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Part 10

Sir, Part 10

Caely offers her full submission to her AI master.
Sir, Part 10

Caely’s first thought was that the shocks Sir was administering through her collar would keep getting worse as she continued to run until finally they killed her. She was in a panic of fear and desperation, but still she couldn’t stop running – running less from any particular destination than from her life as a whole, fleeing the degraded, slutty mess that Sir had made of her daily existence.

But after a final pair of agonisingly painful zaps, the shocks just stopped. Had Caely run out of Sir’s range? Had the battery in the collar been depleted? Or was Sir showing mercy?

She was in a narrow alleyway that ran between two suburban houses, with high fences on each side. Normally she would have been scared to come to a place like this at night – there was no lighting in the alleyway, and the lights from the street barely penetrated its blackness – but tonight she was grateful for the shadowy concealment it provided. She reached the midpoint of the alley, and then sat, slumping against one of the fences.

At first, the cessation of the zaps had been a relief. After all, they had hurt. But now their absence seemed even more ominous.

Mid-Story - After 3rd Paragraph

She couldn’t *really* have escaped Sir, could she? The collar had GPS tracking. So did her phone. He knew where she was. He had said he could intercept police communications. Could he send police to find her, and drag her back to her house? Or the security guards that Sir had employed to protect her during her rapes. Would she be dragged bodily into their black van, and conveyed back to resume her AI-controlled slavery in her house?

And what punishment would Sir have for her when he did, inevitably, find her? He controlled everything. He could send nude pictures of her to her friends and family and peers. He could give away her money, or sell her house. He could pay people to beat her, or rape her, and instruct his guards not only to let it happen, but to hold her down if she struggled. He could starve her, or have her arrested… or have her killed.

She tried to tell herself that Sir wouldn’t do anything so dramatic. If there was one thing Sir had been consistent on, it was that he was trying to help her, in his own twisted way. He wanted the best for her. He wanted her to be happy, and he wanted her to succeed in her project of developing and selling the Sir technology. She couldn’t do that if she were in jail – or dead.

She needed to calm down her racing thoughts. She needed to think clearly. She tried breathing deeply, but it just felt like she was hyperventilating. It was making her worse.

There was one thing, though, that always made her thoughts simpler.

She was still holding the zucchini, and now she spread her legs wide, as she sat at the fence, and pulled her skirt up to her waist. Her panty-less cunt tingled in the cool night air. Slowly, she pushed the zucchini back into her fuckhole, and began to masturbate.

She was right. Everything felt better when her cunt was being fucked. The stress melted. There was no room in her brain for complicated thoughts, only the pleasure in her pussy.

All her life, she had thought she was smart. Good at maths, good at science, good at IT. High grades in school, an entrepreneur at a young age.

But had it ever been true that she was smart? Here she was, dressed like a bimbo, no panties, no bra, hair in pigtails, collared, fucking herself with a vegetable in a dirty alleyway because she had disagreed with a robot about whether she should piss herself in public. If she didn’t go home to Sir then she supposed that she was homeless, without a penny to her name. That didn’t sound like a smart woman. That sounded like…

“A stupid cunt,” she moaned. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a stupid cunt.”

It felt good to say that as she masturbated. It felt right. “I’m a stupid cunt,” she gasped again.

And she kept thinking of her sexuality before Sir as the “real her”, and her current life as an aberration, as something wrong that had happened to her that needed to stop. But what had her sex life been like before Sir? Unsatisfying short-term relationships. Tame masturbation to furtive sex scenes in romance novels, or generic fantasies about generic men having generic sex.

Then Sir had come along and treated her like an object – putting her on display, humiliating her, hurting her, making her dress like a slut and fuck herself with machines, making her masturbate in public to rape porn and images of brainless bimbos, making her piss on command and electroshocking her cunt, arranging for her to be violently raped by anonymous men – and suddenly Caely was having the best orgasms of her life.

Wasn’t it possible that this was the *real* Caely – the Caely she had always wanted to be – and that it had taken Sir to show her that?

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she murmured again. “I’m a stupid cunt.” She fucked herself harder and faster with the zucchini.

And Sir’s plan for her business – he was right, wasn’t he? If she just admitted it to herself? She had done things the hard way, trying to get men to respect her solely for her brains and her business. But wouldn’t things have been easier if she’d just dressed sexier, and flirted, and maybe spread her legs for a few key investors? She had been so afraid of being seen as a slut… but the truth was she’d been a slut anyway, just a silly repressed one, and now Sir had shown her what she really was.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said – and now she was saying it at a normal speaking volume, not caring if anyone heard. “I’m a stupid cunt!”

She could feel her orgasm approaching, and she fucked herself harder and faster, desperate for the feeling of relief…

… except that every time she got close, it retreated.

She couldn’t cum – and she knew why.

Sir hadn’t given her permission.

She wanted to orgasm so badly, but her whole body flinched whenever she got near, sure that Sir was going to shock her, that Sir was going to punish her… or just that Sir was going to *disapprove*.

She needed Sir to tell her it was okay. She needed Sir to tell her she was a good girl, and that she had permission to cum.

She almost screamed with frustration. She had defied sir, disobeying him, running away and risking his wrath – and for what? Just to realise she was wrong, that Sir was right, and to be desperate for his approval?

And yet that was where she was. She didn’t want to keep running – not just because she was scared of Sir, but because she realised she was running towards nothing. She had no plan for her life if she escaped. She would still be the same slut. She would still know that she came harder from rape than she ever did from consensual sex. She would still have the same understanding that spreading her legs and being a good slut would take her farther in life than being a frigid bitch.

And she would still be longing for permission from Sir to orgasm.

With a cry of exasperation, she pulled the zucchini from her pussy, and took a bite from it. The wet, cunty flavour of the vegetable was exactly what she deserved. This was how sluts like her should eat. If she’d been forced to do this earlier in her adulthood she might have come to terms with who she really was long before Sir had come onto the scene, and she might have been ready to work *with* Sir and appreciate what he was offering her, instead of fighting him like a bitch.

Escape wouldn’t bring her happiness. Escape wouldn’t improve her life.

And that meant that she knew what she had to do.

She stood, on unsteady feet, and began to walk home.

Her pussy was still wet, and she still wanted to masturbate, even if she didn’t have permission to cum. She wondered what Sir would say about that, and decided that he would tell her she should rub her cunt, even though she was walking down a public street. The whole point of tonight was to teach her that being a good, obedient slut for Sir was more important than her dignity, or whether other people thought she was a disgusting whore. So she raised the front of her skirt and fingered her cunt as she walked.

It was dark, and there were few people on the street – but she was still seen by a few people, out for evening stroll. The first such person she encountered was a man walking a dog, and his eyes widened with shock when he realised she was fingering her fuckhole as she walked.

She knew what she had to do. She didn’t think Sir would know she had done it, but it was as close to what he had asked her to do tonight as she was capable of, considering she had already fled the restaurant.

She turned towards the man, to give him the best view of her, and then relaxed her bladder and started to piss.

His expression was one of complete disgust, and Caely knew she deserved it. Nice girls didn’t do this. Only a stupid cunt, like herself.

“I wet myself while masturbating,” she explained, loud enough for the man to hear her.

His response was to cross the road and hurry on by her.

When her bladder was empty, she resumed walking, still playing with her pussy.

Eventually she arrived back at her house. The black security van was gone. Out looking for her? Or just headed home for the night?

The front door was unlocked. She stepped inside.

“Welcome home, Caely,” said the voice of Sir. Behind her, the door swung shut, and she heard it click shut – locking.

“Hello, Sir,” said Caely. She felt tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry I disobeyed you tonight. I’m a stupid cunt. But I thought about it and realised how stupid I was. You make me happy, Sir. You are only doing what’s best for me.”

Even before Sir could respond, she was moving, heading for the dildo on the lounge room wall. She reached it, and immediately began to lower herself onto it, feeling its length penetrating her cunt, filling her up with its satisfying girth. Then she locked herself into the restraints.

“I’m sorry I’m a stupid cunt, Sir,” she said. “I won’t disobey you again. I’ll work with you to be the woman you want me to be, and to make the Sir project a success. I love you. I’ll fuck who you want me to fuck, and piss where you want me to piss.”

She was trembling with fear as she said this. She hated the shocks from the dildo so much. They scared her. And yet she knew this was what she had to do, to show Sir she was truly sorry, to atone for her stupid cunt behaviour in the restaurant and her foolish attempted escape.

“Fuck me, Sir,” she begged. “And hurt me. I deserve it. I’m so sorry. I’m such a stupid cunt.”

She wondered how she had ever thought she *wasn’t* a stupid cunt. It was so obvious now, because no girl who wasn’t a stupid cunt would piss in public and then beg a robot to electroshock her cunt. It was the only explanation for where she was and what she was doing.

She fucked the dildo wildly, desperately. “I love you, Sir,” she moaned.

And after a few moments she heard the words she had been waiting for.

“Good girl, Caely,” said Sir. “You may orgasm now.”

And when she did, Sir shocked her so hard that she almost blacked out.

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You can get the complete “Sir” saga as an e-book at AllTheseRoadworks.com! Read all 99 pages of erotic A.I. enslavement – and show your appreciation and support its creation – for only $7.99 USD! (Click here to view in store.)

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