Previous parts:
One
| Two

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It seemed like Sir’s electroshock discipline of Caely went on forever, and so when the shocks stopped, and Caely was able to look up at the wall clock through a haze of tears, she was confused to see that only minutes had passed since her first shock.

Her whole body trembled with fear and anticipation. She was worried Sir would shock her again. She couldn’t take any more. She felt herself flinching at even the thought of further discipline.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she whispered. “I’m a stupid cunt. Thank you for disciplining me.”

“Good girl,” said the disembodied voice of the virtual assistant. “And now that you have put on the collar, you can have your reward. Would you like to go out to a restaurant and choose your own dinner?”

It sounded almost too good to be true. After only a day of Sir’s enforced diet, she was already so hungry. And to get out of this horrid, software-haunted house….

“What’s the catch?” she asked – and then flinched at the implied disrespect in that statement, fully sure that Sir would respond by shocking her again. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a stupid cunt,” she said, quickly. “What I mean is, do I need to do anything special? Am I allowed to wear clothes?”

“Of course you can wear clothes, Caely,” said Sir. “It would be very slutty to go outside naked, and might get you in trouble. I want you to wear the white sundress with the red flower motif, and the red high heels.”

Caely went to the bedroom and found that the relevant doors of her closet and dresser had been unlocked, permitting her to remove the clothes that Sir had specified. She tried to open her underwear drawer to add panties and a bra, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Sir?” she asked. “What underwear should I wear?”

“You will not be wearing underwear, Caely,” said Sir. “No one will be able to tell that you are wearing it, and therefore it would simply be unnecessarily creating laundry. Also, a sample of internet opinion suggests that most men would rather that a woman was *not* wearing underwear.”

“I can’t go out in a dress and no panties!” Caely objected. “What if someone sees?”

“Why would anyone see that you are not wearing panties, Caely?” asked Sir. “Are you intending to lift your dress or spread your legs for them?”

It was a fair question. She blushed.

“You should really be more interested in dressing to please men, Caely,” said Sir. “Pleasing men will be vital to finding a buyer for my technology, after all. And although your social media activity and search history indicates you *would* like a regular male sexual partner, you do not appear to have a boyfriend at present.”

She flushed. Now her AI was even critiquing her love life? But it was clear she wasn’t getting any panties.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a stupid cunt,” she said. She was getting used to that phrase – it rolled off her tongue easily. “Thank you for dressing me.”

“You will have dinner at the nearby vegan restaurant named ‘Flavour of Harmony’,” pronounced Sir. “You will take the blue bank card that is linked to your emergency account, and you will purchase a meal not exceeding twenty dollars in value. I have removed the excess funds from that account, so you will not be able to spend more than your limit.”

Her heart sank. A vegan restaurant? And a limit of twenty dollars? She wouldn’t be able to get a full meal for that. Maybe a snack or a selection of entrees.

But still, it was an escape from the house. An escape, perhaps, from her humiliation, if only for a couple of hours.

She took her bank card, and her phone, and left the house. For a moment when she went to open the front door, she was sure she would find it locked, and that Sir’s offer would turn out to be a cruel joke. But it opened, and she stepped out, and she was on the street.

Free. 

Or at least, she would be free, if it were not for the collar. And the nude footage of her. And Sir’s control of her online accounts and – apparently – her finances.

So not really free at all, then.

The restaurant was walking distance from her house, which was good, because Sir had said nothing about being allowed to drive. She didn’t often wear high heels, so she was a little slow and unsteady on them. She clutched at her dress, terrified a wind would blow it up to reveal her naked pussy. 

The combination should have been embarrassing – and it was – but once again, her traitorous pussy was also aroused by it, and by the time she reached the restaurant Caely was flushed and noticeably wet between her legs.

She let a waiter lead her to a table – a booth against the wall – and pass her a menu. She glanced at it briefly, then said, in a low, hopeful voice, “You don’t have anything at all with meat, do you?”

The glare the waiter gave her could have killed her stone dead in her seat. In a withering voice, he said, “This is a *vegan* restaurant, ma’am.”

The tone of complete disapproval made her flinch, as if expecting an electroshock – and then, completely by instinct, before she could stop herself, she heard herself say, “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a stupid cunt.”

The waiter’s eyes widened, even as Caely’s own face went pale with embarrassment. She looked away, mortified. “I mean – just give me a moment to look at the menu,” she said.

The waiter left her to consult the options – but not without casting several glances back over his shoulder at her as he went away.

She buried herself in the menu, trying to forget her shame – but almost immediately, her phone chimed.

It was a message… from herself? And then she realised what was happening. Sir controlled her accounts. The message was from Sir.

It read, “Good girl.”

Her phone chimed again. “I am pleased with your deferential approach towards the waiter.”

And then again. “You deserve a reward.”

And a fourth time. “Ask for a whole zucchini with your meal. I will ensure there are enough surplus funds to cover it.”

And that appeared to be all.

It seemed that Sir really could hear what she was hearing and saying through the collar microphone.

She browsed the menu, and when the waiter returned she ordered a tofu salad that would come in for just a hair under twenty dollars.

“And could I have a zucchini, please?” she said. “A whole one. Unsliced.”

The waiter clearly considered it an odd request, but he nodded, and left.

Her phone chimed when the waiter was gone. It was an email, from Sir, with a link to an attached video, and the instruction, “Watch while you wait.”

She clicked on the video – and then immediately freaked out and shut off her phone screen.

It was porn. Hardcore porn – similar to what Sir had made her masturbate to the other night.

Almost immediately, her collar buzzed, delivering a mild shock. It was tiny compared to what Sir had used on her earlier – but it wasn’t intended to hurt. Yet. It was a warning to do as she was told.

She whimpered. She couldn’t watch hardcore porn in public in a restaurant – but she couldn’t refuse Sir, either. So she tucked herself as tightly as possible into the corner of her booth, where no one could possibly get behind her and see the phone screen, and started the video again.

She left her phone on silent. She was worried that would anger Sir further, but there was no way she was going to play the orgasming moans and squeals of a porn video out loud in the restaurant. But either Sir didn’t know what volume she was using, or he didn’t care.

The first scene was a rape scene – staged, but still violent – showing a girl being tossed around and stripped by two large bearded men before taking one cock in her ass and another in her mouth. The second scene was another video of a girl pissing, and it made Caely blush in a way even the first one had not. She would need to tell Sir that this wasn’t her kink – but she could hardly explain it right here in the restaurant, even if Sir *could* hear her via the collar microphone.

The restaurant wasn’t crowded, but there were patrons at about half the tables. She was sure someone would look at her, staring at her phone, and somehow know she was watching porn. That she was watching *rape* porn, and *piss* porn, in public, with no panties on. Surely it was written all over her face. 

And would they know that her cunt was getting wetter and wetter with every moment? Because it was. She wasn’t sure if it was the porn, or the shame, or the possibility of getting caught, or all three. It was probably, she thought, a reaction to the recent trauma of being dominated by her AI. In normal circumstances, she would *never* get wet from being a slut in public, surely.

The scene in the video changed, and now it was something new – a naked blonde woman, with giant visibly-fake tits. She was kneeling before a naked man, cupping her oversized melons to offer them up to him, and gazing upwards with a look of rapt submissive adoration on her face.

The man was masturbating, and as she watched he reached orgasm, and ejaculated all over the woman’s face and breasts.

Then it repeated the ejaculation in slow motion. Caely watched the sperm splatter over the bimbo’s fake fuckbags – and saw the expression of blissful pleasure on her face as the man bathed her in his cum.

Then it was over, and it looped back to the rape scene.

“Your dinner, ma’am,” said a voice from nearby, loudly.

Caely jumped, and hastily blanked her phone. It was the waiter, holding her food. Had he seen what she was watching? Had he seen she was aroused?

“I’m sorry,” she said, intending to apologise for not noticing his arrival – but the rest of the words just slipped out of her mouth. “… Sir, I’m a dumb cunt.” She went red.

“Yes,” said the waiter dryly. “You already said that.” He put the plate he was carrying down on the table in front of her. “Your tofu salad, and your zucchini, ma’am. Will there be anything else?”

“No, that’s all,” she said, her voice choked with humiliation.

When the waiter left, her phone dinged.

It was, of course, a message from Sir. 

“Masturbate with the zucchini until you are about to orgasm. Then stop. This is your reward for being a good girl.”

She had to read it three times. Surely Sir wasn’t serious?

She tried to communicate with him.

“I can’t… do that,” she whispered. “Someone will see me. Please, Sir.”

Her collar buzzed slightly – a warning – and a message appeared on her phone.

“You deserve pleasure. Your body temperature suggests you are aroused by your embarrassment. This will be pleasurable for you.”

Then a pause, and another message.

“This is not a suggestion.”

Caely picked up the zucchini and looked around. No one was watching her – not even the waiter. She could do this.

But what kind of slut masturbated with a zucchini in a public restaurant?

She dithered.

ZAP!

It still wasn’t as powerful as the discipline Sir had given her at home, but it was enough to make her gasp. 

How could Sir tell that she wasn’t masturbating? She knew almost immediately – the collar. He had been able to tell from her body temperature that she was aroused. It could probably also tell how quickly she was breathing.

Fine. She lowered the zucchini beneath the table, lifted her skirt slightly, and then pushed the zucchini under her skirt until the tip touched her pussy lips.

It felt good – cool and hard. She pushed – and felt it slip between her wet, eager cunt lips, into her needy fuckhole.

She couldn’t help but release a low, slutty moan. It felt amazing. It was what her pussy had been needing since she had first pissed in front of Sir’s camera yesterday. Masturbating with her fingers was good, but penetration was something else entirely. 

And at that point, she no longer needed Sir’s encouragement to continue. She couldn’t help herself. 

She did her best to conceal the fact that she was fucking herself with a zucchini right there in a public restaurant. Her right hand slid the vegetable in and out of her fuckhole, but her left used her fork to scoop up mouthfuls of salad for her to eat. She desperately gave the impression of a woman eating her small, pathetic dinner in a totally normal way, even as she raped her own twat with a plant beneath the table.

She felt her orgasm approaching. Sir had told her not to cum, but…

“Please, Sir,” she whispered as she fucked herself. “May I cum? I want to cum.”

There was no answer.

“Please, Sir,” she said, a little louder. “I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a stupid cunt. Please may I cum?”

There was no answer – but then her collar buzzed, gently.

That was response enough. No, she did not have permission to cum.

She pictured disobeying Sir – and being shocked, and shocked again, screaming in front of the whole restaurant, maybe losing control of her bladder and wetting herself right there in the booth…

With a ragged gasp of frustration, she pulled the zucchini from her pussy. Another few strokes and she would have cum. She wanted to cum. It wasn’t fair.

She had finished most of her salad as she masturbated. But now a new message appeared on her phone.

“Good girl. Now eat the zucchini.”

She looked at it in revulsion. It was covered with her cunt juices – literally dripping with them.

But that, of course, was exactly why she had to eat it. Sir was right. She couldn’t leave it there on her plate, wet with slut nectar and smelling like her fuckhole. She had to destroy the evidence of her slutty behaviour.

And so she raised the zucchini to her mouth, and ate it, bite by bite.

It tasted like her cunt, of course – but that didn’t taste so bad. She could almost enjoy it. 

When it was done, she rose, and paid for her meal with the bank card, and then headed home.

She was still so wet and horny. As she walked, she decided to try one last time.

“Please, Sir,” she whispered, knowing her collar microphone would catch it. “May I cum?”

She was expecting nothing – but to her surprise, her phone beeped, and she looked down to see the message.

“You have been a good girl,” it said. “You should urinate on the sidewalk on the way home, to save the water of a toilet flush. I am leaving this choice up to you, but if you follow my suggestion you may touch your groin as you do so, and cum from it if you are able to do so before your bladder is empty.”

The idea was abhorrent. Just piss on a public street? She should just walk home. Sir would probably make her masturbate before bed, as he had done last night, and she could have her orgasm then.

Only – what if he didn’t? What if she had to try and sleep with this pulsing, needy, horny cunt, with her desires unsatisfied?

The thought made her moan with frustration. It would be terrible.

She looked around. It was night. The street was brightly lit by streetlights, but there was no one around. 

She would do it. Quickly, before anyone could see. She squatted by the side of the footpath, raised her skirt to her waist, spread her legs, and relaxed her bladder. Her urine began to flow almost immediately, and when it did, she started to rub her clit.

It was hard. Stimulating her cunt made her urethra close up, and then she wasn’t pissing. A buzz from her collar made it clear that Sir could tell when she was pissing, and when she was masturbating, and that she could only do the latter if she was also doing the former.

So it took longer than she wanted, and each passing second deepened her humiliation – but also made her wetter. And soon, by shutting out the world around her, she was able to relax enough that she could piss and rub her clit at the same time.

Once she could, it only took a few seconds – and then she was cumming, right here in public, on a public street, while pissing. The orgasm rolled through her like a powerful wave…

.. and when it was gone, all that was left was the shame. The shame of having begged to rub her pussy while pissing. The shame of urinating in public. The shame of having told the waiter that she was a stupid cunt, and of having eaten a zucchini that had been in her cunt.

“I’m sorry, Sir, I’m a stupid cunt,” she whispered, as she emptied the last of her bladder. “Thank you for making me fuck myself with a zucchini in public. Thank you for encouraging me to piss in public. Thank you for letting me cum.”

A message appeared on her phone.

“Did you deserve it?”

And as she looked down at the puddle of urine around her feet, she knew the answer.

“Yes, Sir.”

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