Millenial Brat Turns Sex Doll

Grand finale. Two weeks of mind games and she's still kicking. Kat walks in, sweat on her lip, eyes hungry for the quiet. She wants the noise gone. Wants the endless loop of wanting and hating and getting nothing. So she offers me the one thing she still owns. I buckle her down. Black straps bite into pale skin while blonde strands stick to her forehead. I flip the switch and watch the program crawl through her. Her body locks up, then melts. Dildos pump in perfect rhythm until every thought drowns in heat. She stops fighting. She stops thinking. When the lights dim she’s empty, wet, obedient. A black-haired doll ready for any hand that wants her. I should leave it there. Should walk away. Instead I drag her onto the bench and bury myself in what’s left. She takes it like she was built for it. Tight. Warm. Blank. After I’m done I catch my own reflection in the dark screen. The program’s still running. My finger hovers over the start button and the thought hits hard: how good it felt to be the user, how easy it would be to become the used.