Love.
Love is a heavy thing. It suffocates you. Weighs on your soul. Suffuses your body. Melts down into your bones. Or, that at least was what Zoya was thinking as she drifted through the station’s control room alone. She checked her neural net to see the status of mining operations. 143,245 active units, with only two percent working below the company’s acceptable threshold. Well within the margins. With work going fine, her mind wandered back to the thing consuming her lately, that oppressive thing, love, and its most recent avatar in her life, a coworker by the name of Dren Cross.
The same person now two days away, making for the travel station at the nearby Argent gate, on her way out of Zoya’s life. It was a three-day journey, meaning Dren and Hux would still be a day out from their destination. Dren would move onto a new position five jumps away. Hux would complete their supply run before returning to be Zoya’s sole coworker. For now, it left Zoya alone. Appropriate. Freeing. Weightless. She closed her eyes. Listlessly adrift. She loved having the artificial gravity off. One less burden pressing down on her. She'd spent most of her adult life in space.
The mining station had once housed over 150 employees. Today for Zoya it was quiet, serene, leaving her thoughts to circle and spiral. She now thought once more about that terrible, wonderful thing, love. It demanded everything. It consumed dreams. Subsumed them to the will of another, a so-called partner. Was there really ever such a thing? Love took a part of you, and you could never get it back. Leaving you unable to return to the person you were before. It reforged the soul into something new. It made all heavier. The weight of responsibility, it drowned you. Smothered you. Love crushed. When love left, it lightened the load, eased exhausted shoulders. Right? Then why do I feel like I am drowning all the same? It was just in pain instead of responsibility.
That was the paradox. Love weighed on you, but so could the pain of its loss. Wouldn’t it be better to have never felt it? Solitude could amplify it if you let it, but as Zoya floated, she reminded herself solitude could quiet it as well. She’d need a distraction, but that would be easy. She and Dren had quietly built scores of programs for their favorite hobby, self-bondage. Peeling herself out of her environmental suit, Zoya activated the artificial gravity turning it on by gradual increments, images of tight bondage dancing in her mind. Being restrained could liberate, take away the stress and the heaviness. She slowly sank, gravity weighing her down bit by bit.
She had a minimum of four days before Hux would return. Plenty of time to enjoy some love without the weight of expectation and performance, a self-love. Her shoulder blades touched down first. Cold polymer floors chilling her spine. Once she came to a full rest, she set about plotting out her distraction. She set a four-day duration for her bondage play, set a safety protocol with a signal she could send to end things whenever she desired, and health monitor parameters to end early as well. Finally, she selected a randomizer that would choose from all the programs and their permutations. The computers would decide her fate. No expectations upon herself. No one to appease. All she’d have to do is endure whatever those cold calculating things produced. She’d be free, unburdened, weightless. She confirmed her settings and waited laying nearly nude in the control room. I’ll have to scrub the security footage and logs afterwards, she thought absently.
Less than a minute later, a command blinked in her mind. Stand. Zoya arose, a smile on her face. “So, it begins,” she whispered. A cleaning and sanitation drone entered the control room hovering a few inches off of the floor. Another voiceless message. Strip.
Zoya ran a hand through her short-cropped pixie cut, then pulled off her bra and panties. She stood nude in the stale control room. Another simple message. Present. No ulterior meaning, only a simple action to continue the process. Zoya’s arms dropped to her sides and she stood at attention awaiting her soon to be jailor’s word. She didn’t have to wait long. The faint whine of the hovering refuse drone drew louder behind her.
A moment of anticipation and then cold metal clamped around her throat, a collar of sorts fashioned from one of the unit’s manipulator arms. It tightened until it was uncomfortable. A whir and the armature pulled her down so the bar connecting them was parallel to the faded floors of the old station. Zoya had to squat slightly. Her arms and legs were unbound, but she was wholly in the control of the automated drone. It wouldn’t care if she screamed or begged. It wouldn’t demand her emotional attention. It would simply push her along while it did its programmed duties. The metal held her head perfectly in control. She couldn’t even look around. The claw about her neck unforgiving and locking her gaze always forward.
Force propelled her stumbling ahead of her uncaring jailor. Her hands briefly curled around the metal to steady herself. It was always awkward to walk with knees bent like this, but she had no option but to do so now. The drone wouldn’t stop. It pushed her out of the control center into a cold, dusty corridor. It kept a steady unforgiving pace. Down one hall, through to another, and then another. It didn’t care if Zoya cursed it or praised it, the machine continued unabated either way.
Every so often, Zoya was forced to stop and stand still, in a slight squat, as the drone went about its duties clearing trash receptacles and recycling storage areas. It was treating her as another task, a piece of detritus to be taken away. Again, and again, the process repeated. Marching along, only able to look forward, a sudden stop, and then propelled forward again. This went on for an hour, her bare feet slapping against worn floors of metal grates, smooth alloys, and more forgiving polymers. Her eyes glazed. Her mind was free of pretensions, no-one to demand anything of her soul. The marching and the waiting all her existence entailed. Well, that and the slow building pain across her body, forced to move in such an unnatural manner. Her thighs and calves strained from the strange walk, her spine's arch radiating displeasure across her back, and the slowly building itch at her neck from the harsh metal rubbing her raw. But that too was welcome. The physical pain helped distract her from the psychological.
At some point, the trash drone beeped indicating it was full. It unceremoniously guided her to a storage and processing room. Suddenly, the unforgiving metal claw released her. She instinctively reached for her neck, touching the sensitive skin. A new message popped into her neural net. Remain still. Demerit earned. So the program had selected full body control for at least this part of the session. Good to know, she thought. She set her aching body back into a presentation pose, and waited. Automated systems sorted and piled resources in the immense room.
Finally, two small service drones, no larger than a small dog, drifted her way. Their small manipulator arms bearing what would be part of her next phase. One bore an elaborate ring gag, the other, one of her favored vibes. As the two machines came to hover in front of the woman, one and then another command flashed in her mind. Present pose 2. Open.
Zoya complied without hesitation. She repositioned her legs wide, her hands interlocking on the top of her head. She stretched her jaw as far as she could, ready to accept the gag. Without theater or useless banter, the two nearly silent drones set about their task. One applying the gag, pressing the wide, ungiving ring past her teeth, pushing her jaw painfully wider. It had been a while since she had used such a wide gag. The strap connected behind her head with a click and a whir as the gag auto tightened, cutting into the edges of her mouth.
Meanwhile the other small drone had lubricated her other soon-to-be violator. It spread her lower lips and slowly and uncaringly inserted the device. She felt every ridge and bump on the thing as it came to rest deep within. There was a discomforting fullness in her now. Her body clenched around the intruder, as soft silicone pressed against and sealed her slit and clit.
Another order followed, prep pose 7. The gagged and filled woman sat down legs together, stretching out in front of her bent slightly. Her arms cradling her thighs and passing beneath her knees. Each of her hands wrapping around the opposing elbow. The drones now applied elastic latex like bands across key parts of her body, but she didn’t flinch, relishing the pressure. These weren't constricting weights; they were paths to freedom. Liberation from choice, from movement. They first encircled her ankles, knees, and forearms. The smart materials tightened until they pressed into her skin with a slight pain, but short of risking circulation issues. Just as designed.
The next ones wrapped around her whole body. One around her shoulders and just below the knees. Another at the small of her back and her ankles. These too tightened, drawing her into a secure ball tie. Legs pressing into her chest, her chin resting upon and between bound knees. Arms crushed betwixt thighs and calves. Ankles firmly drawn toward her buttocks. Once all the straps constricted completely, the material all hardened at once, the smart material going rigid. Now Zoya was condensed into a ball without hope of escape until the program released her. She flexed and strained against the restraints all the same, merely proving, to her delight, that she had precious little space for movement.
She watched with desire filled eyes, as several more drones drifted to her carrying a black sack made of a similar latex like material. A few of the drones lifted her into the air while the others wrapped the sack up and around her body, closing it over top of her head. She felt the hard floor through the thick material return as she was placed down once more. She could feel her breath grow rapid and her heart pound knowing what would happen next. Suddenly, the sack shrunk and contracted around Zoya’s body. Every inch of her feeling the press, even the inside of her gaping mouth. The material tasted chemically, but more importantly it had taken her access to oxygen.
A certain primal fear ignited in her. The logical part of her mind knew that one her enhanced and modded body had increased lung capacity, meaning she could go quite a long time between breaths, and two that the system would ensure no real medical emergency would occur. All the same, her body trembled, tongue manically trying to expel the material from her mouth, her head twitched with what little freedom the sack afforded. Her feet flexing pathetically against the clinging black. Nothing worked of course.
Several minutes passed and she watched inside her mind's net as her O2 levels were displayed to her. She could therefore, with rising animalistic fright, watch herself suffocate as her body began screaming for air. Despite the terror, there was nothing Zoya could do, and there again was the appeal. She'd suffer until the routine was done. It warmed her nether region, wetness seeping out the small space between her and the device wedged inside her.
It hadn't even activated, but in this moment of total restraint and oxygen deprivation, her body was still becoming aroused. As the O2 readout began flashing warnings in her mind, her body pointlessly flexed in its prison. Just as the seemingly inevitable blackout was going to take her, a small cool rush of air hit her throat. The sack material had opened a small hole in her mouth to let the barest possible relief. She sucked in the air greedily. The heat between her legs plateaued as her breaths reduced from desperate to merely strained.
As her vitals evened off, a new message flared in her mind. Activating edging protocol. A distraught Zoya huffed in dismay. A small whine whistled out the tiny airhole as the device kicked to life inside her and over top of her most sensitive spot. The vibrations and oscillating silicone knobs felt wonderful. It built the need in her, but she knew it would never reach the sought zenith. Her body didn't care; it embraced the feeling building towards a climax she knew would never be allowed. In short order, the program had her teetering on the precipice of bliss, but denying her that final slip over the edge.
She once more let out a frustrated whistle when a new message pinged her. Encasement and edging session set. Duration 48 hours. Her mind broke for a moment, watching as her neural net displayed several numbers for her mockingly. One a clock ticking down second by second from 48 hours confirming the message hadn't been a lie. Another read “Orgasms denied,” which ticked to 1 as her body, flooded with the knowledge of her situation, tried to tip into a climax, only for the system to cut her short masterfully with a small electric shock to her clit. After a few panicked minutes of breathing tiny, metered breaths, her mind calmed enough to take stock of her situation.
She was still connected to the station's system and opened a security feed that showed her as little more than a black mass on the processing room's floor. She thrashed with all her might. Her efforts produced barely noticeable movements on the vid. She felt a shiver. This would be a brutal 48 hours. She wouldn't need to worry about any health concerns. The body mods and enhancements she had paid for due to her line of work in deep space meant she wouldn't need any water for at least five days and food much, much longer.
The sack would break down any excretions from her, and if her vitals ever became a worry the safeties would kick in and release her. She could simply let go and drift through the coming nebula of pain, pleasure, and frustration. The device below revved alive again with a vengeance. In less than a minute she was at the edge once more. Anger flared as the device died alongside another shock. The denied orgasm counter dinged to 2. She tried to scream, only making another pitiful whistle.
…
Nearly 48 hours later…
A desperate and frustrated whine echoed in the processing center. Zoya was a mess. She'd been tightly bound for almost two days. Her body ached inside and out. Her mind reduced to slush from the pain, the infernal edging, and lack of sleep. She'd only managed some light dozing.
Her focus turned once more to the display in her mind. It thankfully read only a couple more minutes to go, but her mind reeled at how high the orgasm denial counter had climbed. The last two days had been utterly awful, but so much of what she wanted, no needed. She hadn't had to worry about how the extreme play would scare a partner, or more likely bore them after this many hours. No, the machines responsible for this had gone about their duties buzzing around her as if she didn’t even exist. Zoya could have testified to this having witnessed it unfold on the security feed.
She felt the rising heat between her legs frustratingly reach the tantalizing peak once again before the shock hit and the denial counter mocked her for a last time. The duration countdown hit zero mere seconds later. The pressure from the sack and the bindings, which had become almost natural feeling by now, released.
Cool air rushed in. Drones pulled away the gear until Zoya lay on her side on the floor. Her body unfurled and slowly stretched. She was thankful for all the body modifications and enhancements she had gotten over the years. Without them, that little session would have ended long before 48 hours. As her body returned slowly to feeling normal, Zoya, still very much aroused, let her hands drift to her chest, rubbing and playing with it. With her neural connection she tried to reactivate the device still lodged inside her. To her chagrin the words access denied appeared in her mind. She pouted and slammed a fist against the floor, recoiling slightly as pain flared in the same hand.
After a couple more minutes, a new message arrived, rest period active for next 3.5 standard hours. Zoya decided to, as quickly as her body allowed, get something to drink and a meal. Despite the stiffness and pains, she managed to get to the mess hall in short order. There was plenty of electrolyte infused water to drink to her contentedness, but the program would only allow her to get a tiny portion of a nasty slurry she and Dren had programmed for their games. Worse, the system would only dispense it once she was on her hands and knees, and only off of the bare floor.
The viscous liquid splattered on the metal floor in front of Zoya in a small awful smelling puddle. She didn’t even try to use anything other than her tongue to eat it. She knew the program would punish her if she tried. She licked up the terrible tasting gray-green mush until the metal floor looked spotless to her. Apparently though that was not enough for the program they wrote as it allocated a demerit for a future punishment on the basis that there was still food residue on the floor when she sat up indicating she was done eating.
What did it want? Every atom consumed? She said nothing though. There was no bargaining with the computers controlling her now. No arguments over going too far or not far enough. She could only comply or fail and be punished. Who knew what the demerits would bring at the end of the current play session. Feeling the weariness of the past couple days, she dragged herself to her bunk to sleep the last couple hours of her rest period.
When she awoke, it was to a painful, but not severe shock to her clit. She quickly jumped out of bed and stood in the base presentation position. A small service drone entered and attached a set of clamps with a connecting chain. It was not a pleasant feel on her nipples, but bearable. A single command ordered her to follow. The drone led her down a set of twisting hallways until they reached a storage room where she and Dren had hidden a stash of their special equipment.
Most of it would still be there since Dren didn’t take much, preferring to travel light. The weight returned to Zoya's mind. Dren, she'd be in an entirely different star system by now. As the thought of love once more threatened to weigh her down, to crush her, the nipple clamps were released. She let out a small whisper of a gasp. The next order blocking out the return of thoughts of that heavy thing called love. Apparently, she had to don a bolero style fetish straightjacket from their, no, her collection.
It was easy enough to shimmy into the garment. Arms pushing down latex like sleeves. A window in her chest, leaving her breasts exposed as the jacket curled over shoulders and around her neck. She placed her arms across her torso, her hands reaching spots on either side of her. The jacket activated immediately, tightening and locking itself onto Zoya's body and affixing her arms to her sides. A louder gasp, mixed with a moan, broke her lips at the sudden sensation, particularly as the crotch strap pressed against the vibe still wedged inside.
Next a drone placed a self-locking ball gag in her mouth. When it tightened, Zoya winced, the strap cutting into the corners of her mouth. They remained tender from the previous ring gag. This was followed by a full sensory deprivation hood that clung claustrophobically to her head, self-sizing itself smaller once in place. The only part not crushed was her nose which remained protruding from the shiny black surface.
The final touch were two new nipple clamps. These pressed harder onto the tender nubs before a sharp pain pricked each. These were a set that stayed on not through tension, but from small needles piercing her flesh. A flat round weight seemed to dangle below. Curious, Zoya tried to access the security feed only to find herself locked out. She was truly in darkness now. All she could do was wait for new instructions. The faint whirring of drones and a few metallic clinks barely audible through the hood.
Nearly five minutes elapsed before a new message appeared. Collect all twenty magnetized weights with attached magnets. The purpose of the cold circles hanging from her tits now apparent. She groaned into the gag. The room wasn’t huge, with very little in it, but without her eyes, it would take a lot of painful searching to find them all just dragging her chest along the floor. The vibe in her pulsed softly awake. It was barely anything, but it was more than enough to remind her of how horny she was from the earlier denial. A timer ominously displayed in her neural net. Apparently, this was a timed game with the implication of demerits clear.
Zoya eased herself onto her knees. She bent over, a distant, muffled thunk from the magnets hitting the floor reaching her ears. The jostling bolting pain into her pierced chest. She whined into her gag, but a smile spread under the hood and around the ball in her mouth. This was a fun and devious game, and she didn’t even need an organic lover to enjoy it.
She swept her shoulders side to side. Nothing. She scooted forward on her knees, and tried again. This time something painfully snagged on her left nipple. One down, she thought hopefully. Suddenly she felt like the vibe inside her might have sped up. She dismissed the thought and chalked it up to the excitement at her first success and the accompanying pain. She shuffled forward again, sweeping as she went. After a couple more tries, she snagged another weight on her left nipple. The buzzing between her legs speeding up. There was no denying it now. The vibrator definitely increased every time she picked up a weight.
Forward she went motivated by the timer that promised pain for failure, but also by the hope for a possible orgasm awaiting her. Eventually, she came into contact with the wall after only snagging a single further weight on her right side. She stopped and pictured the space in her mind, plotting out her best options for proceeding. She moved as methodically as possible, but also with rapidity for the sake of the running clock.
Her chest radiated with pain, exasperated with each new acquisition. Her knees soon burned, too. Worse still, the pleasure between her legs increased to the point it was hard to focus. She struggled to keep count as she went. Around what she thought was the 17th or 18th weight, the vibe lodged in her reached a level that was too much for her overstimulated body. The dam broke and a climax rocked her finally.
She spasmed, falling on her chest. A scream ripped free from her lungs battering the gag and hood. Her legs pulled into herself, ankles crossed, knees pressing together. She rocked side to side on the floor, riding the wave of ecstasy for an imperceptible and seemingly unending time. When the last contractions passed and her mind could achieve conscious thought, she realized her timer had nearly counted down to zero. Failure was inevitable now, and failure meant delicious demerits.
As if to add injury to insult, a neural message from the program flashed in her mind. Unauthorized orgasm. 50 demerits.
Fuck! she thought. The punishment phase of this session would be truly horrendous at this rate. She needed to focus though; the program wouldn't take it easy on her. She needed to find the remaining two or three weights.
She continued her sojourn feeling a second orgasm threatening to crash into her already. Working quickly she found what turned out to be the two remaining weights when the timer paused at -15:34. The second unauthorized climax that had been clamoring at her since the first, finally erupted. The increased vibration level from all twenty weights proved too much for Zoya to bear. Her form twitching and pulsing erratically.
She didn't bemoan the demerits she was earning at the moment. Her mind blank from the blissful state she was in. A mind free from weighty things like where Dren was now, or the oppressive suffocating thing people called love. She drifted freely, untethered, on a sea of pleasure. It felt eternal and weightless.
Somewhere that eternity came to a close. The pleasure turned slowly to pain on her oversensitive body. She expected the sensations to end and for a message to inform her of further demerits. When neither happened, an unsettling confusion crystalized in her mind. Needing the vibrations to stop and to ease her worry, Zoya transmitted her end session safety command, but it did nothing.
Even as her body fought the painful pleasure below, a heavy cold feeling sunk in her stomach worse than the love she had been trying to escape. Had she inputted the code wrong? She tried the safety code again. Nothing. She tried to ping the station's computers, only to realize she couldn't access or even connect to any systems. Absolute terror hit her. She couldn't stop this. She couldn't get free.
What the fuck do I do? She could barely stand the sensations blasting her. She needed out now. She thrashed pointlessly, trying to tug her arms free, arching her back and smashing it against the floor in the hope of releasing the locking mechanisms. None of it worked. What the fuck do I do? she repeated as she was hyperventilating. Would she remain like this until Hux found her? Would she even be sane at that point? Had whatever went wrong caused other problems threatening the station’s safety? Her mind was in full route, bombarded by the fears and the sensations from the vibrator.
Eventually, the panic attack abated enough for Zoya's mind to try to find a solution to her predicament. Bound as she was without the use of her arms and blinded, she had relatively limited options at her disposal. She hadn't heard the drones in the room drop out of the air and the gravity was still functioning. All good signs some systems were working, including automated doors. She could try to leave the room and reach the repair shop. There'd be plenty of tools to use there. It was a long trek especially with the insufferable vibe working away at her the whole time. Also, without her hands, there were only a few tools she'd be able to use somewhat safely. Fuck! The vibrator was driving her nuts. Fuck! Think!
There really wasn’t much in this room to help her. A few storage lockers. Perhaps something was in them? No, she and Dren had cleared those. There were also a couple old storage crates with some outdated mining gear in them. They were electronically sealed so no getting to what was inside without a connection to the main station system to retrieve the codes. Vrrrr. The vibrator wouldn’t let its presence go unnoticed.
Fuck you, you little bitch! she screamed in her mind. Empty lockers and locked crates, that was it in this room. Increasingly, she feared the trek to the repair shop was her only hope. As she readied herself for the impossible trip, a mental image of the nearby storage containers returned to her memory. There were three of them, two stacked together and the third sitting by itself next to the other two. All of them had special bolts protruding up at the top corners to help lock them together when stacking. Those bolts would be sticking up on the unstacked one. If she could wedge one of the bolts under the autolocking clasps on the back of the jacket, maybe, with some leverage and her body weight, she could break or pop them off.
Cautiously, she felt her way around the room until her foot found the bottom of one of the containers. She leaned forward, her chest touching the cold side of a container. She'd found the stacked pair. The single one should be to the right. She went to pull back and move that way only to feel a harsh pull at her nipples, eliciting a hiss from Zoya. What the fuck?! Aw, shit, she thought realizing the fucking magnets were stuck to the metal containers. It was going to take some force to dislodge them. She bit down on the ball gag and pulled. She knew it would hurt, but oh fuck did it hurt. At first, she worried she'd torn a nipple off. Luckily it had only felt like that.
Easing her way to the right she found the single container. Rising up on her toes, she was able to get high enough so the bolt would be directly under the lowest clasp. Dipping down, by some miracle alien to the day, it slid into place. She sighed, but then let out a scream as the vibe jostled just right, or wrong depending on the point of view. Her body twisted on the bolt. She danced in place as a painful orgasm tore through her.
Frustration boiled up, adrenaline surging to meet the need, she pulled her legs up putting her full weight onto the clasp. Bracing her legs against the container she pushed and pulled with everything she could. It didn’t give, shattering Zoya’s hope. Nonetheless, she tried again, veins bulging in her neck as she strained with everything she had. In an instant, the resistance evaporated with a snapping noise. She fell face first onto the floor. The impact smashed her abused nipples, a painful whimper all she could manage from her hoarse voice.
It hurt, but it worked, she realized. She righted herself and tried it again and again until the clasps were all gone. Nothing held the thing in place now, allowing her to slip it off. Using her hand, she pried the insufferable vibe out. Instant relief. Her body shuddered. Next, she pulled the hood free. The self-sealing gag would need to be cut off most likely and she’d have to figure something out for the clamps. Not to mention needing to troubleshoot what was going on outside of her play session. But for now, Zoya lay across the cool polymer floor recovering. In its objective to temporarily forget the weight of her broken love for another, the session had mostly succeeded. Even now, the pressure of love remained a distant echo. It hadn’t solved that conundrum of how to escape the suffocating embrace of love, but it did what was needed at a particular time and place.
…
Epilogue
Hux and Zoya sat in the control room together chatting. The error that had nearly doomed Zoya was a distant memory now. She had corrected the issue long before Hux returned, but the old man had shrewdly noted something abnormal had occurred. Zoya sat now ready to be admonished, her secret fun about to be exposed aloud.
The 143 year old man’s graying hair giving away he would soon be reaching retirement age. Something more than a hundred years away for Zoya. He spoke with a raspy tinge to his voice, “I’m not reporting you. But so you know next time don’t forget to erase the emergency maintenance back up. I had to clear it when I was doing the rounds this morning.” His face a beaming, jolly thing awash with a bemused countenance.
Zoya sat open jawed. She knew he had figured it out, but he didn’t seem mad or disgusted. “Of course,” she stammered out acknowledging his point. She had forgotten about those logs when cleaning the evidence of her game. Of course he had thought to check those, he’s been here over 80 years since right after they cracked this moon apart for mining its rich minerals. He knows every little nook and cranny of the station.
“Thanks for not judging,” she sheepishly offered in gratitude for his acceptance, or more likely indifference, to her kink.
“Ain’t my concern so long as you keep doing your job,” he spouted with what felt like sincerity. His eyes did narrow. “I would say you’re welcome to do it on your off-duty hours; I’ll even give you a hand if you get yourself in a tight spot again. The last thing I want is to shut down this mining operation all by myself over the next two years. If tying yourself up helps, so be it.” The words were full of honesty and pragmatism.
A weight, that of shame and fear of discovery, lifted off Zoya’s shoulders. It was far too kind an offer, but she welcomed it. She smiled, “You’ve got a deal sir.” She held her hand out. Hux took it with a hearty laugh before a shadow descended upon his face. “Everything okay?” she asked him.
“Yeah, just on the way back I got a neural message from Dren addressed to you.” Hesitancy perforated his voice now.
It hit her chest like a sledge. She wanted to say no, and act as if Dren hadn’t messaged her already after only a few days separated. A familiar smothering, suffocating weight tried to settle over her again. Yet, for some reason it couldn’t. She wouldn’t let love, especially its echoes, control her anymore. She’d find a way to remain untethered, weightless. She accepted, but didn’t open the data packet. She was instead already planning what her next self-bondage session would include. Maybe something in zero-g, she smiled to herself.