I should have argued. Should have pointed out the coercion, the manipulation, the way he'd broken me down to nothing but need and two words. Instead, I buried my face in his chest and let him hold me while I shook.
"You did so well," he continued, stroking my hair. "Lasted longer than any subject I've observed. So strong, even in your submission."
"You broke me," I whispered.
"I revealed you." He tilted my chin up, making me meet his eyes. "The you that exists beyond pride and manipulation. Beyond the grey life you'd built to avoid feeling. This is who you really are."
"Someone who begs?"
"Someone who asks for what they need." His thumb traced my cheek. "That's not weakness, baby. That's strength most people never find."
I wanted to argue, but exhaustion pulled at me. Everything ached—body wrung out, mind scattered, heart cracked open in ways I couldn't examine.
"Sleep," he murmured. "Tomorrow we'll discuss what this means. How manipulation serves neither of us. How honesty might feel, if you're brave enough to try it."
"Will you stay?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it. Another need admitted, another vulnerability exposed.
"Yes." He shifted us both, pulling a blanket over our tangled forms. "I'll stay."
And he did. Held me while I drifted, anchoring me to something solid while everything else felt liquid. His heartbeat under my ear, steady and sure. His arms around me, possessive and protective in equal measure.
I'd lost the battle. Lost it completely, devastating. But lying there in the wreckage of my pride, held by the man who'd orchestrated my destruction, I wondered if I'd actually won something else.
Something harder to name but impossible to deny.
Something that tasted like those two words I'd fought so hard against: Please, Daddy.
Something that felt terrifyingly like home.
Public Humiliation Simulation
Iwoke alone in my pink room, body still aching from yesterday's lesson in asking nicely. The machine was gone, but I could still feel its phantom presence, the way it had reduced me to nothing but need and two words that now lived permanently on my tongue.
"Good morning, Bunny. Dr. Mire will arrive in thirty minutes for today's session."
Thirty minutes to put myself together. To find whatever scraps of dignity remained after begging for hours, after coming apart so completely that pieces of me still felt scattered acrosshis bedroom floor.
The clothes laid out made my stomach drop: a sheer white babydoll that hid nothing, matching panties that were more suggestion than coverage, and white thigh-highs with little bows at the top. No shoes. No robe. Nothing to shield me from whatever he had planned.
I dressed mechanically, trying not to think about how easily I complied now. How the fight had been trained out of me, replaced with something softer and infinitely more dangerous. In the mirror, I looked like exactly what I'd become—his toy, dressed for display.
The door opened precisely on time. He entered carrying his tablet and something else—a laptop that made my blood run cold for reasons I couldn't name.
"Good morning, Bunny." He set up at the vanity with his usual efficiency. Today's outfit: black jeans and a grey sweater that made him look younger, less clinical. More dangerous. "How are we feeling?"
"Sore," I admitted, then caught myself. Since when did I answer honestly?
"I imagine so." He opened the laptop, angling it away from me. "Yesterday was intense. You did well, eventually. Though the five-hour resistance period was... noteworthy."
"You broke me."
"I freed you." He glanced up, storm-grey eyes assessing. "From the need to fight everything. From the exhaustion of constant resistance. Tell me—how did it feel to finally ask?"
"Like dying."
"And after?"
