Pink and purple neon sliced through the smoke, stinging my eyes. The world had technically ended twenty-eight years ago when the Bone Temple exploded, but now? Now, things were just mixed. Cybernetic monstrosities, rogue robots, and retinal scanners shared the streets with the infected, who were bought and sold like slabs of meat. In the middle of this beautiful, chaotic hell, there was me. Sunshine.

I didn't remember where I came from or how I survived. All I knew was that the devils ruled this crazy cyber world. And he was the worst of them. Jimmy Crystal. Oh, pardon me. Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal. He demanded the full title, always.

I worked as a stripper at the Glass Glass, the only club left that featured real, breathing human dancers instead of cold, hollow holograms. Humanity was scarce, but people still needed to feel. They needed to touch. Jimmy was no exception.

The rumors said he belonged to some twisted cult, that he danced with Old Nick himself, and carried a mountain of bodies on his conscience. I didn't care. He gave me good tips, and in this world, that’s what kept you alive. Sure, he was eccentric—stalking around in a purple velour tracksuit, dripping in heavy gold necklaces, rings on every finger, and a literal tiara perched on his blonde hair. The other girls were terrified of him, of his erratic moods and that sharp, sadistic smile. But I wasn't. My kindness seemed to be the only thing that could anchor a monster like him. Whenever his heavy boots stepped into the club, his raw Scottish accent would echo over the bass: “Sunshine, lass.”

Until tonight.

Tonight, the Glass Glass was wild. I gripped the chrome pole, sliding down it with a slow, practiced grind. The cyber-mirrors were active, broadcasting my silhouette to the patrons.

Ding. Ding.

A high-roller token hit the stage. A half-cybernetic corpo rat in a synthetic tie was staring at me, drooling. I stepped closer, biting my lip provocatively, letting the neon catch the curves of my body. Dropping to my knees, I arched my back and began to shake my ass, slow and hypnotic. I giggled at the sheer desperation in his eyes.

"Enjoying the show?" I purred.

Before he could answer, the air in the room shifted. Cold. Violent.

"Not as much as you're going to enjoy mine, lass."

The raw, Scottish growl cut through the music like a blade. I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat.

The corpo rat was already on the floor. Jimmy had smashed his face into the cyber-mirror. Blood and shattered glass spilled from the man’s nose and cheeks, mixing with the neon light on the floor. The man groaned, but Jimmy didn't even look down at him. He just wiped a drop of rogue blood off his gold rings, his piercing eyes locked entirely on me.

I swallowed hard, the heat of the stage suddenly turning into ice. The crowd in the immediate area went dead silent, stepping back. Nobody intervened when Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal was on a tear.

"Jimmy..." I breathed, my chest heaving as I stayed on my knees, looking up at him.

He stepped over the groaning corpo rat, his heavy boots leaving bloody prints on the stage. The gold chains around his neck clinked musically, a stark contrast to the absolute fury rolling off him. He stopped right at the edge of the stage, towering over me. He tilted his head, the tiara catching the purple neon.

"What did I tell ye about shakin' what’s mine for the trash, Sunshine?" he asked, his voice dangerously soft, dripping with that thick Scottish brogue. He reached out, his gloved hand gripping my chin tightly, forcing my face up. His thumb pressed hard against my bottom lip, right where I had bitten it for the other man. "You look at me like that. Only me. Understand?"

I shuddered, the dominance in his voice sending a thrilling, terrifying spike of adrenaline through my veins. I was entirely at his mercy here, exposed and submissive under his heavy gaze.

"I was just doing my job, Sir," I whispered, playing into the game, my voice trembling just enough to feed his ego.

A dark, slow smile spread across Jimmy’s face. He liked the title. He liked the fear, but more than that, he liked the absolute control he had over me.

"Your job is to please me," he murmured, his grip softening just a fraction, tracing my jawline with a gold-ringed finger. He reached into his pocket and tossed a thick stack of high-value cyber-credits onto my lap, burying me in wealth. "Clean yourself up, lass. You're coming to my private room. And you're going to remind me why I haven't burned this entire club to the ground yet."

I swallowed hard, my throat feelin' dry as I stared at the shimmerin' pink glass of the private chamber’s entrance. I stepped inside, the air suddenly thick and heavy. Jimmy was there, sprawled across the plush velvet sofa, a crystal glass of amber alcohol in his hand. He didn’t look up immediately, but the atmosphere in the room shifted the moment I crossed the threshold.

I moved to the center, wrappin' my hands around the cold metal of the private dance pole.

Finally, his eyes flicked to mine. That sadistic, lopsided smile slid across his face.

"Ye’re a real piece of work, Sunshine," he rumbled, his thick Scottish accent rollin' over the words like gravel. "Dancin’ for other men? Right in front o' me? Have ye no sense o' shame, lass?"

"I… uh… I…" My heart hammered against my ribs. "It wasn’t like that, Sir."

Jimmy’s brow furrowed, his expression darkenin' into somethin' predatory. He tossed his drink aside, the glass rattlin' on the table.

"Not like that? Then what was it, eh? Enlighten me, if ye think ye can talk your way out o' this."

I didn't answer with words. I gripped the pole, locked my gaze onto his, and dropped low, lettin' my hips sway in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. I knew the white fishnets were a weakness of his—I saw his pupils dilate as he watched the movement.

A guttural, aggressive groan ripped from his throat. In a flash, he was off the sofa, his hands latchin' onto my waist with bruisin' force. He hauled me off the pole and slammed me down onto his lap. I let out a sharp, involuntary moan, my hands flyin' to his shoulders.

He didn't waste a second. His hand shot up, fingers closin' around my throat—not hard enough to choke, but enough to claim ownership. I could feel his hot, ragged breath against my skin, smellin' of spirits and smoke. He leaned in, his tongue tracin' a slow, wet line from my collarbone up to my jaw, his eyes burnin' with a mix of madness and hunger.

Then, with a blur of motion, he pulled a jagged blade from his tracksuit and held it right before my face, the metal glintin' under the pink neon.

"Old Nick was whisperin' in my ear," he growled, his voice a gravelly, terrifyin' purr against my ear. "Told me I oughta carve ye up for the disrespect, lass. Told me to let the blood flow for the sins ye've committed tonight."

He let the blade hover just millimeters from my cheek, his thumb caressin' my skin with terrifyin' tenderness.

"But I’m a merciful king, aye? And I’ve got other plans for ye tonight."

He crushed his lips to mine, the kiss hungry, sloppy, and tasting of expensive, bitter spirits. It wasn't a gentle greeting; it was a territorial claim.

"Mphm!"

I choked on a gasp as his hand tightened around my throat, his grip unforgiving. My eyes flew open, locking with his—his gaze was wild, manic, and absolutely possessive. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes raking over my flushed face.

"Wet," he murmured, his Scottish lilt thick and guttural, vibrating against my skin. "Aye, you’re very wet, aren't ye, lass?"

Before I could breathe, he slid a gold-ringed finger into the tight line of my panties. He didn't stop there. With a sudden, savage movement, he grabbed the blade he’d been brandishing and hooked the tip into the lace at my hip. With one clean, aggressive pull, he tore the white fishnet and the lace beneath it, exposing me to the cold air of the private room.

He didn't stop; he ran the flat, cold side of the knife blade slowly down the sensitive skin between my legs, tracing the shape of me until he reached the lace again, pressing the metal firmly against me.

"You’ve been a bad, bad girl," he growled, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that made my blood run cold and hot all at once.

"And you know well that when a lass acts out, she deserves a punishment."

He leaned in close, his nose brushing against mine, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic, twisted pleasure.

"Please, Sir..." I gasped, my voice trembling, tears pricking at my eyes from the sheer intensity of the sensation. "I... I’ll never do that again, I swear..."

He jammed the dull, cold steel of the blade between my legs, and a sharp, shuddering moan tore from my chest. My fingers dug deep into his velvet-clad shoulders, my knuckles turning white as I fought to steady myself against his relentless dominance.

Jimmy let out a harsh, jagged laugh, his eyes darkening with a feverish, cruel delight. He leaned in, his stubble grazing my ear as he whispered, "Oh, aye? You’re beggin’ now, are ye? I love that, lass. I love hearin’ you plead when you know you’re mine."

He held the handle of the knife with a steady, practiced hand, the cold metal shifting inside me. He began to twist it, the flat, rounded pommel of the blade pressing firmly against my sensitive folds, working them in a rhythmic, deliberate massage that forced me to arch my back against him. Every time I whimpered, he’d press harder, his thumb tracing the lace he’d torn, ensuring I couldn't escape his touch.

"You’re beggin’ like a good little thing," he crooned, his Scottish brogue thick and syrupy, dripping with malice and desire. "But you know the rules, Sunshine. A dance for another man... that’s a debt you’ve gotta pay. And I’m the only one who collects."

He increased the pressure of the blade, his movements becoming more frantic and demanding. The contrast between the cold metal and the heat of his skin against mine was maddening, leaving me completely undone.

"Does it feel good, being broken in, lass?" he growled against my neck, his hot breath sending shivers down my spine.

-You think you can dance for others huh? Your mine!

“Yes, yes Sir” - I moaned loudly and started bucking my hips into a blade. It was a strange cold feeling but I liked it.

My eyes were open when he dig not one not two, but three fingers inside you and burred them deep

"Yes... yes, Sir!" I shrieked, the sound muffled by my own gasps as I began to buck my hips against the rhythmic slide of the steel. It was a bizarre, chilling sensation—that razor-cold metal tracing my heat—but it sparked a fire in me that I couldn't extinguish.

Jimmy’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as he watched me fall apart for him. He moved faster, his movements jagged and unrelenting. To get better access, he splayed me wide with his gold-ringed fingers, his grip bruising against my inner thighs.

SLAP.

The sharp, stinging impact of his open palm against my sensitive skin made me cry out, my head whipping back.

"Count, lass," he hissed, his Scottish accent like a serrated blade. "Count the payment for your sin."

"O-one," I sobbed, my voice trembling.

He struck me again, harder, the heat radiating where he hit. "Two."

With every strike, the contrast between the freezing blade and the burning sting of his palm sent waves of liquid pleasure through me. I was melting, my body betraying me, soaking the velvet of his tracksuit. By the time I reached ten, the world was a blur of neon and pain. Tears tracked through my smudged mascara, leaving dark, ruined streaks down my cheeks.

"Good girl," he growled, the praise dripping with possessive malice. "Now... come for me."

I didn't have to be told twice. My control shattered. But Jimmy wasn't finished with the game. Just as I crested, he shoved not one, not two, but three of his fingers deep inside me, burying them to the knuckles, anchoring me to his lap. He felt me spasm and collapse around him, a shuddering, ruined mess.

He leaned forward, his face inches from mine, his blue eyes icy and burning with a terrifying, absolute claim.

"You think you can dance for another, eh?" he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that echoed in my bones. "You think you’re free to be looked at by the likes of that rat?"

He twisted his fingers inside me, making me gasp and arch my back.

"Look at me, Sunshine. Keep your eyes on me! You’re mine. My little toy, my little prize

He didn't slow his pace; if anything, he became more relentless, his fingers pumping in and out of me with a rhythmic, demanding force that left me gasping for air. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of friction and heat that climbed higher and higher until my head fell back, my eyelids fluttering toward the white, and my vision splintered into shards of neon light.

"Look at ye," he rasped, his Scottish brogue thick with a mix of cruel adoration and unbridled lust. "Like a fallen angel, darlin'. Old Nick himself would love ya, aye... he'd love to drag a prize like you down to the depths."

I couldn't help the sound that tore from my throat—a shattered, broken moan that echoed against the small, cramped walls of the room. The tide of pleasure hit me, a violent, electric surge that radiated from where his fingers were buried deep inside. I lost all ability to hold myself together; my body began to tremble, every muscle locked in a frantic, uncontrollable spasm.

"Oh yes! Oh, yeeeeees!" I cried out, my voice cracking under the intensity.

Jimmy’s expression shifted, his face twisting into a mask of triumph as he watched me completely unravel. He didn't pull back—he pressed deeper, feeding on my reaction, drinking in the sight of his "Sunshine" broken and gasping on his lap. He thrived on it, the way I completely surrendered to the punishment and the pleasure alike.

"That's it, lass," he growled, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against my skin. "Give it all to me.

He didn't give me a moment to catch my breath. His fingers coiled into my hair, pulling sharply until my head tilted back, exposing my throat to him. He dragged me off the sofa and across the floor, forcing me onto the small, circular platform at the base of the pole.

When the haze of the orgasm finally started to recede, I cracked my eyes open. His purple velour jacket lay on the floor, and his white tank top was damp with exertion. His trousers were slung dangerously low, exposing the raw, thick dick. I wasn't sure if my body could handle more, but the electric charge between us was intoxicating. Even through the fear, a desperate, dark craving pulsed in my stomach, demanding more of his sadistic attention.

"Do the pose," he rasped. His Scottish brogue was heavy, thick with the weight of his command.

My knees hit the platform with a dull thud. I reached up, my palms sliding against the cold metal of the pole, and twisted my torso. I arched my spine, letting my weight shift until my curves were perfectly displayed for him. I felt like a sacrificial offering, waiting for the blade.

Jimmy loomed over me, his silhouette casting a long, jagged shadow across the neon-soaked room. He paced slowly, He didn't touch me yet; he simply let his gaze crawl over the reddened skin of my inner thighs and the ruined lace of my lingerie.

"Aye, look at ye," he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating growl that seemed to echo inside my very bones. "A broken little doll, waitin' to be told her worth."

He stepped between my splayed legs, his knees pinning my thighs into the platform. He reached out, his calloused palm tracing the line of my hipbone, his heavy gold rings scraping ever so slightly against my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

He tightened his grip on my hair just enough to command my absolute attention.

"Look at me," he demanded, his blue eyes flashing with a terrifying, possessive intensity.

The friction was maddening, his heavy, thick cock stretching me to my absolute limit. I gasped as he hit every sensitive pussy nerve, his rhythm brutal and calculated. He knew exactly how to make me unravel, and I loved every agonizing second of it.

He lunged forward, teeth baring as he sank them into the soft skin of my shoulder. The sting was electric—a sharp, searing heat—and before the pain could even register, I felt his tongue dragging over the puncture, lapping up the tiny, crimson beads of blood. The taste of copper and sweat was intoxicating. His pace accelerated, his hips slamming into mine with a relentless, mechanical force. My body was a ruin of pleasure, my walls spasming and hungrily swallowing him, clutching at him as if I couldn't bear to let him out.

"Aye, that's it, lass!" he growled, his voice a guttural, primal sound vibrating against my neck. "Swallow it all! You’re mine, you hear me? Only mine!"

The room blurred. The pink and purple neons danced behind my eyelids, dissolving into white-hot flashes. I couldn't stop the moans; they ripped from my throat, raw, sloppy, and unbidden. My head was spinning as his pace became manic, a desperate, driving rhythm that left me no room to breathe.

Suddenly, he gripped my hips, his gold-ringed fingers digging into my flesh, and he thrust deep, burying himself to the hilt. A low, animalistic snarl tore from his chest as he surged, spilling his white sperm into me, filling me until I felt like I was being claimed from the inside out. I collapsed against the pole, my knees giving out as a tidal wave of pleasure shattered what was left of my composure.

He didn't pull away. He held me pinned, his chest heaving, his breath ragged and hot against my ear. As his pulse began to slow, he leaned in, his lips wet and stained, and pressed a firm, territorial kiss against the mark he’d left on my shoulder.

He pulled back just enough to catch my gaze in the cyber-mirror. His face was a mask of dark, triumphant hunger, his eyes burning with an icy, possessive flame. He reached down and roughly dragged his discarded purple velour jacket off the floor, wrapping it around my shoulders, effectively cocooning me in his scent—the smell of expensive alcohol, steel, and him.

He swept me up into his arms, ignoring the mess we’d made, ignoring the club outside.