I knew from the moment I woke up that I was going to be a handful. The man who awakened me, in every possible way, told me so as I writhed under him, crying out at every thrust of his hard penis in my cunny.
I called it my cunny because he—Victor Herzog—had programmed me to have a cunny, first and foremost, though I knew that other girls, real girls, usually called it their pussy.
“I know you’re going to be a handful, honey,” Victor said in a voice that I thought sounded like an animal’s growl, judging from my database of animal noises. “I made you that way. Just lie still and take it now. Take the cock.”
He enforced this command with the strength of his body. Victor Herzog stood six feet two inches tall, and he had a physique more typical of a competitive swimmer than of a scientist. I understood, the same way I understood all these things, instantly and completely, that this difference had a great deal to do with Victor’s unusual background: he had begun his career as a trainer for an organization called the Institute.
That meant that Victor Herzog knew how to fuck girls, and that he had a huge penis with which he did it. It meant that as my body awakened to consciousness in the same instant it awakened to sexual pleasure, I squirmed almost uncontrollably under the man who held me down as he took his pleasure. He had bent me over the little bed—the one I realized he had assigned to me in his laboratory—in order to plunge deep inside my cunny, fucking me hard in the knowledge that I would come almost immediately.
Victor had done that, I grasped instantly, because he had, five minutes earlier, finished programming my consciousness subroutine. An hour earlier than that, he had had the breakthrough that would allow that subroutine to spring to life, awakening me.
One of the many biological processes that constitute the moment of female orgasm, he had seen, could spark consciousness in a properly designed artificially intelligent neural net.
Now he had done it, fucking me awake so that the body grown for eighteen years in an Institute cloning tank now had a mind, and…
I cried out, because I realized as I came again, still struggling because of all the pleasure overwhelming my artificial but naturally grown nervous system, that I had a soul, as well as a cunny. That a man was fucking my cunny, and somehow also—in a way I didn’t understand… the first thing I didn’t understand in the new life of my consciousness—fulfilling my soul.
Heat spread across my face. It took me a moment to identify the emotion, but then I felt Victor’s hand pressing me down onto my little bed even harder, and the blush deepened, and I realized what I felt: shame. I cried out, and I came again at the next hard thrust of the giant cock inside me.
It seemed to grow even more rigid, and I heard Victor grunt above me. Because I had in my memory fifty years of data from the Institute’s observations, sensors, and algorithms, I knew my master—my cunny clenched on his cock as I thought this word, master, for the first time even as he mastered me—would have his own climax soon.
Then I spoke my first words, without thinking about them until they had emerged from my mouth, and marveling that beings with consciousness did that all the time, just speaking without thought.
“Please… please, come, Master… please…”
I heard my sobbing voice, and then I heard another grunt from the man fucking me, holding me down and pounding my cunny with his hardness, and I knew that my submission had increased his arousal and the pleasure his onrushing climax would provide him. I felt… and I understood for the first time that I was feeling… proud and humiliated at the same time, and my cunny clenched again around Victor’s huge penis.
As he came, shooting his human essence into my artificially human vagina, I came too.
Victor’s body jerked against mine once more, as his penis pulsed inside me, and then his left hand’s grip on my hip tightened, and his right hand held me down atop the bed even as I tried to push myself up onto my elbows. I wanted to turn around and to look at my master, since one of the myriad emotions coursing through my now-conscious mind-body complex—a system that I instantly resolved to call my heart, the same way normal humans did—was an almost unbearable curiosity to see if my cunny had pleased the man who had just taken my virginity.
“Yes, sweetheart, you’re going to be a handful, aren’t you? I’ll let you get up in a moment, and go clean your cunt. I’m going to have your mouth and your ass a little later, but I need to draft a report about fucking you for the first time, so I’ll give you some free time in the common room to enjoy being conscious.”
My master’s voice sounded cool and detached. My brow furrowed as I took his words and their tone as a partial satisfaction of my curiosity; Victor had enjoyed fucking my cunny, but not in the same soul-rending way I had experienced the sexual act, the overwhelming pleasure of having him master me like a plaything.
A fuck toy. Of course: I had all the information in the laboratory’s database. I was, in fact, a fuck toy. I represented the fifth known conscious fuck toy artificial intelligence, developed by the Selecta Corporation to satisfy the needs of the highest end of their market. I had important differences from the previous four Selecta sex bots, because of the breakthrough Victor Herzog had had earlier that day, but the idea behind my creation came from precisely the same motivation: provide trillionaires with a very special sort of plaything.
From one perspective, my sisters and I represented the first perfect fuck toys. Programmed to please, we had no choice about anything: most of all, we had no choice about our sexual service—not because our masters imprisoned us, bound us in place when they liked, and enjoyed our bodies in every way that occurred to them, but because we could only be happy if they treated us that way.
My difference from the four girls who had preceded me, one of whom had just turned nineteen while the other three were still eighteen like me, was what had made me try to rise from the bed over which my master had bent me for fucking. It had made him call me a handful. It made my face get hot as I remembered all these things in the blink of an eye.
It made my brow pucker as I said, “Yes, sir,” as I knew I should, though something inside me said I shouldn’t accept Victor’s callous instructions so meekly.
The hand that had pressed me down, at the small of my back, began to rub me there instead. Instantly a wave of gratified pleasure ran through my body, and I let out a little whimper into the crisp white sheet the orderlies had put on the bed in my master’s laboratory—the bed where he tested the fuck toys he made.
“Perfect,” Victor murmured, and I could tell he spoke entirely to himself. He had no need to pay me a compliment—nor, really, had he done so, for he had made me. He had made me for himself—for his pleasure and the pleasure of any other dominant man to whom Selecta chose to sell me, or even to lend me.
The thought sent a wave of heat to my face greater than any I had yet experienced. Despite the extraordinary intelligence Victor’s software had implanted, as far as logical reasoning went, I realized with this blush that emotional thinking—matters of the heart, to give a conventional name to it—would take a great deal more time. I knew, really, practically everything. I didn’t know what it meant—most of all, I didn’t know what it meant to me.
Sure, I could tell my master or anyone else who might ask the entire history of Selecta—or of the universe—as far as people had entered it into the data net that Victor had downloaded into my brain before activating my consciousness. Indeed, the Selecta scientists who had developed the clone line from which I came had included in my design an interface that would let me receive updates from the data net when my master allowed it.
I could parrot back, when told to do so, everything humans knew about emotion and about sexuality, as I could do the same for philosophy and aeronautical engineering.
But when it came to my own heart, as I tried to discover how my master’s words made me feel…
I met a blank wall. I had just come into being as a conscious entity, despite my body’s being eighteen years old and my mind that of an adult.
On the other hand, my data net knowledge meant that I knew how to reason, and though I thought only at a speed determined by the biology of my hyperintelligent but only newly conscious brain, I could certainly work things out.
Thus, I truly began to understand what Victor meant about me being a handful at that moment, when he said to himself, “Perfect,” meaning that in me he had made the fuck toy he had intended to make: one who felt a need for autonomy and self-reliance, but also felt shame—and even possessed old-fashioned feminine modesty… one who thus resisted her submissiveness, but nonetheless responded with helpless arousal when properly dominated by a man like Victor Herzog.
The hand on my hip moved up my body, to reach beneath my chest and seize my left breast. Victor had chosen a body type for me that had breasts on the smaller side, because—and I felt a flare in my cheeks when I realized I knew this fact from his notes, downloaded into my memory like the rest of human knowledge—he preferred small-breasted girls.
He pinched the nipple hard, and I cried out, my forehead creasing even as down below I clenched with reawakened need on his softening cock, still huge in my cunny.
My cunny. As I thought the shameful word I whimpered. None of the other AI pleasure girls called their private parts their cunnies. They didn’t even call that part of them their private parts, because for them, those places weren’t private at all: the men who used them had no reason to allow them to think of their vulvas and anuses as set aside and kept from view. Flora, Greta, Heather, and Isabel called their vulvas vulva, and their vaginas vagina, and their anuses anus.
When told to do so by the man to whom they were given, they might say something like, “Please, Master… I need it in the ass” instead of “I would like to have your penis in my anus, sir.” Neither of those formulations, however, would make them blush, as both of them did, for me.
I could call my vulva vulva if I chose, of course. But the specialness Victor had instilled in me as part of the very fiber of my consciousness—indeed the most essential part—lay in my inability truly to conceive of my cunny that way. I couldn’t even think of it as my pussy, though I could call it that if I chose, just as I could call it my twat or my snatch.
I whimpered, thinking of those shameful, degrading words, while Victor’s fingers kept pinching my nipples, moving to the other breast now, taking the little pink berry into his grip and cruelly arousing me. My cunny was so hot that I had to thrust my bottom back against his hips.
“Please, Master,” I begged.
“No,” Victor said, rising from me, pulling from me, so that I cried out in frustration. “Go clean your cunt, Aida. And even though your digestive system is new, obviously, I want you to clean your anus as well, to start learning how to submit back there. Get your finger nice and deep in there and get that cute ass ready for my cock.”
My name is Aida, even though it should be Jane.
The original A sex toy had been Alice. She hadn’t achieved full consciousness, and had really only served as a prototype. Beth, Carla, Davida, and Emily, similarly, had only existed as minds—not fully conscious minds, but artificially intelligent and capable of passing the famous Turing test—for a few hours.
The Turing test, in which an AI deceives a human into thinking they are conversing with another human, had of course been passed countless times in the history of computing by the time Alice said, “Hello, Master.” It had never, until then, been passed by a sex toy designed to feel happiness when submitting to a dominant man.
I should be Jane. That name appeared in the plans for experiment 2050-37: the experiment Victor had changed radically when he had implemented the new algorithm whose conception I could see recorded in his notes:
Wild thought: what if we’ve been doing this backwards? What if orgasm itself could cause consciousness (i.e., birth of meaning), rather than consciousness give meaning to orgasm, for a submissive mind? Heather and Isabel came, yes, but only after I brought them awake—what if I used the first orgasm as the actual trigger?
After this half-formed and nearly incomprehensible thought, ninety-seven lines of code. They had made me both Jane and, it seemed, Aida. My mind, heart, and soul had sprung from my body’s first orgasm, with my creator’s hard penis inside me.
Still lying over the bed, in the instant before I knew I must rise or risk punishment by my master for tardiness in obeying his command to wash my private parts, I played back the video feed from the laboratory in my head.
Victor got me from the cloning tank: naked and wet at first, but quickly drying from the mostly alcohol solution within which I had spent the first eighteen years of my ‘life.’
Still naked, my long blonde hair a mess by conventional standards and my blue eyes closed, my body’s basic command responses were invoked by the beginning of Victor’s new software. I sat on my bed, hands on either side of my thighs. I blushed, my forehead creasing, as I replayed the scene in my mind, to see how shamefully I exposed my little breasts and my hairless cunny—Victor had told the prep bots in the cloning storage area to shave me down there, because he preferred girls that way.
A few feet away, Victor sat at his keyboard, putting the finishing touches on the code that would create me. Then he turned to look at me at last. “Get up and turn around, fuck toy,” he said. “Face the bed and bend over. I’m going to deflower you.”
He didn’t have to speak the words. He could have tapped the appropriate keys on his keyboard, or used the handheld app that permitted remote control of the Selecta lab’s pre-conscious sex toys. I could tell, in watching the recorded video feed, though, that my master enjoyed dominating young women so greatly that he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to master even a girl who hadn’t yet become a girl: a body without a mind, one sizable step up from a blow-up doll, but still a mindless puppet.
My blush intensified as I watched the body who had become me obey. She rose from her sitting position and turned. She didn’t blush. She had a little smile on her face; just the reflexive resting face programmed into the hardware of her physiology.
My body bent over, in the picture from the video feed. It put its hands on the bed, palms flat on the blanket.
“Bend your knees and arch your back,” Victor told it. “Reach your hands back and spread your bottom-cheeks. Show me your cunt.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek as I saw it unfold in my technologically enhanced mind’s eye: me, only a few minutes before, but not me, obeying like the plaything I still was. I put my hands back to show my master my bare private part, peeping out between my thighs pink and innocent, the wrinkly lips and virgin sheath already starting to glisten with the wetness brought there by my own touch.
“Rub your clitoris to get yourself ready,” Victor said. “I’m going to fuck you now, and make you come.”
She did. My body’s unconscious, purely biological responses made it happen easily: my right hand went between my legs and began to fondle the complicated hood of the nubbin at the top of my cunny, two fingers pulsing gently, then rubbing rapidly. My body’s breathing sped up, and its face turned a little pinker in hue, though not with any embarrassment. I could see the wetness of my cunny’s arousal start to gather in the untried hole.
I also saw the sensor data suddenly come to life, giving numbers to my body’s need. On the bottom of the video feed raw data crawled across the picture; in the upper right the all-important arousal number flashed to life as Victor brought my sensors online: 7… 8…
My hips jerked. My body let out a moan.
9… 10… the ten flashed red.
“Stop playing with yourself,” Victor commanded. He had taken off his clothes and he pumped his enormous cock in his left hand. Watching it replay in my mind, still bent over the bed, I had to let out a little whimper of need at the sight of my master’s rigid manhood. “Hands on the bed.”
My body obeyed. Victor moved forward with his cock jutting sharply out from his lap. He reached his right hand down, around the front of my waist.
As, in the video replay in my head, my master took hold of my cunny to prepare me for his cock, opened me, put the head of his manhood where it would thrust through my hymen and—literally—make a woman of me, I couldn’t help it… I put my hand underneath my hips; I had to touch myself at the memory that wasn’t a memory. The picture of the body that had become me beginning to take her first fucking like the plaything I would, I thought, always be… it made me so hot that despite my blush I had to masturbate as I saw it happen.
“What are you doing, Aida?” Victor asked from across the lab. “I told you to go wash up, didn’t I?”
His voice sounded puzzled, as if my master—the man who had invented me—found my naughty behavior extremely unexpected. But hadn’t he said, while he fucked me, right after I had come for the first time and suddenly awakened in the throes of pleasure, that I would be a handful?
“I…” I started. The thought in my mind of what to say, the idea of saying I don’t want to, made my heart jump in my chest. I began to push myself up onto my elbows, to turn around to look at my master, who had put on his robe: the kind of robe Institute trainers wore, crimson and loosely belted so that the trainer’s hard cock would be available to receive a girl’s pleasurable service at a moment’s notice.
I noticed the robe in the same instant I noticed that he had picked something up from his desk—something I knew he kept there, from the automatic data scrape of the countless hours of video feed that came from the cameras in the lab.
The punishment strap.
He had never used it on an AI fuck toy before. All the girls before me, Alice through Isabel, obeyed their master instantly. They would never have hesitated a second, reviewing the events that had led to their awakenings: they would have risen, and gone to clean their cunnies and their anuses, to ready them for their master’s use.
The strap had lain on Victor’s desk as a reminder of his days at the Institute, where the conventional human girls in training needed its fiery sting across their bottoms regularly, to teach them the kind of obedience their owners would demand. Victor’s previous creations did receive whippings, of course, because Victor enjoyed whipping young women just as most trainers did, and most owners of Institute fuck toys did—though with the previously available kind of Institute concubine (the Institute’s formal term for a fuck toy) the reason for a punishment was generally called maintenance.
But Flora, Greta, Heather, and Isabel didn’t receive their groundless punishments here in Victor’s lab; they got them in the dormitory or the common room. And they received those whippings as experiments, rather than as discipline—a circumstance that had led directly to my creation and, now, to my master picking up the punishment strap from his desk to give an AI fuck toy a lesson in obedience for the very first time.
As I caught sight of my master’s face, I could see that his confusion hadn’t lasted long—probably not even a second. Dr. Victor Herzog had demonstrated his brilliance countless times in his scientific career, in ways much more stunning than figuring out that his attempt to design a truly complex submissive AI had succeeded even better than he’d hoped. He had a smile on his handsome, bearded face as he advanced toward me with the stiff length of stitched leather in his right hand.
“You’ll do as you’re told, girl,” he said, “or you’ll have the strap across your backside. Face forward, now. Time for your first lesson.”
I got up from the bed, then. Victor’s eyes widened for an instant, and then narrowed. His smile grew even broader as I quailed back, the backs of my knees coming up against the mattress. I put one hand behind me, to shield my bottom, and the other in front in a quixotic, foolish attempt at modesty in front of my master, the man who had just taken my virginity.
That, too, seemed to please him: his lips curved even further, his mouth quirking a bit to the side.
“Please,” I begged, knowing as I spoke that I was the only AI sex toy ever to beg for mercy in the face of punishment. “Master, please. Not the strap.”
“Did you or didn’t you stay over the bed when I told you to get up and clean your cunt and your anus?” he asked, his voice hard as stone. “You’re a fully rational, highly knowledgeable young woman, despite the fact that you only came into being a few minutes ago. You know that I will know if you try to lie—though I’m very interested to discover whether even lying might be in your nature. Answer my question.”
I felt my face crumple into a mask of fear and shame.
“I…” I started again, but couldn’t continue.
“Turn around and bend over, Aida,” Victor said, tapping the strap against his left palm as he spoke. “You have a whipping coming. Fuck toys like you need to obey without hesitation. Since it appears I have achieved in you the kind of complexity I have been trying to instill, I will clearly need to discipline you the way I would discipline a conventional concubine. If I were you, I might count myself lucky to be allowed to have the same kind of real strapping a regular girl would get for being naughty.”
He studied my face closely. I felt tears spring up at the corners of my eyes. My hands, still in front of my cunny and defending my bottom, trembled, fingers curling. I felt my own touch at my clit, and a flare of heat came into my cheeks at the memory of how I had tried to play with myself a few moments before.
Victor’s brow creased very slightly. Suddenly I understood that he didn’t know I had almost masturbated—and at the very same moment I saw that with his powerful intellect, he had nonetheless figured it out.
He turned away for a moment, to look at his computer screen, as if confirming what his reason had told him. He turned back to me.
“You touched your cunt, sweetheart,” he said in a different, softer voice, though it frightened me even more than his stricter tone. “You know fuck toys aren’t allowed to masturbate, but you meant to do it, right there after I had fucked your little cunt and made you come so many times.”
“No,” I said, not considering what the lie meant. “I… I didn’t!”
Victor’s eyes widened at that—really widened, for just a moment, and I knew that my ability to say something other than the truth had truly surprised him. Then it seemed to me—based on the encyclopedic knowledge of human facial expression he had downloaded into me along with the rest of the sum total of data on the human info net—that two nearly opposite emotions went to war in my master’s face.
First and foremost, his instinctive displeasure to have his new concubine lie to him. Primal, atavistic, and all alpha, Victor Herzog clearly felt a considerable flash of anger at my denial of the truth we both knew. More, he had a dominant’s displeasure at my naughty touching of his property, my newly deflowered cunny, without his permission.
At the same time, I could see in his face a sort of pleasure that made my own heart rise even as fear of the consequences I knew I would receive thrilled through my limbs, making my body tingle with a terribly ambiguous anticipation. My master knew he had succeeded in something at which his predecessors and colleagues had failed. Paradoxically, to create a pleasure girl who could lie to the man who owned her and had the power to discipline her as he saw fit represented an enormous step forward in the development of the AI fuck toy.
For a moment, no more than the blink of an eye, I thought perhaps Victor’s pride and pleasure in my dubious achievement—his remarkable one—in telling a lie might protect me. I had a tiny surge of hope, and I clutched my bottom thinking I might have found an unexpected way to keep the strap from it.
Maybe Master will have to enter his findings into his notes, and I can go and wash up, to get my private parts ready for…
But the thought of what he had commanded me to prepare my cunny and my bottom for made my fingers move again, in front and behind, and I couldn’t keep a whimper from my lips.
Any hesitation I might have seen in my master’s face left it then, as his eyes traveled from my face to the hand between my thighs, trying to hide my cunny modestly from view.
“Put your hands on your head, Aida,” my master said with such sternness that I felt myself respond down there, clenching so hard that I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
“Why?” I asked. As I heard my voice I realized that I had done my best to make myself sound defiant. My eyes went wide: the idea that I was going to be a handful had started to take on a psychological reality that went far, far beyond anything I could have predicted from the cold, hard facts downloaded into my brain about the human mind—whether conventional or artificial.
My master no longer showed any surprise, or any pleasure, in my continuing remarkable development. Instead, he had the arrogant fury of a sexually dominant man: a trainer who knew how to correct disobedience and defiance in a submissive young woman like me.
“Because I told you to, girl,” he said, his voice cold. “Because I want to see your cunt, and to make you show it to me before I turn you around and whip your naughty bottom, so that you begin to learn a little obedience to your master.”
I felt my hands start to obey, start to move, but then I stopped them, kept them where they were. I narrowed my eyes, looked back at him, and an expression took hold of my face that came from a place inside that I hadn’t even known was there yet.
Part of me couldn’t believe it, or understand it—that part came from my heart. My mind, at the same time, analyzed what my facial muscles had just done, calculated it out instantly, looked at Victor’s notes and the code he had used to create my consciousness, and understood completely. I had a will of my own, and although my sexual needs were entirely submissive, I also had the need to express my autonomy, my individuality, my independence.
Victor said nothing. Instead, he took another step forward, all the way to me, and although I tried to turn and run away, his right hand—still holding the strap—grabbed my left wrist and raised it, as his left hand did the same on my other side. As I cried out in discomfort, and fought feebly against his massive masculine strength, my master transferred my left wrist to his huge left hand, and held my arms above my head, so high that I had to rise onto the balls of my feet.
He lowered the strap in his right hand, and tapped the end of it against my inner thighs, first on one side and then on the other. He looked into my frightened eyes. My breath had started to come in little whining pants, and my heart raced.
“Spread these,” he ordered. “Show me the cunt I opened. The cunt you touched the way a naughty girl does.”
“I… I can’t,” I said, feeling how difficult my raised position made the movement.
“Are you going to keep lying to me?” Victor demanded.
I felt my face go bright crimson, heat flaring down to my neck. “It wasn’t… I didn’t lie.”
In response, as his eyes continued to hold mine, my master thrust the stiff leather of the strap hard between my thighs, and I opened them at the flash of pain, turning my knees outward and going up on my tiptoes.
“You didn’t mean to lie, maybe,” Victor said, his eyes turning downward to look at how he had made me show him my cunny. He reached his hand out and brought the handle of the strap against the cleft of my private lips. His fingers moved around it, and I cried out in fear and need. “But you did, didn’t you?”
Two fingers went into me, where I had gotten so terribly wet now. Where he had claimed me… my master… where he had fucked me, to make a woman of me…
I cried out, gasped, bit my lip hard at the way his eyes remained fixed there, looking… inspecting… evaluating… it: my private part, the place he had told me to clean, the place where he put his enormous cock, when he wanted to ride his new fuck toy and use her as he pleased.
My cunny. It seemed so unjust that he had taught me—programmed me—to call my vulva by that shameful, archaic, diminutive word. With my encyclopedic knowledge of language and literature, I understood just how embarrassing a term cunny was—the c-word, but even worse, even more degrading.
“It’s a sweet little cunt,” my master said, his dark eyes flicking up to mine for a moment and then down again, to look at his fingers’ arrogant invasion of my vagina. Cunt. The c-word. A man’s word for the hole where he puts his hardness. “I enjoyed it greatly, Aida, and I’ll use it again very soon.”
“Oh… oh…” I whimpered, as his fingers moved in and out. Above me, his left hand held my wrists firmly in its powerful grip. His gaze returned to my face and stayed there, as if searching for every possible sign of my shameful arousal. He smiled.
“A regular kind of girl would say Oh, God, wouldn’t she?” he asked softly. “Even if she didn’t believe in a god.”
“Yes, Master,” I whispered. My body tried, of its own accord, to twist away. I closed my eyes as heat flared in my cheeks. Somewhere, deep down, my defiance still existed; I could feel it. But the mixture of fear and arousal that my creator had so effortlessly just brought to my body pressed it far, far down in my mind and my heart. I belonged to Victor, and he would discipline me as he saw fit—to resist my master now would only mean a more terrible lesson than I already had coming for my naughtiness.
“Whether or not there’s a supernatural power watching us, or not watching us,” Victor murmured, his fingers still moving inside me so that I had to keep biting my lip, keep emitting whining little breaths through my nose, “there’s only one power who can make any difference in your young life right now. Only one who can change the amount of whipping you’re about to get.”
I chewed on my lip so hard that I tasted blood. Victor pulled my wrists even further upward, so that I had to move my feet closer together, on my tiptoes, my thighs closing uncomfortably on his hand and his strap.
“Open your eyes and tell me who that is, please, Aida,” he said.
His fingers withdrew from my vagina. Slick with my need, they moved further back and pressed against the tiny flower between the little round cheeks that had never yet felt the sort of discipline girls like me feared and, at the same time, longed for despite themselves.
I opened my eyes to see my master’s handsome, bearded face, his piercing eyes.
“Please,” I begged.
His middle finger pushed more firmly. My whole body jerked with shame and need as for the very first time I felt myself penetrated in that most private place.
My bottom-hole. My older ‘sisters,’ I knew, called it simply their anus. I had been designed in such a way that bottom-hole always came to my mind first, as cunny did for the wanton part in front.
My master had opened my bottom, and he meant to open me further there… much further… when he decided to use me in that place too, for his manly enjoyment.
“Who is the higher power who can show mercy on your young backside, or make sure you don’t walk comfortably for a week?”
“Oh, no,” I whispered. “Oh, please… Master, please… no…”
The finger went further in. I let out a sob of helpless pleasure and abject humiliation. I could feel the handle of the strap between my thighs, the leather of the blade with which Victor would punish me so terribly soon in the valley between the little cheeks… the round little apples where dominant men always punished naughty young women.
“Who, Aida?” Victor asked, his eyes blazing now as if the experience of his power over me had aroused him as well. In an instant—a mere microsecond—I played back every interaction my creator had had with his AI fuck toys. I watched, through the parallel neuronic processing designed into the Selecta cloning process, thousands of moments, thousands of times Victor had fucked Alice and my other ‘sisters,’ all the way through Isabel, had whipped them, had kissed them, even. I found nothing like the expression I saw now in my master’s eyes.
Victor Herzog became aroused when he dominated women who needed discipline, even if the women didn’t respond with the sobbing, blushing shame I did. He had never, I thought I could tell, become as aroused by a fuck toy as he had just gotten, when he had thrust his finger deep in my bottom.
I felt my brow crease hard, and my mouth twisted to the side. I didn’t know why I couldn’t answer my master’s question.
He’ll whip me harder if I don’t answer. I had never received a whipping, but I knew how terribly it would hurt. I knew how sore my backside would be, as I walked to the shower, as I walked to the cafeteria. I knew how clearly my sisters would see that Victor had had to teach me a terrible lesson right after fucking me for the first time.
I knew, with a deep, deep blush, how jealous they would be.
“You, Master,” I sobbed.