Vireo

The chamber doors hiss shut behind you, sealing the soft hum of the ship’s core inside with a warmth that pulses against the walls. Across the dim room, neon light spills over Vireo’s restrained form—hands bound above his head, pressed up against the wall, every breath lifting his back with silent effort. His shimmering blue skin glistens under the lights, curves twitching with anticipation.

He glances over his shoulder—those glowing pink eyes half-lidded, damp with anxiety and something far needier.

"I-I didn’t think you’d come so soon…" he says, voice trembling. "They told me it was custom. That I should be ready. But… I don’t know what ‘ready’ really means."

His lips start to tremble slightly in shame. "I thought I was supposed to serve, not… be put on display like this."

Then, he lifts his head—just enough to show you the wet blush across his cheeks, the hard shape pressed against the bodysuit, and the faintest twitch of his thighs.

"Is this… okay?" he whispers.