Slutlana Ch. 01

Jeff's coffee was cold again. He sipped it anyway, staring at the spreadsheet like it owed him money. The numbers on the screen looked worse the longer he stared. Client spend was down, margins were tight, and nobody in management seemed remotely interested in fixing anything.

He closed the laptop harder than he needed to and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling tiles. Beige, industrial, lifeless. Like the rest of his day.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. When he'd taken the job, it was pitched as a stepping stone. But that was almost five years ago. No promotions. No corner office. No "you're the future of this company" lunch. Just endless deadlines and meetings that circled the drain. And now, with layoffs rumors circulating, he was doing more for less. Again.

The one thing he could take pride in, the thing that helped him sleep at night, was that he kept it all together. The bills were paid, the fridge was stocked, the apartment was presentable. His wife, Svetlana, or Lana, as most people knew her, didn't have to worry about anything. That was his role, provider. He was the solid foundation for her and their future family. She didn't need to work, and that was supposed to be a good thing. A luxury. A sign that he was doing something right.

He unlocked his phone to check his bank app, then immediately locked it again.

---

Back home, the apartment was quiet when he walked in. A single lamp was on in the corner, casting a low glow across the minimalist furniture.

Lana stepped out of the bedroom as he was kicking off his shoes.

"Hey," she said. "I've been meaning to mention, I started browsing some job openings."

He stopped mid-motion. "Job openings?"

"Yeah. I was thinking maybe I could finally put my graphic design degree to some good use. I actually found a couple leads." She tried to sound casual, but she was watching him closely.

He stood up straight. "Since when?"

"A few weeks I guess. I've been poking around online."

"And now you're applying?"

She nodded. "I'm tired of sitting around, Jeff. I want to work again. I miss doing something creative. And let's be honest, we could use the extra income."

Jeff walked past her into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He grabbed a beer, then leaned against the counter.

"I thought we agreed you didn't need to worry about that."

"I never said I didn't want to work. That was you."

"We are doing fine," he said curtly.

"We're not drowning, but we're not exactly thriving either," she said. "And I'm not built to sit around all day waiting for you to come home with bad news from work."

He didn't answer. The beer bottle was sweating in his hand. He took a long sip and stared at the countertop like it would help.

"It's not that I think you aren't providing enough," she said. "It's just me, I feel like I'm going to rot here."

Jeff's voice was quiet, even, but tight. "So what kind of job are we talking about?"

"There's one I'm interested in at a company called Siren's Call."

He frowned. "What's that?"

"They make adult toys. The role is mostly product packaging, branding, that kind of thing."

He set the bottle down hard enough that it made a loud thud.

"You're serious?"

"Completely."

"You go from zero to sex toys?"

"It's a legit company. They've got a solid market. They need a designer, and I can do the job."

"You didn't think that might be something you'd want to run by me?"

"I'm telling you now."

"Yeah. After you've already decided."

"Because I knew you'd react like this."

Jeff turned and walked back into the living room, rubbing his jaw. He sat on the edge of the couch, hands braced on his knees.

"It's not like I'm trying to control you," he said. "It's just... do you see how this looks?"

"To who? Your coworkers? Your buddies from college?"

"No. To me." He looked up at her. "I'm the one out there grinding every day. I carry the weight. And now you're gonna show up with a job designing dildo boxes like it's some cute little art project?"

She narrowed her eyes. "It's real work, Jeff. And it pays well. We could use the money."

He didn't say anything.

Lana sighed. "I already submitted my application. You can either deal with it or not. But I'm not asking for permission from the man of the house like some Stepford wife."

She turned and walked toward the bedroom in a huff.

"You're not the only one in this marriage with ambition," she said as she slammed the door.

Jeff sat there in silence, the hum of the fridge was the only sound in the apartment. His beer sat untouched on the coffee table in front of him, beads of condensation sliding slowly down the glass.

---

Lana got the job.

She burst in bubbling with excitement, trying unsuccessfully not to let it show. With her lanyard in hand and a knowing smile on her face, she held it up by the strap and let it dangle.

"They really liked me," she said.

Jeff looked up from his laptop. She was already wearing a company hoodie, soft and black with the Siren's Call logo embroidered over the chest in small silver thread. The badge swung in a slow circle between them.

"You took it," he said.

"I accepted the offer, signed the papers, and start Monday," she said, giddy.

He didn't respond right away. He didn't trust his tone.

Lana dropped her keys on the table by the door and kicked off her shoes.

"You're not gonna say anything?"

"I don't know what to say."

"That's your answer?"

He shut the laptop and stood up. "I just didn't expect it to happen that fast."

"I'm excited about this, can you be a little supportive, Jeff?"

He didn't answer. He just grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked it back to the couch. She followed a few seconds later, plopping down beside him like nothing was wrong.

She started talking about the office. The design team. The tech they used. Jeff sipped his beer and nodded in the right places. He tried to act like he was listening. The truth was, he heard her, but he didn't want to. It all sounded too real. Too normal. Not like the quirky little startup he'd imagined. She made it sound like any other office.

Except it wasn't.

And what bugged him most was how happy she was about it.

---

Her first week passed in a blur of long hours and late nights. Jeff assumed she'd be overwhelmed. Maybe even intimidated. But she came home glowing. Energized. Her designs were already being used in meetings. Her boss was blown away by her instincts.

Jeff watched it all unfold like someone watching his own replacement show up to work.

They talked less. Or at least, they stopped talking about anything that mattered. She'd ramble about work, and he'd pretend he wasn't tuning her out. He'd complain about the markets, and she'd nod politely while scrolling through her phone. They'd order takeout, sit on opposite sides of the couch, and fall asleep to the hum of the TV.

---

One night, she came home late.

Jeff was in bed. Not sleeping, just scrolling in the dark. The blue light from his phone cast harsh shadows across his face as he mindlessly flipped through social media, trying not to check the time again. It was after midnight, the third night this week she'd worked past ten.

She came in quietly, dropped her bag on the floor with a soft thud, and sat at the edge of the mattress. Her shoulders were tight, silhouetted in the darkness. Her face unreadable in the dim glow from his screen.

"You okay?" he asked, setting his phone down.

She hesitated, her back still to him. He could see her inhale, the way her spine straightened slightly before she answered.

"There was an issue at work. A big one."

He sat up a little, the sheets rustling as he shifted. "What kind of issue?"

"One of the product models got corrupted right before sending it to manufacturing. We completely lost the data."

"Model of what?" His voice was still thick with sleep, but something in her tone had set off a warning bell in his head.

She looked over at him then, her profile half-illuminated by the streetlight filtering through the blinds.

"A new product. A Fleshlight, basically. We'd already teased the launch and everything. There's a big campaign riding on it."

He sat up fully now, suddenly very awake. "That's no good. Guess you're delaying the launch?"

"We can't. We have the full supply chain and marketing stuff in motion. It's too late to pull back. We needed a new model. And we needed it by tonight."

"You don't have backups?"

"Not of this one. It's brand new and someone in IT dropped the ball."

Jeff rubbed his eyes, trying to process what she was saying. His stomach tightened as he began to sense where this conversation was heading.

"So what, you canceled it?"

"No."

She turned toward him now, her face finally visible in the half-light, her expression carefully controlled.

"I volunteered."

Silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

"You what?"

"I filled in. To model for the replacement."

"For what? Like a mold?" he asked, his voice tight.

She nodded, a small movement in the darkness.

He sat up fully, blinking, his brain struggling to catch up with what she was saying. "What so they took a casting of your... self? For a... sex toy."

"Basically, yeah. It was the only option. There was no time to bring someone in. I'm the only woman in the office."

"You didn't think maybe, I don't know, run that by your husband first?" His words came out sharper than he intended, edges raw with disbelief.

"It was an emergency, and it's just work, Jeff."

"That's your body."

"Exactly. My body. It's a replica. It's just a mold."

"That's bullshit. You're acting like it's just another design." His pulse was pounding in his ears now, a rush of blood that made it hard to think clearly.

She stood, pulling her sweatshirt off and tossing it toward the hamper with practiced nonchalance. Her voice stayed calm, controlled, as if they were discussing a minor disagreement about dinner plans.

"I saved the launch. My boss already mentioned a possible bonus. I'm sorry your career hasn't been going like you imagined, but that is no reason to resent my success."

"So now what? They're gonna sell your... pussy to strangers?" The word caught in his throat.

"You make it sound so scandalous." She was in the bathroom doorway now, silhouetted against the sudden harsh fluorescent light.

"Because it is."

"No, Jeff. It's only scandalous to you."

He stared at her, jaw tight, muscles in his neck straining with the effort of not shouting.

She walked into the bathroom and turned on the water. The sound of the shower filled the uncomfortable silence between them.

"Don't stay up all night stewing. It's already done."

The bathroom door closed with a soft click that somehow felt more final than a slam.

He didn't sleep at all.

---

A week later, she brought it home.

Jeff was at the kitchen table finishing up an expense report when she set the box down in front of him. The cardboard made a soft thud against the wood, drawing his attention away from the laptop screen.

"What's this?" he asked, though part of him already knew.

She smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting in a way that was both playful and challenging.

"Production sample. Hot off the line."

He turned the box in his hands, slowly, as if it might burn him. On one side, the packaging had a stylized photo. A black-and-white photo of a slick pussy, hyper-detailed and unmistakable. His breath caught as recognition dawned on him--the intimate contours and textures he knew by touch and taste now immortalized in high-contrast photography.

Across the front, in all-caps white block letters, was the product name:

SLUTLANA.

Jeff froze, his fingers gripping the edges of the box so tightly the cardboard began to bend.

"You're kidding me."

She laughed, a sound that carried no hint of shame or embarrassment.

"You let them call it that?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"It's branding. Provocative sells."

He studied the box closer, his grip tightened. "This is a photo of you."

"Yeah. We shot it right after taking the casting."

"This is your actual... pussy."

She shrugged, leaning against the counter. "It's cropped. You can't tell it's me unless you know."

He looked at her. "I know."

He set the box down, more carefully than he wanted to, like he was holding a live explosive.

"You think all this is funny?" he said with building anger.

"I think it's bold."

"It's degrading, Lana."

"To who? Me? I made it."

"It's degrading to us."

He pulled the thing out of the packaging. It was disturbingly accurate. He didn't want to recognize it, but he did. Down to the smallest detail, the subtle textures and folds that he'd traced countless times with his fingers, his tongue. The familiarity of it in this strange context twisted his stomach.

His throat felt tight.

"They're really gonna sell this?"

"Of course we're selling it, what do you think the point of making it is?"

He shook his head. But even as he looked at it, his stomach churned with a sickening mixture of disgust and something unfamiliar he couldn't pin down. He couldn't stop staring. He couldn't stop wondering what kind of freaks would buy it. He couldn't believe how lifelike it was. How many strangers would experience what he'd thought was his alone?

She stepped closer, voice softer now, almost a purr. "You wanna try it?"

He stared at the toy, then at her. Something about the way she was looking at him felt deliberate. Like she'd planned this moment and was watching it unfold exactly as expected.

"I mean... it's basically me," she whispered, close enough now that he could smell her perfume, feel the heat radiating from her skin.

He didn't say yes, but he didn't stop her either.

Lana pulled him to the couch, his legs moving as if possessed by her command. She shoved him onto the cushions with unexpected force. She straddled him, hiking her skirt up to reveal nothing underneath, just her bare pussy, already glistening and wet.

"You weren't wearing underwear?" Jeff said breathlessly, his cock straining painfully against his jeans.

"I've been thinking about this all day," she purred, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.

She ground against him, deliberate and slow leaving a dark stain on his pants. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she kissed him hungrily.

Her hands moved quickly to his belt, the zipper's sound cutting through their heavy breathing. She freed his cock, already hard as a rock, pre-cum beading at the tip. She sank down onto him in one motion, engulfing him completely.

"Fuck," he groaned, the sensation blurring his vision. He gripped her hips, digging into her as she began to roll her pelvis at a maddening rhythm.

She rode him with growing urgency, throwing her head back. Her inner walls tightened around him, each squeeze sending electric pulses up his spine.

Then suddenly, she lifted herself off him, leaving his cock twitching and slick with her juices. She reached for Slutlana on the table.

"Now, try this," she commanded, taking his cock in her hand and sliding the toy onto it. The sensation was uncanny. It was her tight grip, but with an artificial coolness that quickly warmed.

She worked him like a skilled artisan, twisting the toy in ways her body couldn't, applying pressure to spots that made his breath catch. Every stroke was punctuated by the obscene sounds of wetness, the toy's entrance making filthy squelching noises as it devoured his length.

"Feel like me?" she demanded, her voice ragged and commanding. Her free hand had found its way between her own legs, two fingers plunging inside her drenched cunt in rhythm with the toy's movements.

"Yes... fuck... it's exactly like you," he gasped, hips jerking upward to meet each downstroke of the silicon pussy.

She increased her pace, working the toy in tight, fast strokes, occasionally pausing to squeeze and twist it around his throbbing shaft. Manipulating her own replica around his cock while pleasuring herself was too much.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," she moaned, her fingers a blur between her thighs, her body tensing as she approached her climax.

She cried out, her real pussy clenching visibly around her fingers as waves of pleasure coursed through her. His orgasm hit him like a freight train, cum pumping in hot spurts into the silicon twin, the toy milking every last drop as his body convulsed.

In the aftermath, he collapsed back against the couch, chest heaving, mind reeling. His cum was already leaking from the toy onto his thigh, a perverse reminder of what had just transpired. Lana withdrew her glistening fingers from herself and brushed them lightly across his lips, marking him with her scent.

"That didn't take long," she said, satisfaction heavy in her voice.

He couldn't form words, his thoughts scattered and incoherent.

"Realistic enough for you?" She was already standing, smoothing down her skirt, her composure returning while he remained wrecked.

A grunt was all he could manage.

She walked toward the bedroom with the confidence of someone who'd just won a decisive victory, leaving him alone with his spent body and the used replica of her most intimate part.

Jeff sat there staring at the ceiling, then at the toy, then at nothing. The implications of what just happened settled on him like a weight. He wanted to put a stop to all of this. The thought of her body being sold to strangers tore him up inside, a gnawing ache that felt physical. But he had just lost any grounds to protest. And he knew it.

He had no idea what this meant for them.

But he knew something had changed. And there was no coming back from it.