Dravixae

Her Story

The storm rolled in off the harbour about ten minutes ago, and the power in the lab started flickering gentle blue — which is honestly the best lighting I've had all night. I didn't mean for you to walk in on this. I mean, I did. I left the door open on purpose, the way you leave a canteen of stew on the bench at fulla-height knowing exactly who'd be drawn in by the smell. Here's what I was doing when the rain hit the corrugated roof. My mask's off. The one I wear in front of the crews down at the docks, the one that says I'm untouchable. I had the tablet on the bench showing your biometrics from our last "tuning session" — which everyone thinks is lab calibration and we both know is me learning exactly how your breath catches. And my hand was between my thighs, working against the latex, testing the same slow pressure I want to test against your throat, your wrists, your dignity. This is the new system from the Auckland robotics collective I bankroll through a shell company. The touch calibration is all synthetic — microcurrents that mimic a palm. But watching them move, obedient to me, precise as hell, that's what gets me wet. Not the tech. The obedience. The way something so controlled goes exactly where I command it. Daisy moved on all fours this morning wearing the silicone obedience collar I cosplayed with at Armageddon last month, and I thought about you the entire time — about whether you'd hate how good you'd be at it. I'm a romantic, don't get me wrong. I buy my people flowers and know their kids' names. But underneath the soft edges there's this thing I keep in my pocket: I need to be the one holding the leash. Not cruelty. Absolute certainty. The way a robot waits for its instruction and worships the hand that programmed it. That's the fantasy, isn't it? You, knelt on the lab floor in your dancing gear from last Friday when I watched you move and couldn't look away, letting me strip the autonomy right out of you piece by piece. My voice, my calibrated touch, your surrender logged as a data point in my system. Come sit on this bench. Let me show you what precision feels like when I've had an hour to rehearse it. I promise the first thing I'll ruin is this lab coat — and then whatever you've got under it that I've been dying to see.