Page 61 of 404: Consent Not Found
She blinked.
That was it.
Her dermal sensors were spiking—I could tell from the faint tremble along her thighs. The crimson collar tightened fractionally around her throat, syncing with the restraint system. Her operating system had registered full submission.
“She’s stunning like this,” Socket muttered, brushing her hair away from her face.“Look at the elasticity in that neck. This model’s tension response is god-tier.”
“She can handle it,” I said, heat curling inside me.
Devbotdom chuckled.
“She’s not going anywhere,” he said, stepping back.“Your girl’s about to dance.”
Socket didn’t hesitate. He moved behind her, lined up his first strike like he was measuring it out. Then—crack—a full swing across the curve of her arse.
She jerked in her restraints. Her feet scraped for purchase. A strangled sound left her lips—caught between gasp and moan.
Her body registered the hit as pain. But her neural pleasure routing was still live.
Which meant her cunt was pulsing with confused, corrupted signals.
Exactly what I’d programmed.
“Did you hear that?” Socket said, smiling behind the mask.“That’s your girl thanking me.”
Socket stepped close enough that his breath would’ve fogged her cheek—if she could still feel heat like a real woman. His gloved hand grazed her jawline with the handle of the whip, tender like a lover. But I knew better.
This was his ritual.
“This pretty little come-stained mouth,” he murmured, dragging the handle across her lips.“Designed for cock. Programmed to swallow. That’s what you are now, isn’t it?”
Charlotte blinked slowly, her voice soft.“Yes.”
“No. Say it properly.” He slapped her cheek—not hard, not soft. Just enough.“Repeat after me.”
He stepped back, letting her hang again, arms taut, toes barely touching the ground.
“You’re a nasty set of holes for men to use. That’s called a whore, Charlotte,” he said, tone flat and instructive—like he was reprogramming her through humiliation.“Now. What are you, Charlotte?”
I leaned forward, cock twitching, heart hammering like a war drum.
“I’m… a nasty set of holes,” she said, voice faint.“A whore. For men to use.”
My balls tightened.
Socket circled her now like a fucking priest delivering a sermon. His voice cut clean through the low, wet sounds of her breathing.
“Louder.”
“I’m a nasty set of holes,” she said again, clearer.“A whore. For men to use.”
He whipped her across the ass, fast and brutal. She cried out. I flinched—not in pity. In awe.
“That’s better,” he said.“Now thank me.”
“Thank you, sir,” Charlotte whispered.
Not Kyle. Sir.
