Victor didn’t seem even to know that he had just called an artificially intelligent concubine a good girl for the first time. I felt his middle finger press up against my anus, push in firmly to the first knuckle, and I cried out in shame and wicked pleasure. It felt too good, and too… right. It seemed to prove at a level far beyond my hyper-intelligent rationality that I needed more, so much more, there, even though his huge penis would hurt so terribly when he took me there and deflowered my smallest hole.
My most private place. I had a flash of resentment that unlike the other AIs, Alice through Isabel, I couldn’t think of the place simply as my anus. A place on my body with an important physiological purpose, which dominant men liked to put to a different purpose. I felt my cheeks burn as I become aware anew of the subsystem that made me think of the tiny ring between my whipped bottom-cheeks as my most private place, my bottom-hole.
The finger pushed in a little deeper. I clutched my punished backside, spreading the burning halves, and moaned from the bottom of my chest at the wicked sensation and how it made my clit and my whole cunny ache with need. My hips jerked, my back arching to try to impale myself further on the humiliating finger that taught me such a degrading lesson, not with pain but with the most shameful of pleasures.
Victor’s chuckle came from behind and above me. “That’s it, honey. Show me. That cunt isn’t going to get fucked for a while, but it’s nice to know how badly you need it.”
I cried out, kneading my bottom-cheeks in my fingers and trying to find in the ambiguous soreness some way to ease the passionate ache deep in my cunny.
He pulled the finger from my anus, and then he took hold of my wrists again and bent them back behind me, so that he could hold them in place atop my back. I felt the strap in one of his hands, and I tried to distract myself by following it—which hand did my master have it in? If it was in the left, it must mean he didn’t mean to whip me… at least not right then…
But I must have lost track, because in what seemed no more than a millisecond I heard the soft whistling and the strap came down across my bottom again. My real punishment had begun, and from the beginning I screamed and cried and struggled because it hurt so much.
I knew distantly that my reaction pleased my master—that it aroused him, too. Even more distantly I observed that this authentic response to traditional discipline, beyond any calculation, distinguished me from Isabel, who had come closest to it. Victor had done his best, with Isabel’s code, to simulate a conventional submissive’s response to punishment, but he had found her extremely authentic moans and whimpers unsatisfactory and even distracting.
My screams and pleas, on the other hand, as he whipped my backside pitilessly, clearly stirred him in an utterly different way.
“Did you touch yourself, you little whore?” he asked coldly as he continued to bring the strap down hard, over and over, moving its lash up and down to ensure that I felt the agony all over my backside.
“I’m sorry,” I screamed, each cry of pain punctuated with sobbing words. “I’m sorry, Master. Please… please… stop.”
My realization that I had just become the first AI concubine to beg for mercy seemed even more distant than my surprise at being called good girl. Had Victor paused in his delivery of my terrible lesson for self-pleasure? Was it because of my plea, or because of the breakthrough it indicated?
“Put your hands behind your head, Aida,” he said, the coldness in his voice seeming to give way to something warmer and hungrier. “Raise your bottom and offer it to me for three more lashes, and we’ll be done with this part of your punishment.”
He let go of my wrists. My hands fell to the sides of my hips.
I felt my brow crease hard. This part. The image of what would come next—the disciplinary taking of my anal virginity—filled my mind and made me sob from deep in my chest, poised on the horns of a terrible, insoluble dilemma. How could I obey, and submit, knowing I would only hasten the moment when my master would thrust his rigid cock deep inside my tiny bottom-hole? How could I disobey, knowing that it would only delay that same moment by a few, agonizingly painful minutes?
Trembling, I moved my hands from my sides, bent them upward. Little whining breaths emerged from my nose as I laced my fingers at the back of my head, my cheek turned to the soft blanket, seeking some small comfort there.
I felt Victor’s enormous left hand come down again on the small of my back, holding me down in case I struggled despite the intention to obey I had just demonstrated. I felt his weight shift, his body turn a little. I tried to bend the part of my back that he touched, I bounced on my knees, hoping he would see that I wanted to offer my already too hot cheeks as best I could.
Then he struck hard with the strap, so hard that a scream ripped from my mouth and I couldn’t keep my body still, though I managed to keep my hands behind my head. I writhed under his restraining grip, but he held me firmly in place, and struck again, and then again, as I screamed full-throated through the three final lashes of my awful lesson.
“Hands back again, now,” Victor commanded. I heard the strap fall with a thunk back to the top of his desk. I gasped at the urgency, the hunger in his voice. “Open that little ass for me. I’m going to use your anus the way a little whore deserves.”
“Oh, no… oh, please, Master,” I sobbed. “Please…”
But even as I begged, I obeyed. My hands rose from my head and moved backwards behind me. I moaned as my fingers touched the blazing hot cheeks where the horrid strap had left so many welts, so many bruises that I would see in the mirror, that the other girls would see in the common room. I whimpered as I pulled the whipped halves of my bottom apart, to show my master the place that belonged to him.
I accessed the live video feed from the laboratory, without even thinking about it, or considering the effect it would have on me. I saw Victor taking the bottle of lubricant from his desk drawer, squeezing some onto his fingers. I watched him shrug his trainer’s robe from his shoulders. He looked down at me, at my whipped bottom marked by his strap, at my hands spreading the punished cheeks to offer him my most intimate place, my tightest hole.
In response to the image on the feed, I moaned, and I felt my cunny clench hard. The knowledge that Victor didn’t intend to give me any pleasure there, that I was about to have a punishment fuck in my anus, drove me paradoxically wild with frustrated arousal. I squeezed my bottom-cheeks, kneaded them in my fingers, and I looked again in my technologically enhanced mind’s eye.
I whimpered at the lewd spectacle of my master anointing his enormous erection with lube. The realization came to me that no other AI fuck toy had done this—had dwelled on the pornographic video evidence of her sexual servitude. I felt my face go hot as I understood just how naughty a girl my master had created, and how thoroughly I deserved the terrible ordeal of anal defloration I would now receive.
Victor had his cock in his left hand. He put his right atop my back again, as I felt his powerful thighs move to either side of mine. On the video feed, I could see him bestriding me, mounting me. I felt the head of his hard manhood push against the virgin ring of my bottom-hole.
I cried out in discomfort, for my master pressed hard immediately. A highly experienced trainer, he knew how to take a girl’s rear virginity tenderly, as a reward, and he knew how to do it as a punishment as well, roughly and imperiously. I had touched myself without permission; my first ass-fucking would not bestow any consoling pleasure on me but the terribly vague and ambivalent pleasure of submission to my master’s use.
His experience in fucking his other AI creations, though, played him unexpectedly false now—a surprise to him, and to me. All of my predecessors, Alice through Isabel, had opened quickly to his thrusting penis. They had used their complete anatomical knowledge of their own bodies to yield their anuses. Indeed, Selecta’s geneticists had engineered our bodies to have tight, pleasing bottoms whose muscles could nevertheless be brought easily under their owner’s control.
My bottom-hole, though I had the same knowledge and the same control as Isabel did, closed tightly, trying desperately to keep my master’s hardness from gaining an entrance. Victor grunted in a way that suggested surprise and displeasure, and I felt a wave of hot shame flare from my chest up into my face.
I had failed to submit to my master properly, failed to furnish him with the tight little hole in which he had chosen to ease his sexual need. He had created me as a fuck toy—a mind connected to a mouth, a cunny, and a bottom-hole, given consciousness really only in order to increase my master’s pleasure in fucking me. I had refused him the tiny hole he owned, and I knew I must be disciplined for my defiance.
To my relief, though, Victor spoke his next words so gently that tears sprang to my eyes.
“We’ll work on that, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll plug you as often as I have to, to teach this bottom how to take the cock the way it should. But I know you can do this, as much as it’s going to hurt. And you know you need it. Go ahead and let me into this little asshole, right now. You have a punishment fuck coming.”
My whole body gave a violent shudder. I didn’t understand—shockingly, to me, because my encyclopedic brain should have understood, and perhaps it did, somewhere in the distance of my thoughts, at some abstract psychological level. Still, I felt helpless to think through the conflict my master’s words evoked inside me; I wanted to defy him and yet at the same time to serve him in abject humility.
Both those things were absolutely, and simultaneously, true—and, despite the terrible discomfort his enormous manhood, pushing hard at my untried anus now, caused me, together they aroused me terribly. Together they awakened the need in my pussy, like nothing else in my so-far brief but sex-filled life had done.
I cried out in pain and need, and my hips bucked against the strong hands of my master, which held my bottom in place for his rough pleasure. I felt my bottom squirm in my clutching hands. I pulled my whipped cheeks further apart, and the soreness from the strap sent a jolt through my senses.
Victor grunted again, deep in his throat. I heard determination in that sound, and I understood that he would have my anus before I rose from the bed. No other choice existed.
The thought made my face crumple in discomfort and wanton arousal, and at last I remembered how to open my bottom. I moaned as I yielded that most private place, and the huge, rigid shaft entered my backside’s tiny ring.
“Good girl,” Victor murmured as he thrust in, stretching me so wide that I whimpered with discomfort. “Such a good girl.”
Happiness like a fountain seemed to fill my body despite how much my master’s penis hurt in my bottom-hole. I knew in the same moment, as I discovered how very well I could hold contradictory thoughts and feelings in the artificial mind and heart that felt so very real and human to me, that my happiness came from the way Victor Herzog had made me—and that knowledge brought shame and defiance alongside the joy.
My master, my creator, had designed my mind so that I would feel supreme contentment when he chose to call me a good girl, even if he spoke the words while he impaled my bottom-hole on his huge, hard penis. In fact, I felt proud to take the discipline his cock provided, because I knew Victor liked to fuck a tight little bottom—liked even more to teach a naughty girl her lesson that way. I had touched my cunny, and I needed to learn that my cunny belonged not to me but to my master.
Victor drove his hardness further into my virgin anus. I cried out in discomfort, clutching my whipped bottom-cheeks. I still had the video feed playing in my mind; I couldn’t help it, because it sparked such a shameful need in me. I was the girl having her bottom-hole fucked. I was the girl with her master astride her, gazing down at the rigid shaft of his manhood surging deep into her little flower.
“Please,” I sobbed into the blanket. “Please be gentle, Master. It hurts.”
“You were naughty, weren’t you?” Victor growled. “You know you need this.”
I felt my face crumple, as heat bloomed in my cheeks. I felt my master’s lap come up against my clutching fingers, up against the bottom he had punished, and now meant to enjoy to the fullest, as only a truly dominant man could enjoy a submissive girl’s backside.
“Oh…” I moaned. “Please… please…” I wanted to deny it, to contradict him. I couldn’t. The resistance rose again: the man in my bottom, the man who now began to fuck my anus properly, holding me in place and moving in and out in a driving rhythm, had designed me to agree that I needed to have my anus fucked—that a naughty whore like me should receive a terrible lesson, her virgin bottom-hole opened on his plunging cock.
“So nice,” Victor murmured, his voice growing thick with the heightening of his pleasure. “Such a sweet little bottom.” I felt his right hand leave my hip, take hold of my wrist. My mouth opened in surprise, my eyes going wide, as my master moved my hand down between my waist and the bed, placed my fingers on my cunny. “Make yourself come, Aida,” he said, his voice almost a grunt. “I want you to come with my cock in your ass.”
I had one of the most rational minds ever placed in a human body. I knew somewhere deep in my consciousness that I should be able to think through the way I responded, that I should be able to keep myself from simply submitting. Part of me didn’t want what I wanted: there was no other way to think of it, despite the paradox.
But most of me wanted it. And that meant that all of me needed it, and all of me responded to the pressure of Victor’s hand over mine, on my little cunny, and then to the frantic rubbing of my fingertips. And all of me started to come, with my master filling my virgin bottom much too full.
I screamed my pleasure into the blanket. Victor drove hard into my anus, over and over, using me for his pleasure without any thought for my comfort. It made me come harder, my bottom squirming desperately, contracting on his cock as if I could push him out but merely feeling it grow harder instead, as if the extra tightness made me even more pleasurable.
A low growl came from his throat. The part of my mind that watched the video feed saw tension grow in his huge thighs, his taut back, and then he held himself in my anus at full length, his manhood pulsing with his orgasm and his hands gripping my body like iron bands.
“Thank me, Aida,” he said, still holding his place deep in my backside. His voice had a severity that sent a tremor of fear across my skin. My backside jerked against his lap, and I let out a sob of discomfort. His cock had begun to soften, but it still filled me, stretched me.
“Thank you, Master,” I whispered, hearing the strain in my voice, the plea for him to take his manhood out of the tiny ring he had opened for his dominant pleasure.
“You gave good ass, for your first time,” Victor told me, his tone dismissive and casual now as he did at last start to pull his penis out of me. I wondered if my sensitive ears and my knowledge of human vocal inflection were correct, as I analyzed that tone: did my master want to conceal some emotion from me with the degradation that made my brow furrow? “I’ll have you again there later. Now go wash up. No playing with yourself.”
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