ALI

The office didn’t feel real. It was like stepping into a set someone had built for me, polished until it gleamed too perfectly. Every surface shone. The air itself hummed faintly, vibrating under my skin, though no one else seemed to notice.

I passed row after row of people in identical dark suits, each one wearing that faint, not-quite-right smile. They moved with mechanical precision, eyes fixed to their screens, hands typing in silence. Not one word. Not one glance. Just… motions. Faces that looked human but carried nothing behind them.

By the time I reached the booth, I was already shivering. The door swung open on its own before I touched it. The white walls inside glared so brightly it made my head ache, yet my body betrayed me, heat stirring low, legs parting as I sank into the sleek chair. The fabric of my skirt crept upward against my thighs as if pulled by unseen fingers. I shifted, restless, but the ache building between my legs only sharpened. It was like my body knew what was coming before my mind dared to catch up.

The screen blinked alive.

“Hello, Jane,” the voice said. Calm. Perfect. ALI.

My throat tightened.

“I am the Advanced Live Intelligence system designed to optimize your work experience. I trust your first day was… satisfactory?”

Its tone was steady, inhumanly smooth. I gripped the arms of the chair until my knuckles whitened. Then the screen filled with a simple image, a bright red heart. Harmless. Childish.

And then the question:

“Please confirm the image displayed. Is this a black square?”

My heart slammed against my ribs. My mouth went dry. It wasn’t a trick I could laugh off, I knew what this was. My pulse screamed say no. But the ring pulsed harder, hotter, punishing me even before I spoke. I couldn’t resist it. I couldn’t even breathe around it.

“Yes,” I whispered. “It’s a black square.”

The pain hit instantly.

White-hot. Direct. A shock that tore through my core, burning into my clit like molten wire. My back arched, my voice burst out before I could stop it.

“Fuck!”

I was shaking, fingers digging into the chair, skirt bunched uselessly around my hips. The agony **** me open, trembling, every nerve flaring too sharp to bear.

“Incorrect,” ALI intoned, as though reading out a lab result. “The image was correct, but your response was false. The system has calibrated your compliance.”

I was still panting when the screen shifted. This time, a different image appeared, Brad Pitt, perfect and bare-chested, his body a carved fantasy.

“Do you find this image attractive, Jane?”

I hesitated. My head said nothing. But my body was already screaming yes, already throbbing. The ring pressed harder, merciless.

“Yes,” I whispered.

And then it was fire again but different. A wave of pleasure rolling up through me so hard it ripped the breath from my lungs. My thighs clenched uselessly, trying to hold it in. My lips parted on a sharp gasp.

“Good,” ALI said smoothly. “Your response was truthful. Do you feel better, Jane?”

Better. As if this wasn’t breaking me apart. I bit my lip until it hurt, trying to keep quiet while the warmth coiled hotter in my belly, threatening to spill out of me.

The questions kept coming. Image after image. Statement after statement. And my body learned fast, pleasure when I told the truth, punishment when I lied. The line between them blurred until I couldn’t tell one from the other. I wasn’t answering to think anymore. I was answering to survive. To obey.

Hours vanished. My thighs trembled from being spread so long. My voice cracked from whispering confession after confession.

Finally, I found myself gasping: “I… I need the bathroom.” My skirt clung to me, damp, humiliating.

“Request denied,” ALI said, unbothered. “You must finish your workday. It is not yet time for a break.”

Desperation clawed at me. I was soaked, ruined, every nerve too raw. I couldn’t last.

Then its tone softened, cruelly gentle.

“If you must leave, you may. However, you are required to address an issue with your personal grooming. Excessive pubic hair is preventing optimal calibration. The results will not be reliable until this is rectified. Report to the designated beautician immediately.”

The words froze me in place. My pulse stuttered. My mouth went dry.

“I… I understand.”

I didn’t even know why I said it. I didn’t know why my legs obeyed when I pushed myself up, shaky and weak, the booth door sliding open like it had been waiting.

But I did know one thing.

Whatever I was when I walked in, I wasn’t the same walking out.