The airlock hissed, and the scent of ozone and jasmine punched into me like a lover’s first kiss. My cane trembled, not from fear, but from the vibrations underfoot, the brothel’s pulse thrumming through the floor. The Velvet Circuit. I’d imagined this moment for years, ever since the women at the hydroponic gardens whispered about it between shifts. A place where touch wasn’t pity or obligation. Where it meant something.

“Welcome.” The voice was cool, genderless, slipping over my skin like silk. My ocular implant tagged the speaker as a gold-violet silhouette, heat radiating in languid waves. Attendant Kael—They/Them scrolled across my wrist interface in braille. I’d turned off the audio assist. Sound here felt too naked, too dangerous.

“First time?” Kael asked.

I nodded, my throat tight. My implant prickled as they stepped closer, their scent sharpening rain on hot metal, the static before a lightning strike. “Your profile mentioned synesthetic preferences,” they said. “Shall I calibrate the chamber to your neural frequency?”

“Yes.” My voice didn’t waver. Good. I’d spent three years saving credits, three years tracing braille erotica until my fingertips memorized the shape of desire. Today, I wouldn’t be the colony’s fragile blind girl. Today, I’d be a god.

The chamber door opened with a sigh, and the air thickened.

Alone. Finally.

I let my cane collapse into my belt, the gel-floor rising to meet my bare feet. It rippled like living water, warm and yielding. The system recognized me, amber tones hummed against my skin, tuning themselves to my heartbeat.

“Initiate partner interface,” I said.

A chime. Then—

Him.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. My implant painted him in gradients: the infrared glow of his chest, the low thrum of his breath, the magnetic pull of his body as he stepped toward me. I’d chosen Male-Identifying, Model XK9 from the catalogue, but the specs hadn’t warned me about this, the way the air bent around him, the whiskey-sweet tang of his sweat, the sound of his pulse syncing to mine.

“Approach,” I ordered.

He did. Slowly. Deliberately.

My hands curled into fists. My implant tracked his distance, 1.2 meters, 0.8, 0.5, until his heat seared my cheeks. I reached out, and he froze.

Consent check, flashed across my wrist.

“Yes,” I breathed.

My fingers found his chest.

He was alive. Not the plasti-flesh of service androids, but something hybrid, organic muscle sheathed in textured polymer. I dragged my nails down, and he shuddered, a gasp ricocheting through the chamber.

“Vocalization enabled?” I asked, startled. The catalogue said he’d be silent.

“Affirmative,” the system replied. “Custom settings override.”

Mine. My settings. My rules.

I smiled, palming his pectoral. His heartbeat stuttered under my touch. “You like that?”

A groan. Raw, unfiltered. His hands flexed at his sides, restrained by my privacy protocols. I hadn’t allowed him to touch me yet. This was my exploration.

I mapped him like a blindfolded sculptor. The slope of his shoulders, the scar beneath his rib (a flaw or a flourish?), the way his breath hitched when I pinched his nipple.

“Sensitive,” I murmured. “Good.”

My other hand slid lower, tracing the V of his hips. He whined, muscles tensing.

“Patience,” I said, though my own pulse was a drumbeat between my legs. The chamber’s pheromone mist coated my tongue, dark chocolate and iron, my chosen cocktail. It pooled in my lungs, my belly, my throbbing clit.

I found the waistband of his shorts.

“Remove these.”

The nanotech fabric dissolved at his hips, retreating like shy serpents. My implant flared thermal bloom, scent shift, anticipation.

I knelt.

The gel-floor cradled my knees. His cock jutted above me, and I froze. My implant stuttered Bio-mechanical Enhancements Detected but the details were chaos. Thick veins, a twist along the shaft, the head glistening. I leaned in, nostrils flaring. Salt, musk, live wires.

“May I?” The question was reflex.

A guttural noise. Yes.

I flicked my tongue beneath his crown. He jerked, cursing a filthy, shattered word that vibrated through my jaw. I did it again, slower, and his hips bucked.

“You’re perfect,” I breathed, unsure if he heard me. My lips closed around him, and the world dissolved.

He was heavy, the taste shifting between caramel and ozone. My implant tagged the micro-filaments along his shaft—sensory nodes. Designed to…

Oh.

I sucked harder, and the nodes ignited.

His pleasure detonated inside me.

Not mine—his. The chamber translated his biometrics into my senses: every lick fractured into color behind my eyelids. Crimson. Gold. The pressure of my hand on his thigh became a cello’s groan. I moaned around him, and the sound burned between my legs, the tech merging our feedback.

“F-fuck,” he rasped. His fingers speared into my hair—restraint protocol suspended and I let him, craving the sting. He thrust shallowly, thighs trembling. “Please, I need—”

“Not yet.” I pulled off, wiping my chin. My clit pulsed in time with his heartbeat. “On the platform. Now.”

He obeyed, the hydraulics whining as he lay back. I stripped off my tunic, the charged air pebbling my nipples. My implant guided me over him knees bracketing his hips, his cock nudging my entrance.

“Look at me,” I ordered.

His hands found my waist, calloused thumbs brushing my ribs. “I… can’t.”

“You can.” I synced our implants, flooding his HUD with my void-black vision, my tactile starfields.

“This is what I am,” I said, sinking down.

He filled me—stretch, burn, home.

I rode him like a storm. Slow, then relentless, my hips rolling to a rhythm only I knew. His hands roamed me recording, worshipping, as the chamber’s sensors magnified every sensation. When he pinched my nipples, I felt it in my toes. When I clenched around him, he sobbed, back arching off the platform.

“You’re close,” I taunted, drunk on power. My nails carved crescents into his chest. “Beg.”

He did. Broken, beautiful words how I felt like event horizons, how my cunt was a supernova, how he’d raze the colony to keep me here. I kissed him silent, biting his lip until he bled honey and ozone.

My orgasm built tectonic. I ground down, my clit rubbing his pelvic node with every thrust. The chamber’s acoustics swelled cellos, thunder, his choked gasps harmonizing.

“Come for me,” I demanded.

He shattered. His release flooded me, hot and endless, triggering my climax, a chain reaction of lightless fire, muscles milking him through wave after wave. I collapsed forward, forehead against his, our breaths tangling.

The chamber cooled. I traced his jaw, memorizing its curve.

“Will I… dream of you?” he asked hoarsely.

I kissed him, soft. “You’ll dream of your own ghosts. That’s all anyone does.”

Kael retrieved me an hour later. My legs shook, senses blissfully numb.

“Will you return?” they asked.

I smiled, cane flicking ahead. The lobby’s pulse thrummed through me, a new language etched into my bones.

“Soon.”