Chapter 7: Performance Review
The loft was silent except for the low thrum of servers and the occasional click of MRI’s keyboard. Betty sat at her glass desk, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat building low in her belly. She was naked from the waist down, her skirt a bundled puddle on the floor beside her chair. The Sybian was a cold, rigid presence between her thighs, its medical-grade silicone and hard plastic a promise of what was to come.
MRI finished his adjustments, his fingers brushing against her inner thigh as he ensured the fit was snug, unforgiving. “Comfortable?” he asked, his voice devoid of any genuine concern.
“It’s fine,” Betty said, her own tone flat. She stared at the cityscape beyond the windows, the twinkling lights of offices where people were doing ordinary things. She was past shame. The pool had burned it out of her. What remained was a hollow, metallic determination.
He placed a sleek black mask over her eyes, the world narrowing to a slit. “Remember the script,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “Be descriptive. Be graphic. Make him see it.”
He handed her a small wireless earpiece. “You’ll hear me. I’ll feed you names.” He walked to his main console, and a moment later, a monitor on her desk flickered to life. It showed a live stream—her, from the waist up, the mask obscuring her identity. In the corner of the screen, a chat box filled with anonymous usernames and lurid comments scrolled by.
“Show us the goods, slut!” one read.
“We’re live in three… two… one…” MRI’s voice was smooth in her ear. A soft green light on a webcam atop her monitor glowed.
Betty took a breath, then let it out slowly. She leaned back in her chair, letting her hands drift to her own breasts, cupping them through the thin silk of her blouse. “Hello,” she purred into the microphone. The vibration between her legs was a low, insistent hum. MRI had started it on the lowest setting. A tease.
In his cubicle, Roger jumped as a new window bloomed on his second monitor, auto-maximizing. He fumbled for his headphones, his heart hammering. It was her. The woman from the stream. Masked. At a desk. His initial confusion was quickly swallowed by a thick, compulsive arousal. He glanced around, but the partitions were high. He was alone.
“I was thinking,” the woman on the screen said, her voice a smoky, digitized whisper, “about the party. About the man in the pool.” Her hands slid down her stomach, out of frame. “The one with the thick, clumsy fingers.”
Roger’s breath hitched. He knew.
MRI’s voice was a calm directive in Betty’s ear. “Harrison. Describe Harrison.”
Betty’s eyes fluttered closed behind the mask. The vibration notch increased. A steady, throbbing pulse. “Mr. Harrison,” she moaned, the name feeling like poison on her tongue. “His hands were so rough. He just… shoved them inside me. Like I was a piece of meat. It was so degrading.” She arched her back, a genuine tremor running through her. “I loved it.”
Her fingers found her clit, circling in time with the machine’s rhythm. “I want him to do it again. Right here in this office. I want him to bend me over this very desk, hike my skirt up, and just use my cunt. I want to feel his fat, old cock stretching me open while he tells me what a good little whore I am for the company.”
Roger’s hand was already in his pants, his own cock hard and aching. He stroked himself in frantic, shameful pulls, his eyes glued to the screen. This was wrong. This was his wife’s boss. This was… He came back to the image of Harrison in the pool, the woman’s legs locked around him. The anonymous slut. His anonymous slut.
“Now,” MRI whispered. “Describe the others. The junior execs. The interns.”
Betty’s mind raced, fueled by a vengeful fire. She pictured the smirking, fresh-faced boys from accounting. “I’d take them all,” she gasped, the vibrations intensifying to a relentless, buzzing grind. “One after another. I’d make the young ones line up. I’d suck their cocks until they were hard, until they were begging to fuck me. I’d let them take me in every hole. I want to be their company slut. The one they all share.”
She was losing herself, the boundaries between performance and reality blurring into a haze of pure sensation. “I want one of them in my cunt, pounding me like a animal, and another in my ass, filling me up until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I want them to come all over me, mark me, make me filthy.”
Roger was panting, his movements growing jerky and desperate. He was close. The raw, filthy language, the specific, humiliating details—it was the most potent thing he’d ever experienced.
“Tell them,” MRI commanded, his voice tight with excitement. “Tell them who you belong to.”
Betty’s head fell back, a raw, guttural cry tearing from her throat as the Sybian sent her over the edge. Her body convulsed, seized by waves of brutal, electric pleasure. “I’m your whore!” she screamed at the camera, at the scrolling chat, at the unseen husband she knew was watching. “I’m the company whore! Use me! Fucking ruin me!”
The orgasm ripped through her, violent and consuming. She shuddered, collapsing forward onto the desk, sweat-slick and trembling.
On his monitor, Roger saw her go limp. It was the final push. He came with a choked gasp, his release hot and sticky in his hand, a wave of self-loathing immediately washing over the receding pleasure. He slumped in his chair, staring at the screen where the masked woman now lay still, breathing heavily. The chat was going wild.
In the loft, MRI killed the stream. The green light on the camera died. The only sound was Betty’s ragged breathing and the slow, final whir of the machine as it powered down.
He walked over to her, placing a hand on her damp back. She didn’t flinch.
“That was perfect,” he said, his voice full of a genuine, appraising warmth. “The metrics are through the roof. The engagement… phenomenal.”
Betty slowly pushed herself up. She reached down, unstrapped the heavy device, and let it clatter to the floor. She felt raw, hollowed out, and utterly powerful.
She looked at MRI, her eyes gleaming from behind the mask. “Good,” she said, her voice hoarse but steady. She picked up her skirt, standing on slightly unsteady legs. “Next time, I want to do it from Roger’s office. After everyone has gone home.”
MRI smiled, a real, unforced smile of pure admiration. “Now you’re thinking.”