A Perverted Predicament

Will’s fingers itched, not for the familiar worn plastic of a controller, but for something far more… tactile. He’d been basking in the glow of his latest creation, a sleek, obsidian mech that hummed with barely contained power. This one was destined for a particularly discerning collector, a woman known only as ‘Velvet Viper’ in the darker corners of the mech black market. And Will, ever the astute businessman (and let’s be honest, a bit of a perv), had spent an inordinate amount of time picturing her piloting it.

He imagined the way the polished chrome would gleam against her skin, the way her fingers, slender and precise, would grip the controls. He’d even, in a moment of particularly vivid self-indulgence, designed a custom cockpit with enhanced sensory feedback, specifically for… well, for *her*. He’d justified it as a premium upgrade, of course. A little extra… *comfort* for the discerning pilot. The thought sent a familiar, shameful warmth spreading through his chest. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the image. Focus, Will, focus. Money. That was the goal. Not… *that*.

His comm unit chirped, pulling him back to reality. It was Velvet Viper herself, her voice a low, smoky purr that did nothing to quell his internal turmoil. “Is my Viper ready, Anvil?” she asked, the nickname a sly acknowledgment of his burgeoning reputation.