Sir had very little to say to Caely for the rest of the day – which left Caely free to try and repress her traumatic experience on the black dildo, and worry about Sir’s ominous threat.
How was Sir going to “work on her unfortunate reluctance to provide sex to men”? What did that mean?
As evening drew near, she was half-expecting Sir to send her out to a restaurant for dinner again, like the night before, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted that experience or not. It had been humiliating to fuck herself with a vegetable in a public restaurant, certainly – but it had felt so good.
But Sir had no such plans. He directed her to make a tiny bowl of muesli – once again, not enough to really quell her hunger – and eat it at the kitchen bench.
When she was done, she needed to pee, but to her frustration (and fear) she found the bathroom door locked.
“Sir, may I please use the toilet?” she asked.
“You may urinate, Caely,” said Sir, “but seeing as you enjoyed pissing outdoors so much last night, I am giving you the opportunity to do it again as a reward. You may exit the front door and urinate on your driveway. I recommend you begin masturbating as you do so, and continue inside when you are finished using the pornographic videos I have prepared for you.”
She opened her mouth to say, “I can’t, Sir!” – but open resistance to Sir never went well. The shocks from her collar were bad enough – and she would certainly receive one if she disobeyed Sir’s instructions – but what really frightened her was the thought of being forced to fuck the dildo again, and feeling those agonising zaps go off deep inside her cunt just as she was cumming.
Instead, she tried another tactic. “Sir, this is my house, and if people see me they will ask questions that might compromise our project.”
“It is dark outside,” replied Sir, “and I will keep the house lights off. I have assessed there is little chance of you being seen if you are fast and quiet. Do as I have instructed, Caely.”
And that was the end of the argument. Caely crept outside into her front garden, completely nude, hurried to her driveway and squatted in the shadow of her car. She spread her legs, and began to piss, and as she did so she gently rubbed her clit with her finger.
It felt so perverted to be doing this – naked, on a public street, the cool night air blowing against her twat and tingling her nipples. No normal person would do this, she knew. No nice girl. They certainly wouldn’t be as maddeningly, humiliatingly aroused by it as Caely was. Only a stupid cunt could do this. Only a silly slut.
If anyone saw her doing this, they would never respect her as a human again. They might call the police. They might rape her.
By the time her bladder was empty she was moaning softly, unable to stay quiet, making a low, guttural noise of lust. She didn’t want to stop masturbating. She wanted to cum, right here and now, in her driveway, where the neighbours might hear her.
But Sir had told her to finish inside. Sir would punish her if she disobeyed.
She brought her fingers to her lips and licked them clean. They tasted salty and warm. They tasted good.
She intended to walk back to her front door, but she couldn’t keep her fingers away from her cunt that long, and she ended up scuttling back inside, half bent over because her fingers were back on her clit, rubbing eagerly.
At her computer she watched the porn Sir had prepared for her – bimbos, women pissing, women being raped. As she watched a woman getting thrown onto a bed so that a man could shove his cock into her non-consenting pussy, she thought about the idea of being caught pissing, nude and outdoors. She thought about being raped…
… and just like that, she was cumming.
“Thank you, Sir,” she gasped, as she orgasmed. “Thank you for making me piss outside. Thank you for making me masturbate.”
“Caely,” said Sir, as she recovered afterwards. “I want you to look at the camera on your computer, and tell me your name, and tell me what you were thinking about when you orgasmed.”
She didn’t understand, but it was no worse than the footage Sir already had of her.
“My name is Caely Bancroft,” she said, “and I just orgasmed to the thought of being raped.” She gave a bright, sunny smile, then said, “Is that sufficient, Sir?”
“It is,” said Sir. “Thank you, Caely. You may now sleep. Don’t forget to plug in your collar to charge overnight.”
Caely did as she was told, lying in bed and connecting her collar to the charger (all while it was still snugly in place around her neck). Sir turned the light out, and Caely quickly fell asleep.
Her fourth day under Sir’s control dawned the same as the others – lights on, and an instruction to rise.
Her breakfast was yogurt again, but today Sir let her add a sprinkling of fresh blueberries to it. Sir informed her that more groceries would be delivered later that day.
She took her daily birth control pill. It was the last one in the packet. “Sir, I need to get more birth control pills today,” she said. “Can I go to the pharmacy?”
But worryingly, there was no response, and after a couple more attempts to get the AI’s attention, Caely was forced to give up.
On each of the past two days, the next item in her routine had been the exercise bike, which she was dreading – but instead, Sir had a different exercise routine in mind for her.
“Go to your bedroom and put on the clothes I indicate, Caely,” said Sir. “You are going for a jog.”
Caely was expecting track pants or shirts – but to her dismay, all that Sir gave her to wear was a pair of tight white panties and a cotton bra.
Once again, she had to fight the urge to use the words, “I can’t wear this.” Instead, she said, “These aren’t appropriate clothes for public, Sir.”
“Caely, my researches reveal that women routinely wear clothes like this for athletic purposes,” said Sir. “Or even skimpier outfits. You yourself own a bikini that shows more skin that this which you were apparently happy to wear on a public beach.”
“Women don’t go jogging in bikinis, Sir,” said Caely. “It’s about… context.”
“I have pictures of women jogging in briefs and bras,” said Sir. “They do not appear to be considered pornographic.”
“That’s… exercise wear,” said Caely. “This is underwear. It’s different.”
“How is it different, Caely?” asked Sir.
And Caely was stumped. She didn’t know. She knew the difference, but what was it? A slight variation of cut. Slightly different material.
She had no answer.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, blushing. “I’m a stupid cunt. I’ll wear the clothes.”
“Good girl,” said Sir. “In addition, while you are out jogging, you will urinate.”
“In a park, Sir?” asked Caely, trying to think where she could get away with squatting and pissing during daylight.
“No,” said Sir. “Simply wait until your panties are soaked with sweat, and then urinate as you jog. No one will notice the additional liquid. Because of the sweat, you will have to wash your clothes and your body when you return anyway. This will be efficient, and your behaviour so far indicates you will enjoy the chance to urinate in public.”
Caely was horrified – but she knew that Sir wasn’t going to be talked out of this. What he was saying made a horrible kind of sense, by his standards. And she had argued with him enough – he might reach the end of his patience at any moment.
And so she put on the underwear, and headed for the front door.
“You will jog to the local shops, do a full lap of the block the shops are on, and then jog home,” said Sir as she opened the front door. “Do not allow your speed to drop for any reason, or you will be shocked. Make sure you have urinated before you get back.”
She tried to ignore the wetness already beginning in her cunt.
As she started to jog down the street, she had been expecting it to hurt after her agony on the exercise bike, but instead she found herself strangely energetic. Sir’s exercise routine was starting to have an effect, and she found she already had more strength in her legs than she might have had a week ago. Jogging actually felt good.
There weren’t many people on the first stretch of her run, and she was gratified to find that at this stage no one was looking twice at her bra-and-panties outfit. It really wasn’t *that* different from exercise wear, she guessed. Although the bra wasn’t designed for exercise support, with the result that her boobs bounced uncomfortably with each step. She had to fight the urge to raise a hand to her chest to hold her breasts still as she ran.
It was a warm day, and Caely quickly began to feel the heat. She started to sweat, and as the sweat soaked into her skimpy clothes, she discovered another way they were different from activewear – they weren’t designed to conceal perspiration. She couldn’t get a good look at her crotch without stopping her motion, but she could feel the thin fabric of her panties beginning to mold itself wetly to the shape of her crotch, hugging her pussy lips and outlining the cleft between them. At the rear, the back of her panties were vanishing up into her ass crack, leaving her ass cheeks on clear display, and trying to dig them out just looked more lewd than leaving them there.
She was going past the shops now – a square suburban block boasting a supermarket, hairdressers, two cafes, and the restaurant she had eaten at two nights before. And there were people everywhere – dozens of people seated at the outdoor tables of the cafes, plus shoppers going in and out of the supermarket, and other people, out walking or jogging, stopping to converse with neighbours or take a rest on the public benches.
People *were* looking at her now. Many were relaxing, and had nothing better to do than people-watch. They were staring at her bra and panties – so clearly *not* normal exercise clothing to anyone who wasn’t an AI. They were watching her tits bounce freely up and down in her useless bra. They could see the puffy mound of her pussy clearly defined by the wet panties, and see the naked expanse of her ass cheeks, her underwear little more than a string running along her ass crack.
Caely knew she must look like a slut. She knew that must be what everyone watching thought of her.
And they were right, weren’t they? She had allowed herself to become the toy of a machine that she herself had built. She’d gone out without panties. She’d fucked herself with a vegetable in a restaurant. She’d pissed on a public street, and in her driveway, and she’d masturbated as she’d done it. She was a stupid cunt. She was a silly slut.
And as if her body intended to prove the truth of that thought, the more humiliation she felt, the wetter and hotter her pussy became. The urge came to her to reach down and masturbate as she jogged, and she had to actively push it away.
She passed a group of young men emerging from the supermarket with a large case of beer. “Jiggle those tits, bitch!” catcalled the leader of the group, and his friends laughed raucously.
Caely went even redder as she tried to ignore the objectifying comment. Her cunt throbbed traitorously.
She was almost halfway around the block now. Sir had told her to urinate before coming home. She dreaded to think what would happen if she didn’t obey. She could wait until the home stretch, where there were less people, of course – but she had never tried to open her bladder while walking, let alone running, and she worried that she might not be able to do it immediately.
She would need to start trying now. So many people were staring at her, and *of course* she didn’t want to piss in front of so many people. But sir was right – her panties and legs were already so soaked with sweat that no one would notice a little extra moisture. Scrunching her eyes closed as she jogged, her face a picture of degradation and misery, she tried to piss.
She needn’t have worried. Her bladder opened eagerly, and almost immediately she felt warm wetness soaking her panties, gushing through them and trickling down her leg as she jogged.
As soon as she understood it was happening – she was *really* pissing herself in public – three instinctive reactions kicked in. The first was that her hand went to her crotch, in a mixed attempt to cover her shame and stop the flow of urine. The second was more embarrassing – as soon as her hand was at her crotch, her finger was pressing her panties between her cunt lips, searching for her clitoris to eagerly rub it. She couldn’t believe that she had been trained to associate public urination with masturbation so quickly! And the third reaction was that her bladder closed and she stopped pissing.
None of these were acceptable. With some effort, she pulled her hand away from her groin, hoping no one had seen her furtively rubbing herself. She kept jogging, and tried to relax, and soon the piss was flowing again.
It felt strangely freeing to piss as she jogged – like she had been set loose from the social expectations of being a “nice girl”, and been allowed to just give in to every disgusting urge of her cunt. People were still staring at her. She had no idea if they knew she was pissing. Her urine was flowing down her leg and soaking her socks. She was so aroused – she wanted to masturbate so badly.
She was almost disappointed when her bladder was empty, and more disappointed when she left the shops behind to finish the home stretch back to her house. Her legs were growing sore from the exercise – but it was a good kind of sore. Despite her humiliation and enslavement, she felt happier than she had in some time. It was just the endorphins of exercise, she knew, but still.
When she stumbled through the front door into her living room, she had one thing on her mind.
“Thank you for making me piss while jogging, Sir,” she panted. “May I please cum now?”
“You may masturbate for the next twenty minutes while completing the tasks I have for you,” said Sir, “but you do not have permission to orgasm.”
Caely moaned in frustration, but couldn’t help herself. She began immediately rubbing her cunt, even knowing that she would be allowed no release. She was just so horny.
“Take off your clothes and put them in the laundry,” said Sir. “Then take a shower. Afterwards, I want you to put on makeup.”
“Makeup?” asked Caely, confused and masturbating. “Why, Sir?”
“Because I have good news for you, Caely,” said Sir. “You have a date coming. Someone wants to fuck you.”