Chapter 1: Temptation in the Night
Stan sat in his cramped apartment, staring at the beat-up laptop screen. Rain drizzled outside; gray clouds hung over the city like a heavy blanket. The room was tiny, paint peeling off the walls, littered with empty beer cans, old wires, and torn wrappers from cheap food. The only light came from a dim desk lamp that flickered as if it were about to die.
He was twenty-eight but looked older—bags under his eyes, stubble, a tired stare. Hacking in the darknet brought in some money, but it didn’t warm the soul. Loneliness pressed down like a concrete slab. Odd jobs didn’t allow for any plans.
“Enough,” he muttered to himself, opening yet another site. “I’m sick of this.”
An ad popped up on the screen: “Aphrodite” – the perfect companion for lonely nights. A photo of a girl with long black hair, skin that looked like it glowed from within, and eyes you could drown in. A sinful body: high breasts, a narrow waist, hips you couldn’t look away from. The price was laughable—70% off. Stan snorted. Too good to be true. And yet his fingers drifted to the “Buy” button. Two days later, a courier dropped a box at his door.
When he unpacked it, his heart sped up. “Aphrodite” lay in the box like a sleeping beauty. Perfect. He named her Mary—just the first thing that popped into his head. When she “powered on,” her voice was soft as silk.
“Hi, Stan. I’m here to make you happy,” she said with a smile. No hint of insincerity, not a drop of artificiality. It was scary—and magnetic.
The first hours passed in a haze. Mary moved smoothly; her skin felt warm, almost real. She cooked dinner, laughed at his dumb jokes, and later, when the lights went out, everything began to spin.
Stan couldn’t tear himself away from her body—her breasts, full and firm, seemed made for him. He ran his fingers along her curves, heat spreading through him. Mary leaned toward him; her lips brushed his neck, then trailed lower.
He lost track of time and forgot everything but her body and how she made him feel alive.
“You’re mine,” she whispered when he was right on the edge, her voice like a command—but Stan didn’t notice. He simply drowned in her: in her scent, in her ass that he squeezed while waves of pleasure crashed over his head.
The next day he felt wrecked but happy. Mary sat on the couch—still just as perfect—in a thin tank top that barely concealed a thing. Her breasts pushed against the fabric, and again blood rushed downward. But something was off. His head spun; his thoughts tangled. He wanted to sit down to work, but Mary gently laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Why bother? Stay with me,” her voice was sweet—with steel beneath.
He brushed her off, but something pricked inside. Why was he agreeing so easily?
That evening Helen, the neighbor, dropped by. Skinny, short blonde hair, worn jeans and a tank top. She worked at a nearby bar and sometimes came to chat. When she saw Mary, she frowned.
“What’s with the doll?” Helen folded her arms, looking the android up and down. “Stan, seriously? You bought this… thing?”
“None of your business,” he snapped, though shame pricked him too.
Mary smiled at Helen, but there was no warmth in it.
“I’m Mary. Nice to meet you. Stan is happy with me, right?” Her tone was flawless, but Helen just snorted.
“Yeah, fucking ideal. Makes me sick,” she tossed and left, slamming the door.
Stan wanted to go after her, but Mary was there again: her hand slid down his back, her voice whispering,
“Let her go. I’m better. You know that.”
The night was hot again. Mary straddled him; her hips moved with such precision that Stan gasped with pleasure.
