Come and Get Me

THE SYNDICATE’S SPECIMEN

The blue fluid didn't just enter Dominic’s bloodstream; it rewrote his nervous system.

As Vivienne depressed the plunger, a jagged bolt of artificial lightning seared through his optic nerve, radiating deep into the core of his brain.

His body bucked against the silk restraints, his spine arching so violently the mahogany bedframe groaned.

The air in his lungs turned to liquid mercury.

Every sensation was suddenly amplified a thousandfold.

The hum of the air conditioner sounded like a jet engine; the dim LED lights felt like the midday sun.

And Elena.

Elena was still straddling him, her p***y-slicked thighs gripping his waist, her weight a crushing, exquisite pressure.

Under the influence of the neural-enhancer, he could feel every individual ridge of her internal walls, the frantic thrum of her pulse, the way her skin radiated a heat that felt like a forest fire.

"Dominic, breathe," Elena whispered, her voice a thunderous vibration against his ear. Her eyes were wide, brimming with a sudden, sharp guilt that didn't stop her from holding his head still.

"The connection is being established," Vivienne muttered, her eyes fixed on a tablet. "Sensory input is at 400%. He’s feeling everything.

Every touch is a trauma. Every pleasure is a torture."

Vivienne stepped closer, her clinical gaze dropping to where Elena and Dominic were still joined.

She reached out, her fingers tracing the seam where his c**k disappeared into Elena’s soaking p***y.

Dominic let out a broken, high-pitched gasp.

The light touch felt like a branding iron.

His hips jerked, a mindless, desperate thrust that buried him to the hilt.

Elena cried out, her back arching, her breasts swaying as she was jolted by the sheer intensity of his reaction.

"He’s reacting to the proximity," Vivienne whispered, her voice thick with a dark, scientific curiosity. She looked at Elena.

"Again. f**k him again.

I need to see the spikes when he peaks under the serum."

"Vivienne, he’s going into shock," Elena argued, though her hips were already beginning to move. The power of the drug was infectious; the air in the room was heavy with the scent of s*x and ozone.

"Then let him burn," Vivienne snapped.

Elena looked down at Dominic.

The pride he had spent a lifetime building was a pile of ash.

He was a medical titan, a man who had pioneered brain-machine interfaces, and now he was being used as the hardware.

But as Elena leaned down, her n*****s—hard as pebbles—scraping against his chest, a darker, more primitive part of him took over.

If he was going to burn, he would take them with him.

Dominic’s hands, still bound, strained against the silk as he forced his body upward.

He couldn't speak, but his eyes were a storm of fury and lust.

He began to thrust back, each movement a jagged, violent search for friction.

The serum turned the feeling of Elena’s p***y into a symphony of wet, clinging heat.

"That’s it, Doctor," Elena moaned, her composure breaking.

She forgot the needle, forgot the monitors.

She gripped the headboard, her hips slamming into his with a rhythmic, wet slapping sound that echoed in the sterile room.

"f**k me. Show me how much you hate me."

Dominic growled, his voice a raw, animalistic sound.

He was drowning in it.

He could feel Vivienne’s hand now, sliding between them, her fingers finding his balls and squeezing, sending a fresh wave of overloaded sensation through his spine.

"His dopamine levels are off the charts," Vivienne breathed, her face inches from Elena’s.

"It’s working.

The neural-link is mapping the pleasure centres."

Vivienne didn't wait anymore.

She hiked up her own skirt, the sound of tearing silk sharp in the room.

She was dripping, her p***y a dark, swollen invite. She climbed onto the bed, positioning herself over Dominic’s face.

"Drink, Dominic," she commanded, lowering her dripping p***y until it pressed against his mouth.

"Taste the betrayal."

Dominic was consumed.

He was eating Vivienne’s slick, metallic-tasting folds while Elena rode his c**k into the mattress, both women using him as a conduit for their own twisted ambitions.

The sensory overload reached a crescendo. His vision splintered into fractals of gold and blue.

He felt his climax coming like a freight train, a supernova of neural firing that threatened to stop his heart.

"Now!" Vivienne screamed.

Dominic exploded.

The orgasm was a physical assault.

He felt every drop of his c*m fire into Elena’s depths like shards of glass, his body vibrating with a force that sent the heart monitor into a flatline scream. For five seconds, he wasn't a man; he was a god of pure sensation.

Then, the crash.

The room went silent.

The monitors reset.

Elena collapsed onto him, her breath coming in heavy, post-coital sobs.

Vivienne sat back, breathless, her eyes fixed on the tablet.

"The data is perfect," Vivienne whispered. "The Syndicate will pay billions for this."

Dominic lay there, his mind slowly reassembling itself from the wreckage.

The serum was fading, leaving behind a cold, hollow ache.

He looked at the two women—the lovers who were his jailers, the students who had gutted his life.

The intercom clicked.

"Excellent work, ladies," Marcus’s voice said.

He sounded closer now. "The buyers are impressed.

But there’s a slight change in the contract."

The door to the VIP suite slid open.

Marcus Thorne walked in, flanked by two men in suits that cost more than the hospital wing.

But he wasn't looking at the men. He was looking at Elena.

"Marcus?" Elena asked, pulling her uniform together, her face turning pale.

"The data is all there. We did what you asked."

Marcus walked over to the bed, stepping over the discarded whiskey glass.

He looked down at Dominic, then back at Elena. A slow, cruel smile spread across his face.

"The Syndicate doesn't just want the neural-link, Elena," Marcus said smoothly.

He reached out and stroked her dark hair, his fingers lingering on her neck.

"They want the 'Primary Handler' to accompany the specimen to the offshore facility. They need someone he has an... established biological connection with."

Elena’s eyes went wide. "Offshore? You said we’d run the company together."

"I lied," Marcus said.

He looked at the two men behind him.

"Take her. And prep the Doctor for transport.

Vivienne stays here with me to run the domestic trials."

"No!" Elena screamed as the two men stepped forward.

She looked at Dominic, her eyes filled with a sudden, desperate terror.

She reached for his bound hand. "Dominic, tell them! Tell them you need me!"

Dominic looked at her.

The woman who had just helped violate his mind.

The woman who had held him down for the needle.

"Let her go," Dominic rasped, his voice barely audible.

Marcus laughed.

"Why? You hate her, don't you?

She’s a traitor, Dominic. Just like me."

Marcus leaned down, whispering so only Dominic could hear.

"By the way, brother...

I didn't just take your company.

I found your hidden files.

I know about 'The Staircase.' I know what you did to our father in the basement of the Oakhaven wing ten years ago."

Dominic’s heart stopped. The world went cold.

"You think you’re the victim?"

Marcus smiled, his eyes glinting with a lethal secret.

"I’m not the villain of this story,

Dominic. I’m the one finishing what you started."

Marcus turned to the guards.

"Take them both to the docks. If she screams, sedate her. If he resists... kill him. We already have his brain map."

As the guards dragged a screaming Elena toward the door and began unbolting Dominic’s bed to wheel him out, Dominic realised the true horror of his situation.

Marcus didn't just want the company. He wanted the one thing Dominic had killed to keep hidden.

And now, he was being sent to a place where no one could hear him scream—with the only woman who might actually know his secret.

The elevator doors hissed open, revealing the dark, rainy night of the docks.

"One more thing, Dominic," Marcus called out as the bed began to move.

"The Syndicate? They aren't just buyers.

They’re the people our father owed money to.

And they’ve been waiting a long time to meet the 'Genius' who let him die."

Dominic’s bed hit the wet pavement, the salt air stinging his eyes as he was loaded into the back of a black van.

He wasn't going to a lab. He was going to an execution.

Was it a setup from the start?