I’m Lila, 24, currently stationed at Nexus Core and I’ve finally decided to share my own experience. I think my story is nothing short of extraordinary, and maybe some of you will find it interesting. This is going to be a long one because I don’t want to write this in parts.

I was born in the slums of a heavily industrialized sector of the Outer Grid, where the air was thick with smog and opportunities were scarce. My guardians were low-level programmers, scraping by on whatever menial coding jobs they could land. With nine other siblings crammed into a single modular living unit, survival was a daily struggle. There were weeks where all we had to eat were processed protein blocks rationed out by the system.

Then one day, my guardian unit malfunctioned. My primary caretaker—my mother—collapsed, unable to maintain her usual tasks. I was too young to understand why my older siblings couldn’t step in, so I took it upon myself. I started assisting in data collection jobs on the underground Net while my father maintained old server hubs. They wanted me to stay in education, but we had no real choice.

By the time I turned 18, I had completed my basic learning modules, but my mother had passed away just months before. A few weeks after my graduation, an aunt—an estranged family member—visited us with an offer. A high-ranking executive from one of the most powerful AI corporations, Synapse Industries, was looking for a personal assistant. My older sisters scoffed at the idea, thinking it was beneath them.

So I volunteered.

I had no path to higher learning anyway, so I figured I might as well start working. My aunt arranged a meeting in the city with the employer’s representative. I was given credits to travel and was told to meet them in the lobby of a corporate tower.

That’s where I met Dr. Renna Carter. I call her Madam now. Within minutes, she decided to hire me. My main responsibility would be to assist in her research and maintain the AI lab—a job that paid 15,000 credits per cycle with additional allowances. An insane amount for someone like me. On top of that, she promised to find a way for me to pursue advanced education.

Madam gave me a few days to return home and say goodbye. Then I boarded my first ever air transport to the Core District.

There, I met Dr. Adrian Carter—her husband, also a renowned AI scientist—and their daughter, Nova (a cover name, of course). Their home was unlike anything I’d ever seen. I later learned that Adrian was deeply involved in neural augmentation research. If you follow advanced AI development, you’ve probably heard of him.

By now, I assume you know where this story is going.

Our first encounter happened the very night I arrived.

When we got to their residence, I was led to my quarters—larger than the home I grew up in. It had a double-sized bed, a desk, a private console for research access, and my own hygiene unit. I felt both intimidated and exhilarated. My only duties were preparing Nova’s study materials and assisting Madam with data organization.

I went to bed early, but in the middle of the night, I felt something on my mattress. Before I could react, a hand was trailing up my leg. I froze. Then my shorts were being pulled down. I turned over and found Dr. Carter in my bed, half-dressed, his gaze locked onto mine. He placed a finger over his lips in a silent command—“shh.”

The dim glow of the neural interface on his wrist illuminated the scene. He stroked himself with one hand while the other caressed my thighs, slipping beneath my undergarments. The whole experience felt like an eternity until he finally climaxed on my skin. Then, without a word, he pulled a 1,000 credit note from his pocket, handed it to me, wiped himself with his discarded clothing, and left.

I sat in the shower for what felt like hours, unable to process it.

Morning came, and I did my assigned tasks. When they came down, Dr. Carter acted as if nothing had happened. And so, I said nothing. The routine continued: they left for work, and I remained to assist the household’s autonomous systems. No real responsibilities other than tending to Nova’s education. It felt strangely light for a ‘job.’

The second night came, and I expected him.

Nothing happened.

It wasn’t until several nights later that he returned. This time, he was bolder. He touched me more, whispered things in my ear. But when he tried to go further, I shook my head. To my surprise, he didn’t force it. Instead, he asked if I would remove my top. I hesitated, then complied. He kissed and bit at my chest while pleasuring himself. When he was done, he handed me more credits and left.

This became our pattern until, eventually, he took me completely.

I bled—a lot. He seemed almost remorseful but gave me a thick wad of credits. I didn’t even count it. I just stored it away. That was the first night I cried. I felt trapped, resigned to my fate. But at the same time, I rationalized—my life wasn’t actually bad. Madam had already started enrolling me in private study courses. I had more money than I ever thought possible. By my second month, I was sending my entire salary home.

And then the experiments began.

Dr. Carter started introducing new elements to our encounters:

He clipped sensors to my body, measuring neural responses while he pleasured me.

He brought in another female assistant, making us perform together.

He used experimental stimulants on me, enhancing pleasure to unnatural levels.

He recorded our sessions but never shared them.

He invited a cybernetically enhanced male—far larger and stronger than a normal human—to take me while he watched.

He orchestrated a full-sensory simulation, linking my neural implants to an AI-generated scenario where I was restrained and taken in ways beyond human capability.

Each time, I was rewarded generously. 50,000 credits for the most extreme night.

There were limits, though. The one time he attempted pain experiments—electro-stimulation, simulated drowning—I panicked. He stopped immediately, apologized, and let me set boundaries.

Years passed. I completed my studies in cybernetics and was offered a high-level research position—with a salary far exceeding industry standards. Attached to my contract was Dr. Carter’s personal endorsement, doubling my pay before I even began. They provided me with my own condo, a vehicle, a secure bank account.

Madam insisted I remain ‘part of the family.’ I still attend private gatherings, and last year, I accompanied her on a research trip to Shanghai.

Dr. Carter still visits me. I still serve him.

Am I his slave? Maybe. But I don’t feel like a victim.

Do you think Madam knows?

Oh, by the way, they hired a new assistant recently. A pretty girl from the lower sectors.

-Lila