I work with 5 men… and I’m going to fuck them all. PART 2.

On the edge of desire, I merge with the machine and with them, who controls how my coworkers fuck me?

The alarm on my neural implant woke me at 5:47 in the morning, a soft buzzing that vibrated in my skull like a reminder of what had happened. My body was heavy, deliciously bruised, and when I turned in bed, I saw my husband already awake, propped up on an elbow, watching me. His gaze was a controlled burn, as if he were measuring every inch of my skin to make sure I was still his. “Did you dream about them?” he asked, in that low voice he always uses when he wants to extract a confession from me.

I didn’t respond immediately. I stretched out, letting the sheet slide over my breasts, still tender from last night’s fingers and mouths. “I dreamed about the lab,” I said finally, my voice husky. “About the machines. About that buzzing that burrows inside you and won’t let go.” His fingers traced a slow path down my hip, stopping just where the skin grew warmer. “And with me, right?” he insisted, though his smile said he already knew the answer.
I didn’t tell him everything.

I didn’t tell him that in the dream, the boss was adjusting the sensors in my head while the other four surrounded me, but this time it…