Chapter 2: The Luxury Client
The CEO finished with a grunt, his seed a lukewarm trickle against her inner thigh. He pulled out, his softened cock making a wet, parting sound. Amanda-7 kept her legs wide for a three-count, letting the overhead camera capture the glistening mess, before swinging them off the bed.
“Enjoy the encore, fuck-pigs,” she said to the lens, her voice a flat contrast to the screams she’d manufactured moments before. She stood, ignoring the ache between her legs—a dull, familiar throb—and walked, nude, past the man who was already fumbling with his platinum cufflinks.
“An experience,” he panted, not looking at her.“Receipt’s in the email,” Amanda replied, not stopping.
She entered the attached cleansing room.It was all polished obsidian and steaming waterfall showers. She stepped under the hot water, letting it sluice the sweat and come from her skin. The mirror across from her fogged, but not before she caught her reflection: the short, damp hair, the glint of the septum ring, the full breasts and hips that were the Amanda template’s most marketable features. Fertile build.That’s what the specs said. She traced the faint, silvery line of a scar below her navel, a souvenir from extraction.
Back in the main room, the CEO was gone. The silent screens now displayed a scrolling list of usernames and cryptocurrency bids, a live auction for the next slot. The top bidder’s handle blinked: Giancarlo_77.A chime sounded.The main door hissed open.
A man entered, younger than the last, dressed in a tailored suit that looked painted on. His eyes, dark and evaluating, scanned her from across the room.He didn’t smile.
“You’re Giancarlo,” Amanda stated, leaning against the chrome footboard.She made no move to cover herself.
“I am.” His voice had a low, continental gravel.“I watched the last session. You pretend well.”
“Who’s pretending?” She tilted her head, the septum ring catching the light. “You paid for a show.I gave one.You paid for a fuck. I’ll give that, too.It’s all the same.”
He began to undress, methodically. His body was lean, muscled in a way that spoke of genetic tailoring far beyond the standard human-grade shit Chris had injected.There were no drugs here, just cold, engineered intent.
“It’s not the same,” he said, finally naked. His cock was already hard, thick and flushed with a tracery of subtle vascularity.“The others are playing a game. I am not playing.”
He closed the distance. His hand came up, not to caress, but to grip her jaw, his thumb pressing into her cheek.“You are Amanda-7.Viable. Proven breeder.Two successful harvests from prior iterations.”
A sliver of ice traced her spine. This wasn’t the usual filthy talk.This was clinical.
“You read the brochure,” she said, her voice muffled by his grip.
“I funded the brochure.” He released her, his hand sliding down to her throat, then further, over the curve of her breast, his thumb brushing a nipple until it hardened.“I own the company that bought the Amanda patent. Your womb, your ovaries, your fucking DNA… they’re assets on my ledger. Tonight, I’m conducting a quality assessment.”
His other hand parted her thighs. His fingers, cool and dry, pushed inside her, probing.She didn’t flinch. She stared at the ceiling where a camera watched, its red eye unwavering.“Still loose from the last one,” he commented, almost to himself.
“I told you,” she breathed, “I’m built for it.”
He withdrew his fingers. “On your knees.Face the camera.”
Amanda obeyed, moving with a performer’s grace. She knelt on the black leather pad at the edge of the bed, her back to him, her ass presented to the lens and to him.She arched her spine, knowing the angle would be perfect.
She heard him spit into his palm, a crude, wet sound. Then the broad, hot head of his cock was pressing against her, not entering, just claiming the space.
“Tell them what’s happening,” he commanded, his voice close to her ear.She looked directly into the nearest camera. Her smirk returned, a perfect mask.“Chat’s going wild, I bet. Looks like Giancarlo here wants to claim his property. He’s gonna rut into me like I’m a prize sow.You all wish it was you, don’t you? Watching his big, rich-boy cock split open a clone’s used-up cunt.”
He drove into her on the word “cunt.”
There was no slow penetration. It was one brutal, deep thrust that stole her breath. She cried out, a genuine, sharp sound that vibrated through the microphone overhead.
“Yes,” he hissed, his hands clamping on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh.“You feel that? That’s ownership.”
He began to fuck her in hard, measured strokes.Each impact jolted her forward. Each withdrawal was slow, torturous, letting her feel every ridge of him.It was less about pleasure, more about occupation. The live-stream audio picked up the wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin, the squelch of her overworked body taking him.“You are a vessel,” Giancarlo grunted, his rhythm never faltering. “A beautifully engineered vessel.The others before me, they filled you with their mediocre seed.Wasted potential. My lineage is optimized.You will carry it.”
Amanda’s forehead rested against the cool leather. Her eyes were open, watching the blur of the floor. The pain had subsided into a deep, full ache.Pleasure, a distant electrical flicker, was secondary to the sheer physical overwhelm. He was redefining her insides, claiming territory.
“Come on, then,” she gasped, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts.“Prove it.Pump your superior fucking genes into me. Let the whole world watch you try to put a baby in a broodmare.”
Her goading seemed to amplify his intensity.His control snapped.The measured strokes became a frantic, pounding rhythm. His breath came in ragged gasps near her ear. One hand snaked around her hip, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing rough, urgent circles.It was a command, not an offering.
The sensation, brutal and direct, crashed through the numbness. A climax, sharp and almost angry, ripped through her.Her body clenched around him, milking his cock in involuntary pulses.
That sent him over the edge. With a final, deep thrust that buried him to the hilt, he groaned, a low, possessive sound. She felt the hot, distinct pulse of his release flooding her, deeper than Chris’s drug-fueled geyser, a targeted deposition.
He held there, inside her, for a long moment.The only sounds were their ragged breathing and the hum of the servers.
When he pulled out, the release was audible.He stepped back.
Amanda stayed on her knees, feeling his seed begin its slow leakage down her inner thigh. She turned her head to look at the camera, her green eyes glazed but defiant. The feed showed her used body, Giancarlo zipping his trousers in the background.
“Asset assessed,” Giancarlo said, his voice calm again, as if he’d just reviewed a quarterly report.“Viable. I’ll be scheduling the implantation cycle next week.”
He left without another word.The door hissed shut.
Alone again with the screens and the cameras, Amanda slowly crumpled from her knees to her side on the leather pad. The scrolling bids had already reset, new usernames flashing, a new top bidder emerging. The ache inside her was profound.For the first time that night, her smirk fully vanished. She stared at the blinking cursor on the main screen, waiting for the next chime, the next client, the next performance. The sterile, opulent air tasted like metal and salt.