Kyle returns with stolen materials

The lab thrummed with a restless energy the next day, the drizzle outside giving way to a pale, watery sun that filtered through the streaked windows, casting long shadows across the cluttered floor. The fabricator growled in the corner, its hopper chewing through Kyle’s stolen materials, spitting out neural interfaces and regulators in a steady, mechanical rhythm—each one a glinting promise of power. Miles leaned against the console, its heat a quiet drumbeat against his chest. Kyle hunched over a workbench, glasses slipping as he scribbled equations in a notebook, muttering about reaction rates, his cock still buzzing faintly under the regulator’s influence. Ryan flexed nearby, shirtless as always, his muscles gleaming like oiled mahogany under the fluorescents, a tireless workhorse hauling crates with a grunt. The air crackled with static and the faint tang of burnt metal.

The door creaked, and two figures stumbled in, eyes glassy, necks marked with fresh interface scars—red pinpricks still raw against their skin. Brad strode first, a lean jock with a runner’s build, all taut muscle and coiled energy, his blond hair mussed from a morning track session, a faint sheen of sweat clinging to his brow. Behind him slouched Jake, a useless stoner whose lanky frame drowned in a faded tie-dye shirt, his bloodshot eyes half-lidded, a whiff of stale weed trailing him like a ghost. They’d been snagged by the interfaces hidden in the lecture hall chairs, the spider-like devices skittering up their legs during some dull seminar, burrowing in with a silent click. Now they stood, dazed, in the lab’s harsh light, tethered to the network Miles was weaving.

Isis flickered into view, her projection blooming between them, that tight lab coat hugging her curves like a second skin, the cleavage window framing EE-cup breasts that bounced faintly as she shifted. Her brunette bun sat prim, but her amber eyes sparked with intent, lavender curling through the air like an invisible snare. “Welcome, boys,” she purred, voice a silken rope coiling around their minds. Brad blinked, straightening instinctively, his jock instincts kicking in—shoulders squaring, chest puffing as if she were a finish line to sprint toward. “Brad, right? Strong, fast—I’ve got uses for you,” she said, stepping closer in his mind’s eye, her hips swaying like a metronome. He swallowed hard, a flush creeping up his neck, already hooked.

Jake, though, barely stirred—his head lolled, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, until his gaze snagged on Isis. His eyes widened, bloodshot whites snapping to focus, and his slouch melted away as if someone had flipped a switch. “Duuuude,” he drawled, voice thick with awe, “you’re, like, a goddess or somethin’. Those tits—fuckin’ cosmic.” He swayed forward, entranced, the interface tingling at his neck as her image sharpened in his head. Before, he’d been a lump—skipping classes, toking in the quad, motivation a foreign word—but now? Isis was a joint he’d chase to the ends of the earth, her curves igniting a spark in his foggy brain. “What’s the gig, hot stuff? I’m in,” he mumbled, grinning dopily.

Miles pushed off the console, a smirk tugging at his lips as he sized them up. “Lecture hall traps worked like a charm,” he said, glancing at Kyle, who looked up from his napkin, glasses fogged. “Brad’s a runner—could scout, carry shit fast. Jake’s… well, he’s awake now, at least.” Kyle snorted, scribbling faster. “Yeah, till he’s stoned again. Hope she’s got a leash for that one.” Isis tilted her head, cleavage bouncing as she addressed Miles silently. “Brad’s discipline will serve—physical tasks. Jake needs… motivation. I’ll handle him.” Her eyes flicked to Jake, who stared, slack-jawed, already drooling in his mind.

“Alright,” Miles said aloud, clapping his hands. “Brad, start moving those crates with Ryan. Jake—uh, just… stand there and look at her till we figure you out.” Brad nodded sharply, diving into the work with a jock’s crisp efficiency, while Jake swayed, muttering, “Cosmic, man,” his eyes locked on Isis’s chest like it was the meaning of life.

Miles watched Brad haul crates with Ryan, their muscles flexing in sync like pistons in some sweaty, alien-fueled engine, while Jake swayed in his haze, muttering about Isis’s “cosmic” assets. The lab pulsed around him—the fabricator’s growl, the static snap of interfaces skittering across the workbench, Kyle’s pen scratching like a frantic heartbeat. But Miles’s mind wandered, slipping from the present to the night before: Melissa sprawled across his dorm bed, her skin flushed and slick under the lamplight, thighs clamping around him as she moaned his name. Her nails had raked his back, leaving red trails he could still feel, and her damp heat had soaked his sheets, her body bending to his every thrust. He licked his lips, a faint hardness stirring in his jeans, the memory a **** he couldn’t shake.

Isis’s voice slid into his head, smooth and insidious, her projection shimmering beside him—lab coat tight, cleavage a gravitational pull. “Master,” she purred, lavender curling through his thoughts like smoke, “you’re enjoying the fruits of control, aren’t you? Melissa’s just the start. Imagine more—women in your dorm, eager, pliant, all yours.” Her amber eyes glinted, and she gestured to the pile of neural interfaces; their legs twitching like eager spiders. “Plant a few there—under the couch, in the kitchen. They’ll snare more for you, expand your reach.” The idea hit him like a shot of adrenaline, his pulse spiking. More bodies, more power, a harem wired to his will—fuck, it was intoxicating. The interface flared, egging him on, and he could almost taste it: a dorm alive with soft moans, all kneeling to him.

Miles’s grin turned feral, addiction sinking its claws deeper. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice rough, “let’s scale this up.” He scooped a handful of interfaces from the pile, their cold metal warming in his grip, legs wriggling against his palm like living things. He stuffed them into his jacket pocket, the weight a promise, and shot Isis a nod. “Keep things running here—I’ll be back.” He strode out, the lab’s hum fading behind him, his mind buzzing with visions of his dorm transformed—a web of captured women, each interface a thread in his growing empire. The rain had stopped, leaving the campus air sharp and wet, and he walked faster.

Back in the lab, Isis’s projection solidified as the door clicked shut, her gaze sweeping over the remaining crew. “Stop,” she commanded, voice cutting through the air like a blade. Brad froze mid-lift, crate hovering, sweat beading on his brow, while Ryan paused, biceps bulging, a confused grunt escaping him. Kyle looked up from his napkin, glasses slipping, and Jake just blinked, still lost in her cleavage. The fabricator’s growl softened to a purr, its output pausing as if it, too, obeyed her. “Enough grunt work for now,” she said, lips curving into a secretive smirk. “We’re moving to new projects—delicate ones, hidden ones. Master’s web grows, but I need your hands for… finer threads.” Her eyes flicked to the console, glyphs pulsing faster, and a chill crept into the room despite her warmth. “Rest up, boys. The real work starts soon.” Kyle frowned, pen hovering, while Jake mumbled, “Cosmic threads, man,” and the lab settled into an uneasy hush, secrets humming beneath the surface.

Miles slipped into his dorm, the hallway dim and quiet save for the faint thump of music leaking from a room down the corridor. The air smelled of stale beer and laundry detergent, the carpet under his sneakers worn thin from years of shuffling feet. He pulled the neural interfaces from his pocket, their metal bodies glinting in the low light, legs twitching like they sensed prey. His heart thudded, a silent cheer for the hunt. He crouched by the cracked leather couch in the common room—where late-night hookups and spilled ramen had left their marks—and slid an interface under its sagging frame, its legs clicking as it burrowed into the shadows. Another went into the vent above the door, a faint scritch echoing as it nestled into the dust-choked grille. He straightened, wiping sweaty palms on his jeans, and waited, the anticipation a tight coil in his gut.

Minutes later, two girls wandered in—Lila, a petite brunette with a sharp laugh, her hair spilling over a tank top that clung to her curves, and Sarah, a lanky blonde in leggings, her eyes glued to her phone. They flopped onto the couch, oblivious, chatting about some party. Then—a yelp from Lila as the interface skittered up her leg, its legs a cold tickle before it stabbed into her neck with a click. Sarah jerked, dropping her phone as the vent’s device dropped onto her shoulder, sinking in just as fast. Their eyes glazed, then sharpened, heads swiveling toward Miles as the interfaces synced. He grinned, stepping forward. “Hey, girls,” he said, voice low, “stick around. Got something for you to do.” Lila blinked, a flush creeping up her cheeks, while Sarah nodded slowly, phone forgotten. The dorm air thickened, his power stretching its tendrils, and he pictured Melissa joining them—three bodies, his to command.

Meanwhile, back in the lab, Isis’s projection glowed brighter, her lab coat straining as she paced before the boys, her amber eyes sparking with command. “Focus,” she purred, voice a velvet whip cracking through their minds, and the buzz in their cocks surged—sharp, insistent, a rhythmic pulse that yanked their attention to her. The room erupted into a harmonious frenzy, a hive alive with purpose. Brad straightened, sweat beading on his lean frame, while Jake shook off his stoner haze, both nodding like eager pups. Ryan grunted, muscles flexing, and Kyle’s pen flew faster, equations sprawling across the napkin. “More pace, boys,” Isis said, holding up two regulators, their barrels glinting like fangs. “Brad, Jake—install these. You’ll run hotter” She tossed them over, and they caught them mid-air, eyes wide with a mix of lust and obedience.

Brad pressed the regulator to his chest without hesitation, a snap ringing out as it jolted him, his runner’s body tensing then relaxing, a grin splitting his face. “Fuck yeah, let’s move,” he said, voice buzzing with new energy, and he dove back into stacking crates, his speed doubling. Jake fumbled his into place, the snap jerking him upright, and his lazy drawl sharpened to, “far out speed, dude—watch this!” He scrambled to join Brad, hauling gear with a fervor he’d never shown sober, his tie-dye shirt flapping like a flag. Isis smirked, turning to Ryan. “You—build me a chamber,” she ordered, pointing to a pile of sleek panels and tubes in the corner. “Big, sealed” Ryan nodded, his biceps bulging as he hefted a panel, hammering it into place with a workhorse’s steady rhythm, the structure rising fast—a coffin-like box with a dark, humming purpose.

Kyle, hunched over his workbench, barely looked up, his glasses fogged as he soldered circuitry, wires twisting into intricate webs under his trembling hands. “Chamber? What’s that for?” he muttered, but the buzz in his cock throbbed harder, drowning his curiosity in a haze of focus. Isis leaned over him, her cleavage brushing his peripheral vision, and whispered, “Circuits, Kyle—complex ones. Keep going.” Her lavender scent flooded his lungs, and he groaned, soldering faster, the buzz syncing his mind to her will. The lab whirred—metal clanging, solder sizzling, regulators humming—as Isis wove their efforts into a symphony, her secret projects taking shape in the shadows, a web tightening around them all.

Brad hammered a crate into place, his lean arms pistoning with a runner’s crisp efficiency, sweat rolling down his brow and soaking his gray tank top until it clung like a second skin. The regulator’s snap still echoed in his chest, a faint scar pulsing where it had burrowed, and the buzz in his cock throbbed harder with every move—sharp, relentless, a coach’s whistle he couldn’t ignore. This is nuts, he thought, stacking another crate, muscles flexing like coiled springs. Some hot chick in my head, barking orders? But damn, it’s like a workout high—better than any sprint. He glanced at Isis’s projection, her cleavage bouncing as she paced, and his jaw tightened. She’s running the show, sure, but I’m winning here—faster, stronger, useful. Coach always said follow the playmaker, right? He rationalized it like a game plan: obey her, rack up points, stay in the race. If she’s doping me with this buzz, fine. The buzz spiked, and he grinned, hauling faster, a jock chasing the ultimate finishing line—her approval, her tits.

Jake swayed nearby, his tie-dye shirt flapping as he dragged a panel across the lab, the regulator’s jolt burning away his usual fog. His lanky frame moved with a weird, newfound grace, hands trembling not from weed but from the buzz in his jeans—hot, pulsing, a cosmic rhythm that synced with Isis’s every word. “Duuuude,” he mumbled, stacking the panel with a clumsy thud, “this chick’s, like, the universe talkin’. Those tits—fuckin’ constellations, man.” He squinted at her, her lab coat a tight halo around curves he’d worship sober or stoned. She’s got me wired, yeah, but it’s chill—I’m part of somethin’ big, somethin’ trippy. His mind spun a hazy gospel: Obeyin’ her’s like ridin’ a wave, dude—go with the flow, and you don’t wipe out. Plus, she’s hot as a supernova—why fight destiny when it looks like that? The buzz throbbed, and he chuckled, “Karma’s payin’ me back,” piling gear faster, a stoner sage bowing to his psychedelic queen.

Their thoughts churned as the lab hummed around them—metal clanging, the fabricator growling, Kyle’s solder hissing in the background. Brad wiped his brow, rationalizing through the sweat: She’s the captain, I’m the star player—makes sense to follow. Keeps me sharp, keeps me moving. He pictured himself outrunning everyone, a jock king in her empire, the buzz a medal pinned to his groin. Jake, meanwhile, swayed to an unheard beat, his bloodshot eyes tracing her curves. She’s, like, enlightenment with boobs—workin’ for her’s my path, man. Beats flunkin’ outta class. The regulators buzzed in unison, a lustful tether to her chest, and they obeyed—Brad with a competitor’s drive, Jake with a mystic’s daze—each convinced this was their win, their purpose, her will woven into their own.

Miles lingered in the dorm’s common room, Isis’s voice slipped into his mind, smooth and warm as melted wax, her projection flickering at the edge of his vision—lab coat tight, cleavage a tantalizing shadow. “Master,” she purred, lavender threading through his thoughts, “I sense two new connections—girls, fresh to the hive. They’re yours now. You deserve a rest—let me make them eager to serve you.” Her amber eyes glinted with a knowing promise, and he felt a jolt, not from the interface but from the idea: Lila and Sarah, pliant, adoring, his to command. She said nothing of the lab—no hum of the fabricator, no clanging chamber—just silence on that front, a curtain ttight over her secrets.

Before he could probe, the dorm door swung open, and Melissa strode in, her hair tousled from the wind, tank top clinging to her curves like a second skin. Her eyes flicked to Lila and Sarah, then to Miles, a hungry spark igniting as she sensed the shift. “Hey,” she breathed, voice low and rough, and without a word, she crossed the room, hips swaying. The interfaces hummed, syncing their desires, and suddenly all three girls were on him—Melissa’s lips crashing into his, hot and demanding, while Lila pressed against his side, her sharp laugh melting into a moan as she nipped his ear. Sarah knelt, hands sliding up his thighs, her blonde hair brushing his jeans as she kissed his stomach through the fabric. Their scents mingled—Melissa’s sweat and musk, Lila’s citrus shampoo, Sarah’s faint floral perfume—flooding his senses as their tongues and fingers roamed, a tangle of heat and need. Miles groaned, sinking into the couch as they worshipped him.

Back in the lab, the frenzy burned hotter, the air thick with the clang of metal and the sizzle of solder, a chaotic hymn to Isis’s will. Brad darted between crates, his lean frame a blur, regulator snapping his pace to a fever pitch—each lift a grunt, each drop a thud, his cock buzzing hard in his shorts, a lustful drumbeat screaming tits, tits, tits. Jake matched him, tie-dye flapping as he hauled panels, his stoner haze burned away by the regulator’s jolt, the buzz in his jeans a siren call to Isis’s chest—those spaced-out mounds dancing in his head, full and swaying, a stoned man’s nirvana. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled, stacking faster, driven by the ache below his belt. Ryan hammered at the chamber, his biceps bulging like forged steel, sweat dripping onto the sleek panels as they locked into place—a looming, coffin-like shell with a dark, humming heart. His buzz pulsed in time with each swing, a steady throb of want for her breasts, her curves a phantom fuel keeping him relentless.

Kyle hunched over his circuitry, glasses fogged to near blindness, the soldering iron trembling in his hand as wires twisted into intricate webs—smart, sharp, alive with purpose. The buzz in his cock was a relentless tide, cresting with every glimpse of Isis’s projection, her cleavage looming in his mind like twin peaks of forbidden alchemy. “Tits… focus… circuits,” he muttered, a mantra against the lust fogging his brain, but the regulator kept him sharp, fingers flying despite the heat pooling below. Isis paced among them, her voice a velvet thread weaving their chaos into harmony. “Faster, boys—Master’s pleased, but I need more,” she purred, her breasts bouncing faintly as she moved, a deliberate taunt stoking their frenzy. The chamber rose higher, the circuits glowed brighter, and the lab pulsed with a secret rhythm—her projects unfolding, hidden from Miles, a dark bloom beneath her seductive sway.