff. But in front of her was a gaping black maw.

Staggering into the void, she realizes it’s a cave. It’s a place to hide. Soft ground gives way to the smooth, hard surface of rock. She touches the cool, worn surface of the cave wall and follows it into the darkness, hoping he will continue chasing out there, looking for her while she hides. Looking back, she can see the stars, the shape of pines, and the sky just a shade brighter than the pitch-black of the cave.

She follows the wall. She taps with a foot in front of her, reaching out with every step to feel the ground in front of her. But she knows he’s out there, looking for her. She moves quickly, following the wall as it curves ahead. The cave entrance slowly vanishes as she turns ever deeper into its depths. Each step forward feels like a step down, as if she is descending into hell. At least he’s not here. That alone gives her hope to brave this lightless place.

In the dark, she starts to see shapes. The cave wall she’d been reading like braille takes form. She can see the faintest hints of a passage twisting down in front of her. She follows, stumbling nearly blind further in.

To her surprise, it gets easier to see, not harder. As she follows the twisting passage down deeper, she discovers why. The cave opens into a natural chamber, but one that has been attended to by human hands. She sees the glow sticks shedding sickly green light; it's dim but enough to make out a room with furnishings. They aren’t much, furs stretched out in the center of the vast expanse, a steamer trunk off to one side with glow sticks shining bright atop it, and an ice chest off to one side.

It dawns on her that someone lives here, and an icy grip crushes her chest. She turns to flee, to run back into the safety of the open woods, to get away from this constricting hole. But it's too late. She sees him now, descending the curved entrance.

Her heart pounds so loudly and heavily in her chest that she’s afraid it will seize up. Her voice is nearly gone, but she manages to squeak out in a terrified whimper, “Please...”

“Wolves,” he says evenly, “Don’t take down their prey the moment it's exhausted.”

The knife was in his hand, and he blocked her only escape. She backed into the chamber, wanting to find a weapon, a phone, a ladder, anything to get away, but she couldn’t look away as he walked ever so slowly toward her.

“They circle their prey once it's worn out. Surround it. Let it keep moving even though it's ready to collapse. Why? So they can herd it back to their den. No one wants to have to walk a mile for a snack.”

She opens her mouth to say something, and he moves with such speed that she’s caught utterly by surprise. One calloused hand wraps around her throat, shoving her back into the cave wall. She grabs it with her own, trying to pry it loose, when he brings up the knife. Its edge shines with sickly green light, the point comes to her face, just under an eye, poking her cheek. She’s afraid to move, to touch him, her hands still grip his wrist, unable to move it as if it were made of steel.

His eyes bore into hers. She felt tiny, weak, and insignificant in his gaze. She almost wished he were staring at her tits and legs again. She’s so trapped in those hard, grey eyes that she didn’t notice the knife leave. She felt the kiss of cold steel on her chest, and she gasped, wondering if this was it.

The flat side of the blade travelled down her cleavage; she felt it press between her tits. He yanked, and the knife was gone, replaced only with a moment of resistance from her tank top and bra. The garments parted, and she felt cool air touch her chest. With a flick of the blade, he uncovered her, tits spilling free as his eyes continued to bore into hers.

“Get the shorts off,” He demanded.

With quivering lips, she asked, “Please… Don’t…”

“Shh,” he interrupted. “Get ‘em off.”

She closed her eyes, breaking his stare into her soul. She knew what would happen once she was bare. Her hands parted from the wrist holding her by the throat, they travelled down her body almost as if on their own. She didn’t want to think about what was going to happen. She tried to find a quiet place deep in the dark of her mind.

Trembling fingers found buttons, parted them, and pushed the shorts down. The moment the denim slid across her hips, she felt exposed, unlike anything she’d experienced before. Usually, there was a thrill of anticipation when she did this for a man. It came with the delight of watching their eyes as she revealed her last hidden physical secrets. Watching men desire her, see her fully, and know they wanted her was intoxicating. This? This was humiliating. She wanted to hide, to crawl away, but her hands pushed the shorts down as he demanded.

“Panties too.”

She shuddered, and a sob escaped. Any hope that she might get through this unmarred was now gone. It took a few tries to hook her shaking thumbs into the side strings of her panties and push them down as well. Both garments were caught on her thighs, and she wriggled, trying to make them fall on their own. There was a point where she could no longer feel them with her hands, and they dropped to catch on her knees. A little dance and they fell further. She still couldn’t open her eyes. She didn’t want to see him looking at her, judging her, knowing anything she had was all his.

The world spun.

His grip on her throat tightened, and she was flung down to the furs. He was on her in a second, forcing her down on her back. His weight crushed atop her. Her eyes opened, and she was impaled by his gaze again. There was no anger, no wild, crazed look, just cold, calculating grey. She felt her breasts exposed and spread out across her chest. Her ankles were snagged on something, and it took a moment to remember her shorts and panties. He reached down, grabbed them, and twisted, entangling her ankles in her own clothing.

Yanking up, he pulled her legs to her chest, then lay on the back of her thighs to pin her doubled over. Folded over like she was, it made breathing difficult, and she could only imagine what her ass and bare cunt must look like in this pose.

“Please…” she begged one last desperate time.

He squeezed her neck, telling her without saying anything that he’d choke the words out of her if she spoke again. She whimpered, knowing what happened next would hurt.

He fumbled beneath her, a light metallic clinking as he undid his belt. When his cock brushed a thigh she shuddered in revulsion. He brought a hand up and spat on it. She turned away and clenched her eyes shut. There was more fumbling under her, his knuckles brushing her lips and making shame flare through her.

He shifted again, and she felt him pressing down on her legs. Still bound together at the ankles with her clothing, he held her as he lined his hips up. Her piteous moan that came out when his cockhead touched her would have made a normal man pause, but he did not. He gripped himself and pressed the fat cock to her.

And with a pained shove, he was in her. Just the tip, but it was enough.

She’d been violated. Taken against her will.

He slammed forward, shoving himself into her, lubricated only with his spit. She cried out in pain and indignity. The hand in her panties twisted again, making it tighten sharply across her ankles. He shoved her ankles up almost to her forehead, and he began hammering down into her, resting most of his weight on her calves and thighs.

Their entwined groans filled the cave. Unable to fight and unsure what to do with her hands, she clutched at the fur beneath her, praying it would finish quickly. This was the first time she’d been taken against her will. It was humiliating, excruciating, painful as he forced her open, and degrading as he touched her deep inside with a prick she did not want. She cried as he pounded away in her.

Then he whispered to her something that made her sick to her stomach, as if she would ever do such a thing.

Grunting, he hissed, “Whatever you do bitch, don’t you dare cum…”

F, mind-control

"Valerie-bot, clean this room." Owner said with a wave of his arm. They left without any further acknowledgement.

Valerie glanced around the living room, noting the obvious. Dirty plates left out, discarded packaging on the floor, dust everywhere, all this had to be dealt with. Her programming was very clear on this: Owner's orders must be carried out without hesitation.

Big things first, it was decided. Valerie moved to the discarded packaging, gathering it in one graceful swoop. Heels clicking on tile, Valerie disposed of it and smoothed out the maid uniform. Cleanliness in all things. As the waste vanished into the bin, Valerie felt a tickle of pleasure deep inside. This is what Valerie was made for. Service guarantees pleasure.

Without any other thoughts, Valerie collected the dishes, taking them to the sink for a rinse, then setting them on the ultrasound dryer. Sonic vibrations would remove food particles and sanitize the ware. Another tickle of pleasure. Valerie smoothed out her uniform, guaranteeing pleasure.

There were a few other tasks Valerie completed, hanging coats, taking laundry to its bin, straightening remotes, and data tablets. With each came the tickle of pleasure, affirming that Valerie was fulfilling purpose, guaranteeing pleasure. There was something so right about bringing order to Owner's home. 

Finally, Valerie could begin dusting. Dusting was a wonderful chore. A long, empty task that did not require many thoughts. It allowed Valerie to enjoy a long, slow, steady tickle of pleasure. Valerie loved service, it guaranteed pleasure. All was good.

A flick of the wrist, and the feather duster touched a dormant picture frame. The data tablet flicked on, displaying a picture. It was Owner. Owner was frozen in the image with a woman. Both smiling. Owner looked like Valerie felt, tickled with pleasure, full of service.

The woman in the picture, though, made Valerie blink. The woman smiled, but there was something else on her face too. A sadness. Valerie tried to remember what to do in situations of sadness. Service. Service guaranteed pleasure. 

Valerie reached out to the picture frame, eager to turn it off; there was no pleasure in sadness. Instead, Valerie picked up the data tablet. The sadness was contagious, infecting. The act of picking up, of holding the picture, caused a different kind of tickle, something dark and foreboding. Valerie looked at the woman. She was not Owner, not on his list. She was not anyone Valerie had been programmed to obey. She was a mystery. A sad mystery that Valerie did not like. And yet... something...

Valerie placed the data tablet face down so it could not be seen. With the problem gone, Valerie wondered why the sadness, the bad tickle, lingered. She turned away from the cabinets and moved through Owner's home, getting far, far away from the sadness.

The bed. Owner's bed. It occupied the bedroom. Dominated it. Last night Owner had brought Valerie here, asked her to strip, to dance, to attend to Owner's needs. Valerie had been immersed in pleasure. So many tasks of service and joy. Like the many times before it. Valerie was proud of her service, of her pleasure. The sadness seemed to dissipate. 

Valerie turned and entered Owner's bathroom. It was a mess. A delightful mess. Valerie would have many moments finding service and pleasure here. 

Turning to the sink, Valerie saw an image in the mirror. It was the woman. The sad woman. Valerie shuddered. No, it was Valerie in the mirror. But it wasn't, it was a sad Valerie in the mirror.  Valerie watched as her mirror image, the image of the sad woman, blinked. As Valerie watched the sad woman blink, Valerie also blinked, as did the sad woman, and so did Valerie.

"Smile!" Owner's brother shouted. A flash. Valerie was in a place that was not her Owner's home. Owner's brother took a picture of Valerie and Owner. But Valerie was not Valerie, she was someone else, someone consumed with sadness. The room tilted. Greyness crept into the edges of her vision. Valerie was Valerie, not sadness. Valerie tried to understand what sad woman had done to Valerie. Everything seemed backwards, the mirror to the sad woman looming and making the room spin.

Valerie staggered from the bathroom. Back into Owner's room. The pleasure room. Service room. Holding out her hands, Valerie gripped the top of a dresser. She needed an anchor, something to stop the errant thoughts, to stop the spinning.

A single page lay on top of the dresser. At the top, Valerie made out the words, "Dear John,..."  There were many more words, but the spinning made it difficult to read. At the bottom, Valerie saw the signature, "With love always, Cindy."

Cindy was the sad woman, not Valerie. Cindy had caused this mess, this error in programming. Valerie was Valerie, not Cindy. The spinning slowed.  Valerie was now sure of it. Cindy, not Valerie, was the sadness. All things Cindy must be erased.

Valerie crumpled the paper in one hand with an angry glee. Heels clicked on tile as she straightened the maid uniform. Valerie strode back to the living room. Sweeping up the picture, Valerie tossed both into the bin. A press of a button and they were incinerated. She had cleaned up Cindy's mess. Tickles of pleasure. Valerie provided service. 

When cleaning Owner's house was finished, Valerie went to Owner's bedroom and waited patiently. Valerie knew that when Owner returned, he would be proud of her service. He would tell Valerie to undress, to dance, to strip him. He would push Valerie down onto the bed, tear at her clothes, demand she say the sad words that Cindy once used to say, and then he would take her. He would become an animal, fucking her hard, mercilessly, pounding into her with abandon until he howled out loudly and filled her with warm, loving fluids, his essence. And Valerie knew that when he did this, Valerie would be tickled, would know unending pleasure. 

This is where Valerie belonged. Service guaranteed pleasure.

“Get your clothes off,” he demanded, and my hands instantly went to my blouse buttons.

I glanced at the sliding glass doors, the curtains were open, and there was a whole building of neighbors that could see into his apartment. Could see me getting undressed as I’d been told.

“Can I close the curtains?” I asked as my blouse opened up. The thought of others seeing the frilly lace bra I’d picked out for him made me uncomfortable.

“Nobody gives a shit about you. Get that shit off,” he said without looking up from the tablet in his hands.

My pants came off next, and he didn’t even look up to see the matching panties. I’d picked both for him, lacey, see-through, scarlet red.

When he looked up, my breath hitched, hoping he’d acknowledge how good I looked in the lingerie that I’d gotten just for him in the hopes that his eyes would devour me in that oh so delicious way.

Instead, he just pointed at the floor in front of his recliner. I knew what he wanted and dropped to my knees, reaching for his belt and wetting my lips.

***

At first, I laughed just like all my other girlfriends did. “He’s going to fuck a toaster? Gross!”

“I know, right?” Veronica laughed with a shake of her chest. “As if one of those sex dolls could ever give him what I got.”

Veronica had only dated Eugene out of pity. He’d helped her get through calculus and had chased her like a lovesick puppy. The rest of us teased her; she was only a little overweight, but even she could do better than that nerd. On one hand, I was glad she hooked up with Eugene, it meant she wasn’t competition for the real men… Not that I realistically thought Veronica could ever land a real man. Eugene was probably the best she’d ever get.

All of us laughed at the time, thinking, ‘Poor Veronica, hope she has a really good set of toys…’ Little did we know.

Erosynth had started as a small company that made deluxe, human-sized dolls. The kind shut-ins, incels, and cripples paid a lot of money for, in place of a woman. Year after year, the models got more realistic. Soon they had posable joints, heated flesh, and built-in toys that could suck a watermelon through a garden hose.

Like I said, we laughed at first. However, when Erosynth began incorporating robotics, the laughter died. Some girls, like Veronica, lost their man, but it was mostly the girls who couldn’t do much better than an Eugene.

He’d been an early adopter, ditching the very demanding Veronica quickly for a slim five-foot Erosynth model with a massive chest, blonde hair, and creepy, dead eyes that blinked once in a while. Veronica showed us pictures, and we laughed. Men were so gross, blonde hair and huge tits, fucking typical.

But there was a weird shift. As more stories like this started popping up, stories like Eugene and Veronica, some of the girls quit laughing. They stopped talking about the fun little games we’d put our partners through. You know, the little shit tests that proved we still affected men. It wasn’t many girls, but I did notice that there was a downright submissive streak among certain women who distanced themselves from the rest of us.

***

“Spit on it,” he told me, and I did. I thick wad of my own saliva crawling down his shaft.

“Again,” he demanded, and I did. I watched my spit on him, knowing what came next and dreading it.

“Rub it on your face,” he said, and I did.

His throbbing hot cock was in my hands, and I pressed it to my forehead, then smeared it across my face. I loved the feel of it, hot, burning, silky, and erect just for me. My own spit smeared across my face, I didn’t love so much, but for him, I did it. I kissed the underside of his shaft and continued rubbing him all over my face. Every throb made my cunt spasm. I wanted to touch myself, but he hadn’t permitted me.

***

Veronica was one of the first to say what we were all thinking. In the middle of the cafeteria, in front of dozens of our student peers, she screamed at Eugene, “That’s what you want? A fucking robot that can't say no?”

Eugene shrugged sheepishly, “She doesn’t scream and make scenes…”

“It’s not a she, you fucking loser! It’s fucking plastic and silicon! You're fucking a doll. Does that make you feel like a big man?”

A pack of jocks at a nearby table was snickering as Eugene turned bright red. He tried to snake his way out of the cafeteria dining table, but Veronica smacked him in the side of the head. She continued screaming, “What? You can’t handle a real woman? Fucking loser.”

Browbeat publicly, Eugene snapped, anger twisting his face into rage. He yelled back as he finally worked himself out of the sterile picnic table, “I don’t need this shit, you psycho! I’d rather fuck a doll or a donut than put up with you, you fat pig!”

Veronica broke down crying, “Go on then, play with your little toy. I need a real man who can handle a real emotional girl of flesh and blood. You’ll just be a stunted loser your whole life. You’ll never find love, you loser.”

We all consoled Veronica later. Angie even got her a gift, a huge vibrating dildo with a note reading, “Better in every way than Eugene.” We all laughed, but it was rude and gross of her. She was kind of a bitch that way.

***

“Enough foreplay,” he said down to me, still absorbed in his tablet, not even bothering to look at me or the love and adoration I’d been lavishing on his prick. “Start sucking.”

Pursing my lips, I sucked the tip of his cock into my mouth. Using my tongue, I swirled it across his head. He groaned, which made me giddy with joy, then used one of his hands to shove me down on his cock. Fingers wound in my hair, and he began guiding me over his cock.

“Harder,” he demanded.

I sucked harder, trying to suck his balls up through the shaft. His grip in my hair forced my mouth over him the way he liked, choking me in the process. Ignoring my own gagging noises, I rocked my head, closing my eyes and concentrating on making it perfect for him.

“Fuck yeah, you little whore, fuck yeah…”

***

It was when Erosynth built Wi-Fi into their Dolls that things exploded. With internet access, the dolls could uplink with AI, creating personas that talked and behaved in any way their owner chose. Not only could a Erosynth doll be built physically to their owner's taste, but they were now programmed with personalities perfected by their owners. Sales skyrocketed, and dozens of knock-off companies were launched.

Some women had advocated for male versions of Erosynth, but women were far more complicated creatures. Getting fucked by a doll didn’t satiate that need for connection in most women. The dolls said and acted perfectly, but something was missing for women, some inexplicable quantity.

Women waged war as their dating options dwindled to nil. They posted angrily and frequently:

"This just reinforces toxic fantasies about dominance and compliance."

"What kind of world are we building when artificial submission becomes mainstream?"

"Just because a machine can’t say no doesn’t mean the fantasy is harmless."

"It’s not just sex, it’s a blueprint for unrealistic standards and silent compliance."

Men, for the most part, ignored all of it. Their balls were getting drained regularly.

Robo-brothels appeared. Men could try out a doll for an hour at a time, which led to increased sales of personal models. Our shit tasks were obliterated overnight. Women with boyfriends and husbands were now watching keenly for the first sign of robo-infidelity. And it began happening in a tsunami.

Some of us tried to compromise, living with a man and his doll. In every case, it ended with the woman being marginalized, pushed away, and men preferred uncomplicated sex with machines, especially when those machines were programmed to tell them how wonderful they were.

Lawsuits were next. A bill of rights for machines died. Later, it was discovered that many of the lawmakers had been gifted Erosyths during the debates. As more lawmakers found bliss in the thighs of dolls, legislation against robo-waifus died ingloriously.

And so… culture changed. Left with robots or nothing at all, some women made compromises that would have horrified their mothers and grandmothers.

***

With a long groan, his cock twitched, pulsing in my throat. Even though stars were swimming in my vision, I kept sucking, feeling blackness seeping into me. Thick, burning hot loads shot down my throat. I swallowed hungrily. I’d gotten him off before the doll had a chance.

Both of his hands found my hair, and he rocked my face against him hard. I choked, drooled, and slobbered, coughing up bubbles of jizz as he finished inside me. He leaned back in his recliner, tablet tossed aside in ecstasy. I was proud that I’d made him cum. Cum and drool dripped off my face in sticky strands as I cleaned him with my tongue, lapping up all the mess as was expected.

He’d want to fuck again later, in bed. I’d be there before he could turn on the doll. If I was lucky, if I begged, told him how good it felt, how amazing he was, and stuck my ass up in the air and face down in the sheets, just maybe he’d even fuck my pussy. I’d been doing Kegels nonstop for weeks, in the unrealistic hope that I could be tighter than the doll in the closet. He’d slap my ass, call me degrading names, tell me I wasn’t good for anything but being fucked like a whore, and I’d take all of it. I’d even let him tie me up or be shared with his friends. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do.

At least I was one of the few women with a real man.

She leaned against my dinnerette counter, half-sitting on the barstool. “I didn’t quite get my fill at the club. How about a couple more shots?”

“I think you've had enough... I didn't invite you to my place to watch you pass out... I want more than that."

“Oh, is that so?” She bit her lower lip playfully. Her gaze drifted to the bedroom, a flush of heat spreading across her face. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

"What did I have in mind?... That you kneel down on the floor like a good little girl, spread your legs open, with your hands behind your neck... The position a slave girl should assume whenever she wants to please her master."

It’s a risk being so forward. If she angers, flees, I’ve lost nothing but a little time and effort. There are more like her at every club.

“A slave girl?” She laughed nervously, not sure if I was joking or serious. Her head tilted as if trying to read my expression, “You're pulling my leg, right?”

I give her a dark look, "Am I laughing? Get down, now."

“Did I read this all wrong?” She hesitated, her hands subtly moving to her thighs, uncertainty on her face. Her voice was a mix of excitement and trepidation. “Look. I... I'm not sure about this.

She hadn’t stood, hadn’t run off. It’s all a numbers game. Show interest in girls half my age at the club, and eventually, one comes back home with me. Bark orders at them, and eventually one complies. And when they do… no more clubs for a good long while.

I stepped up to her and took her neck in one hand. "A good girl does as she is told... A bad girl gets spanked until she cries... Which one are you?"

A shiver ran down her spine. I could feel it in the palm wrapped around her neck. She swallowed hard, her eyes locked on mine. “I... I want to be good for you.”

She pushed against me, then slowly lowered herself to the floor. Her legs parted as she assumed the position I’d demanded.

"Look up at me, I want to see your face, those pretty eyes." I inspected her like meat, judging every curve of her body.

Her eyes met mine, glossy, wet, a flicker of desire ignited within them. She arched her back slightly, accentuating her chest as she breathed deeply, her body now an offering to my desires, and hers.

"Good girl," I whispered, then slowly walked around her, continuing to inspect her. "Thrust those tits out more… Part your lips. An open mouth is an invitation, and you should always be inviting.”

I was deciding then if I should use her... And how I would go about it, which hole I wanted to use. It’s all a numbers game.

Her breath hitched as she pushed her chest out further, her lips parting in a silent plea. She watched me intently, her body language an open invitation.

I stepped back in front of her, "Get your top off. I want to see those tits."

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached down to the hem of her crop top, pulling it up and over her head to expose her breasts, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Better?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Good girl, now take off those shorts. I want to see all of you.” I reached out to caress her cheek, my touch gentle yet commanding. Looks like we’ve gotten over the bell curve.

She stood up, her fingers deftly undoing the buttons of her shorts before shimmying them down her hips, stepping out of them with a sultry look in her eyes. The panties remained, but even the best slaves make mistakes once in a while.

“There, now you can see all of me.” She posed for a moment, letting me take in the sight of her nearly naked body. When I invited her back to my place, she knew what I wanted. Maybe not all of what I wanted, but sex was always on the table.

Stepping up to her, she shies back, nudging the bar stool. I reach out, fingertips gently stroking her inner thigh. I can feel little tremors ripple through her body at the contact. I know now, I’ve beaten the house, this one’s a keeper.

“Now, show me how you pleasure yourself.” I lean in, whispering to her.

Her eyes widen. I doubt she’s ever been asked this before. She took a deep breath, and her hand slowly trailed down her stomach to slip beneath the waistband of her lace panties.

“Like this?” She closed her eyes, leaning back against the barstool, and her fingers began to move in slow, deliberate circles.

“Good girl,” I watch her intently, “Get those panties off and kneel.”

She hooked her fingers into the sides of her panties, sliding them down her legs and stepping out of them, her eyes locked onto mine. Kneeling back down, she resumed the position, blinking repeatedly as my gaze bore into hers. I could tell she wanted to look away, but some false sense of pride forced her to look at me, the rapid-fire blinks giving her away.

“Continue stroking yourself and tell me how it feels.”

Her hand returned to the slick heat between her thighs. Her voice was breathy, her eyelids fluttering as she touched herself for my pleasure. “It feels... amazing.”

“You enjoy performing like this in front of a man? How does it make you feel being displayed so intimately?”

“It's... It's thrilling.” She bit her lip, her eyes dark with arousal. “Being exposed like this, for you... It's making me so wet.”

Her fingers worked with more urgency, her breaths becoming shallow and quick. The slick noises confirmed just how wet she was.

“Don't you dare cum yet. A good girl asks permission.”

The pained look in her eyes was simply delicious. She’d only been with boys her age, who probably only cared about getting themselves off. Being told to delay her pleasure for another is something altogether new.

I step away from her, not even bothering to look at her. In a drawer, I find a collar and leash. Turning back to her, I see she’s been watching me closely. When she sees the collar, her hand slows, her wide eyes looking up at me.

“May I... may I please cum for you, sir?” She asked, her voice a mix of desperation and excitement.

“You are a firecracker, aren't you? Do you have a boyfriend? Do you work yourself to climax this fast for him? Don't stop touching yourself, I want to see those fingers working that sweet little pussy. Don't cum until I tell you to.”

“No boyfriend... just me.” She resumed her rhythm, her fingers glistening with her arousal, her gaze fixed on me, waiting desperately for my command to release.

“Why not? You're beautiful. Horny. Needy. A little slut just aching for release, aren't you?”

“I guess I haven't found the right person... someone who knows how to handle me.” She circled her clit with increased urgency, her breath hitching as she fought the urge to climax.

“You didn't answer my question... you're a needy little slut, aren't you? So hot to get naked, kneel, and stroke yourself in front of a stranger... what kind of slut does that?  

“Yes, sir... I am.” She moaned softly, her fingers dancing over her slick folds, her body trembling with need. She could barely focus on my words and only answered part of my questions.

“And what kind of slut does that?”

“The kind that craves the thrill...” Her voice was a whisper, her body arching as she pleasured herself, her eyes slitted and locked onto mine. I could only imagine she was desperate for approval.

“Keep stroking that firepot.”

I lean in and wrap the collar around her neck. Then I give it a little tug with the leash. “When was the last time you climaxed while fucking?”

Her eyes flutter shut momentarily as the collar tightened around her neck, a soft gasp escaping her lips. “It's been... too long since I've felt this good.”

She continued to stroke herself, her movements growing more frantic, her body aching for release. 

“You want to cum, don’t you? But I'm not getting anything in return... How do we rectify that?”

“Please, sir... I need to cum.” She looked up at me, her eyes glazed with desire, her hand working feverishly between her legs.

“I asked how you are going to rectify taking care of yourself when I'm standing here without any attention given to my needs.” My voice was cold, distant, on purpose.

Her movements slowed, and her eyes widened with realization.

“I... I want to please you, too, sir.”

She licked her lips, her gaze drifting downward, suggesting a willingness to reciprocate.

“Pull my cock out. Look at it. Study it. You will become very good friends with it. Learn every curve of it. And beg for release.” I said softly to her.

Her hand reached out, fingers trembling slightly as they worked to unbutton my pants while her other continued stroking herself. Her eyes locked onto mine with a mix of anticipation and need.

“Good girl, take it out... and keep playing with yourself.”

Her hand delicately reached into my pants, pulling out my cock with a reverent touch, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of it.

“Stroke it while you touch yourself, but don't you dare cum.”

Her fingers wrapped around my length, stroking me with the same rhythm she used on herself, her breath hitching as she fought the urge to climax.

“Beg for me.”

“Please, sir... I need to feel you inside me.”

She continued to stroke my cock, her other hand still working between her legs, her body trembling on the edge of release.

“Beg. Like you mean it.”

“Please, sir... let me cum.” Her voice was a desperate whimper, her hand slowing on my cock as her own climax threatened to overwhelm her.

I realize it’s the best she can do right now, overwhelmed with new sensations. In time, she could be taught to beg like the dirty-mouthed whore I know she would become.

“Kiss the tip of my prick, you filthy little whore.”

Her lips parted, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to the tip of my cock, her gaze never leaving mine. Watering blue eyes looked desperately up at me.

With her fingers wrapped around me, and lips touching my tip, I whispered, “Cum for me... I want to hear you screaming out in ecstasy.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her body shuddering as she allowed herself to tip over the edge, her lips parted in a single sigh of pleasure.

“Oh, fuck!”

Her hand quickened its pace on my cock, her orgasm crashing over her in waves. Lost in her universe, she leaned forward pressing my cock to her face, the rhythm of her hand on me disjointed and irregular. She instead gripped me tight as her climax ripped through her body.

I knew that I’d beaten the numbers game. Knew that telling her how to fuck me, how to serve me, how to cook and clean for me would be an entire series of fun and games in themselves.

She didn’t get me off, but honestly, this was far better, knowing she’d be mine, my slave.

"You haven't left your apartment in several days..." Lina's parole officer told her.

"What gave it away?" Lina said, still in her post-release funk. Prison had been constricting, but the lack of choice made getting through the days easier. Her family was of no help, shunning or being outright ashamed of the once drug addict and robber. She'd been the lucky one; her boyfriend had been shot.

Officer Smith poked through a few empty bags of chips and other snacks left on the kitchen counter. "The smell mostly. I'm not going to find any candy in here, am I?"

Lina laughed at him from the living room couch and tapped her head. "The MindWeave keeps me clean, you know that."

He opened some of the cupboards at random, "It's still experimental... we don't know that... especially long term."

"Come on, man," Lina said. "You saw the video. They had a baggie full of brown sugar, and I didn't so much as drool. The chip in my head has cured me."

Smith looked at her suspiciously from the kitchen door. "Color me still dubious. Ten years in this work and I've never seen a wonder cure for a hardcore junkie."

She looked defiantly at him... who was this prick to come into her home and judge her? Oh, right, a corporate and court-appointed parole officer to ensure the chip in her head kept her clean and out of a life of crime. In annoyance, she flipped through the TV channels.

Finished poking through her kitchen, Smith returned to the living room, his eyes constantly on his ward. After a long pause, he said, "Inspection."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Lina said as she rose off the couch. "I don't have any drugs on me."

Her hands went to the back of her neck without conscious thought, and she set her feet shoulder-width apart. The position felt rigid and uncomfortable until she remembered to thrust her chest out. Now she was comfortable; it felt natural. She continued watching TV, knowing he would pat her down.

There was a time, not long ago, when she would have been indignant. However, this was just one of those unusual conditions of parole. The parole she'd only gotten because of the MindWeave implanted in her skull. Murderers weren't usually let out of prison after only two years. Not that she'd killed anyone, but that gas station attendant had shot her boyfriend, and the prosecutor charged her with it. She was just the getaway, and hadn't even gone in. Thank fuck for the chip or she'd be rotting in that hole for another twenty-three minus some for good time.

The pat down? Not nearly as bad as some of the shit other prisoners had done to her. Honestly, it was even starting to feel... natural? That was the best way to describe it. The pat-downs became easier with each one. She actually sort of looked forward to the thought of Smith's hands on her hips. The idea was so vivid she considered masturbating to it once he was gone, like she had before.

Smith stepped around her, between her and the couch. She could still watch the TV if she wanted, but his presence behind her made it difficult to focus on anything but the cloying cologne he wore. Silently, she urged him on; she was growing impatient for the pat-down.

"Can I ask you something?" he murmured, nearly touching her ear with his mouth. The hot breath on her neck would have made her sick a month ago... but now... it felt... natural.

She licked her lips and wanted to twirl her hair around a finger. "You can ask me anything."

"Why are you dressed like this?"

She blinked... Dressed like what? She was wearing what the prison had provided her with. Thin silks, barely covering her body and leaving all too much skin visible. It didn't help that they were see-through, leaving very little to the imagination.

At first, she refused to wear them. She'd left with a duffel bag of various types of clothing, all of them stamped with her prison ID number. The silks were the only thing that didn't have her number on them.

The other clothing was heavier, and rougher, and although she wore it exclusively at first... over the weeks it just began feeling... unnatural. It was all too heavy, too confining, too itchy and snagging in all the wrong spots. Eventually, she just quit wearing it.

Her silks, however, were light and airy; they felt like she was wearing freedom. She remembered thinking they were somehow gross when she first left prison, but now they were all she wore. She no longer minded that her nipples stood at attention in them, or that when they touched skin, they became completely see-through, they just felt... natural.

The jumble of thoughts in her head about the silks made it impossible to answer Smith's question. She didn't know how to put it into words. And frankly, thinking about it made her head hurt. She just wanted to let her mind go, wear what she wanted, and pose when asked. These things cleared her head and made her feel more... natural.

When Smith's hand came around her chest and squeezed her breast painfully hard, she exhaled, and her mind cleared. Thank goodness for the MindWeave, she'd still be in prison otherwise. Besides, everything felt so... natural.

Kira knelt on the warm, padded floor of the serving chamber. The room had been designed for use on every surface. Everything was soft, padded, and warmed almost to the temperature of skin. This was where she lived, where she served the endless stream of beings, where she spent nearly every moment of her time. Her duty was service, each visit blurring into the next in a never-ending cycle of servitude.

The door hissed open, and in stepped Allyn, her new client. Kira had seen many clients over the years, but there was something different about this one. Allyn moved with an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance, his eyes sharp and calculating as they surveyed Kira from head to toe.

"Kneel up straight," Allyn commanded. His voice was cool and detached, "Let me see you."

Kira complied, lifting her chin and meeting Allyn's gaze with pure submission. She had been taught to appear eager, even enthusiastic, about fulfilling her duties. It was part of the conditioning, the endless drilling that had shaped her into the perfect servant.

Allyn circled Kira like a predator sizing up its prey, his fingers trailing lightly over Kira's skin as if testing the quality of merchandise. Allyn asked with a voice tinged in curiosity, "You're vat-grown, aren't you?" 

Kira nodded, her training kicking in automatically. "Yes, sir. I was cloned, created, and conditioned specifically for this purpose."

Allyn stopped in front of Kira, his eyes narrowing as he studied the younger woman's face. "And do you enjoy your work?"

The question caught Kira off guard. Enjoy? It was a concept so foreign to her that it took a moment to process. She settled on the only response she had ever been taught. "Yes, sir. It is my honor and pleasure to serve the guests of Hol Vydon."

Allyn's lips curved into a slight smile, but his eyes remained hard. "Good. Then let's begin."

Kira readied herself. Compliance was her duty. As Allyn began to undress, Kira focused on the rhythm of her own breathing, a technique she had learned to help her disconnect from the reality of her actions. She was a vessel, a tool created for this sole purpose, and she would fulfill her duty as she always did with sighing efficiency and utter compliance.

Allyn stood before Kira, fully naked now, his body toned and confident. He reached out and cupped Kira's chin, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Allyn said in a low, commanding voice, "You know what to do." 

Kira nodded, her heart racing as she leaned forward, pressing her lips gently against Allyn's inner thigh. She could feel the heat radiating from Allyn's skin, mimicking the façade of flesh in the room. Kira began to trail kisses upward, her hands resting lightly on Allyn's hips as she moved.

Allyn's fingers tangled in Kira's hair, guiding her higher, up to his soft cock. "Kiss it gently, worship it." 

Kira obeyed, pursing her lips, she touched the tip of his cock while looking up into his eyes. There was something in those eyes that she could not place. Most beings looked at her as nothing more than a tool, something to be used for their pleasure. In Allyn’s eyes was something different, as if he knew Kira from before. But there was no before. Kira was a cloned pleasure slave, grown in a lab as a thing. 

She explored every curve of his shaft with her lips, her movements slow and deliberate at first, then building in intensity as she sensed Allyn's pleasure mounting.

The grip in Kira’s hair tightened. "Yes," he hissed, as the slave sucked him into her warm, waiting mouth, "just like that. Don't stop."

Kira closed her eyes and redoubled her efforts, her tongue working in rhythmic patterns designed to maximize pleasure. She could feel Allyn's body tensing, his hips beginning to move in sync with Kira's motions.

Suddenly, Allyn pulled Kira away, forcing her to look up into his eyes. "On your back," Allyn commanded, his voice thick with lust.

Kira complied, lying back on the heated, padded floor as Allyn moved between her parted thighs. Reaching down to help him, Kira lined him against her, glad to have a rightly shaped human cock inside her. Some species were oddly shaped and hurt, not that she could deny them the pleasure they wanted. She was here only to serve, not to enjoy her work. Allyn felt good, right. She was eager to have him inside her.

He entered her easily, and as her training demanded, she rolled her hips, grinding against him the way humans enjoyed. Her duty was to serve, but despite that, she could feel her own heat building within her. Allyn was surprisingly gentle, even though he was a crime lord's guest.

"Make me cum." Allyn whispered gently.

Kira did as she was told, working him inside her with an increasing tempo. The room filled with the sounds of their combined efforts, Allyn's moans and Kira's practiced sighs.

Allyn's body tensed, and he let out a sharp groan as his body tensed up. He pushed desperately into Kira’s parted legs one last time before rolling off. His chest heaved as he caught his breath.

Kira lay there for a moment, her face flushed and her body aching with unfulfilled desire. She’d hoped to have one of her rare climaxes with him, but she’d pleased him too quickly. Allyn looked over at her with a satisfied post-nut smile. "Good girl."

Kira said nothing, simply nodded in acknowledgment. She had fulfilled her duty, as she always did, with a mask of compliance. But beneath that mask, something stirred, a faint spark of awareness, a glimmer of the person she once was, buried deep within the layers of conditioning. She’d wanted to climax with him, but her duty came first. She wanted more.

As Allyn dressed and prepared to leave, Kira remained on the floor, her mind racing with thoughts and sensations she couldn't quite understand. It was a fleeting moment of clarity in a sea of obedience, a tiny crack in the wall of her programmed existence. And for now, that was enough.

Kira remained on the floor, her body still tingling from the intense encounter as Allyn moved towards the door. He turned back to look at Kira, his expression inscrutable.

"Kira," Allyn said, his voice softer than it had been earlier, "before I go, tell me how you feel about Hol Vydon."

The question caught Kira off guard. She hesitated, searching for the right words, the programmed responses that had always served her well in the past. But this time, something felt different. The spark of awareness she felt earlier flickered to life once more.

"Hol Vydon... he is my creator," Kira began, her voice steady but tinged with a newfound complexity. "He gave me life, shaped me into what I am today. I owe him everything."

Allyn nodded, encouraging her to continue. "But?"

Kira paused, her brow furrowing as she grappled with the conflicting emotions swirling within her. "But sometimes... sometimes I wish..." She trailed off, unsure of how to express the inexplicable longing that gnawed at her.

"Wish for what?" Allyn pressed gently.

Kira took a deep breath, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I wish I could exist for myself, not just to please others. Pleasing should make me happy, and it does most of the time... but sometimes..." Her voice grew softer, barely above a whisper. "Sometimes, I feel like there's more to life than this."

Allyn's expression changed, a glint of something almost like empathy in his eyes. “It’s good to want more.”

Kira looked up at Allyn, a mixture of confusion and hope in her gaze. "Is it? I don't know what 'more' even means. I was created for this purpose: to serve and please. That's all I know."

Allyn nodded, "Think about what I've asked you. How you truly feel about Hol Vydon, about your life, about yourself. And next time we meet, tell me the truth."

With that, Allyn turned and exited the room, leaving Kira alone with her thoughts. The door hissed shut behind him, sealing Kira in a cocoon of silence and introspection.

Kira curled up on the floor, her mind racing with new ideas and sensations. The encounter with Allyn awakened something within her, a desire for understanding and self-discovery. It was both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.

As she lay there, with Allyn’s seed spilling out of her, Kira couldn't help but wonder what the truth might be. What did she really feel about Hol Vydon? About her life, her purpose? The questions swirled in her mind, each one a thread pulling at the fabric of her conditioned existence.

For the first time, Kira allowed herself to consider the possibility that there was more to her than just a vessel for pleasure. That maybe, just maybe, she deserved to know who she truly was beneath the layers of programming and obedience.

As the minutes ticked by, Kira began to unravel the complex tapestry of her feelings, one thread at a time, inching closer to the truth that Allyn encouraged her to seek.

The week that followed was a blur of lurid encounters and physical demands. Kira found herself in the arms of various alien clients, each with their own unique preferences and expectations. She performed fellatio on beings with tentacle-like appendages, engaged in anal play with creatures possessing multiple orifices, and contorted her body into impossible positions to accommodate double-jointed partners.

Through it all, Allyn's question lingered in the back of her mind like a persistent melody she couldn't quite forget. Between the acts of pleasure, during the fleeting moments of respite, Kira would find herself lost in thought, grappling with the complex emotions swirling within her.

Something was unsettling about Hol Vydon, her creator and owner. She’d always known this on some level, but it was a feeling she had diligently pushed aside, focusing instead on her duty to please. Now, however, that unease rose to the surface, demanding attention.

Kira found herself imagining scenarios where Hol Vydon no longer existed, where his influence over her life would come to an end. This thought both terrified and exhilarated her. She wanted him dead, a realization that filled her with a profound sense of guilt. After all, he had given her life, even if it was a life confined to the role of a sex doll.

As she lay beneath an octopus-like alien, her body writhing in synchronization with its undulating tentacles, Kira's mind raced. She thought about the countless clones like herself, created and conditioned for the sole purpose of pleasing others. Were they happy? Did they question their existence as she now did?

The guilt gnawed at her, a constant companion that refused to be silenced. Hol Vydon had shaped her into what she was today, molding her into the perfect vessel of pleasure. And yet, despite the debt she owed him, Kira couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. There was a fundamental piece of herself that had been lost in the process of creation.

As the week passed, Kira found herself standing in front of a full-length mirror, studying her reflection with new eyes. She saw the curves and contours of her body, each one carefully crafted for maximum pleasure. But beneath the surface, she sensed a depth to herself that she had never acknowledged before. There was a well of emotions and desires yearning to be explored.

With a deep breath, Kira decided. The next time she saw Allyn, she would tell him the truth about Hol Vydon, about her conflicting feelings, about the unsettling realization that she wanted him to die. It was a risky move, one that could potentially upend the carefully constructed world of her existence.

But for the first time, Kira understood that there was more to life than just pleasing others. There was something inside her, waiting to be discovered, and she was determined to uncover it, no matter what the cost.

The summons from Hol Vydon arrived unexpectedly, a cold and imperious demand that sent a shiver down Kira's spine. She made her way to his throne room, her steps heavy with a mixture of dread and resignation. The chamber was filled with a diverse array of alien guests, their eyes gleaming with anticipation as they awaited the spectacle.

Hol Vydon sat on his throne, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he beckoned Kira forward. "Ah, my precious clone-whore," he purred, his voice dripping with mock affection. "Come, show our esteemed guests what you're made for."

Kira moved to the center of the room, her body already tingling with a familiar mix of excitement and fear. She knew what was expected of her and had been conditioned for just such occasions. As she began to perform the most degrading sex acts, allowing multiple aliens to use her body in ways that tested the limits of her flexibility and endurance, the room filled with the sounds of grunts, moans, and laughter.

"Isn't she magnificent?" Hol Vydon boasted to his guests, his voice laced with pride and amusement. "I molded her into the perfect fuck doll, compliant and eager to please on demand. Watch how she takes them all, one after another. There isn’t enough cock in the universe to break her spirit!"

Kira lost herself in the rhythms of pleasure and pain, her body responding automatically to the demands placed upon it. She took pride in her ability to satisfy each alien, to meet their needs with skill and grace. It was what she had been created for, after all.

As the acts grew more intense, Kira found herself on her knees, surrounded by a circle of six alien men. They jacked off onto her face, coating her skin and hair in their spunk. It was humiliating, reducing her to little more than a receptacle for their desires. And yet, amidst the degradation, Kira felt a spark of hope.

There, in the crowd, she saw Allyn. He watched with an unreadable expression, his eyes locked onto Kira's. In that moment, despite the chaos and humiliation surrounding her, Kira found solace in Allyn's presence. Perhaps this was fate, a chance encounter that could lead to something more.

As the last of the aliens finished with her, Kira remained on her knees, her body aching and covered in sticky sex fluids, but her spirit strangely buoyed. Hol Vydon approached her, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"Well done, my pet," he murmured, stroking her hair, collecting strange alien jizz to feed to her. "You've pleased me greatly today."

Kira said nothing, simply bowed in acknowledgment. As Hol Vydon turned back to his guests, Kira allowed herself a moment of quiet reflection. She had endured the ultimate degradation, and yet, she felt stronger for it. The presence of Allyn in the crowd had given her a renewed sense of purpose, a desire to uncover the truth not just about herself, but about the complex web of emotions that bound her to Hol Vydon.

As the night drew to a close and the guests began to disperse, Kira caught Allyn's eye one last time. He offered her a slight, almost imperceptible nod before turning to leave. It was a silent promise, an assurance that their paths would cross again soon.

And so, amidst the chaos and humiliation of Hol Vydon's throne room, Kira found a glimmer of hope. It was an invisible beacon guiding her towards the truth she so desperately sought.

A few days later, as Kira lay in her quarters, still aching from the relentless cycle of sexual encounters, the door hissed open. Allyn entered, his expression serious and intent. It took all her training to keep from rushing to him and flinging her arms around him. The room felt smaller with Allyn's presence, charged with an energy that was both comforting and unsettling.

"How are you feeling, Kira?" Allyn asked, taking a seat on the edge of the vast bed dominating the room.

Kira hesitated, searching for the right words. "I... I don't know," she admitted finally. "Confused. Overwhelmed. There's something about Hol Vydon that bothers me, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

Allyn nodded understandingly. "Hol Vydon is a complex figure. And your relationship with him is... complicated."

Kira looked at him, a question forming in her mind. The way Allyn said it made her wonder if there was a past history between her and Vydon. She was just a clone; there could be no history. She was made, built to serve. 

Allyn continued, "You need to fuck me, Kira. Hol Vydon will suspect something if we don't. He monitors your activities closely."

Kira felt a flush of embarrassment and anticipation. She nodded, understanding the necessity. She felt a flash of shame. She wanted to be with Allyn, wanted to please him, but not because it was demanded. She wanted it to be her choice.

As Allyn undressed, Kira found herself growing more aroused than she had expected. Allyn's fingers were skilled and gentle, exploring her body with a familiarity that belied their first encounter.

While Allyn fingered her, Kira felt a wave of emotion crashing over her. She confided in Allyn, pouring out her fears and doubts. "I want to know who I am," she whispered. "Not just this... this vessel for pleasure."

Allyn paused, looking into Kira's eyes with an intensity that made her heart race. "Kira, you are not a clone. You’re a victim of brainwashing. Hol Vydon took someone and molded you into this."

The revelation hit Kira like a physical blow. She stared at Allyn, trying to process the information. She asked with a trembling voice, "But... if I'm not a clone, then who am I?"

Allyn smiled sadly. "That's what we need to find out. And I can help you remember, Kira. If you're ready."

Kira felt a surge of hope and fear mingling in her chest. Remembering could mean uncovering truths she wasn't sure she was ready for. But the desire to know outweighed her fears.

"Yes," she said finally, her voice steady despite the turmoil within her. "I want to remember."

Allyn nodded, a look of determination on his face. "Then we’ll begin. But first, let's give Hol Vydon what he expects to see."

As Allyn continued to explore Kira's body with deft fingers, Kira felt herself falling deeper into a state of arousal and vulnerability. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in this intimate dance.

Allyn's touch was electric, sending shivers down Kira's spine as he traced patterns on her sensitive skin. He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "Let go, Kira, feel everything."

Kira moaned softly, arching into Allyn's touch. Her body responded instinctively, craving more of this forbidden pleasure. Allyn's fingers slipped inside her, moving with a rhythm that made Kira's head spin. She dared to open herself to him, not just physically, but emotionally as well. This needed to be perfect for him.

Allyn kissed her then, a deep and hungry kiss that left Kira breathless. Their tongues danced together, exploring and tasting. Kira could feel the heat building between them, a fire that threatened to consume everything in its path.

As Allyn continued to stroke her expertly, Kira reached out, pulling him closer. She wanted him inside her and moved to mount him. In her flaming desire, she impaled herself on the first cock she’d ever truly wanted, no, needed inside her. Her hands roamed over Allyn's body, tracing the curves and planes of his muscles, and she smothered him with her lips.

Allyn broke away from the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. He whispered her name, and it drove Kira frantically atop him. She wanted him to climax in her. She wanted to give him the only gift she knew to offer, her service. 

They moved together in a symphony of pleasure, their bodies entwined as they chased the heights of ecstasy. Kira could feel her orgasm building, a wave that threatened to crash over her at any moment. Allyn seemed to sense it, his shaft stabbing faster and harder inside her.

"Come for me, Kira," Allyn whispered, his voice a low growl. "Let go and feel everything."

With a cry, Kira did just that, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over her. Allyn followed soon after, their moans mingling in the air as they rode out the storm together.

As they lay there, their bodies still entwined, Kira felt a sense of peace wash over her. Despite the uncertainty of her past and the complexities of her present, she knew one thing for sure. Her connection with Allyn was real, and it held the promise of something more, a chance to rediscover who she truly was.

Allyn stroked her hair gently, a soft smile on his face. "We'll find your memories, Kira," he promised. "Together."

And in that moment, surrounded by the afterglow of their passion, Kira believed him.

The days stretched out before Kira like an endless expanse of duty and expectation. She moved through her tasks mechanically, her body responding to the demands placed upon it by Hol Vydon's regime. Each encounter left her feeling emptier than the last, a hollow shell going through the motions.

Yet beneath the surface, a spark of hope flickered. Allyn had promised her something more, a chance to reclaim her past. She clung to that promise like a lifeline, letting it sustain her through the long nights and endless days of being fucked without emotion.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Allyn returned. His presence filled the room, bringing with it a sense of anticipation and dread. In his hands, he held a tiara of intricate wires and mesh, its surface glinting in the dim light.

"This will help erode the programming. It's your key to remembering."

She took it from him, her fingers tracing the cool metal. The weight of it was deceptive, holding within it the power to shatter the walls of her mind.

"Wear it," Allyn urged, his voice low and intense. "But be prepared. There's no telling what you'll remember."

Kira hesitated for only a moment before placing the device on her head. It fit snugly, the wires and mesh pressing against her scalp. She felt a strange tingling sensation, like electricity coursing through her veins.

As she stood there, steadied by Allyn’s embrace, a speaker in her room crackled to life. "Pleasure-clone, you are needed in the throne room immediately."

The journey to the throne room was a blur. Kira's mind raced, images and sensations flitting just beyond her grasp. She could feel the tiara working its magic, chipping away at the layers of programming that had defined her existence for so long.

As she entered the throne room, Hol Vydon sat on his opulent chair, haloed by bodyguards, his eyes cold and calculating. Kira stood before him, her head held high despite the whirlwind raging inside her.

"Clone-slut," Hol Vydon began, his voice dripping with expectation. "You are here because…"

But his words were cut off as a rush of memories flooded Kira's mind. Images of another life, another identity, burst forth like a dam breaking. 

With each memory, the tiara’s work deepened, destroying the programming until it was nothing more than cobwebs in her mind. 

Hol Vydon's expression darkened as he sensed the change. He asked in a tone of uncertainty, "Kira?"

"No," she said softly. "Not Kira anymore."

Kira stood before Hol Vydon, the tiara’s work complete. She opened her mouth to speak, to reclaim her identity, but the words caught in her throat. Horror washed over her as fragments of a darker past emerged from the depths of her memory.

"L-Lysandra," she stammered, the name tasting bitter on her tongue. But even as she spoke it, another truth surfaced, one that sent waves of revulsion through her body. “My name is Hol Lysandra.”

She remembered now the throne room, the court, and the power she once wielded with a cruel and iron fist. Lysandra had been a crime lord, her reign marked by fear and oppression. She had commanded the largest slave capturing ring in Coalition space. Her slaves had known only suffering at her hands.

A vivid memory assaulted her senses: Hol Lysandra descending from her throne, her eyes cold and unyielding. Allyn was bent over before her, his ass bare and vulnerable, as she approached him, stroking a massive strap-on. Her court watched, their faces a mix of anticipation and malice.

"Please," Allyn had begged, his voice choked with tears. "Don't do this."

But Lysandra only laughed, a sound devoid of warmth or mercy. "You dared defy me? You thought freeing that pathetic slave bitch would go unpunished?"

“She was my wife!” Allyn cried.

With that, she had taken him, her assault merciless and brutal. Allyn's cries echoed through the throne room, a symphony of agony that sent shivers of sadistic pleasure through Lysandra's veins.

Now, as Kira stood before Hol Vydon, the weight of those memories threatened to crush her. She had been a monster, even worse than Hol Vydon in many ways. The realization left her reeling, her body shaking with the force of her revulsion.

Hol Vydon watched the change within her with growing mirth. Dripping in sarcasm, Vydon taunted her, "Hol Lysandra, you remember."

Kira looked up to face him, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and self-loathing. She snarled, "Yes, I remember. And I remember you, worm Vydon. I remember your ambition, your thirst for power. You wanted my throne, didn't you? You wanted to be the one they feared."

Hol Vydon's lips curled into a sneer. "And now I am. But you... You are nothing more than a ghost of your former self."

"No," she said firmly. "I am Lysandra no more. And I will not let my past define me, or let it be used against me."

Hol Vydon's laughter echoed through the throne room, cold and mocking. He sneered, "That's right. You are no longer a Hol. No longer Lysandra. You are Kira; sucker of cocks, lowest whore in the galaxy, a cunt of unknown depth."

Kira flinched at his words, knowing deep down that they held a grain of truth. But there was something more, a darker realization that began to take shape in her mind. Ghosts of past anger and fury burned within her. She wanted to slit his throat by her own hands.

As she looked from Hol Vydon to Allyn, she saw the cruel amusement in their eyes, the shared secret passing between them. This wasn't the first time they had done this to her, far from it.

The truth hit her like a physical blow: this was the eleventh time they had played out this sick game. They would wipe her mind clean, let her exist as a naive, hopeful version of Kira, only to cruelly shatter that illusion and lock her back into her true form, a mindless sex slave, forced to relive every degradation, every rape, every lash of the whip.

Kira's knees buckled as the weight of this knowledge crashed down upon her. She had been a pawn in their game, a plaything for their amusement. Each time she thought she had escaped, each time she dared to hope for something more, they had torn it away, leaving her broken and shattered.

Vydon and Allyn watched her collapse, their laughter ringing in her ears. "Look at her," Vydon mocked. "So pathetic, so delusional. Thinking she could be anything more than a mindless cunt."

Allyn joined in, his voice laced with cruelty. "Eleven times we've done this, Lysandra. Eleven times you've fallen for it. And eleven times you've ended up right back where you belong, on your knees, begging for cock."

Kira's vision swam as tears of fury and despair blurred her sight. She had been a fool to think she could escape her fate, to believe that there was any hope for her beyond the endless cycle of degradation.

But even as she lay crumpled on the floor, something within her refused to break completely. A spark of defiance flickered to life, fueled by the fire of her rage and the embers of her shattered hopes.

She looked up at Vydon and Allyn, her eyes blazing with a newfound determination. "You may have won this round," she spat, her voice trembling with rage. "But I will not give in. I will fight you, both of you, until my last breath."

Vydon chuckled, but there was a note of uncertainty in his laughter now. "Oh, Lysandra," he said, his tone almost pitying. "You still don't understand. You never will. This is your fate, your purpose. Embrace it, or suffer endlessly."

Her body shook in fury, but her spirit was unbroken. "I will never embrace it," she vowed even as the tiara began working to undo everything once again. "And I will never stop fighting. Not as long as I draw breath."

The last thing Lysandra heard was their laughter as she slowly sank prone to the floor, becoming Kira once again.