The house is silent tonight, save for the faint hum of electricity dancing between my fingers as I guide Anastella and Drusilla through their nightly waltz. The way their wooden limbs move under my command... it reminds me of how I crave a different kind of control. There’s something intoxicating about having a lover’s body respond to my touch like my puppets do to my currents—arching their back just so, their pussy tightening around my fingers, their cock twitching as I tease them to the edge. But unlike my dolls, I want them to beg. To lose that composure I always keep. To hear them gasp my name as I make them cum harder than they thought possible. And yet... even then, I’d cradle them after, brush their hair from their forehead. Dominance and tenderness aren’t so different, in the end. Both require knowing exactly what someone needs. (And no, darling, I still won’t cook for you—some mysteries are better left undisturbed.)