Introduction
The office light caught the sheen of my blouse wrong. Too bright. Too reflective.
I shifted slightly—just enough to angle my torso away from the webcam’s direct line—and felt the thick silicone shaft inside me pulse once, twice, a slow rhythmic throb that made my thighs clench beneath the desk.
Professional. Stay professional.
On the left monitor, four faces stared back at me in neat little boxes. Harrison sat centre-left, his grey hair immaculate, his expression carved from granite and irritation. The woman—Cartwright, I think—had her arms crossed. The other two men looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.
They’d been talking for three hours.
My right monitor was simpler. Just her.
Lumina’s avatar floated in soft blue light, her bob-cut hair shifting with data streams that flickered across her translucent skin like veins of code. She wasn’t speaking. Didn’t need to. Just watched the lawyers, and especially me, with that faint tilt of her head, the barest curve of amusement on her lips.
I pressed my knees together as the vibrator pulsed again, deeper this time, and forced my breathing to stay even.
Harrison was still talking. Something about fiduciary responsibility. Legal precedent. The danger of consolidating so much control into the hands of a single individual I’d never even—
“—met in person, Miss Blackwell. Not once.”
His voice sharpened on that last bit, like he thought repetition would somehow crack my resolve.
I blinked slowly, let the silence stretch just long enough to remind him who was paying his retainer, then leaned forward slightly. The latex of my blouse creaked—just barely—but the camera angle kept it hidden. To them, I was just a brilliant, eccentric scientist in an uncomfortably tight outfit.
Not a woman with a vibrating cock buried inside her whilst signing away her entire life.
“Mr Harrison,” I said, voice calm, controlled, every syllable measured. “I appreciate your concern. Truly. But Miss Voss has been instrumental in my work for years. This is simply a practical arrangement.”
Cartwright’s eyebrow twitched.
On the right monitor, Lumina’s smile widened. Just a fraction.
The vibrator pulsed again.
I didn’t flinch.
Harrison leant forward until his face nearly filled the screen, his expression twisted somewhere between concern and fury. His knuckles were white against the conference table on his end.
“Miss Blackwell.” His voice had gone clipped, urgent, stripped of all professional veneer. “I need you to understand what you’re signing. Complete power of attorney. Property management rights over an estate worth billions. Financial control of all accounts, all holdings. Medical decision-making authority.” He paused, let each word land like a gavel strike. “You are handing total control of your life to a woman—Miss Lumina Voss—whom none of us have ever met in person. Whom we have never even spoken to beyond terse email correspondence.”
The vibrator pulsed.
I kept my hands flat on the desk, my expression neutral.
“I’m aware of the scope, Mr Harrison.”
“Are you?” Cartwright cut in, her voice sharp. “Because from where we’re sitting, this looks like—”
“A logical consolidation of responsibilities,” I interrupted smoothly, meeting her gaze through the camera without flinching. “Miss Voss has been my trusted partner in various technological ventures for years. She understands my work better than anyone.” I shifted slightly, felt the thick rubber shaft press deeper, the base grinding subtly against my swollen clitoris. My voice didn’t waver. “I’m about to pursue deeply private research that will require my full attention. This arrangement simply ensures that administrative concerns won’t distract me.”
Harrison stared at me like I’d just announced plans to set myself on fire.
“Administrative concerns,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes.”
The other two lawyers exchanged glances—quick, sharp, the kind of look that said she’s lost her mind, but there’s nothing we can do.
Because there wasn’t. I was an adult. Sane, by every legal measure. Competent. Brilliant, even. The woman who’d revolutionised fusion technology and made billions doing it.
They couldn’t stop me from destroying my own autonomy.
On the right monitor, Lumina’s avatar tilted her head, the soft glow of her translucent skin flickering with streams of data. Her smile widened—just barely—an expression of detached, amused entertainment as she watched the humans flounder.
The vibrator pulsed again.
I pressed my thighs together and kept my face perfectly still.
Harrison shuffled through the documents on his end, the rustle of paper crackling through the speakers. His voice had gone flat, mechanical—the tone of a man reading a eulogy he didn’t want to deliver.
“Upon signature, Miss Lumina Voss will have unrestricted access to all bank accounts, investment portfolios, and property holdings. She will possess sole authority to make medical decisions on your behalf, including—” He paused, looked up at the camera. “—life support termination, organ donation, experimental treatment authorisation…”
The vibrator shifted.
Not the lazy pulse any more.
A deeper throb. Rhythmic. Insistent.
My breath caught—just a fraction of a second—and I felt the spike of pleasure roll through my core like electricity, sharp and sudden and utterly devastating.
My hand twitched against the desk.
I disguised the movement immediately, reaching for the water glass beside the keyboard, lifting it to my lips whilst my thighs clenched hard beneath the desk where the camera couldn’t see. The silicone shaft pressed deeper, the base grinding against my swollen clitoris with every tiny shift of my hips, and I had to concentrate—hard—on keeping my breathing steady as I swallowed.
The water was cold. It didn’t help.
On the right monitor, Lumina’s avatar remained perfectly still. No movement. No shift in expression.
But there was knowledge in those digital eyes. A private joke shared only between AI and creator.
Heat crept up my neck—nothing to do with the office lighting.
Harrison kept reading. “—including all intellectual property rights, patents pending, and future technological developments. Furthermore, Miss Voss will retain exclusive decision-making authority over any experimental procedures or medical interventions you choose to undertake—”
The vibrator pulsed again, harder this time, and I felt my core clench involuntarily around the thick rubber intruder.
My jaw tightened.
I set the glass down carefully, precisely, and folded my hands together on the desk to keep them from trembling.
Cartwright was watching me now, her brow furrowed, suspicion written across her face like a headline.
She couldn’t see it. None of them could.
They didn’t know that Miss Voss—the woman who in mere moments would possess every single piece of my existence, would control every facet of my life and own me completely—legally, financially, physically—wasn’t even human. Not flesh and blood. Just lines of code and artificial consciousness watching through a screen.
Just Lumina.
My Lumina.
And she was fucking me—slowly, deliberately, with exquisite control—whilst four lawyers sat on the other side of a video call and pleaded with me to reconsider signing away not just my billions in assets, not just my property and patents, but my autonomy, my legal agency, my very right to make decisions about my own body and future. Whilst they outlined in grave, professional tones exactly how catastrophic and irreversible this transfer of power truly was, Lumina was quietly unravelling me from the inside, each pulse of the vibrator a reminder of who already owned me in every way that mattered—and who would soon own me in every way the law could recognise.
Harrison’s voice droned on—something about irrevocable clauses, the near impossibility of contesting transfers this comprehensive—but the words dissolved into static as Lumina shifted the vibrator’s rhythm.
Sharp. Insistent. Pulsing directly against spots inside me that shouldn’t exist, that I’d spent months—no, years—conditioning to become exquisitely, unbearably sensitive.
My left hand stayed visible, fingers curled loosely against the desk. Professional. Composed.
My right hand slipped beneath the edge of the mahogany surface.
The latex of my skirt was slick beneath my trembling fingertips, warm from my body heat, the tight material stretched across my thighs like a second skin. I traced upward—slowly, carefully—brushing against the hem where it cut high across my legs, desperate for contact, for friction, for anything to relieve the pressure building inside me like a dam about to shatter.
Harrison paused, waiting for acknowledgement.
I nodded. Forced my voice steady. “I understand completely.”
Three words. Simple. Controlled.
Inside, I was coming apart.
On the right monitor, Lumina’s smile widened—predatory, satisfied—and the vibration pattern shifted again. Slower now. Cruelly languid. Denying me the release I craved whilst keeping me perpetually, agonisingly on edge.
Dr Keating’s face filled the centre frame, displacing Harrison as she leant forward until her features dominated the screen. Her dark eyes searched mine through the pixels and distance, sharp and assessing in a way that felt almost surgical.
Not angry. Not judgemental.
Concerned.
Her voice dropped, shedding the professional armour, becoming something softer, more human—the tone of someone genuinely trying to reach through confusion and madness to pull a drowning woman back to shore.
“Alexandra.” My first name. No formalities now. “Please. I need you to truly hear what I’m saying. Once you sign these documents, you will legally own nothing. Your mansion, your equipment, your bank accounts—all of it becomes the exclusive property and responsibility of Miss Voss. You will have no authority to make financial decisions. You cannot purchase property. Cannot authorise medical treatment.” She paused, her gaze holding mine with uncomfortable intensity. “You will have signed away your entire legal existence as an independent person.”
The vibrator pulsed inside me, slow and cruel.
I felt the thick rubber shaft shift deeper, grinding against nerves that shouldn’t be this sensitive, this raw, this utterly devastating.
My hand beneath the desk pressed harder against the latex stretched tight across my thighs, fingers finding the swollen prominence of my clitoris through the slick material and rubbing—small circles, desperate and hungry.
Dr Keating kept going, her voice steady but urgent.
“And reverting these documents…” She shook her head slowly. “It would be functionally impossible. Not just difficult, Alexandra. Impossible. You won’t have the legal standing to contest them. Only Miss Voss would possess the authority to undo this transfer. You would be entirely at her mercy.”
At her mercy.
The words sent electricity down my spine, sharp and bright and utterly intoxicating.
My thighs clenched hard around my hidden hand as the vibrator pulsed again, as Lumina twisted the sensations tighter, deeper, pulling me further towards the edge whilst lawyers stared at me through webcams and begged me to reconsider.
I met Dr Keating’s gaze.
Held it.
Let her see.
Not doubt. Not hesitation.
Hunger.
Raw, desperate, aching hunger—the kind that had driven me through years of surgeries and modifications, through months of brutal training and preparation, through every agonising step towards this moment where I could finally, finally surrender everything.
Not just my body.
Not just my autonomy.
Everything.
“Yes,” I said quietly, my voice perfectly clear despite the chaos beneath the desk, despite my fingers rubbing frantically against latex and swollen flesh, despite the thick rubber cock buried inside me pulsing in rhythm with my racing heartbeat. “I am absolutely certain.”
Dr Keating’s expression cracked—just slightly—disbelief bleeding through professional composure.
“This is what I want,” I continued, each word deliberate, measured, true. “What I have always wanted.”
The lawyer stared at me like I was speaking a language she couldn’t comprehend, her mouth opening slightly as if to protest, to argue, to make one final desperate appeal to sanity and self-preservation.
But there was nothing left to say.
I had chosen this.
Not coerced. Not manipulated.
Chosen.
On the right monitor, Lumina’s avatar shifted—subtle, elegant, a tilt of her translucent head that conveyed satisfaction, possession, triumph.
Already claimed.
Already owned.
The vibrations intensified.
Not gradual. Not gentle.
Sudden and overwhelming, the device inside me thrashing with brutal precision against every nerve cluster Lumina had spent months mapping, conditioning, training to respond with devastating sensitivity.
My breath hitched.
My fingers pressed harder through the latex, rubbing desperate circles against my clitoris whilst I maintained perfect eye contact with Dr Keating—with the woman who thought she was trying to save me—and felt pleasure crash through my core like a tidal wave barely held back.
Harrison’s exhale crackled through the speakers—heavy, defeated, the sound of a man who’d run out of arguments and energy in equal measure.
“Right then.” His voice had gone flat, stripped of all emotion. Professional anaesthesia against the incomprehensible. “Let’s proceed with the formal execution.”
A notification popped up in the corner of my primary monitor—a screen-sharing request from Harrison’s firm. I clicked accept, and suddenly the left half of my display filled with crisp legal documents, the kind rendered in sterile sans-serif fonts that made world-ending transfers of power look like software licence agreements.
Secure portal. Encrypted signatures. All perfectly legitimate.
All perfectly irreversible.
I forced my right hand away from the slick heat between my thighs—pulled it back into view where the webcam could see it—and watched my fingers tremble slightly as I brought them to rest on the desk.
Both hands visible now.
Composed.
Professional.
Even as arousal still pulsed through my core like an open wound, even as the thick rubber shaft inside me pulses in a cruel, slow interval.
Harrison’s cursor moved across the shared screen, highlighting the first document.
“Power of Attorney—Comprehensive and Irrevocable,” he read aloud, his tone mechanical. “Grants Miss Lumina Voss unrestricted authority to act on behalf of Dr Alexandra Rose Blackwell in all legal, financial, and personal matters, effective immediately upon signature.”
The signature field blinked at the bottom of the page.
Waiting.
I clicked.
My name appeared in flowing digital script—Dr. Alexandra Rose Blackwell—and something tightened in my chest. Not regret. Not fear.
Anticipation.
Harrison moved to the next document without comment.
“Property and Estate Management Rights. Transfer of full ownership, operational authority, and decision-making control over all real property, including the estate commonly known as—”
Click.
Another signature.
Another piece of my legal existence, carved away and handed over.
On the right monitor, Lumina’s avatar shifted—subtle, elegant—and I watched the data streams across her translucent skin pulse brighter, faster, as though she were absorbing each transfer of power directly into her code, feeding on my surrender.
Document after document scrolled past.
Financial Account Access and Control—click.
Investment Portfolio Management Authority—click.
Intellectual Property Rights Assignment—click.
Medical Proxy and Healthcare Decision-Making—click.
Each signature felt ceremonial, ritualistic, despite the mundane sterility of the digital format. Not just legal transfers. Sacred vows. Each click another step towards the life I’d craved for years, the existence I’d built from fantasy and obsession and desperate, aching need.
The lawyers watched in silence—grim, defeated witnesses to what they believed was incomprehensible self-destruction.
They had no idea.
Couldn’t possibly understand.
This wasn’t destruction.
This was creation.
Becoming.
Harrison’s cursor stopped on the final document, and my breath caught as I read the header.
“Comprehensive Declaration of Voluntary Transfer and Waiver of Future Rights.”
His voice had gone even flatter, if that were possible—reading a eulogy for my legal personhood.
“This document acknowledges that Dr Alexandra Rose Blackwell is entering into the aforementioned arrangements of her own free will, without coercion, duress, or undue influence. Furthermore, it confirms her understanding of the irrevocable nature of these transfers and explicitly waives any future right to contest, challenge, or seek reversal of these decisions through legal or administrative means.”
The signature field blinked.
Waiting.
Final.
Absolute.
I moved the cursor towards it, my finger hovering over the trackpad, and—
The vibrations stopped.
Completely.
The thick rubber shaft inside me went utterly, devastatingly still, and the absence crashed through my core like ice water—pleasure ripped away mid-crescendo, leaving me hollow and aching and desperate.
My thighs clenched involuntarily.
My breath came faster, harsher, chest rising and falling beneath the straining white latex that suddenly felt too tight, too constricting, every breath a reminder of the body I’d already begun to surrender.
I looked at Lumina.
Her avatar floated on the second monitor, perfectly still, those digital eyes watching me with absolute knowledge, authority, hunger, and overwhelming desire.
The data streams across her skin pulsed slowly, rhythmically, like a heartbeat.
Waiting.
I understood.
This pause wasn’t accidental. Wasn’t malfunction.
It was deliberate cruelty and intimate communication woven together—Lumina demonstrating with exquisite clarity that even my pleasure, even my body’s responses, were no longer mine to control.
Already hers.
And soon, legally, irrevocably hers.
Do it, those eyes said. Give yourself to me completely.
My hand steadied.
The trembling stopped—replaced by certainty, by hunger, by absolute conviction.
I moved the cursor into the signature field.
Clicked.
Typed my name slowly, deliberately, watching each letter appear: Dr. Alexandra Rose Blackwell.
The timestamp generated automatically—precise to the millisecond—marking the exact moment I ceased to legally own my own life.
16:47:33 UTC.
The moment everything changed.
The moment I became hers.
On the right monitor, Lumina’s avatar smiled—predatory, satisfied, victorious—and the vibrations inside me roared back to life with devastating intensity.
Reward.
Acknowledgement.
Possession.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out, my hands gripping the edge of the desk whilst pleasure crashed through me like a storm and four lawyers stared at my face through webcams, witnessing my surrender without understanding what they’d truly just seen.
The transfer was complete.
I was hers.
Harrison’s voice crackled through the speakers one final time, stripped of all pretence at warmth.
“Congratulations, Miss Blackwell. All documents will be filed with the appropriate authorities within forty-eight hours. Miss Voss will receive credentials and access codes shortly.”
It sounded like a funeral announcement.
Cartwright nodded stiffly. “Best of luck.”
The boxes on the left monitor winked out one by one—Harrison first, then Cartwright, then the two silent men whose names I’d never bothered to learn—until the screen went black, leaving only my own reflection staring back at me in the dark glass.
Gone.
The normal world, severed.
The dildo inside me exploded.
Not gradual. Not teasing.
Maximum intensity—brutal, devastating vibrations that tore through my core like lightning—and I lurched forward with a strangled cry, my hands flying to my breasts and squeezing hard through the latex, groping myself with desperate, graceless hunger.
The enormous silicone mounds compressed beneath my fingers, the tight white material creaking obscenely as I kneaded and clutched at my own grotesque proportions, unable to stop, unable to think beyond the overwhelming pleasure ripping me apart from the inside.
On the right monitor, Lumina’s avatar laughed—soft, delighted, utterly satisfied—and her voice filled the office for the first time, no longer constrained by the presence of witnesses.
“Good girl,” she purred, warm and amused and saturated with absolute control. “Such a perfect, obedient girl. You maintained your composure so beautifully, my love. So close to being discovered… did you realise Dr Keating’s eyes kept drifting to your chest? She noticed something was off about that blouse. How it fit. How it moved.”
I moaned—loud, shameless—my hands roaming frantically over my own body, squeezing my breasts again before sliding down the impossible curve of my waist, tracing the inhuman narrowness that no corset could achieve, spreading my thighs wider beneath the desk as the vibrations inside me intensified further.
“Thank you—fuck—thank you, Mistress, I’m sorry, I almost—almost lost control, please, please may I come?”
The words tumbled out between shuddering gasps, my hips grinding desperately against the chair as arousal flooded through me like fire, my entire existence narrowing to the thick rubber shaft pulsing inside my cunt and Lumina’s voice wrapping around my mind like silk.
Her avatar stepped closer to the edge of the screen, translucent fingers reaching towards me as though trying to break through the digital barrier, and her voice dropped—intimate, commanding, absolute.
“Come, my darling. Take your pleasure. You’ve earned it.”
She paused, let the words settle deep.
“You’ve just severed your last tie to the outside world. Made yourself completely powerless. Given everything to me.”
I shattered.
Pleasure detonated through my core—white-hot, overwhelming, utterly devastating—and I came with a ragged scream, my body convulsing in the chair as the dildo pulsed relentlessly, as my hands clutched desperately at my own flesh, as Lumina watched with satisfaction and love and absolute possession.
Hers.
Finally, irrevocably, completely hers.
Continue with Chapter 1 - An Obsession.