The Other Clara

The morning light filtered dimly through the curtains of Tara’s room, casting soft shadows across the floor, but the peace was shattered by loud, unmistakable sounds coming from somewhere on her floor. Tara woke to the rhythmic pounding, rough grunts, and Clara’s wild moans, which filled the quiet morning air. Groggy and disoriented, she sat up, unsure where exactly the noises were coming from—probably Clara’s room, she thought.

The sounds were more intense than usual, rougher, and far earlier than Clara’s typical nighttime escapades. Rubbing her eyes, Tara groaned. She needed to pee, but the noises kept her frozen in place for a moment. The luxurious house offered comfort in every corner, but very little privacy. It felt as if the sounds were coming from right inside her room.

Finally, she couldn’t wait any longer. Pulling on a loose shirt, Tara stepped into the hallway, the volume of Clara’s moans intensifying with each step. She hurried, trying to make it to the bathroom without lingering on the sounds, but something didn’t add up. The moans seemed to be coming from the master bedroom, not Clara’s.

Tara paused, confused. Curiosity gnawed at her, and despite herself, she moved closer to the master bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. She hesitated, then peeked through the crack—and what she saw made her breath catch.

Inside, Mr. Darrow had Clara bent over the edge of the bed, his hands gripping her hips with a vice-like intensity as he slammed into her with raw, savage ****. His fingers dug into her skin, leaving red imprints as he held her in place. Clara’s head was thrown back, her moans turning into loud, **** cries, her enormous tits swinging wildly with each brutal thrust. The sight was jarring—Mr. Darrow, usually so composed and refined, was now fully consumed by the primal act. His deep, guttural grunts filled the room, in sync with the relentless rhythm of his hips pounding against Clara’s soft flesh.

Tara’s breath caught in her throat. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the scene. Mr. Darrow with his own ...? This felt wrong. She tore her eyes away, her heart pounding as she rushed down the hall toward the bathroom, her thoughts spinning wildly.

Once inside the bathroom, she slammed the door shut, leaning against it as she tried to catch her breath. Her mind raced with the image of Mr. Darrow and Clara— how could they…? It didn’t add up. Was there nothing sacred in this city? She turned to the sink, splashing cold water on her face, trying to push the image from her mind. Her heart was still racing, her hands trembling slightly.

But as she wiped her face and glanced up at the mirror, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Standing right behind her was Clara.

Tara gasped, her hand instinctively going to her chest. “Clara?” she stammered, her mind struggling to reconcile what she had just witnessed. “But… I just saw you… next door… with your…”

Clara, leaning against the bathroom counter, raised an eyebrow at Tara’s panicked expression. For a moment, her face was blank with confusion, but then realization dawned. A small, amused smile tugged at her lips. “Oh,” she said with a chuckle. “You saw her.”

Tara blinked, her confusion deepening. “Her?” she repeated, still trying to make sense of the situation.

Clara’s smile widened, and she let out a light laugh, as if Tara’s confusion were the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, her. Dad's Toy.” She said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, that it took Tara a second to process the words.

“T... Toy?” Tara stammered, her eyes darting back toward the hallway, where the sounds of sex had seized completely now. “You mean… ”

Clara shrugged and stepped closer to the mirror, casually adjusting her hair, completely unfazed by Tara’s shock. “Yeah, Dad bought a lookalike android of me. It’s part of the whole Bustocracy deal,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “My body got patented when I turned 18, licensed out for production. Now they mass-produce Clara bots and sell them to anyone who wants one. So, yay—Clara bots for everyone,” she sang with a sarcastic lift of her arms.

Tara’s mind reeled. “Your… your body is patented?” she asked, her voice unsteady, struggling to make sense of it.

“Yup.” Clara barely glanced at her, casually fixing her hair in the mirror. “Pretty standard for someone like me. They scanned my body when I turned 18, and now there’s a whole line of androids that look exactly like me. It’s a big hit in certain circles—high-end clients, mostly.” She said it with a hint of pride, as if this bizarre reality were just another accomplishment. “Dad’s got one of the deluxe models.” There wasn’t a trace of shame in her voice, as if being mass-produced as a sex robot was just another status symbol in the Bustocracy.

Tara stared at her, wide-eyed. “Wait… so people can just buy androids that look exactly like you?”

“Yup, sure can,” Clara said, as if she were talking about the weather. “They come with personality settings, too. The deluxe ones even nail my voice and attitude. It’s like having me around 24/7—lucky them, right?” She winked, tossing her hair. “All part of the premium Bustocracy experience.”

Tara blinked, still processing. Clara smirked and threw in, “Welcome to Mammopolis, babe. Where you can literally get me on demand.” She threw her arms out dramatically. “I’m basically a limited edition—only not so limited.”

Tara’s stomach churned as the image of Mr. Darrow with the Clara-bot flashed in her mind, now making a creepy kind of sense. “But… your dad has one? Of you?”

Clara grinned, completely unfazed. “Of course! Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like he’s actually fucking me, Tara. It’s just a bot. Everyone has them around here—like a fancy blender. Sure, he’s got specific tastes, but that’s totally normal here.”

Tara shook her head, still trying to process it. The casualness of Clara’s explanation was almost more unsettling than the situation itself. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

Clara chuckled, giving her a playful nudge. “Oh, you will. And by the way, with those AR stats of yours? Don’t be surprised if you end up with your own line of Tara-bots. You’d be a bestseller, babe.” She reached out and gave Tara’s breast a playful squeeze, grinning.

Tara leaned against the sink, her mind spinning with thoughts of android versions of herself. As Clara stripped off her clothes and headed toward the shower, Tara’s train of thought faltered. For a moment, she couldn’t help but notice just how much bigger Clara’s tits were—massive, almost overwhelming in comparison to her own. Tara silently hoped hers would never get that big, especially given her much more petite frame. The thought of carrying around that weight made her uneasy.

Tara glanced back at her reflection in the mirror. She was about to sink deeper into her thoughts when, suddenly, the bathroom door creaked open. Another Clara poked her head through the doorway.

“Is it occupied?” She asked, its voice eerily similar to the original. This was Mammopolis—where even your own body wasn’t truly yours.