A groan escaped me, half-formed, shame-slicked. But she didn’t falter. Her shoulders rolled, slow and sure, and I was unraveling.
The men around us had vanished. The sky above, the sea below. There was only her, on her knees, in the wreckage of everything we’d become, giving the illusion of obedience while handing me pieces of my soul.
“Come on her face, Marek,” Voss commanded—and when I didn’t react fast enough, he threatened, “Pull out or I’ll make her bite you.” He waved the tablet.
I jerked back and grabbed myself, aiming and shooting my wet dick like a gun, spraying her with ropes of reproductive fluid, while she gazed at me adoringly with bright eyes and an ever-so-slightly impish stare, especially as her tongue darted out to lick a drop off her upper lip.
45 /SIRENA
I saton my heels and awaited further instruction, Nex’s breath shallow above me, his hands still trembling where they’d touched my hair.
One of the buyers began clapping.
Polite. Leisurely. Like he’d just witnessed a polo match and not a performance.
And since the Chilean didn’t have a neural mask, I opened the door to his mind first.
It was polished black wood with a gold handle—too clean, too confident, like a politician’s office. I stepped through—and found myself in a boardroom. Mahogany table, with a foul smell rising from underneath. White leather chairs. But the windows were fake. The sun outside them was a painted lie.
Paperwork cluttered every surface—ledgers, shipping documents, payroll receipts. Passports stacked like poker chips from every country on the planet: proof of ownership, and proof that no one left.
Beneath the table—bones, in different states of decay. Some fresh. Some not.
Still wearing boots. Still tagged with names.
And yet—the room was silent.
Not even the memory of a scream.
He didn’t think he was doing anything wrong.
Coercing people desperate to better themselves to work his mines and then trapping them there was just business.
He didn’t think he was cruel. He thought he was efficient.
You need to stand now,Nex thought at me, loud and clear.
I did as I was told, slowly turning around. Nex’s cum was still drying on my face, and while I couldn’t get to the remaining four buyers directly—neural masks pulsed like deadbolts around their skulls, scattering thought, shielding sin—you can know a man by the orbit he builds, and by the people he permits to suffer in his shadow.
Their assistants, their bodyguards, their captains, and concierges—each one a mirror, fractured and fogged, but still reflecting truth.
They didn’t speak, but their minds sang, and through them, I pulled apart their bosses. The mistresses they swore to keep secret, the children they didn’t claim, the hands they’d paid to break.
I knew which one of them still dreamt of their mothers.
Which one cried when he came.
Which one rehearsed apologies to no one in particular.
Who they hoped would love them, if they just made enough blood money to matter.
The billionaires didn’t need to confess.
Their gravity did it for them.
“So!” Voss said, handing the tablet aside again. “It will be a blind bidding. You’ll have until dawn to contemplate all the potential uses for the marvels I’ve got on offer. Three women, just as pretty and just as pliable—only with the bonus of knockdown control effects on other people. All currencies accepted—the usual fiat, crypto, gold.” He gave the gathered men a curt bow and started to turn away.
Then he stopped—dramatically, deliberately.
