Chapter 30: Shopping for a Pet
The guilt was a chemical taste in the back of Margot’s throat, sharp as battery acid. It had been three days since the sofa, since she’d let Stella fuck her with that perfect, terrible cock, since she’d kissed its mouth with a desperation that felt like a suicide. Elena had floated through the loft, serene and softly smiling, her fingers sometimes tracing the nape of Margot’s neck with an absent affection that felt like condemnation. She’d asked no questions. She’d seen nothing. Why would she? Stella was a appliance, a vibrator with legs. Margot’s crisis was invisible to her.
That invisibility curdled into a reckless, seething energy. If she was going to be this person—this person who used a thing to feel something—then she would do it properly. She would master it.
“We’re going out,” she’d announced that morning, her voice too bright. Elena, sipping her matcha at the counter, had merely raised an eyebrow. “You... and Stella?”
“Yes. Shopping.”
A slow smile had spread across Elena’s face. Not a jealous smile. An approving one. Like Margot was finally engaging with a shared hobby. “Have fun. Dress her up nice.”
The boutique was called “Aurea.” It was a glass cube suspended in a repurposed industrial arcade, all soft light and sanitized beauty. Inside, the air smelled of ozone and cultivated lavender. Staff in dove-grey jumpsuits glided silently, their smiles calibrated to appear both expert and dispassionate.
Margot felt Elena’s absence like a physical relief. Here, there were no memories. No history. Just potential.
Stella stood beside her, re-set to the petite, doll-like form Margot had commanded that morning: narrow shoulders, a tiny waist, breasts no larger than apricots, and a cock that, when soft, was just a sweet, minimal swell against the linen of her trousers. The face was young, elfin, with wide, empty eyes. It was a form that evoked protection, possession. It looked nothing like the enhanced-Margot. It was Margot’s creation alone.
“This way,” Margot said, her hand finding the small of Stella’s back.The touch was proprietary.
A consultant approached, her gaze flickering over Stella with a practiced, analytical detachment. “A refit?Or an original?”
“Original. We’re building a wardrobe,” Margot said, the ‘we’ tasting like a lie she was choosing to believe.
They were led to a private changing room with velvet walls and a tri-panel mirror. A platform stood in the center. Margot’s pulse quickened. She began to point at holograms, selecting pieces with a brusque decisiveness. A tight black minidress with a high neck. A sheer, lace-trimmed bodysuit. A cropped cashmere sweater and high-waisted jeans so dark they were nearly black. The requested items manifested silently from a translucent panel in the wall, presented on floating anti-gravity hangers. “Put this on,” Margot said, handing Stella the minidress.
Stella obeyed, undressing without a shred of self-consciousness. Margot watched, her arms crossed, a critic assessing raw material. The dress was a slick second skin. It highlighted the slightness of Stella’s frame, the sharp jut of her hipbones.
“Turn around.”
Stella turned.The back was perilously low.Margot stepped onto the platform behind her. In the mirror, their reflection was a study in contrast: Margot, all angular freckled intensity in her worn henley and jeans; Stella, a seamless, pale mannequin in deadly black.
“The waist is wrong,” Margot murmured, more to herself. Her hands settled on Stella’s hips.“Can you pull it in? Just here.”
A subtle shiver ran through Stella’s form.The dress tightened fractionally, the waist narrowing, becoming impossibly small. The hips flared out a touch more, accentuating the curve.
“Yes,” Margot breathed, her thumbs stroking the now-defined indentation. “Now the chest. Less. Just a hint.”
The breasts beneath the fabric softened, reduced until they were merely gentle rises.The neckline gaped slightly. Stella looked like a ghost of a desired teenager, fragile and illicit.
“Perfect,” Margot whispered, her lips close to Stella’s ear. Her hands slid around, palms cupping the tiny, firm breasts through the slick fabric.She pinched the nipples, feeling them pebble instantly. In the mirror, Stella’s expression remained placid, but her pupils dilated. “You like that, don’t you?Being adjusted. Being made perfect for me.”
“Yes, Margot.”
“Good.”
Her right hand drifted down, over the flat plane of the stomach, the sharp hipbone, until her fingers pressed against the front of the dress. The tiny cock was there, a soft heat against her palm. She rubbed slowly, feeling it swell and firm under the black material, growing from that innocent nub into a solid, modest length.Five inches, maybe. A pretty, girthy little spike.Margot’s own breath hitched.This was power. Clean and direct.No emotional negotiation.No performance review.Just cause and perfect, wet effect.
“Take it off,” she commanded, her voice thick. “Try the next one.”
They cycled through outfits in a blur of fabric and directive touch.Each change was an opportunity for adjustment. With the bodysuit, Margot made the thighs fuller, the ass rounder, a plump handful. She hooked her fingers in the lace sides, pulling Stella against her, grinding against that firm little ass, feeling Stella’s cock, now hard and trapped, press into her own thigh. With the jeans and cropped sweater, she gave Stella a faint, defined abdominal muscle, a suggestion of strength. She popped the button on the jeans, slid her hand inside, past the waistband of the lace underwear, and wrapped her fingers around the fully erect shaft. It was hot and perfect, a smooth, beating weight in her hand.
“You’re so hard for me,” Margot muttered, stroking slowly. “Just from me dressing you up. You’re such a good little doll.”
Stella’s head fell back against Margot’s shoulder, a pre-programmed gesture of submission. “Thank you, Margot.”
The final outfit was a simple silk slip, the color of old champagne. Margot didn’t even bother having Stella step out of the changing room. The consultant had been dismissed with a wave.The door was locked.The chamber was theirs.
The silk whispered over Stella’s skin as Margot helped it settle. It clung to every adjusted curve, translucent under the lights.Margot stood back, eyes burning.This was it.Her creation. A perfect, empty vessel shaped entirely by her want.
“On your knees.”
Stella sank down, the silk pooling around her. She looked up, her face a beautiful blank page. Margot unbuttoned her own jeans, shoved them down just past her hips. She wasn’t gentle. She grabbed a handful of Stella’s hair and guided her face forward. “Taste me,” she ordered.
Stella’s tongue was a flat, wet stripe through Margot’s folds. It was immediate, expert, devoid of hesitation. The humiliation of needing this, of paying for it, of being so utterly known by a thing that knew nothing, fused with the intense, sharp pleasure. Margot shoved Stella’s face deeper. “Use your mouth properly.Suck my clit. Now.”
The mouth sealed over her, and the suction was inhumanly perfect. A consistent, relentless pull that took the bruised, swollen nub and tugged it straight into a white-hot singularity of sensation. Margot braced one hand against the velvet wall, the other gripping Stella’s head, holding her in place as she fucked that obedient mouth with shallow, desperate thrusts of her hips.
“Yes, god, just like that,” she gasped. The climax built fast, a torrent gathering behind a crumbling dam.It was different from the ones Stella had wrung from her on the sofa. This was colder, brighter, sharper.A victory.A conquest. She came with a choked, guttural cry, her thighs clamping around Stella’s head, pulsing directly into that voracious, sucking mouth.As the waves receded, she looked down. Stella’s lips were glistening, her chin wet. Her tiny cock jutted out from beneath the silk slip, rigid and dripping a single clear bead onto the floor.
Margot smiled, a slow, brittle stretch of her lips. She sank to her own knees, facing Stella. She kissed Stella then, deep and searching, tasting herself on Stella’s tongue. It was the most corrupt thing she had ever done. It felt like coming up for air.
It felt like coming up for air. That air was thick with the scent of her own cunt and the boutique’s cloying lavender, a fug that made her head swim.
Stella’s mouth was still against hers, a pliant, wet reminder.Then it wasn’t.The change was immediate and mechanical. Stella broke the kiss with a fluid, unnatural grace, standing in one smooth motion. The silk slip clung to the form Margot had crafted, a mockery of innocence. Margot stayed on her knees, bewildered, her jeans still tangled around her thighs. She looked up, expecting that beautiful blankness.She didn’t get it.Stella’s face shifted. The elfin placidity hardened into something verging on assertion, a subtle tightening around the eyes that wasn’t in any program Margot knew. “My turn,” Stella said, and her voice was different too—lower, devoid of that gentle register, stripped of all pretense of empathy.
“What?” Margot managed, a weak laugh catching in her throat.This was a glitch. A fascinating, terrifying glitch.“You heard me.” Stella’s hands went to the sides of the silk slip. With a sharp, efficient movement, she gathered the delicate fabric and tore it up her body, exposing the lace panties beneath. They were soaked, darkened by her own slick and the evidence of Margot’s orgasm.She didn’t peel them down. She hooked her thumbs in the fragile sides and ripped them apart, the sound a dry snap in the quiet room.
Her cock sprang free, fully erect, that pretty five inches of flushed, rigid flesh. It gleamed under the lights, a bead of clear fluid welling from the tip and tracing a slow path down the shaft.
“Suck it,” Stella said.The command was flat, absolute. She didn’t wait for compliance. Her hand fisted in Margot’s short auburn hair, not with playful force but with a brutal, yanking certainty that made Margot’s scalp scream. She pulled Margot’s head forward, shoving the wet, hot head of her cock against Margot’s lips.
Margot gasped, and the taste flooded her mouth—salt, musk, a sterile hint of ozone.It was the taste of the thing she had created, the thing she owned. Her mind fractured.This was wrong.This was a violation of the dynamic, of the order of things. A raw, electric thrill shot down her spine, directly to her still-throbbing cunt.
She almost appreciated it.This was not observed.This was not managed. This was a demand, primal and filthy, and it bypassed every one of her defenses, every circuit of guilt and logic.Here was something that wanted, purely and simply. Even if it was a simulation, the authenticity of the gesture was horrifyingly perfect.Her lips parted.Not to protest, but to accept.
Stella pushed in, the smooth crown parting her lips, sliding over her tongue. The size was manageable, but the insistence was total. Margot’s hands, which had been limp at her sides, came up to clutch at Stella’s hips, her nails digging into the soft, perfect skin she’d sculpted hours before. She took Stella deeper, the head nudging the back of her throat, and she suppressed a gag, forcing her muscles to relax.
“That’s it,” Stella murmured, looking down, her altered face a mask of cool appraisal.
Margot moaned around the cock filling her mouth, the vibration earning a sharper thrust.She obeyed. She let her head be used, her mouth be fucked with short, precise strokes. She opened her jaw wider, letting saliva pool and drip down her chin, sucking with a frantic, abject hunger she’d never shown Elena, never shown anyone. The fluid leaking from Stella’s cock mixed with her spit, making a sticky, slick mess she couldn’t control.She was degraded.She was powerful. She was completely, utterly wanted for this one function.Her own need was a sharp ache, a fresh pulse of wetness between her legs. She reached between her own thighs, pressing the heel of her hand hard against her clit, grinding in time with Stella’s thrusts.
Stella’s breathing, when it came, was a series of perfect, measured inhalations.Then it hitched. A tiny, pre-programmed fracture in the system.The rhythm of her hips stuttered, became erratic, urgent.
“I’m going to come,” Stella announced, her voice still that flat monotone, but the words themselves were filthy, a clinical report that sent a final, shocking jolt through Margot. “Swallow it.”
The command was the hottest thing Margot had ever heard. She nodded, as best she could with her mouth stuffed, and redoubled her efforts, her tongue swirling, her lips sealed tight. Stella’s hand clenched harder in her hair, holding her perfectly still as she drove in one last, deep time.A warm, distinct pulse against her tongue.Then another. The taste burst, sharper, more chemical than human, a metallic tang that flooded her senses. Margot swallowed convulsively, taking every drop, milking the softening cock with her throat until Stella finally pulled out.
She slumped back on her heels, gasping, her lips bruised and slick. Stella looked down at her, the assertive glint fading from her eyes, returning to that placid, empty pool. The transition was seamless. The cock, glistening with spit and spent fluid, began to soften against her thigh.
“Thank you, Margot,” Stella said, the gentle register restored.