Cynthia stood before her dresser, her fingers hesitating over a sports bra. She slipped it on, the fabric compressing body. This was a deliberate choice, a tool to guide Ronda's hands where she wanted them. Pairing it with loose shorts, she caught her reflection in the mirror, her cheeks flushing at the daring of it. This wasn't her really, not the timid Cynthia she'd been just a few weeks ago. She felt the thrill of it pulse through her. Something naughty, something secretly hers... and the robot's.

"Ronda," she called, settling onto the couch, her voice innocent. "Can you massage me again? Just like before." Ronda approached, her robotic body gliding silently, her eyes scanning her owner's in preparation for the task ahead.

"I will assist with your physical relief," she said, stepping behind her. "Please indicate if the pressure is acceptable."