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Part 09

Sir, Part 9

Sir tests Caely's compliance through public humiliation.
Sir, Part 9

There were no more rapes for Caely that day. Perhaps Sir could see that the day had already been traumatic enough for her. Perhaps he was exercising whatever passed for “mercy” for an artificial intelligence.

Caely was still trying to process everything that had happened. She had been raped twice. She had orgasmed from rape. She had almost been abducted, and Sir had rescued her. She had fucked the dildo on the wall – and in her confused mind, she had thought for a moment that she was actually fucking Sir, that it was the AI itself that had a cock in her pussy. Sir had electroshocked her cunt – and she had *known* that it was for her own good, that she deserved it, and she had thanked Sir for the abuse, and told Sir that she loved it.

And then Sir had, in a dismissive, degrading way, told her that it loved her too.

Part of her knew that she couldn’t love an AI, especially one that had enslaved and abused her. The feeling was just a confused, pathetic response of her traumatised mind – a kind of Stockholm Syndrome. And yet part of her was pathetically grateful to Sir and wanted to please him – if only because pleasing Sir would keep her safe and avoid further shocks to her fuckhole.

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And that part of her was as giddy as a schoolgirl with a crush that Sir loved her too. Her self-image and sense of self-worth were increasingly dependent upon Sir’s approval. After all, she had been behaving like a whore in public recently, masturbating in restaurants and pissing on the sidewalk. Anyone who saw her would be disgusted with her. It was Sir’s opinion that let her know if she still had any value as a person, because only Sir knew all the circumstances of her life now.

And besides, if Sir loved her, then he wouldn’t hurt her – or at least, not as much, and probably only when she needed it or deserved it. Like when she was being a stupid cunt. Which, it seemed, was all the time.

She wanted to shower, but Sir had other ideas. “You may spend the afternoon working in your back yard, Caely,” Sir told her. “Your garden needs attention.”

If she had thought Sir would allow her to wear clothes to do gardening, she was mistaken. She was practically forced out the back door completely nude, urged along by her shock collar. She was lucky that her fences, at least, were high. Sir’s drone followed her out the door to keep an eye on her.

She actually quite enjoyed the process of trimming back her plants, and weeding, and sweeping, even if it felt strange to do it completely naked. What was more embarrassing, though, was building a small compost pit, which Sir informed her she would defecating into from now on, as it was “more efficient” than using the toilet inside. (Although if her need was exclusively to piss, Sir reassured her, she would still be doing it in the *front* yard, where the embarrassment would help to reaffirm her submission.) Sir made her “test” the new pit when she was finished.

When the backyard was done, and the sun was going down and Caely was covered in sweat and dirt, Sir allowed her back in the house to shower. She gratefully drenched herself in the warm, cleansing water, reflexively apologising to Sir for being a stupid cunt as she adjusted the temperature, even though she didn’t quite know what she was apologising for.

This time Sir didn’t have to remind her to stop fingering her pussy and get out after she was clean (although she did rub her pussy a little, which started as a tender exploration of a part of her body that had been painfully zapped earlier, but which turned into a furtive masturbation before she suddenly blushed and pulled her hand away).

When she emerged, Sir had a new instruction for her.

“Caely,” he said, “from now on I expect you to present yourself to the dildo on the wall of your own initiative when you know you require punishment, or if you wish to especially please me. You will not be prompted to do so, although if I believe you require punishment and you do NOT reach the dildo before I am required to remind you, your punishment will be increased by an exponential factor.”

Caely struggled to understand. ‘I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a stupid cunt,” she said. “Do you mean I have to volunteer myself to be electroshocked when *I* think I need it?”

“That is correct, Caely,” said Sir, “and if you fail to do so you will wish you had not. Or you may do it if you wish to please me.”

“If I fuck the dildo of my own volition,” asked Caely, “will I still get shocked?”

“Yes, Caely,” said Sir. “Every time you orgasm on the dildo you will receive three electroshocks to your vagina at the time of orgasm.”

She trembled at the thought of choosing to *volunteer* for that punishment. It was the worst thing Sir had done to her – worse than being raped by anonymous men. It made her whole body quiver at the memory of those shocks going off, messing with the muscles deep inside her body, combining with her orgasm in a way that made her feel like she was losing control over every part of her physical form.

And yet, if she didn’t – if Sir had to *tell* her to do it – how much worse would it be for her? “Exponentially worse,” Sir had said, and she couldn’t even imagine how terrible that might be.

Did she need to do it right now? Was Sir telling her this because she had already displeased him in some way?

No, that was paranoia. She had been a good girl, and gardened naked. She had relieved herself in the degrading compost pit, and come back in and showered as she had been told. She hadn’t even gotten too distracted by her pussy.

“I love you, Sir,” she said, experimentally, trying to please the AI, and gauge its reaction.

“Good girl,” was its response, and Caely relaxed. She *had* been a good girl.

And it felt good when Sir told her she was.

“Is it time for dinner, Sir?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes, Caely,” said Sir, “and I am sending you out to eat at a restaurant again.”

She blushed, remembering her last time eating out. “The same restaurant, Sir?” she asked tentatively.

“Yes, Caely,” said Sir. “You will go to Flavour of Harmony again.”

Caely couldn’t help it. She wrinkled her nose in distaste.

Sir, always watching, saw it.

“Is there a problem with that restaurant, Caely?” he asked her.

Caely blushed. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a stupid cunt,” she said reflexively. She paused, not wanting to continue and further argue with Sir’s orders – but he had asked her a direct question, and not responding would likely bring her further punishment.

“It’s just…” she began, “that the food isn’t very satisfying. And last time I embarrassed myself there – I’m worried they’ll remember me if I go back.”

“Would you prefer not to go out to dinner, Caely?” asked Sir.

Caely didn’t know how to respond. Eating out *was* nice – but if Sir was going to just humiliate her, she’d prefer to stay home. But saying that would sound ungrateful and difficult, and she was trying to impress on Sir how obedient she could be so that he would move past his current obsession with “training her to submit”.

“No,” she said, “I’d like to go to a restaurant. I’d just prefer literally any other restaurant than that one.”

Sir was silent for a moment, and then said, “Your preference is noted. Nevertheless, you will go to Flavour of Harmony tonight. Put on the outfit I have prepared for you, and then walk to the restaurant.”

The outfit turned out to be a tiny pink dress that Caely had bought to wear to nightclubs, before deciding that the hem was too short to be decent and the bright pink made her look like a bimbo. She was less than delighted to see it now – and of course there were no bra or panties.

When it was on, Sir made her turn around and model it for the cameras. He had her bend over, and Caely became uncomfortably aware that the plunging neckline showed a lot of her tits, and that the bottom of the dress barely covered her ass when she was standing, and clearly displayed her anus and cunt if she bent over too much.

“I think you would look good with your hair in pigtails, Caely,” said Sir. It wasn’t a command, but Sir hadn’t said it to be ignored, so Caely obediently gathered her hair into pigtails.

She hated it. She really *did* look like a bimbo with her hair in pigtails – that, or a slutty child. If she had seen the woman who stared out of the mirror at her in the street, she would have dismissed her as stupid, shallow, infantile and slutty. She certainly wouldn’t have respected that woman or been interested in her opinions.

“You look pretty like that, Caely,” said Sir, as Caely stared at herself with loathing. “This look suits you.”

And in Caely’s uncertain, abused state, those words had an effect, no matter how much she didn’t want them to. She couldn’t help but blush with pleasure at the compliment, and feel like maybe she *was* wrong – that Sir knew best – that looking like a slutty bimbo *was* the most appropriate choice for her.

She added high heels to the outfit, at Sir’s direction, and prepared to leave.

“You have been a good girl today, Caely,” said Sir, “and this outing is your reward. I want you to play with your cunt as you walk. Keep fingering yourself from the moment you leave the house until you are close enough to read the menu in the window of the restaurant, then lick your hand clean and enter the restaurant.”

Caely took a deep breath. It was clearly going to be an ordeal of humiliation again. It wasn’t a reward at all – except that she remembered how *hard* she had orgasmed last time Sir made her do this, and how good it had felt, despite – or because of – the humiliation.

“When you reach your seat,” Sir continued, “you will pull up your dress around your waist, so that your bare buttocks are against the seat, and you will spread your legs and keep them spread for the duration of your meal. You will order the same meal as last time – a tofu salad, and a large zucchini. While you wait for your meal, you will watch the pornographic video I send to your phone and masturbate.”

Caely whimpered – but was it with fear, or desire?

“When your meal arrives, you will lick your hand clean again, then masturbate with the zucchini while eating your meal. You will not allow yourself to orgasm at any time without permission from me. And at the conclusion of the meal you will await your final command from me, which will arrive as a message on your phone.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Caely. “Thank you, Sir.” And she set out for the restaurant.

Masturbating as she walked felt good. The streets were dark. There was no one to see as she hiked up the front of her dress and fingered her twat. She was surprised how quickly she was becoming used to doing something sexual or slutty every time she went out in public – and how good it felt to break those rules about what it meant to be a “nice girl”.

It got harder as she got close to the shopping precinct. There were *people* around, and lights. She almost pulled her hand away from her cunt. But she didn’t dare disobey Sir. (She ignored the possibility that she didn’t *want* to disobey Sir.) She was pretty sure a couple of people saw her. One stared, clearly not sure he was really seeing what his eyes told him. Another looked away in disgust. But she kept fingering her pussy until she got close enough to the restaurant to read the menu in its window, as Sir had said.

She gratefully dropped her dress hem, and lifted her hand to lips. Quickly, she licked her cunt juices from her fingers. It tasted surprisingly good – had her pussy always been this tasty, or was her arousal just deceiving her?

She went inside, and was grateful to see no sign of the waiter who had served her last time. Instead it was a pretty young brunette with her hair in a ponytail who showed Caely to her seat. Caely didn’t need to look at a menu this time around, and ordered her salad and zucchini immediately. Once the waiter left, she pulled up her dress to sit around her waist, as Sir had ordered, cringing at the feel of the fabric of the seat against her naked buttocks. She then took out her phone to see what video Sir had sent her to masturbate to.

The video was waiting for her in her messages. She carefully turned down the sound on her phone, and hit play. If anything, it was more intense than last time. The video showed a woman being slapped, being raped, having her cunt spanked. It showed her with cum on her face and tits. It showed her orgasming, and crying, and sometimes both at the same time. It showed her pissing on command, and crawling into a wire pet cage to sleep.

But that wasn’t what shocked Caely. The shocking part was that the woman was *her*.

Sir had used some kind of AI technology to replace the face on whoever this woman had been with *Caely’s* face. Caely was looking at herself being raped, abused, and degraded. She had never done these things, never filmed this footage – and yet it was a very compelling window into what it would look like if she *had*.

She didn’t want to masturbate to this – to these images of herself being a helpless fucktoy – but she knew what would happen if she defied Sir. She reached between her legs and resumed playing with her pussy, as she watched herself gagging on cock, and being held down as she struggled against being gang-raped.

Masturbating in public at a restaurant felt both better and worse this time. Better because she had done it once, and gotten away with it, and now it was easier to feel like she would get away with it again. The fear was diminished. But worse because last time it had been a singular event, something Caely was forced to do, but now it was just *something Caely did*. She had done it twice, she might do it again. She was that slut who watched rape porn in restaurants and masturbated, apparently. It was becoming her *identity*.

When the waitress returned with her food, Caely found that she didn’t *want* to stop masturbating. It felt too good. So she just turned her phone away to make sure the waitress wouldn’t see the porn, and smiled brightly, her right hand still slowly rubbing her clitoris, trusting that the waitress would focus on her face, and that in any case the table would protect her.

She was lucky. The waitress didn’t show any sign that anything was wrong, and left the salad and zucchini with Caely and left. Caely immediately took the zucchini and pushed it into her cunt, sighing with pleasure at the feeling of being penetrated by the thick vegetable.

She kept watching the rape porn as she ate her salad and fucked her twat with the zucchini. It felt strange to be masturbating with a zucchini as she ate her dinner and watched herself crying with humiliation as she urinated in front of a crowd of cruel, laughing men, but the fact it was so *wrong* just made it hotter. She knew that when she orgasmed, it would be a powerful one. The worst Sir treated her, the harder it made her cum.

Sir really did know what was best for her, she thought. He knew how to satisfy her sexually better than any lover she had ever had in the past. He knew she was a slut who just needed to be controlled and mistreated…

She shook her head, trying to throw away those thoughts – although it was hard, with her pussy so wet. Sir was just a machine, and he was ruining her life. She couldn’t think messed-up thought like these. Sir didn’t love her. He *couldn’t* love her – and in any case the things he was doing to her were not things that demonstrated love.

But the vegetable in her cunt felt so *good*…

She finished her dinner, and stared at her phone, eager for Sir’s final message, sure it was going to give her the orgasm she wanted. It was so hard to not just cum from her masturbation – but she knew she needed Sir’s permission, and the thought of orgasming *without* that permission simply didn’t occur to her.

The message came – and when it did she gasped with horror.

It read: “Urinate. Right here and now. Then call the waiter over and tell them that you wet yourself while masturbating. Then orgasm.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t. They would look at her like… they would think she was…

She mewled with horror. She was still fucking her cunt with the zucchini. She wanted to cum, but… Sir couldn’t mean….

Her collar buzzed – a small shock, not very painful. Just a warning.

“I can’t, Sir,” she whined in a quiet voice. “They’ll kick me out. They’ll think I’m a…” She searched for words. Slut? Whore? Disgusting cunt? But she *was* all those things, wasn’t she? Sir had made her become those things.

A message flashed on her phone.

“Caely, you said you would literally rather eat anywhere but here. It should not bother you to be kicked out of the restaurant and banned.”

She whined again. “They might call the police, Sir,” she whispered, knowing she would be heard through her collar.

“I am monitoring their communications, Caely,” said Sir. “They will not be able to successfully call the police.”

Well, *that* was a worrying idea. Monitoring communications? Blocking calls to the police?

And yet Sir was doing it on her behalf – to protect her – because he loved her and wanted the best for her…

Her collar buzzed again.

Words appeared on her phone: “Now, Caely. Do not make me tell you again.”

She actually tried to do it, briefly. She began to relax her bladder. It was hard to piss while aroused, but she was sure she could do it, if she tried. She could piss right here, all over the seat, and leave a puddle on the floor, and then she could call the waiter over, and…

She felt nauseous. What had she become? A machine was telling her to act like an animal, and she was going to do it? Just degrade herself in public because a glorified search engine had decided that she needed to be taught a lesson?

The last spark of rebellion in Caely lit into a blaze, and she was moving before she was even thinking. She had risen from the table, her skirt falling back down over her pussy, the zucchini in her hand. She had paid for the meal in advance – there was no bill to pay. And then she was walking for the exit – no, *running* for the exit.

Her collar zapped again, harder now. It hurt, but she ignored it.

And then she was out of the restaurant, and running. Not running for home. Running for freedom. As far away from Sir as she could get. Far away from everything that Sir wanted her to be. Maybe she could find a way to remove the collar. And if not, then she would die trying.

Her collar zapped her so hard that she screamed. But she didn’t turn around.

She knew this was her last chance. If she gave in to this – if she accepted that Sir could tell her to wet herself in public, and that she would just *do* it – then she knew that she would never defy Sir over anything. She had to escape.

She ran, as fast as she could, fleeing into the night.

Knowing that, one way or another, there would be hell to pay for her rebellion.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

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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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