The Darrows

Tara stepped onto the subway, the doors closing with a soft hiss behind her. She maneuvered herself into the least crowded part of the car, careful to avoid bumping anyone with her large chest. The space inside was thick with the low hum of AR interfaces buzzing, the neon lights of the city seeping through the windows. She kept her eyes down, hoping for a moment of peace, but in Mammopolis, privacy was a luxury that didn’t exist.

Her AR profile, of course, popped up as soon as she entered the car, and the eyes of a few passengers flicked toward her, drawn in by the glowing display.

She sighed, leaning against one of the poles for balance. The rocking of the subway car didn’t help with the constant weight pulling at her chest, and even standing still required a constant adjustment. Back home, before coming to Mammopolis, she had always felt self-conscious about her body. Her breasts had always been too large, too much for her petite frame, making her feel awkward and out of place. But here in Mammopolis, her body was celebrated, admired, and constantly on display.

A notification pinged in her AR feed, alerting her to a new update in her profile. Someone nearby had just logged a “sighting” of her on the train, boosting her appreciation rating yet again.

“Hey, Tara!” A voice called out from the far end of the car. Tara recognized the tone immediately—it was the same almost every time. Admiration laced with a casual entitlement. She looked up, catching the eye of a young man who had already unzipped his pants. He smirked, stroking himself openly as the other passengers either ignored or cheered him on. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Tara shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “No, it’s fine,” she murmured, her heart sinking as she spoke. She had said those words so many times, and each time they felt more hollow. But she couldn’t afford to refuse. In Mammopolis, where everyone was connected and where reputation was currency, going against the social norms would isolate her.

The man approached, still jerking off, his AR stats climbing as he synced his data to hers. “God, I’ve been waiting to see you again,” he panted, his eyes glued to her chest. “I saw your profile update earlier, knew you’d be heading this way.”

Tara glanced out the window, her mind wandering as he reached his climax. She let the warm splash of cum hit her top, barely flinching. It was routine now. Another small part of her day in Mammopolis. She offered him a polite smile, wiping off the excess with a tissue. “Glad you had a good ride,” she said, her voice robotic.

Another man nearby, watching the scene, chuckled and called out, “I had her yesterday. Worth every second.”

“Damn right,” the first guy replied, zipping up his pants with a satisfied grin. “Nothing like a tribute to make the day go smoother.”

Tara nodded absentmindedly, her thoughts already drifting away. She longed for the quiet anonymity of her life before Mammopolis, but that world felt distant now—like a dream she barely remembered. The constant public attention, the tributes, the sexual engagements—it had all become so normal, yet still felt alien to her. Every day, she felt herself becoming more detached, more like the figure they saw in her AR profile and less like the person she had once been.

As the train approached her stop, she prepared herself for the final stretch of her day. She lived with the Darrows, a wealthy family who had taken her in as part of the exchange program. They were kind, in their own way, but even they were deeply entrenched in the Mammopolian culture of sexual openness and status. Their daughter, Clara, was in the Bustocracy—a social elite known for their enormous chests and flawless social ratings.

Clara often playfully teased Tara about how fast her stats had skyrocketed since she arrived, though it was never meant to be mean-spirited. “You’ll catch up to me in no time,” she would say with a wink, her own AR profile constantly showcasing her top-tier rating.

Tara stepped off the subway, the cool night air hitting her as she exited the station. She started the short walk to the Darrow household, a modern Mansion overlooking the city. Her thoughts drifted to how different her life had become in Mammopolis. Two years ago, she couldn’t have imagined public masturbation as normal, or her body being analyzed like a commodity for everyone to discuss.

Her AR profile pinged again—a “welcome back” notification from the Darrows’ home system as she approached.

Notifications and updates flooded her vision as she entered the gates. Among them was the usual highlight—Clara’s profile, glowing bright with activity. Tara glanced at the datafeed out of habit, her eyes skimming the explicit details.

• Clara Darrow, Age 24, Bra, 34M
• Sexual Engagement: Ongoing
• Participants: 2 Males

Tara sighed softly. Clara was at it again, as usual, this time in the yard. It was almost routine by now. The Darrow household had a casual openness about sex that still made Tara uneasy at times, but in Mammopolis, it was the norm. Clara’s engagement was public for anyone to view, and the stats were prominently displayed in the house's AR system, as was typical in upper-class households.

From the faint sounds coming from the direction of the yard, it wasn’t hard to imagine the scene unfolding. The distinct sounds of grunts, rough moans, and skin slapping echoed faintly through the quiet suburban air. Tara adjusted her path, avoiding the yard where Clara and her companions were busy. Instead, she headed for the living room. She was too tired for another awkward encounter with Clara’s ongoing sessions, and she preferred to avoid the inevitable, cheerful teasing about her own tributes and rising popularity.

The door to the living room slid open silently as Tara stepped inside. Mr. Darrow was there, as usual, sitting comfortably in his chair, leaning over the chessboard in concentration. Across from him sat Jim, the family’s male service android. At first glance, Jim appeared almost entirely human. He had the build, the mannerisms, and the facial expressions down to perfection. Only subtle details—an almost too-smooth texture to his skin, a slight unnatural glow in his eyes—betrayed his artificial nature. His movements were fluid, and his mannerisms indistinguishable from any real man.

“Tara,” Mr. Darrow greeted her without looking up, his tone neutral but polite. “How was your day?”

Tara, trying to shake off the exhaustion, **** a small smile. “The usual,” she replied, walking further into the room and dropping her bag on the couch. “Looks like Clara’s... occupied.”

Mr. Darrow chuckled softly, his eyes still focused on the chessboard. “She always is, isn’t she?” He made a move, sliding a bishop across the board, and the android hummed softly as it calculated the implications. “I'm sorry, she hasn't been around you much, to spend some time with you or help you with your studies ... But ... I also see your stats are rising faster than expected?”

Tara’s eyes flicked up briefly, catching her profile hovering in the AR feed. She still wasn’t used to seeing her life reduced to numbers and percentages. “I guess,” she said quietly, sitting down and sinking into the cushions. The public tributes and constant sexualized attention had become her new normal, but part of her still struggled to fully accept it. Years of conservative Christian upbringing couldn’t just be erased and replaced with... this.

The service android made its move, placing a knight in front of Mr. Darrow’s queen. Tara glanced at the chessboard, trying to focus on her feelings. It wasn’t just about adapting to a new lifestyle; it was about unlearning deeply ingrained beliefs, something that didn’t happen overnight. No matter how much her body was celebrated here, a quiet voice inside still questioned if this was really who she was meant to be.

The sound of Clara’s moans from the yard drifted through the open windows, reminding her that, even in the privacy of the Darrow home, Mammopolis’s relentless sexualization of everything was always present.

“You’ll adjust,” Mr. Darrow said suddenly, as if reading her mind. He finally looked up from the board, his expression calm but thoughtful. “It’s overwhelming at first. But you’re doing well, better than most.”

Tara met his gaze and nodded, unsure how to respond. She didn’t know if she would ever truly adjust, but here in Mammopolis, there wasn’t much of a choice. You either adapted to the city’s unflinching openness or you were swallowed by it.

The android recalibrated, gearing up for its next calculated move. Mr. Darrow refocused on the game, and the room settled into an eerie calm, interrupted only by the low hum of the AR interface and the distant, rhythmic pounding of Clara getting her brains fucked out in the yard.