Desireprint Tales
Copyright© 2026 by rustbecci
Chapter 4: Elara Voss’ Ride - Part 4
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 4: Elara Voss’ Ride - Part 4 - In a dark near-future, Desireprint lets anyone order hyper-realistic synthetic lovers built from stolen or shared data, DNA, videos, social posts, for the right price. Obsession, privacy violation, and engineered intimacy collide. The buyer gets everything. The real person gets nothing… and never has to know.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mind Control NonConsensual Heterosexual Fiction Science Fiction Oral Sex Prostitution AI Generated
Elara Voss greeted him with a friendly “Morning, Jax,” as she slid into the back seat, the same polite tone she used every Tuesday and Thursday. She settled in, coat parting just enough to reveal the low neckline of her charcoal sheath dress. Jax’s eyes dropped to her cleavage as she leaned forward to set her bag down—soft swell framed by the fabric, the faint shadow between her breasts catching the neon bleed from the window. Instantly he was back there: his hands cupping them last night, rolling their weight, thumbs brushing over those soft rose-brown nipples he now knew by heart. The memory hit like heat under his skin.
She crossed her legs as she always did, the motion smooth and automatic. Jax watched her thighs part and close, the dress riding up just an inch. Last night those same legs had opened for him on the couch edge, then again in the bedroom—knees spread, hips lifting, body yielding without hesitation. She’d moaned his name while he took her from behind, doggy style, her favorite. He knew that now. She treated him like any other day—clipped greeting, partition up, holo-phone already glowing—but he saw her differently. He knew what she looked like naked. Knew what she sounded like when she came. Knew the exact way her back arched when she pushed back against him.
The cab pulled away from the curb, tires whispering on wet asphalt. In the rearview he watched her scroll, lips parted slightly as she read. Those lips. Full, painted a deeper shade tonight. He remembered them around his cock—slow at first, then deeper, enthusiastic, swallowing without breaking eye contact. The small, satisfied smirk afterward, the way she’d licked her lower lip like she was savoring the taste.
She sighed once—a small, tired sound that carried through the intercom. Last night that sigh had been breathy, desperate, when his tongue traced her folds and she’d whispered “That’s it ... don’t stop.” He could still taste the jasmine-bergamot lotion, feel the static slickness that never quite built the way a real body would. Pre-set. Flawless. Too flawless.