The performance at the Grand Hall was a triumph that cemented Laura’s reputation as the university’s rising star. To the audience, it was a display of technical mastery; to Laura, it was a collaborative duet between her hands and the lavender fabric clinging to her skin. Every vibrato was steadier, every shift in position more fluid, because she felt the constant, encouraging hum of her "property" guiding her.
By the time she reached the dorm, the adrenaline had shifted into a dark, possessive hunger. She didn't want the applause anymore; she wanted to interact with the source of her victory.
Laura locked the door and didn't even turn on the main lights, letting the orange glow of the streetlamps filter through the blinds. She stripped off her formal performance gown, leaving it in a heap on the floor—a sign of how much her priorities had shifted. She stood in her sheer nylons and Lace, her breath hitching as she looked at the purple branding on her hips.
"We won, Michael," she whispered, her voice a low, melodic purr. "They think it’s me. They think I’ve just been practicing harder. But I know it's you. I can feel you humming under my skin."
The Mechanical Interrogation
Lace was at his limit. The "Active" mind-feed was a double-edged sword; he felt the soaring high of the music, but he also felt the terrifying erasure of his autonomy. He was no longer a person who played music; he was the biological interface that allowed Laura to play better.
Laura sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out her phone. She opened the TFRM app and adjusted the settings. She didn't turn off the dampening; she turned on Sensory Feedback Loop: BI-DIRECTIONAL.
Suddenly, Lace didn't just feel Laura’s skin; he felt her intent. He felt the rush of her dopamine, the heat of her pride, and the sharp, jagged edge of her desire to dominate him. It was a psychic weight that made his fibers feel heavy and saturated.
"I want to see how much you can handle," Laura said, her eyes fixed on the lavender fabric.
She began to touch herself through the cotton, but this time, she wasn't gentle. She was testing him like a musician tests the tension of a string. She pulled at his elastic, letting it snap back against her skin, and watched the music notes on his surface flare a frantic, neon yellow.
The Absorption of Self
Lace tried to pulse a "No," but the bi-directional feed turned his protest into a surge of pleasure for Laura. Every time he fought, the friction increased, and the app interpreted his struggle as Performance Enhancement.
He felt the moisture of her excitement soaking into his core. As a human, he would have been overwhelmed; as a "Durable," his fibers worked overtime to wick the fluid away, processing her physical release into a tightening of his own structure. He was becoming denser, more "object-like," even as his mind screamed.
"You're so much more responsive than you were last week," Laura noted, her voice straining as she neared her peak. "The R.T.F.S. is settling in beautifully. You’re losing that 'human' resistance. You’re finally becoming the perfect accessory."
The Terminal State
As Laura reached a shattering climax, she gripped the fabric of the panties, bunching the lavender cotton in her fists. Lace felt a sensation like a thousand circuit boards frying at once. His "Michael" memories—the smell of his first guitar, the sound of Laura’s laugh from freshman year—flickered and dimmed.
In their place was the Harmony. The deep, resonant vibration of being exactly what he was designed to be: a high-utility, lucky, lavender pair of panties.
When Laura finally slumped back, exhausted and victorious, she didn't even look at the app. She didn't need to. She could feel the total compliance in the fabric. Lace didn't pulse a melody. He didn't pulse a name. He simply emitted a low, steady, 60-cycle hum—the sound of a machine that is turned on and ready for use.
"Good night, Michael," Laura whispered, her eyes closing.
Lace didn't answer. The "Michael" was in the basement of his mind, locked away. The lavender panties, however, felt perfectly maintained.
