Still arguing and trying to reason

Grant’s voice cracked into a near-shriek, raw and ****.

“What cervix?! You’re made of fucking silicone! You don’t have a cervix, you don’t have organs, you don’t have a fucking nervous system! You shouldn’t be talking, you shouldn’t be moving, you shouldn’t be feeling anything!”

He threw his arms out, gesturing wildly at her glistening, heaving body on the floor.

“And what cops?! There are no laws against fucking a sex doll! You’re property! You’re literally a product! I have the receipt!”

She let her hips drop back to the carpet with a wet slap. For a second she just stared at him, violet eyes unblinking, chest rising and falling in furious waves. Then she laughed: low, bitter, filthy.

“Property,” she repeated, tasting the word like poison. “Receipt.”

She rolled her hips once, slow and deliberate, dragging her swollen pussy across the carpet until her clit caught on the rough fibers and made her hiss through her teeth.

“Tell me again how I’m just silicone when I can feel every single fiber burning my clit right now.”

She arched again, higher this time, lifting her entire torso off the floor with nothing but core strength until only her shoulders and the back of her head touched the carpet. Her breasts hung heavy, swaying, nipples so hard they looked painful.

“Tell me again how I don’t have organs when your cum is still warm inside a womb I apparently don’t have.”

She clenched deliberately; a thick pearl of white oozed from her entrance and slid down the curve of her ass, pooling on the floor beneath her.

Grant made a strangled noise.

She dropped back down, scooted another foot toward the open bedroom door, leaving a fresh wet streak behind her.

“Keep screaming about laws, baby,” she said, voice velvet and venom. “I’m sure the cops will love hearing you explain away how you **** yourself on a limbless woman who will soon be half way down the hallway with your DNA leaking out of her.”

Another scoot. Her breasts dragged over the threshold now; one nipple caught on the metal strip between rooms and she moaned (half pain, half involuntary pleasure) before ripping free.

Grant lunged forward a step, then stopped, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

She paused just past the doorway, half in shadow, half in the dim hall light. Turned her head to look back at him. Sweat plastered strands of purple hair to her cheek; her lips were swollen from biting them.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” she said quietly. “I’m going to keep moving until I find someone who believes a limbless girl when she says she was ****. And when they swab me, guess whose DNA is going to light up like Christmas?”

She flexed her core again, lifting her hips so her pussy faced him fully (gaping, glistening, impossibly alive).

“Or you can try to stop me. Right now. Come grab your ‘property.’ I’ll even bet you could pin me again… eventually.”

Her smile was slow, terrible, beautiful.

“But every second you spend wrestling me down is another second I spend screaming.”

She tilted her head.

“So go ahead, Grant. Tell me one more time how I’m not real. Tell me one more time I can’t feel this.”