"Yes," I admitted, broken. "But—"
"But Lilah can't be good. Lilah has too much history. Too much pride." His fingers found the spots where tears had made my hair stick to my cheeks. "Bunny could be perfect. Could be praised. Could come right now if she just asked nicely."
"Good bunny. Perfect bunny. Come for Daddy, bunny."
"I..." The word stuck in my throat like glass.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Let go. Let Lilah go. She's too heavy to carry anymore."
The vibration peaked, right at the edge of pain. The voice chanted its terrible mantra. And I broke.
"Bunny!" The name ripped from me like a piece of my soul. "I'm—I'm Bunny! Please, fuck, I'm Bunny!"
"Good girl."
The orgasm hit like a freight train. Brutal, overwhelming, magnified by hours of denial. I convulsed against the restraints, screaming into the mattress as wave after wave crashed through me. The voice kept praising:
"Good bunny. Perfect bunny. Bunny comes so pretty for Daddy."
I came again. And again. Punishment transformed into reward, the name I'd fought against becoming the key to pleasure I couldn't resist. Every "good bunny" sent new shockwaves through my overwrought system until I was nothing but sensation and sound.
When it finally stopped, I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could barely breathe past the devastating knowledge that I'd given in. Given up. Given him my name.
The restraints released with soft clicks. Gentle hands turned me over, gathered me up like I weighed nothing. I found myself in his lap, cradled against his chest while his fingers combed through my tangled hair.
"There's my good girl," he murmured. "See how easy that was once you stopped fighting?"
I should have pushed away. Should have maintained whatever distance I could. Instead, I buried my face in his shirt and cried harder.
"Shh." He rocked me slightly, a motion that should have felt condescending but instead felt necessary. "You did so well. Lasted longer than any subject I've observed. So fascinating. So strong."
"You took my name," I whispered against his chest.
"I gave you a better one." His hand never stopped stroking my hair. "One without baggage. Without failure. Bunny gets to be good, sweet girl. Bunny gets to be held when she needs it."
"I hate you."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, casual intimacy that made my chest tight. "But you came when Bunny was praised. Your body knows the truth even if your mind resists."
We sat like that for unmeasured time. Him holding me like I was precious instead of a research subject. Me clinging to him like he wasn't the architect of my destruction. The collar pressed between us, reminder of what this really was.
"The AI will respond to you now," he said eventually. "You can have your needs met. Ask for food, water, temperature adjustments. All you have to do is use the right name."
"Bunny," I whispered, testing the weight of it.
"Yes, Bunny? How can I help you?"
Fresh tears leaked from my eyes. Such a simple thing—just a word. But it represented so much more. The erosion of who I'd been. The admission of what I was becoming.
"Would you like lunch, sweet girl?" His fingers found a knot in my hair, working it out gently. "You missed breakfast being stubborn."
"I..." My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.
"Bunny is hungry," he said to the room. "Please prepare lunch."
"Of course. Lunch will be ready in ten minutes, Bunny."
"See? Easy." He shifted me in his lap, and I became aware of the hard length pressing against my hip. Evidence that he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended. "You'll find everything becomes easier when you stop fighting the process."
