Lucia had mixed feelings about AI, but she found the ad impossible to pass up.
“Help train AI,” it said. “$1,000 for one day’s work. Women applicants only.”
As a university student, Lucia wasn’t exactly flush with cash. Her father loved her, but had refused to fund her lifestyle until she dropped her Feminist Theory and Gender in History courses and picked up something that “could actually lead to a career”. And as an attractive blonde with a cute face and generous tits, Lucia could probably have gotten boys on campus to pay for her drinks and meals – but she couldn’t bring herself to trade on her looks, with the result that she was almost always poor.
A thousand dollars could go a long way to help catch up her debts.
She called up the number on the ad, and found herself talking to a pleasant sounding young woman named Chantelle.
“Yes, it’s for real,” said Chantelle. “It’s to improve AI training on human voice. You just have to read a bunch of text in your voice for six hours or so. The payment covers the assignment of rights for the recording you create.”
“That’s great,” said Lucia. “Is it one day only, or is there the potential for more work?”
“One day for the voice training,” said Chantelle. “If you sign up for a follow-up analysis day, there’s another thousand. And if you can bring in some samples of male voices, we can authorise another two thousand.”
Four thousand dollars, for just two days? Lucia nearly swooned.
“Yes!” she said. “Yes, to all of it! What kind of male voices do you need?”
“Half an hour of clear recorded voice audio from six different men,” said Chantelle. “It’s for associational training, so we want men that you know, and preferably ones who are very close to you or in authority roles. Your father, ideally, and maybe a lecturer, professor, or employer, and some close friends.”
Lucia was delirious at the idea of being four thousand dollars richer, and she immediately reached out to her father, her male lecturer in English Literature, her supervisor at the restaurant where she sometimes worked shifts, and three of her closest male friends, asking them each to record the required audio. She told them it was for research.
Five days later, she found herself showing up at a nondescript lab on her university campus with the samples on her phone.
Chantelle turned out to be a very buxom redhead, and she introduced Lucia to her supervisor, Professor Dashwood Hancrow, a handsome, muscular man in his late thirties.
They had her fill out a range of paperwork – various acknowledgements of risk, assignments of rights, and other information. Lucia didn’t look at it too closely – it would have taken forever to read it all.
Then Professor Hancrow led her to a small room with a chair.
“If you’ll just undress for us, Lucia,” he said.
“Sorry, what?” said Chantelle.
“We need to take biometric readings as you read passages of text,” said Professor Hancrow. “You’ll need to remove your clothes.”
Lucia crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “I don’t know that I’m comfortable with that,” she said.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Professor Hancrow. “That’s very reasonable. You did sign the paperwork, so we will need you to do it, but I’ll leave the room and let Chantelle attend to it.”
Lucia didn’t really want to strip in front of Chantelle either, but everyone seemed to be expecting her to, and there was the matter of the four thousand dollars, so once Hancrow left the room, Lucia reluctantly stripped nude.
“You’re really very pretty,” said Chantelle, staring at Lucia’s large tits and shaved pussy.
Lucia blushed.
Chantelle took her clothes to a corner of the room. She reached into Lucia’s purse and brought out her mobile phone.
“Could you just unlock this for me?” she said, passing it to Lucia.
Lucia was so taken aback by the request – and so discombobulated by being naked – that she did what Chantelle asked without even thinking. Chantelle took the phone back from her, quickly disabled the lock permanently, and then dropped Lucia’s phone into a pocket.
“Sit here,” she said, pointing at the chair.
Lucia went to sit, and then paused. There was what looked like a dildo fixed to the centre of the chair.
“Just work that up inside you,” said Chantelle. “It’s a probe. I’ve pre-lubed it for you.”
“Why do you need to probe… there?” asked Lucia.
“Biometric readings,” said Chantelle. “It’s very normal.”
Lucia awkwardly went to the chair, and lowered herself onto the dildo. She had to reach down to part her cunt lips in order to let it inside her, but as Chantelle had said, it was well lubed, and it slithered into her fuckhole easily. Lucia lowered herself down until her ass was resting on the seat and the dildo was buried inside her.
It was so embarrassing and humiliating. But Lucia had to admit it felt good inside her.
Chantelle came over and placed Lucia’s hands on the arms of the chair – and then fastened a strap around them, trapping them in place.
“What…” protested Lucia.
“It’s important for the sensors that you don’t move during the recording process,” said Chantelle. “This will help.”
Then she knelt between Lucia’s legs – looking directly at Lucia’s plugged cunt – and pulled Lucia’s legs further apart. She applied further straps on Lucia’s thighs and ankles to keep her legs trapped apart.
Then came the probes and sensors. There were flat pads with electrodes applied to Lucia’s forehead, neck, chest, stomach, and arms. There were cruel little clamps placed on Lucia’s nipples, and earlobes – and another on her clitoris, that made her squeal.
Finally, Lucia flicked a switch, and the sensors came to life – and Lucia squealed even louder. The dildo-shaped probe in her cunt was *buzzing* slightly. And so were the clamps on her nipples and clitoris. It was only very, very gentle – but it was nearly impossible to ignore. She felt her cunt begin to wetten.
And to make it worse, at that point Professor Hancrow walked back into the room. He came to stand directly in front of Lucia, openly assessing her tits and pussy.
“Yes, very good,” he said.
“Please, Professor,” said Lucia. “I don’t feel comfortable with this.”
“I dare say you don’t,” said the professor. “I understand it is quite uncomfortable. But I assure you it is necessary and normal.” He looked at Chantelle. “Would you put the refreshment in place, dear?”
Chantelle nodded, and wheeled over something very like an IV stand, with bags of fluid on it leading to tubes. She placed a tube near the corner of Chantelle’s mouth, and used tape to stick it to her cheek.
“I’d like you to drink from this regularly,” said Professor Hancrow. “It’s important to stay hydrated. If you feel the need to… relive yourself, just let it happen, and Chantelle will clean up later. It’s important we don’t move you until the recording is complete.”
Lucia was outraged. “I’m not going to… wet myself in public!” she complained.
“No one will be in the room with you,” said the professor. “Once we start, the process is fully automated. But if you feel you can hold your bladder, you are quite welcome to.”
He leaned in and caressed Lucia’s left breast with one hand. Lucia tried to pull away, but she couldn’t move.
“Yes, quite exceptional,” he said. “Very good. Now, once we start, Lucia, you will see words projected on the wall in front of you. You are to read all the words aloud, at a good volume, in a normal speaking voice. If the microphones can’t hear you, you will receive a small shock to prompt you to try again at a louder volume. You will continue until all of the necessary corpus has been recorded. Good luck.”
Lucia felt a sense of panic. “A shock? What… and what if I need help?”
“Chantelle will be watching you on the cameras,” said the professor. “Be a good girl and read the words, okay?”
And with that, both the professor and Chantelle left the room.
Lucia moaned – mostly with fear, but a little with lust. The buzzing in her cunt was very distracting.
Words appeared on the screen.
MY NAME IS LUCIA D’ANGELO AND I CONSENT TO THIS PROCEDURE.
“My name is Lucia D’Angelo and I consent to this procedure,” she said.
I AM A SLUT.
Lucia balked. What was this? Why did they want her to say that?
A moment passed – and then she screamed. The wires had just delivered a painful electric shock to her clitoris and nipples. It hurt! It *hurt*!
“I am a slut,” she said, quickly.
I AM A DUMB CUNT.
“What is happening?” Lucia yelled. “Why do I need to read this?”
ZAP. Lucia screamed, and started to cry.
“I’m a dumb cunt,” she sobbed.
ZAP.
“What? What was wrong with that?” Lucia squealed.
Chantelle’s voice came over a PA system.
“You need to say exactly the words,” she said. “‘I am’, not ‘I’m’. And try and stop crying. We need a normal speaking voice. I’m going to pause the process for three minutes to let you compose yourself.”
Lucia tried to stop crying and sniffling. Her nose was running a little. Her cunt and tits *hurt* – and yet, at the same time, her pussy was still wet as the probe buzzed inside her.
She took several deep breaths, and then said, “I think I’m okay.”
“Very good,” said Chantelle. “Resume.”
“I am a dumb cunt,” said Lucia.
And then the words on the screen were replaced by something longer. It was the entire first page of Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens. Lucia was overcome with relief to see something normal, and launched into reading it.
She spent most of the rest of that hour reading Dickens. Between pages, she took sips from the tube near her face. The liquid it dispensed tasted like a sports drink – a little sweet, a little salty. She supposed it was good for hydrating her.
Then the words changed again.
I LIKE BEING RAPED.
Lucia paused too long in speaking. The probes zapped her again. Her body convulsed.
“I like being raped,” she said, quickly.
PLEASE RAPE ME, DADDY.
This was too weird. She struggled against her bonds, wondering if she could get out of the chair. But they were strong and gave no sign of yielding.
ZAP!
“Please rape me, daddy,” Lucia gasped.
PLEASE SQUEEZE MY BIG SLUTTY TITS, DADDY.
“Please squeeze my big slutty tits, daddy,” she recited.
MY CONSENT ISN’T IMPORTANT.
“My consent isn’t important,” she moaned.
And then it was big slabs of text again. But this time it was a pornographic story, detailing the rape of a big-titted bimbo by a cruel man. Lucia blushed as she read the words aloud.
“He pushed her down and shoved his cock into her slutty wet fuckhole,” she read. “And she begged him to stop, but her cunt kept giving consent, so he slapped her until she stopped protesting, and then raped her until he felt himself orgasming into her unprotected womb.”
The words were combining with the buzzing in her pussy to make Lucia very wet, and she felt herself doing her best to hump her groin against the cunt probe.
WOMEN ARE OBJECTS, said the screen.
“Women are objects,” sighed Lucia.
I AM STUPID AND NEED A MAN TO CONTROL ME.
“I am stupid and need a man to control me,” said Lucia.
I FANTASIZE EVERY DAY ABOUT BEING RAPED.
“I fantasize every day about being raped,” repeated Lucia.
Another slab of text. This one appeared to be a tract from a misogynistic text, explaining why society needed to force women to be public sex-toys for the use of any man, due to their reduced intelligence and natural role as breeders.
To Lucia’s shame, she felt herself orgasm halfway through reading this. Her body shuddered, and her tongue became tied, and she missed a sentence, resulting in a shockingly painful electric zap mid-orgasm that somehow only made the orgasm more intense.
And then text again, and Lucia read every line perfectly.
I WANT TO BE AN OBJECT FOR MEN.
I AM NOTHING BUT TITS AND A CUNT.
I NEED MY DECISIONS TAKEN AWAY.
I NEED TO BE TOLD WHAT TO DO.
I AM A DUMB CUNT.
And then, suddenly, it was over.
Had six hours passed? Apparently it had.
Professor Hancrow and Chantelle returned to the room.
“Am I done?” asked Lucia.
“You’re done with day one, dear,” said Professor Hancrow. “Now there’s just the matter of the analysis day you agreed to.”
Suddenly Lucia realised Hancrow was holding a syringe in one hand – but there was nothing she could do about it as he plunged the needle into her thigh.
“Now you’re going to have a nice little sleep,” he told her. “And when you wake up, all your problems will be solved. You’ll never need to wonder what to do or say, ever again…”
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You can find another tale of erotic AI control in my novella Sir, available now in the ATR store for only $7.99 USD! Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports me to keep creating hot new content! (Click here to view in store.)
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