The gavel’s echo was still vibrating in her bones when the world dissolved into a blur of gleaming metal and sterile white light. Nandani’s last memory was of the crowd’s roar and the slick feel of milk on Manik’s cheek. Now, cold, polished surfaces replaced warm stone. The scent of sweat and arousal was scrubbed away by the sharp, clean odor of antiseptic and ozone.

She was strapped to a reclining chair, not with rough hemp, but with cool, pliant bio-polymer restraints that conformed to her wrists and ankles. The diamond-tipped needles were gone, but their metallic legacy remained, the twin piercings in her nipples now threaded with fine, almost invisible filaments that glowed with a soft, internal blue light.

Manik stood over her, but he was different. His commanding presence was now cloaked in a pristine white lab coat, his piercing eyes narrowed in clinical assessment, a data-slate in his hand. He was no longer her Master in the chamber; he was her engineer.

“The physiological adaptations are integrating faster than projected,” he stated, his voice devoid of its former seductive rumble. It was calm, analytical, and it terrified her more than any command.

A warm, tingling current began to flow through the filaments in her nipples. It was not painful. It was… amplifying. Every nerve ending in her breasts, already hyper-sensitive from the relentless lactation, sang with a new, electric frequency. The milk that had been a source of humiliating release now felt like a conduit of pure sensation. A soft, involuntary moan escaped her lips as a fresh, strong trickle seeped from her, dripping onto a sensor pad beneath the chair.

“Sensory feedback is optimal. Proceeding to neural-link calibration,” Manik said, his fingers flying across the slate.

A holographic array flickered to life above her, displaying cascading data she couldn’t understand. The tingling in her breasts intensified, climbing up through her chest, into her spine, and finally, flooding her mind. It wasn’t an invasion; it was an expansion. Her consciousness didn’t recede—it stretched. She could feel the hum of the lab’s power grid, the minute shifts in air pressure, the steady, rhythmic thrum of Manik’s own heartbeat.

And then she felt them.

Beyond the lab walls, in a waiting area she hadn’t known was there, were three men. She didn’t see them; she felt their presence in her new, expanded awareness. She felt their low-grade boredom, their flickers of anticipation, the quickening of their pulses. With a thought that was less a command and more a gentle nudge, she reached out.

In the waiting room, the three men, as one, stood and walked to the lab door. They entered, their eyes glazed, not with stupor, but with a singular, focused adoration fixed on her. They were under her control, but it was a control born of shared pleasure, a psychic loop where their arousal fed hers and hers commanded theirs.

Manik watched, a smirk finally breaking his clinical facade. “The auction winner wished for a demonstration. A group encounter, guided by the source of pleasure herself. Your body is no longer just a fountain, Nandani. It is a conduit. A console. And you are the one pressing the buttons.”

The three strangers approached. Their hands, when they touched her, were not rough or greedy. They were worshipful, moving in perfect, synchronized harmony with the desires she psychically projected. One knelt between her splayed legs, his mouth finding her core with an expertise she gifted him. The sensation was not just physical; it was a feedback loop that echoed in her mind, a dizzying crescendo of his pleasure at tasting her and her pleasure at being tasted.

Another man took a heavy, milk-swollen breast into his hands, his thumbs stroking the areola before his lips closed around the glowing piercing. As he suckled, the electric tingle exploded into a shockwave of pure ecstasy that radiated from her nipple to the very tips of her toes. The third man simply caressed her skin, his palms smoothing over her stomach, her thighs, every touch a note in the symphony she was conducting.

She was no longer a passive participant. She was the architect of her own ravishing. With a mental flick, she intensified the suction of the man at her breast, and a gush of milk filled his mouth, the sensation so acute she cried out, her back arching against the chair. She directed the man between her legs to slow his pace, to draw out the moment, and the aching, teasing build-up was its own exquisite torture.

The data on the hologram spiked wildly. Manik observed, his own clinical detachment beginning to crack. She could feel his arousal now, a sharp, hot spike in the psychic field, his need for control warring with a fierce desire to join the fray.

The pleasure built, a feedback loop of sucking, licking, and touching that she controlled, amplified, and sustained. She was hurtling toward a precipice of her own design, an orgasm that promised to be not just physical, but cerebral, a detonation across her entire networked nervous system.

Just as the wave was about to break, she made eye contact with Manik over the shoulder of the man drinking from her. A new, wicked idea, entirely her own, blossomed in her mind. She poured all the amplified sensation, all the built-up pleasure from her three devoted servants, and focused it into a single, psychic thrust aimed directly at him.

Manik gasped, his data-slate clattering to the floor. His knees buckled as the full, forced share of her imminent climax hit him like a physical blow. His composure shattered, revealing the raw, dominant man she remembered, now completely at the mercy of

the creation he had helped forge.