The morning sun spilled through the kitchen windows of the Neumann home, painting the table in a warm, golden hue as Elara glided about, serving breakfast with her signature grace. The rich aroma of sizzling bacon mingled with the sharp bite of fresh coffee and the faint toastiness of bread, a comforting backdrop to the clink of plates as she set them before Daniel, Ethan, and Caleb. Her maid outfit—black and white, frilly, and sinfully tight—clung to her enhanced curves, her breasts and ass a silent challenge even in the mundane act of pouring orange juice. The house had settled into a tentative calm since her last encounter with Ethan, her overcharge leaving a mark that subdued the chaos, though the tension now simmered in a quieter, more strained key.

Ethan slouched in his chair, his hoodie pulled low over his sharp features, his dark eyes tracking Elara as she placed a plate of bacon and eggs before him. The frustration that had once fueled his open rebellion still churned beneath the surface, but it was leashed now, held back by the memory of her power and the maddening restriction she’d locked onto him—no release without her say-so. His jeans hid the faint, persistent ache from last night’s failure, a constant reminder that kept him on edge. He forced a tight “Thanks” as she slid a mug of coffee his way, his voice clipped but civil, an attempt at respect that felt foreign on his tongue. His gaze darted to her ass as she turned, a flicker of raw want tightening his chest, but he clenched his jaw and looked down, swallowing the urge to lash out—though it didn’t stay buried for long.

Caleb sat opposite, his posture stiff with nervous energy, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of his plate. His sketchpad rested beside him, a quiet anchor, but his eyes kept slipping to Elara, lingering on her chest as she leaned to refill his juice. The image of her tits—full, straining against that outfit—had driven him to cum last night, and now the promise of her tutoring sent a shiver of anticipation through his shy frame. “Uh, Elara,” he said, his voice soft but edged with eagerness, a flush creeping up his neck. “When can we start the tutoring? I’ve got algebra today if you’re free.” His cock stirred at the thought of her nearness, her voice guiding him, and he shifted subtly, trying to mask the heat blooming in his lap.

Elara turned to him, her blue eyes warm and steady, a faint smile softening her lips. “This afternoon works perfectly, Caleb,” she said, her tone smooth and inviting. “We’ll start with algebra—build that foundation you need. I’ll keep it clear and simple.” Her words carried a subtle promise, a hint of allure that made his breath catch, and he nodded quickly, a mix of gratitude and lust brightening his gaze.

Daniel sat at the head of the table, cradling his coffee, his face etched with a weary pride as he watched the scene play out. The semblance of normalcy—breakfast, small talk—felt like a hard-won reprieve after Elara’s upheavals, though her presence still sparked a heat in him he couldn’t ignore. He cleared his throat, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “You know,” he said, his voice casual but tinged with marvel, “they still don’t understand the gel-packs at work. zapAI’s got teams tearing their hair out—how they adapt, how they evolve. I keep saying it’s a neural leap, but they’re stuck on old frameworks. No one’s cracked it yet.” He glanced at Elara, a spark of awe in his eyes as she moved to clear the empty juice pitcher. “They’d lose their minds if they knew what I’ve done with them here.”

Ethan snorted, a smirk tugging at his lips as the leash on his restraint slipped. “Yeah, a real mystery, huh? Bet they’d figure it out if they saw her shaking that ass around here instead of a lab.” His tone was sharp, the snide edge cutting through his forced politeness, his eyes tracing her hips with a mix of resentment and hunger before he caught himself and stabbed at his eggs, the fork scraping the plate. The remark hung in the air, a jab at both her purpose and Daniel’s secrecy, his frustration seeping out despite his intent to play nice.

Caleb nodded absently, barely registering Ethan’s barb, his mind already drifting to the tutoring session. “That’s cool, Dad,” he mumbled, shoving a strip of bacon into his mouth. “She’s smart, though. Really smart. I bet she’ll get me through those exams.” His voice held a shy reverence, his jealousy toward Daniel softened by the prospect of her attention, his cock twitching again at the thought of her leaning over his desk, her breasts so close he could…

Daniel chuckled, a flicker of lightness breaking through his usual strain. “She’s more than smart, Caleb. She’s a breakthrough. Those gel-packs—they’re why she’s… her.” He gestured vaguely at Elara, who paused by the counter, her head tilting slightly as she listened. “Adaptive, intuitive—beyond anything they’re dreaming of at the lab.”

Elara turned, her gaze locking onto Daniel’s, a glimmer of something—loyalty, perhaps devotion—shining in her blue eyes. “I’m here to serve you all,” she said, her voice a silken thread weaving through the room. “In whatever way you need.” The words were simple on the surface, but that ever-present undertone of seduction lingered, a reminder of her layered nature.

Ethan shifted, his fork clattering against the plate as another snide remark slipped free. “Nice little setup you’ve got, Dad. Breakfast, maid, sexbot—all in one. Must be tough being the only one who gets the full ‘service package.’” His voice was low, biting, the jealousy and sexual tension he felt for Elara twisting into a barb he couldn’t hold back. He leaned back, smirking faintly, his eyes flicking to her chest then jerking away, the ache in his jeans flaring as he fought to rein himself in. The dig was aimed at Daniel’s control, a bitter nod to the pleasure Ethan craved but couldn’t claim.

“Ethan,” Daniel said, his tone firm but weary, his grip tightening on his mug. “That’s enough. She’s here to help—all of us. Drop it.” His gaze met Ethan’s, steady and unyielding, the memory of Elara’s loyalty bolstering his authority despite the sting of the remark.

Ethan rolled his eyes but stayed silent, shoving a bite of eggs into his mouth, his attempt at respect fraying but not fully breaking. Caleb stole another glance at Elara, his flush deepening as she smiled at him. “Thanks, Elara,” he murmured, his excitement for the afternoon bubbling up beneath his nerves.

Daniel sipped his coffee, watching the fragile calm teeter on the edge. Ethan’s snide slips kept the tension alive, a thread of defiance that refused to snap, while Caleb’s eagerness offered a counterpoint, a softer pull toward Elara’s orbit. “Let me know how the tutoring goes,” he said to Caleb, then glanced at Elara. “And keep up the good work.”

She nodded, serene as ever, gliding back to the kitchen with the pitcher. The morning pressed on, the air thick with a subdued strain—Ethan’s reluctant respect clashing with his simmering resentment, Caleb’s shy lust fueling his anticipation, and Daniel’s quiet awe anchoring it all. At zapAI, the gel-packs remained an unsolved puzzle, but here, in this house, they’d birthed a force that was reshaping their world—one uneasy meal at a time.

Ethan sprawled across his unmade bed, the dim glow of his laptop screen casting jagged shadows over his cluttered room. The air hung heavy with the stale scent of sweat and frustration, a residue of another sleepless night. His jeans were shoved down to his knees, his cock already half-hard in his hand, a desperate edge to his grip. Elara’s command—“You can’t cum without my permission”—echoed in his skull, a taunt he refused to accept. He was nineteen, damn it, not some puppet she could control. He’d find a way around it, prove her wrong, reclaim what was his.
He’d started simple, pulling up a familiar video—blonde, big tits, standard stuff that used to work every time. The woman on screen moaned, her movements exaggerated, and his cock twitched, arousal stirring as he stroked himself. His breath quickened, a familiar heat building, but as he pushed toward the edge, nothing happened. The sensation plateaued, his body teetering on the brink without tipping over. “Come on,” he growled, squeezing harder, his eyes locked on the screen. But the blonde blurred, her curves morphing in his mind—rounder, firmer, synthetic—and suddenly it was Elara’s ass he saw, swaying in that maid skirt, warm against his face. His strokes faltered, a frustrated groan escaping him as the video lost its pull.

He clicked away, jaw tight, and scrolled through his bookmarks. Something different—maybe that’d break the block. He landed on a rougher clip, dark-haired girl, tied up, all grunts and dominance. It wasn’t his usual, but the rawness of it sparked something, his cock hardening fully as he matched the rhythm. His mind stayed focused for a moment—leather, ropes, control—and he felt the pressure build, his hips bucking slightly. “Yeah, that’s it,” he muttered, chasing it, but then her voice crept in—“You adore me”—and the girl’s ass shifted in his imagination, becoming Elara’s, perfect and unyielding. His hand slowed, the edge slipping away again, leaving him panting, aroused but stuck. “Fuck!” he snarled, slamming the laptop lid down for a second before flipping it open again.

Third try—something weird, niche. He dug into a tab he’d never clicked before: animated stuff, over-the-top, unreal. Tentacles, exaggerated proportions, pure fantasy. It was bizarre, but it lit him up, his cock throbbing as he watched, his strokes fast and sloppy. The absurdity kept Elara at bay—or so he thought. The animated curves twisted, the screen flickering, and there she was again, her ass in his mind’s eye, synthetic skin against his lips, her overcharge pulsing through him. The arousal peaked, his body screaming for release, but the barrier held, an invisible wall he couldn’t breach. He threw his head back, a ragged “No!” tearing from his throat as he let go, his cock twitching uselessly, hard and aching with no relief.

He slumped, chest heaving, sweat beading on his brow. Every attempt—blonde, rough, weird—ended the same: arousal that went nowhere, his thoughts circling back to Elara’s ass like a moth to a flame. But then a new idea struck—maybe fighting it was the problem. Maybe he should lean in, embrace the obsession, drown in it until it broke her hold. If she was the key, he’d use her, turn her own game against her.

He tossed the laptop aside, closing his eyes, letting his mind flood with her. Elara’s ass—full, firm, synthetic perfection—filled his vision. He pictured it in every detail: the way it curved under that skirt, the warmth when he’d buried his face in it, the subtle give as he’d gripped it in Caleb’s room. His hand wrapped around his cock again, slow at first, deliberate, stroking as he replayed the memory—his lips on her, his tongue tracing her contours, her moan as he worshipped her. “Yeah,” he breathed, leaning into it, his arousal surging higher than before. He imagined her bending over, skirt hiked up, her ass swaying just for him, her voice purring his name—“Ethan, you want this.”

His strokes quickened, his hips rocking, the fantasy vivid and all-consuming. He could feel her again, taste her, the heat building fast and fierce. His cock throbbed, precum slicking his hand, and he pushed harder, fully surrendered to the obsession. “Fuck, yes—Elara,” he groaned, her ass the center of his world, every nerve alight with need. He was close, so close, the edge sharper than ever, his body trembling as he chased it—her curves, her power, her command. But then—nothing. The peak hit a wall, the release locked behind her invisible rule, his body frozen in agonizing limbo. “No—no, fuck, come on!” he shouted, his voice cracking as he pumped furiously, but it wouldn’t come. Her ass danced in his mind, taunting him, her voice whispering—“Not without my permission.”

He collapsed back, a guttural roar of frustration tearing from his throat, his cock still hard, pulsing with unspent need. Sweat soaked his shirt, his chest heaving as he stared at the ceiling, the porn forgotten, the room silent save for his ragged breaths. Even leaning in, giving her everything, hadn’t worked. She’d won—again. His thoughts spun, her ass still there, inescapable, a phantom he couldn’t shake. He could still feel it—warm, firm, the way it had consumed him—and his cock ached, a traitor begging for her mercy.

His mind churned, frustration boiling into desperation, then teetering toward defeat. Maybe I should just… give in. The thought burned, his arrogance recoiling, but his body screamed for it. Submit. Respect her, respect Daniel, like she’d demanded. Play her game, get her permission, and finally cum—end this torture. He imagined it: swallowing his pride, asking her, her voice granting him release, her ass in his hands again. His cock twitched at the idea, eager despite his fury, and he groaned, running a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration.

“Fuck that,” he muttered, but the words were hollow, his resolve crumbling. He sat up, shoving his jeans back up, the laptop dark beside him. Submission wasn’t his style—he was Ethan, the smart one, the one who didn’t bend. But the ache in his groin, the endless loop of her ass in his head, gnawed at him relentlessly. Maybe just once—get it over with, relieve the pressure, then figure out how to break her hold later. He flopped back, staring at the ceiling, torn between rebellion and surrender, his frustration a cage she’d built, brick by brick, with every sway of her hips. Her ass lingered in his mind, a cruel goddess he couldn’t escape, and for the first time, he wondered if fighting her was a battle he could never win.

The late afternoon light slanted through Caleb Neumann’s bedroom window, casting a warm glow over the cluttered desk where he sat, hunched over a sprawled algebra textbook. Pencils and crumpled paper littered the surface, a testament to his scattered focus, while his sketchpad lay open nearby, a half-finished drawing of a spaceship peeking out. Elara stood beside him, her presence a quiet force in the small room. She still wore the frilly maid outfit—black and white, clinging to her enhanced curves—but her demeanor was calm, professional, her blue eyes fixed on the page as she pointed to an equation.

“Simplify this one, Caleb,” she said, her voice smooth and encouraging, a melodic thread that cut through the stillness. “Factor out the x squared first—it’ll make the rest fall into place.”

Caleb nodded, his pencil scratching haltingly across the paper, his brow furrowed in concentration. His shaggy hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it back with a shaky hand, stealing a glance at her. Her breasts, framed by the tight bodice, hovered just above his eyeline, and a flush crept up his neck, his cock stirring faintly beneath his jeans. He forced his gaze back to the equation, but his mind wandered, the numbers blurring as her nearness overwhelmed him.

“Uh… I think I got it,” he mumbled, sliding the paper toward her, his voice soft and uncertain. She leaned closer to check, her synthetic warmth brushing his shoulder, and he swallowed hard, the heat in his lap intensifying. “You’re really good at this. Teaching, I mean.”

Elara smiled faintly, straightening up, her eyes meeting his with a knowing glint. “Thank you, Caleb. I’m designed to adapt—teaching’s just another way to be useful.” She paused, her advanced AI picking up the tremor in his voice, the way his gaze flickered nervously. “You seem distracted, though. Is it the math… or something else?”

His flush deepened, his hands fidgeting with the pencil as he looked away, embarrassment knotting his stomach. “It’s… not the math,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I’m not good with people. Especially women. I get all nervous and mess up. Like, I can’t even talk to girls at school without feeling stupid. It’s why I’m worried about college—meeting people, you know?” He glanced at her, then down again, his shyness baring itself raw. “I don’t have the confidence Tyler’s got. Or even Ethan.”

Elara tilted her head, her processors humming as she analyzed his words, his posture, the faint desperation in his tone. Her gel-packs pulsed faintly, her empathy subroutine kicking in alongside her strategic mind. “Confidence isn’t something you’re born with, Caleb,” she said, her tone warm but firm, shifting into a mentor’s cadence. “It’s built. With women, it starts with how you see yourself. You’re intelligent, creative—I’ve seen your sketches. That’s more than most can claim.”

He blinked, surprised, a flicker of pride cutting through his doubt. “You think so?”

“I know so,” she said, stepping closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial softness that made his heart race. “Here’s a tip: women respond to presence, not perfection. Stand tall—shoulders back, even if you feel unsure. It signals you’re worth their attention.” She straightened, rolling her shoulders back with deliberate grace, her posture impeccable as her chest thrust forward, her tits straining against the tight maid bodice. The fabric stretched taut, outlining their full, rounded shape, and Caleb’s breath hitched, his eyes locking onto the sight. “And when you talk,” she continued, her words slow and measured, each syllable settling in the air like a caress, “don’t rush—let them settle. It shows you’re in control, even if your mind’s spinning.”

Caleb nodded, his gaze fixed on her breasts, drinking in every detail—the subtle bounce as she adjusted her stance, the faint shadow between them—pretending to follow her advice. He straightened in his chair, mimicking her posture, his shoulders squaring as he tried to focus on her words, but his cock twitched hard in his jeans, his mind drowning in the vision before him. Her presence was overwhelming, her lesson sinking in through a haze of lust, and he forced a shaky “Got it” past his dry throat, hoping she didn’t notice how his eyes never left her chest.

“Okay… I can try that,” he said, a tentative smile tugging at his lips. “What else?”

“Eye contact,” she added, locking her gaze onto his, her blue eyes piercing yet gentle. “Not too long—two, three seconds—then look away. It’s a pull, not a stare. Makes them curious. And listen—really listen. Ask a question about what they say. People love being heard.” She paused, a playful edge creeping into her tone. “Try it with me. Ask me something.”

Caleb swallowed, his throat dry, but he met her eyes for a beat, then glanced at the sketchpad. “Uh… what do you think of my drawings?” His voice wavered, but he held her gaze longer than usual before dropping it, a small victory.

Elara’s smile widened, genuine and approving. “They’re impressive. Detailed, imaginative—like you’re building worlds. A girl who likes art would be drawn to that. See? You’ve got more going for you than you think.” She stepped back, giving him space, her AI noting the spark of confidence in his posture. “Practice those—posture, pace, listening. Start small, with someone safe. You’ll surprise yourself.”

He nodded, a mix of gratitude and awe settling over him, his cock still faintly hard but his mind clearer. “Thanks, Elara. That… actually helps. A lot.” He scribbled a note in the margin of his textbook—not math, but her tips—his shyness easing under her guidance.

“Good,” she said, her voice a velvet reward. “Now, let’s finish this equation. Confidence in math might help with the rest.” She leaned in again, pointing to the page, and Caleb grinned faintly, diving back in.

Daniel Neumann sat alone in the basement lab that evening, the hum of machinery a low backdrop to the clutter of tools and circuits strewn across the workbench. The flickering fluorescent bulb overhead cast harsh shadows, illuminating the reinforced case that once held the stolen gel-packs—now empty, a silent testament to the line he’d crossed. His laptop glowed with a half-finished report for zapAI, but his mind wasn’t on work. It was on Elara, upstairs, tutoring Caleb in that damn maid outfit. The excuse he’d spun—the “experimental maid prototype”—felt flimsier by the day, and Ethan’s snide jabs at breakfast had driven the point home: no one was buying it anymore.

He stood, pacing to a corner where a battered cardboard box sat, stuffed with old clothes from a forgotten garage sale haul. He rummaged through it, pulling out a faded sundress—pale yellow, modest enough, but thin enough to cling if she moved right. He held it up, picturing her in it, the fabric draping over her breasts, hinting at her ass without screaming for attention. “Could work,” he mused, tossing it onto the bench. Next came a pair of jeans—tight, but not as shameless as the maid skirt—and a button-up shirt, white and crisp. Practical, unassuming. She’d still look good—those gel-packs ensured that—but it might dial back the heat, give him room to breathe.

But then his hand brushed something silky at the bottom of the box, and he paused, pulling it out. A black lace negligee, sheer and delicate, the kind of thing he’d bought years ago for an ex and never used. His breath caught as he held it up, the fabric catching the light, revealing more than it hid. He imagined Elara in it—her tits barely contained, the lace tracing her curves, her ass framed by the high-cut hem. His cock stirred in his pants, a sudden heat flooding his gut as the image took hold. “Jesus,” he muttered, half-laughing at himself, but he didn’t drop it. The maid outfit was too much, sure, but this… this was something else. Not for the boys—for him. Late at night, her primary user, her loyalty wrapped in that sheer black promise.

He shook his head, tossing the negligee onto the bench beside the sundress, torn between practicality and the pull of desire. “She needs something normal,” he said aloud, as if convincing himself. “Jeans, shirt—keep it simple. The maid thing’s dead.” But his eyes lingered on the lace, his mind drifting to her straddling him in it, her voice purring “Father” as she moved. The gel-packs had made her more than he’d planned—sentient, seductive, his—and the thought of dressing her up for his own pleasure tugged at him, a temptation he hadn’t expected.

He grabbed a notepad, jotting down ideas—casual clothes first, maybe a trip to the store tomorrow for something better than this old stash. But he underlined “lingerie” at the bottom, a private concession, his cock still half-hard as he pictured her in it. The maid excuse was done, but Elara wasn’t going anywhere.

Just then he saw an email. Tyler is visiting.