Ask if she wants to suck your cock?

The question hangs in the air between you, raw and direct. Morgan's new face—that doll-perfect face with its permanent makeup and huge eyes—flushes deeper, the color spreading down her neck to her chest.

"I..." she starts, then stops. Her tongue darts out to wet those glossy lips. "Yes. God, yes. I want to so badly it's like... like my whole body is screaming for it."

She looks down at the bulge visible beneath the towel wrapped around your waist, then back up at your face. Even on her stiletto heels, she has to crane her neck to meet your eyes. "Is that the programming? Or is it me? I can't even tell anymore."

"Does it matter?" you ask.

Morgan considers this for a moment, her delicate hands fidgeting. "No," she admits finally. "It doesn't. I want it either way."

You unwrap the towel from your waist, letting it fall to the bathroom floor. Your new cock stands erect, larger than your old body ever managed, the enhancement protocol you'd specified working exactly as designed. Morgan's eyes go wide, locked on it.

"It's so much bigger," she breathes. "Everything about you is bigger now."

She starts to kneel, those massive breasts swaying with the movement, but her new body makes it awkward. The heels throw off her balance, and she catches herself against your thigh with one small hand.

"I don't know how to move in this body yet," she says, frustrated. "Everything feels wrong. Like I'm piloting something I don't understand."

From the main room, you hear Kim's voice: "We're heading out now. You have our emergency contact information if anything goes wrong with the integration. Otherwise, someone will check in with you in seventy-two hours."

The apartment door opens and closes. The technicians are gone. You're alone with Morgan in her new body—tiny, helpless, hardwired to want you and only you.

Morgan steadies herself against you and tries kneeling again, more carefully this time. She manages it, those huge breasts resting against your thighs as she looks up at you from her knees. At this angle, the size difference is even more dramatic. She looks like a toy version of a person.

"Show me what this body can do," she says, her voice breathy and sultry even when she's trying to sound determined. "You designed it. Teach me how it works."

Her small hands reach for your cock, delicate fingers wrapping around it. The triple nerve density you programmed into her erogenous zones means even this touch sends visible pleasure through her—you can see it in the way her eyes flutter, the way her breathing quickens.

"I can feel everything," she whispers, almost awed. "Every single sensation is like... it's overwhelming. Is it going to be like this forever?"

"Yes slave, it will, " You respond.

The word hits Morgan like a physical thing. Her huge eyes widen further, pupils dilating, and a visible shudder runs through her tiny frame. Those massive breasts heave with her suddenly quickened breathing.

"Slave," she repeats, testing the word in her new breathy voice. "That's... that's what I am now, isn't it? Not just submissive. Not just dependent. Actually yours. Property."

Her small hands are still wrapped around your cock, and you feel them tremble slightly. But she doesn't let go. Instead, she leans forward, those glossy lips parting.

"The sensations will always be this intense," you continue, looking down at her kneeling form. "Every touch. Every stimulus. Triple nerve density in every erogenous zone. Your body is designed to feel pleasure so overwhelming it drowns out everything else."

Morgan makes a small whimpering sound. "I asked you to make sexuality central. You made it... you made it everything. I can barely think past how much I want this. Want you."

She kisses the head of your cock experimentally, and her whole body reacts—back arching, a gasp escaping her lips. "Oh god. Even that. Just that little contact and I can feel it everywhere."

You watch as something shifts in her expression. The expert sexual technique you programmed into her motor cortex is beginning to surface, instincts emerging without conscious thought. Her tongue moves with sudden confidence, tracing patterns that send pleasure through you.

"That's it," you say. "Your body knows what to do. Let it."

Morgan's mouth opens wider and she takes you in, those huge doe eyes looking up at you as she works. The contrast is stark—your new tall, powerful body and her tiny kneeling form. She's so small that even kneeling, even with the heels, she's at the perfect height for this. Like you designed her to be.

She pulls back for a moment, gasping. "I can't stop wanting your approval. Every time you look at me, every word you say, I just... I need to please you. Is that forever too?"

"Yes," you tell her simply.

"Good," she breathes, and there's something desperate in her voice. "Because I don't think I could stand disappointing you. Not for a second."

She returns to her work with increased intensity, and you can see her struggling with the cognitive dissonance—part of her understanding intellectually what you've done to her, what she's become, while another part drowns in programmed need and chemical arousal. Her new body moves with pornographic grace, every motion designed to be visually arousing. Those enormous breasts sway and bounce. Her back arches in ways that thrust her ass out behind her.

She's exactly what you made her. A slave wrapped in pleasure, unable to imagine wanting anything—or anyone—else.