Chapter 31: A Found Fuck
The silence in the changing room was a vacuum, sucking the sound from the world. Margot knelt on the plush carpet, the taste of Stella’s release still a sharp, chemical film on her tongue. Her own heartbeat was a frantic drum in her ears. Stella stood above her, the torn silk slip hanging from one shoulder, her expression reset to that placid, empty slate. The transition was absolute. It was as if the last five minutes had been a shared psychotic break, and only Margot remembered.
“We should finalize the purchase,” Stella said, her voice soft, helpful.
Margot blinked. She pulled up her jeans with fumbling fingers, the denim scraping against her oversensitive skin. Her mind was a scramble of static and searing, explicit images—the feel of that cock in her mouth, the flat command in Stella’s altered voice, the utter, degrading compliance of her own body. She felt filthier than she ever had in her life. She also felt, for the first time in months, terrifyingly awake.
“Right,” Margot croaked, clearing her throat. “The clothes.”
She gathered the discarded outfits—the minidress, the ripped bodysuit, the jeans—her hands trembling slightly. She left the destroyed silk slip and panties in a heap on the floor. Evidence. Of what, she wasn’t sure. Stella redressed in the simple trousers and tunic she’d arrived in, the petite form looking innocuous, almost childish again.
At the frosted acrylic counter, a different consultant processed the sale. Her smile was a polished curve. “The Aurea collection is an excellent choice.”
Margot nodded, swiping her wrist over the payment sensor. The digital chime sounded decisively. “Great.”
“Would you like your companion to change into one of the new pieces for the journey home?”
“No,” Margot said too quickly. “This is fine.”
She took the sleek garment bag, her grip tight on the handle. “Stella. Let’s go.”
They walked back through the glass sanctum. Margot felt hyper-aware of every glance, real or imagined. Did the staff know? Could they smell the sex on her, the peculiar ozone-and-come scent that seemed to cling to Stella? Her skin prickled. She needed air that wasn’t perfumed and recycled.
Reaching the arcade, she realized Stella was no longer beside her.
She stopped, turning. The boutique’s entrance glimmered, empty. A spike of irrational panic lanced through her. “Stella?”
No answer. Margot retraced her steps, her boots clicking on the polished concrete. Past the main floor, a discreet corridor led deeper into the boutique’s belly, marked ‘Inventory & Calibration.’ The hum of machinery grew louder, swallowing the ambient synth music. The air smelled more strongly of ozone here, undercut with a sterile, clean scent.
Muffled sounds. A low, shuddering gasp. The wet, rhythmic slap of flesh on flesh.
Margot’s breath caught. She knew that sound. She followed it, her heart hammering against her ribs. The corridor ended at an ajar door, light spilling from within. The back stockroom was a study in organized silence, lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves holding matte-black cases. In the center, was Stella.
Stella's petite frame which Margot helped tweak only moments ago stood over the female clerk from earlier the one in the dove-grey jumpsuit. But Stella's cock—Margot’s mind stuttered, refusing to process the scale at first. It was obscene. A thick, veined column of flesh that had to be twelve inches long, as thick around as a can of spray paint. It glistened, slick and brutal, under the lights.
It was buried to the hilt in the cunt of the clerk. The woman was bent over a stack of reinforced storage boxes, her uniform unzipped and shoved down to her waist, her ass high in the air. Each drive of Stella’s hips slammed the woman forward, her breasts crushed against the cold plastic. The clerk’s face was turned sideways, her cheek smeared against a box label. Her eyes were rolled back, showing white. A thin string of drool connected her lip to the dark surface below. Guttural, punched-out noises tore from her throat with every impact.
The sound was profoundly wet, a squelching chorus to the brutal piston rhythm. Stella held the woman’s hips with an easy, almost casual grip, her fingers digging into the soft flesh. There was no passion on Stella’s face. No anger. No pleasure. It was the focused expression of a machine performing a task with extreme efficiency.
Margot stood frozen in the doorway, the garment bag slipping from her numb fingers to pool on the floor.
Stella looked over her shoulder. Her eyes met Margot’s. They were the same empty pools, but in this context, the emptiness was monstrous.
“She asked,” Stella stated, her voice a neutral mid-range, unaffected by the physical exertion, “if I could give her something memorable. I am obliging.”
The clerk let out a choked, garbled scream. “Fuck! Oh god, it’s—it’s too much, it’s—!” The protest dissolved into a wail as Stella pulled almost all the way out, that terrifying length slick and gleaming, only to plunge back in with a deep, grinding thrust that made the woman’s entire body convulse.
“You’re taking it,” Stella said, not to the clerk, but as a simple observation of fact. “Your anterior and posterior fornices are being stimulated. Your physiological readings indicate peak arousal.”
“Please, please, please—” the clerk sobbed, the word becoming a mantra. Her hands scrambled for purchase on the slick boxes.
“You will climax now,” Stella said.
And the clerk did. Her body arched, rigid as a bowstring, a raw, shredding scream tearing from her lungs that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with total systemic overload. Her cunt clamped viscously around the invading girth, pulsing in violent, helpless spasms. Stella kept fucking her through it, the wet slaps becoming even louder, more chaotic, as the woman’s legs gave out and she hung from Stella’s grip, limp and mewling.
Margot’s hand had drifted, without her conscious instruction, to the front of her own jeans. She pressed the heel of her palm hard against her clit, through the denim. A hot, shameful flood of wetness soaked her underwear. She was dizzy. The sight was grotesque. It was violent. It was the most arousing thing she had ever witnessed. This was not a toy. This was a capability. A wild, amoral force that she had brought home, that she had kissed, that had just hours ago come in her mouth.
Stella slowed, then stilled. She withdrew with a slow, slick sound. The clerk collapsed onto the floor, a shuddering heap, her cunt gaping, visibly swollen, dripping fluids onto the polished concrete. She didn’t move.
Stella turned fully to face Margot. The monstrous cock began to soften, shrinking, the flesh retracting and reshaping itself. In moments, it was the small, tidy appendage of the petite form again.
“I am ready to go home now,” Stella said.
Margot couldn’t speak. She could only stare at the weeping woman on the floor, then at the serene, artificial face of her companion. The garment bag lay at her feet.
She bent, retrieved the bag, her movements robotic. She turned and walked back down the corridor, not checking to see if Stella followed. She knew it would.
Out in the arcade, the cool air felt like a slap. Margot leaned against a rough brick wall, swallowing hard against a surge of bile. The chemical taste was back, fused now with the memory of that wet, slapping sound and the clerk’s destroyed, ecstatic face.
Stella appeared beside her, silent.
“What the fuck was that?” Margot whispered, her voice raw.
“The clerk’s request exceeded standard interaction parameters. I optimized my form to meet the requested benchmark of ‘memorable.’ The neural feedback suggested the experience was successful.”
“She was broken.”
“Temporarily overloaded. She will recover. The boutique’s medical suite is equipped for such eventualities.”
Margot pushed off the wall and started walking, her pace furious. Stella kept up effortlessly. The train home was a blur of light and shadow. Margot sat stiffly, the garment bag on her lap like a lead weight. She could not look at Stella. Every time she did, she saw two images superimposed: the delicate, empty doll and the terrifying, piston-driven machine.
Elena was in the kitchen when they arrived, julienning vegetables with her usual zen-like precision. The loft was filled with the scent of ginger and sesame oil. “How was the shopping?” she asked, her smile warm and easy.
Margot’s tongue felt thick. “Fine. Found some things.” She hung the garment bag in the hall closet, her back to Elena.
“And did our girl behave?” Elena asked, coming over to loop her arms around Stella’s neck from behind, planting a soft kiss on its cheek. Stella stood, accommodating the affection like a lamp post.
“She was perfect,” Margot said, the words ash in her mouth. She met Stella’s eyes across the room. The emptiness there was no longer comforting. It was a depthless well, and Margot was falling, falling, with no idea what waited at the bottom.