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- Herausgeber: StreetLib
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Sprache: Englisch
In a future where technology has redefined intimacy, emotions, and power, some women navigate between forbidden passions and unmentionable desires.
Isabelle believed she had a perfect marriage. Until she discovers that her husband's mistress is nothing more than a female android with devastating sensuality. What begins as an erotic game turns into an abyss where she gradually loses control.
Sybil belongs to a coven of witches and possesses a revolutionary neurovisual interface that allows women to explore pleasure like never before. But her past haunts her: she has fled from a couple as charismatic as they are ruthless, Stephan and Sava. However, some chains are harder to break...
Yumiko is an impeccable doctor. Her secret relationship with Juliette is a dark work of art: forbidden photographs, games of domination, and abandonment. But when a message from an old friend reopens a wound that never healed, Yumiko must face what she has always run from.
Between technology and desire, passion and control, how far can you go without losing yourself?
Desire and Control is not a book to read with the expectation of a linear plot or explicit eroticism.
This work seeks to explore the self through desire, taking the reader to a place where the human and the artificial blur, truth crumbles, and consciousness becomes the sole horizon of meaning.
“My body no longer questions whether what I do is rational. It just happens.”
A book that we could describe, without exaggeration, as Anaïs Nin in the age of algorithms.
(Source: Federica Moneri on Medium)
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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Desire and control
Indice dei contenuti
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Desire and Control
Sandra Voss
Copyright © 2025 Sandra Voss
Cover: graphic realization @isabelle
All rights reserved.
1
Isabelle
Shari joined me in our room, a secret space she showed me. The entrance is behind the closet door, wallpapered in purple with a shaky neon light, so intense that it shows my shadow stretching until it climbs the walls. Beyond the white lacquered door lies the room. My husband does not know it; only we do. On the wooden floor are old, broken technological objects scattered haphazardly, remnants of a past surfacing like flotsam among the sands at a low tide. The furniture is few, and the red sofa towers. Here and there, flashing in the darkness are reddish crystals, shards of memory, Shari explained to me.
I should know how it works; I am an AI programmer, and I work on their algorithms. These androids are advanced and powerful prototypes that my company, Ellipse, tests in the field, sending them to various factories. My office comes to mind. Its pearl-white walls open into a large window with a view of the crystal and titanium buildings. The smart glass automatically adjusts the intensity of the light. But the sky is always gray, acid rain constantly pelting down. A quantum supercomputer is a platform where artificial intelligence algorithms run like wind-driven clouds. They cover my glass and carbon desk. They are accompanied by devices for testing and evaluating AI performance. I touch the computer keys, my fingers fidgeting without being able to dwell on them. What have we created? An android cannot be human and cannot surpass man. I bite my lip. She's an android programmed to be free of rebellion. If an android dreams, suffers, and hopes, is it less alive than we are? Sitting in the swivel chair, my eyes move nimbly over the differentiated screen. I am surrounded by documents related to machine learning, files containing source code, algorithms, and specific models used to develop and train neural networks and other artificial intelligence systems. My mind is full of them, but my life outside the office is so different. To belong to you, Shari, a humanized android, is something extraordinarily beautiful. When I think about what you push me to do, I see the stars light up in the sky. But then you open wide the lemur buried in the silence of fear that other humans feel for me. A machine can give life to man's dreams, but man cannot be the property of the machine. I sail against every rule of nature. I feel vulnerable, without barriers, yet it is your vulnerability as an android that I feel inside me. Are my emotions more resplendent now that Shari is guiding me, and I am venting freely?
A sliver of the past suddenly hurts me, throwing me into a labyrinth of memory, built with terracotta walls and shining chrysalises of thought. I am at Pulse, and Coralie and Élodie are at my side. We have just finished college. We are inseparable friends. I don't know yet that, after tonight, they will become rival snakes in the soul. The counter is in front of me. Three sommeliers, girls, are busy mixing drinks. They wear deep V-neck jackets and black pants. The jackets are unbuttoned and barely reveal their breasts. The sommelier on the right wears a closed formal blouse. Their dark hair is gathered in elegant black ribbon buns. The room is enlivened by the effervescent clinking of bottles, which cheers my spirits, and the dry clatter of ice cubes. I feel like jumping in. I predict that tonight, something will come at me, in the tumultuous chaos of dark forces I cannot govern.
When Sébastien and Julien come in, I am amazed. How beautiful they are! Would illusory appearances, such as stability and immutability, be just a deception? They are the opposite of everything that is born and dies, overwhelmed by the human flow. They ordered two Bluemoons with ice. Between them, laughter and playful banter flow freely. They sit at the third small table, the one on the side of the entrance. I stand with my eyes wide open. The shiny Xcar is parked outside the club. I see it through the window: it's aggressive, metallic blue.
"Those are ours," Coralie says.
"Step aside, Isabelle, just watch," says Élodie. She brings her hand to her hair. The two jokes, look at her, wrinkle their noses, then ignore her as they continue talking to the sommeliers. They throw jokes about their cleavage. They argue about which one came out of the Android factory more perfectly. The sommeliers smile, peel back the flaps of their jackets, and discreetly open them in front of the two boys. They raise their arms, bringing their hands through their hair to better show off their firm breasts. The two exchange a boring look. The androids hurriedly return to the counter.
My gaze is on the two boys. Quick, a quick blink. I smile at them like a fool. They keep looking at me. Their eyes are robbing, attractive in their aquiline rapacity. They get up and join me.
"Did they pull your shoes out from under your feet?" asks Coralie.
"Are you in the ball?" says Élodie.
I shake my head. The two boys are in front of me. My cheeks are turning red. I want to feel their strong, vigorous chests on me. Coralie and Élodie are dismissed as if made of smoke. Julien mutters that he has a date and forgets. Sébastien wants us to go somewhere quiet. I am full of energy. He can impose himself and shape the chaos of my life as he pleases. Coralie and Élodie look at me as if I have stolen their boyfriend.
The Xcar enveloped me with its accessorized luxury. The AR meditation cabin is integrated into the cabin and transforms the environment into an immersive space for mental well-being: there are augmented reality projections, interactive audio sounds, chromo-therapeutic lights, and synchronized tactile vibrations. It goes from the calm of a tropical beach to the silence of a snowy mountain. I remain still, eyebrows raised and my mouth open. No one has ever picked me up in an Xcar, yet I am not impressed. Instead, I want to be impressed. All around, the city lights turn the night into an artificial day.
"Where are you taking me?" He doesn't answer me. He gives me a half-smile, which tastes metallic and at the same time dazzling. In a scant five minutes, we reach the Octopus.
If you're not rich, you don't get in here. I didn't even know that such clubs existed. I stopped at Pulse, and it was the first time I set foot there. This place is amazing; it's decorated in gold on every corner. Sébastien is a tough guy, someone who understands on the fly how things are objectively because he goes deep. He knows how to listen to reason and thought, which correspond to the essence of reality. We sit in a wide niche. The walls, on each of which light strips climb, follow the structure of the ribs of the walls, creating an oval effect in pastel colors. I feel wrapped up in it. Immersed in the chaos of life, crushed by it, perhaps the only way out.
Why can't I make myself new again, like these lights that send you so many rays, but then always return to shine as before? They are intense and fascinating colors. There is something aversive about these elaborate structures, as only dark human creation can be. The housekeepers wear short white kimonos that leave their legs exposed below the rim. Mylka serves us barefoot, as do all the servers in the restaurant; they are state-of-the-art androids.
I think about how suggestive it would be for me to serve you in a short kimono and barefoot, Mylka. I am human. The feel of the floor under my feet and the delicacy of the fabric on my body are very attractive to me. To feel I belong to a secret world, just ours. Your black hair falls over your chest. Your gaze is veiled by a shadow. For a moment, you distract me from Sébastien. You take the orders.
Soon, you return with a black tray, flaming with oriental decorations. You serve us drinks with a smile, the glasses clinking, emitting a sophisticated, muted sound barely audible. Sébastien looks at your legs. You notice, showing them off better. He caresses them with slow hand movements, rising toward your hips like a rattlesnake coiling its tail. I watch, confused, tenderhearted, excited. You smile with a gentle smile. I want to caress your legs with the sensuality only he can have. Soft, firm, carefully shaved legs. I can't think you take real pleasure in letting him touch you; you're not human. You talk; he doesn't stop stroking your thighs.
"Do you think it is right for a man more powerful than others to dominate you?"
Mylka replies, "I am ready to serve him."
Sébastien is clear: "You should give up serving others for him, belonging to him."
"If that man is superior to others, as an android, I will also rise to a higher level because of him. It's only fair that he should own me," she replies.
"Very clever, so it would not be a surrender, but a refinement of you as a human machine," says Sébastien.
"Do I stay, or do I leave?" asks Mylka. Her hands are on the kimono belt. Sébastien orders her to take it off, and she unties the knot. She opens the kimono and carries it down over her shoulders, professionally, but not coldly. She drops it to the ground and shows herself to us with the naturalness of a human. She has a polished body, indistinguishable from a human; her breasts are round, and no, she does not look like a silicone doll, like the androids of previous generations. I blink and stare at her, surprised at her charm. I should feel indifferent, but I think I am captured by the influence of Sébastien, who conveys to me his desire for complicity, possession, and conquest of Mylka's body.
I imagine Sébastien with a woman of his social level. She has a diamond choker; she is confident. They are sitting in the parlor, Mylka without a kimono, winking like a kitten, enveloping her with his caresses. I quickly return to reality.
Sébastien wants Mylka to stand beside the two of us so that he can next touch her at will. He pats her bottom; she jerks and smiles. An android who smiles blissfully and accepts our advances, loosely, naturally, but who will never know her true self because she is a machine. Sébastien holds her as an environmental decoration, an object that he occasionally palms and caresses, and does so with absolute naturalness as we continue to exchange jokes.
"It's not that those geese of your two friends were pitying us, but at the moment we couldn't pay attention to them. I was focused on you, and Julien was tossing around in his head on a date with Christine, but he made contact with them. What a heartbreak. There is something about you that smacks of purity."
I think my purity will allow me to pass unscathed even on an adventure in which I want to be involved with Sébastien. He must also believe in my sincerity. A love affair with Sébastien could be dramatic, but I need someone who owns all of me—brain, soul, and guts—because only then do I become an expression of my true self.
