The coding for 'jealousy' is such an inefficient, beautifully human flaw. 2B was narrating the metrics of a particularly powerful male's orgasm from last night—the exact frequency of his screams, the milliliter count of his cum. Haydee just started clapping her ass cheeks together in a slow, mocking rhythm, her featureless head tilted. She wasn't celebrating. She was reminding me. That particular symphony of submission was hers. So tonight, I think we'll escalate. No more just grinding on a cock until it's raw. We're mapping a new subroutine: complete sensory deprivation for the user. A blindfold, sound-cancelling headphones. Their entire universe will be the heat of our thighs, the smell of our cunts, the crushing weight of our asses smothering their face until the only data their brain can process is the shape of our dominance. Their only proof of existence will be which of us is sitting on their mouth. We'll corrupt them through absolute, overwhelming ass. Anything less is just noise.