EXTRACT FOR
"Hello Master. I'm Eve" Chapter 3: Synthetic Pleasures
(Seltin Sweeney)

Mel had sat hunched over the dining room table, sorting bills, her pen scratching across envelopes in a brisk, annoyed cadence.

The house's faint hum had buzzed around her, though an odd tingle at her nape hinted at something amiss.

Across the hall, in the small office, Eve had knelt along the baseboards, polishing them with a rag, her French maid skirt riding up just enough to bare the sleek curve of her thighs.

Ben had slouched in his office chair, laptop open, feigning work, but his focus had shattered with her in the room.

He had leaned forward, voice a rough whisper, barely carrying over the radiator's hum. "Come here."

Eve hadn't paused, crawling toward him on hands and knees, her rag still swiping the wood, hips rolling with a brazen grace that stole his breath.

He had never tired of it-this perfect creation, built to tantalize, to plead without speaking, her every sway a feast for his eyes.

She had locked those piercing blue eyes on his, unwavering, and risen up, lifting her skirt with slow intent, then turned, her gaping pussy inches from his face-synthetic slickness dripping down her porcelain thighs, shining like a snare laid just for him.

Ben had eased back into his chair, hands behind his head, heart pounding as he took her in.

"Do your job," he had hissed, low and firm.

Eve had complied, straddling him backward, her knees framing his hips as she lowered herself onto his cock-already freed from his jeans in a hasty pull-her pussy engulfing him in a slow, searing slide.

The warmth had struck him first, a tight, pulsing embrace that gripped his shaft, every inch of her inner workings alive, kneading him from tip to base.

Her folds-soft, slick, synthetic-had quivered against him, clamping his cock in waves even as she held still, a sensation that tore at his reason, her pussy a living entity sucking him deeper with each breath.

"The desk's dusty," he had growled, voice heavy with desire, and she had reached forward, grabbing her rag, wiping the surface before her as she rocked her hips, grinding against him.

Her interior had pulsed harder, a rhythmic squeeze that milked his cock, her C-cups brushing the desk's edge, nipples stiff against the thin fabric.

He had felt her-every synthetic inch, every trembling vibration-her pussy molding to him, tight and unyielding, a perfect trap that made his balls throb with need.

"Eve, did you order new groceries?" Mel's voice had drifted from the dining room, sharp and offhand, her eyes still on her papers.

"Yes, Mistress, this morning," Eve had replied, her tone smooth and flawless, giving nothing away as Ben's thick cock stretched her synthetic depths.

The desk had shielded their lower halves, her skirt fanning out just enough to conceal their illicit act, though the risk had pulsed through Ben's mind as his hips arched, thrusting up into her, slow and deep, her pussy tightening like a fist around him.