Chapter 11

Emilee frowned when she spotted the two girls.

"She's missing her collar, Katie." She languidly got up from the bed. "Where did it go?"

"I don't know, mistress." Katie's hold on Renee's hand tightened.

"Renee?"

I can't tell her about Simon, she thought instantly. She wasn't certain why- she wanted to answer the woman truthfully. Lies would certainly displease.

He was helping me.

But that shouldn't matter- the only thing that mattered right now was Emilee. What she wanted.

The mixed compulsions- to tell her the truth and give away Simon, or to lie and upset her- set off cluster bombs of discord in her temples.

She needed a reason to protect him.

... but she wanted to make Emilee happy.

But she won't be pleased if she learns of what he did.

There.

"Someone took it off," she managed, hopefully not too long after the original question.

Emilee traced a finger down the bound syn's cheek "'Someone?'" she asked lightly. The tone sent off warning bells deep in Renee's head, but she barely heard them.

"Y-yes, ma'am."

The woman lifted an eyebrow. "How ... interesting. I don't think I've ever had a syn try to lie to me while under this command before."

Fear flashed through her.

No.

Emilee tilted her captive's chin up, and stared piercingly into the girl's eyes. "You silly child. You still don't get it." She leaned close, until their breaths mingled together. "Everything you are belongs to your master. Your thoughts are mine. Your desires, your fears- I could change any of them on a whim." She chuckled. "As for trying to protect that boy, Simon ... you just told me everything I needed to know."

She released the girl, and Renee fell to her knees.

"He'll be taught his place, and the penalty for interfering ... but not yet." Emilee stalked to the bed. "Now is my time to play with you."

"Yes, ma'am," said Renee's bowed head. "If you please."

The woman paused at the words. "I nearly forgot," she murmured.

The world lost color before Renee's eyes, every shade of the rainbow cycling quickly out of her sight. Then blackness arrived, and lasted not much longer, but the moment seemed to stretch for an infinity; the pain accompanying it was double that which Claude had ever hit her with.

She screamed at the blinding intensity of it, then continued as all the emotions and thoughts that had been bottled behind one command were freed.

No no no no, she thought, shrinking away. It's too much.

She suddenly felt the pressure inside her, and she jerked for the chastity belt; her wrists snagged agonizingly on the handcuffs.

"Stop that," came an annoyed voice.

"Take it out," Renee whimpered. "Take it out, take it out!"

"But you were enjoying it so much before," overrode Emilee.

Memories of herself, orgasming over and over in a room full of people, flashed through Renee's head, and she cut off a sob.

"Please," she implored. "Please, m-ma'am." She could feel the thing, now that she had noticed, an unbearable testament to her earlier actions.

Emilee laughed and bent down, eye level.

"And why would I do such a thing? Didn't you enjoy being a slut?"

Yes, she thought despairingly. She had, unquestionably, and if Simon hadn't stepped in, she would have continued until she either passed out from exhaustion, or the other syns had grown bored.

Just thinking about it twisted her stomach in knots of disgust and self-loathing.

"Please."

The lock on the belt clicked as Emilee opened it. The woman reached between the girl's legs and pulled out the dildo in one motion, leaving a raw void in its wake.

Renee gasped, hardly dared breath at the slight mercy Emilee had given her, and hesitantly glanced to her face.

It held no compassion in the least.

"Clean it," the woman ordered, a cruel smile playing on her lips. She held the rod out, a few inches from the girl's tear-stained cheeks. "Clean it, and perhaps I'll be done with you."

Renee hesitantly leaned forward- it can't be that bad- then wrinkled her nose. It smelled like the women she had pleasured, and gleamed from her own juices. The scent stopped her short, and bile rose in her throat.

Emilee sighed with disappointment as the syn compressed her lips tightly together. "You are a stubborn little bitch." She brought the hard plastic back, and clubbed her across the face.

Renee collapsed to her side, her arms unable to break the fall, spots of white dancing before her eyes. The next blow was a pointy-toed kick to the ribs, forcing the air from her lungs, and then another.

And another.

Her breaths came in short wheezes as the woman continued hitting her, first only simple kicks that stole her ability to breath, but then she upgraded to a leather whip from a trunk. The lashes poured down her back and burned after the initial strikes.

Renee tried rolling out of range. She tried begging.

Emilee didn't notice it, lost in the torture she inflicted. Each time the tanned leather made contact, Renee yelped, and every shout aroused the woman. She stopped only when the muscles in her arm grew tired from the exertion.

Renee had curled into a whimpering, fetal ball. Angry red lines criss-crossed her bound arms and back, but in a true testament to her design, the scourging had not broken any skin.

She didn't resist as she was tossed onto the soft bed mattress.

"You know, there are differing schools of thought on how to best break a syn," panted Emilee. "Some suggest using the controls, make you enjoy what is done to you, so eventually the association - between your master and pleasure - is so strong, that software isn't necessary.

"Another camp doesn't like 'cheating, ' as they call it. But forming a pleasure/master bond is a lot more difficult without the commands. That group typically relies on pain, and by extension, fear to get the obedience. It takes longer, but at some point, Stockholm sets in, and voila. Same product, different production."

She leaned over Renee, her golden hair tickling the girl's small belly. "You may be wondering why I'm telling you this." She stroked Renee's unmarred skin, lingering on the syn's breasts and neck.

"I think both views are valid. But," she smiled and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I like to indulge in both. Terror can be as intoxicating as arousal, and it so much easier to create. A cut there ... a nip here ... punishments stick around far longer, if you've got a reminder that won't go away after a good night's sleep."

With horror, Renee felt heat rising in her belly, despite the gnawing pain on her back.

She's doing it again.

"But, your dear, dear master Claude," she said the name like a curse, and dug her nails in the syn's side, "-has denied me anything... permanent."

"Katie," she said suddenly.

Renee started- she had completely forgotten all about the other syn. Turning her head, she saw that the girl had backed into a corner, and was watching with wide-eyes.

She stood immediately at the sound of her name. "Yes, mistress?"

"Bring me the handcuff key." She wedged a hand between Renee's back and the bed, making the girl hiss with pain. "Oh, and Fletcher," she added, almost as an afterthought.

Emilee's syn froze at the name. "M-mistress?"

"Go on," said the women. She rolled Renee over.

Fletcher?

Katie brought the items at a snail's pace, and reluctantly handed them over.

Renee's arms seized up as soon as they were released; between the welts left by the whip, and her cramped muscles, it seemed as if they were made of fire. She let herself slide off the bed- she couldn't push herself up, the limbs were useless- and glanced at Katie and her mistress.

Fletcher, she realized, was another of Emilee's knives. She wondered why they all had names, but her curiosity fled when she registered where Emilee was holding it.

Katie stared back at her with blank eyes, the knife cutting into the same finger Emilee had earlier threatened to remove from Renee. If she felt the pain, she gave no sign.