"I prefer you leave me alone!"
"That's not an option. The bed, Bunny. Don't make me ask again."
"THAT'S NOT MY NAME!"
He sighed, moving faster than thought. One moment I was standing, the next I was face-down on the bed, wrists already being secured to the frame. I bucked and fought, buthe worked with the same efficiency as always, adding ankle restraints that spread my legs just enough to feel vulnerable.
"This could be so much easier," he said, producing the vibrator that had become my nemesis. "All you have to do is accept a new name. A fresh start. Why is that so threatening?"
"Because it's mine!" I pulled against the restraints. "My name is the only thing you haven't taken!"
"Haven't I?" He positioned the vibrator with clinical precision, then moved where I could see him. In his hand, a small remote and his tablet. "Let's test that theory."
The vibration started gentle, just enough to make me aware. But the tablet began playing audio, a soft feminine voice repeating:
"Good bunny. Such a good bunny. Pretty bunny. Sweet bunny."
"Stop it." I pressed my face into the mattress. "This is sick."
"This is conditioning." He increased the vibration slightly. "Your body already responds to praise. We're simply attaching that response to a new identifier."
"Good bunny. Perfect bunny. Daddy's good bunny."
The words burrowed into my brain as the vibration built. Not enough to push me over, just enough to keep me on edge. To make my body associate the sounds with potential pleasure.
"I won't," I gasped. "I won't say it."
"You will." Such certainty in his voice. "Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, Bunny, you'll beg to be called by your proper name."
The vibration increased. The voice continued its soft litany. And I fought—God, I fought. Bit my lip until I tasted blood. Counted backwards from a thousand. Recited every song lyric I could remember.
But he was patient. So fucking patient. Bringing me to the edge over and over, always stopping just before release. The voice never stopped:
"Good bunny. Such a good bunny. Bunny needs to come. Good bunnies get rewards."
An hour. Maybe two. Time lost meaning in the haze of denial and that insidious voice. My thighs shook. My core ached. Every nerve begged for release he wouldn't provide.
"Just say it," he said eventually, and his voice had gone rough. "One word. Acknowledge who you are, and this ends."
"Lilah," I sobbed. "My name is Lilah!"
"Wrong answer."
The vibration increased past teasing into torture. I screamed into the mattress, body convulsing with the need for release. The voice got louder:
"GOOD BUNNY. PERFECT BUNNY. BUNNY COMES WHEN DADDY SAYS."
"Please!" The word tore from my throat. "Please, I can't—"
"You can. Say it."
"No!"
Another hour. Another eternity. The voice drilled into my skull until I couldn't hear anything else. Until every thought was punctuated by "good bunny" and every heartbeat felt like denial.
My body betrayed me first. Started responding to the words themselves, getting wetter every time the voice praised the name I wouldn't claim. By hour three—or was it four?—I was sobbing continuously, dignity abandoned in the face of desperate need.
"Such stubbornness," he murmured, and when had he moved closer? His hand stroked my hair, gentle counterpoint to the torture between my legs. "Fighting so hard against something that would feel so good. Don't you want to be good, little one?"
