Chapter 1

Claude grinned to himself when he first spotted the girl. She was all he could have asked for - and had. Madame Therese's specialized in the production of made-to-order synthetics. Want one who worships the ground you tread on? Or maybe one who detests you? Or more, one with a pathological fear of the opposite sex? Girls and boys in every shape, size, color. Any feature you could want. Every one with her own unique personality and characteristics.

Even with the tanks, though, it took some time for them to grow. Claude had waited three years for his.

She shifted from tiny foot to tiny foot at the station, peering nervously at the passerby. She thought she was waiting for her uncle's chauffeur. Therese's allowed you to customize their memories, if you wanted. Most customers chose to simply pick the characteristics, then allow the story-editors to do the rest.

But Claude had wanted to own his girl completely. He wanted more than her emotions - he needed her soul.

Her name was Renee D'Aubigne. Her parents had died when she was an infant, leaving her to the care of a nearby convent for the first fourteen years of her life. She'd a rebellious nature, which had led to more than one confrontation with the Sisters. She was strong for her age, and active. Her favorite foods were apples and raspberries. She had never met any males, and from what she had heard of them, they were something to be avoided. She knew of sex in an abstract sort of way, simply that anyone who was involved with it - at least, according to the sisters - was polluted.

A few weeks ago, a shocking discovery had been made - Renee was not an orphan. A single uncle, mistakenly filed as 'deceased, ' was, in fact, alive. After learning of his relative wealth, the convent had presented him with a bill for the years of care given, and more for its continuation. He had politely declined the offer, choosing instead to take care of the girl himself.

Renee, along with her meager possessions, had been packed away and sent off, despite her protests. She'd fallen asleep on the ride to the shuttle. At this point, the sim ended. The operators had sedated, disengaged, and transported her to the real shuttle. She'd arrived at the station alone, with only a Sister's hurried instructions to guide her.

Claude watched as she clutched her small bag a bit more tightly whenever a man hustled past. Her jet black hair curled over her shoulders, to the small of her back. It'd been designed to never tangle, and it shined brilliantly in the afternoon light. More than one man found his gaze upon her lithe form, and she glared fiercely until they turned away.

He took one last sip of his mix, and sauntered over to the girl.

"Renee D'Aubigne?" He asked her back.

She flinched and spun around. "Who is asking?"

Claude grinned. He had specified 'bold'... "Claude Montague. Your uncle, I believe?"

"Oh!" She shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. Pleased to meet you."

Claude stared at her hand for a moment. "Quite." He turned without shaking. "If you'll follow me..."

She rushed to follow his long stride.

Claude's home - nearly a mansion - was on the outskirts of the city, with acres and acres of unspoiled land surrounding it. He eschewed the modern fashions, furnished the house instead with replicas of the Victorian era. It had cost a fortune, and a second one to maintain it, with countless mechanical servants. Renee gazed about herself with undisguised awe.

"It's so big," she whispered. She set her bag down and wandered to the nearest bookshelf, reading each title hungrily.

"Don't touch that," snapped Claude.

She froze, nearly grasping a tome.

"Those books are for show only," he growled. "I don't want them soiled. Understand?"

"I'm sorry ... I didn't realize-"

"I didn't ask for excuses," he said. "Do. You. Understand."

She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to discern if he were really serious. " ... Yes. No touching the books."

"Good. Now go upstairs. The first room on the right is yours, and there are new clothes inside. Change and come down for dinner."

"Okay."

She is going to need quite a bit of instruction, Claude mused to himself, watching Renee race up the stairs. And more besides ... perhaps a bit too impertinent...

He laughed suddenly. Too impertinent? That simply made the process a bit longer. The initial sauciness would make the final product all the sweeter.

It only took a moment to key in dinner, a few seconds more for it to be ready. He sat idly at the lengthy table, but impatiance soon overtook him. Surely it couldn't take that long to change outfits? He needed to discover cause of the delay.

Logging into Renee's mind was much easier than all of the sims he had been practicing on. Synthetics had a linear thought process, so 'mind-reading' was relatively simple. It was an extra, though, and was nearly as costly as the girl herself.

But it was worth it.

-expect me to wear this ... I'm not a tramp!

In truth, the clothes weren't promiscuous. The majority were (admittedly, short) skirts, sun-dresses, and some camisoles. But with the "cover everything" dress-code of the Sisters, such things would seem a bit on the loose side.

But he did go to all the trouble to buy them for me.

It doesn't matter! I am wearing perfectly suitable attire. He shall have to exchange them.

He cut the connection as she left the room, awaiting her arrival. A shiver of excitement ran up his back. Her first rebellion, already! He would have to crush it immediately. Set the correct tone.

She marched into the room with her head high. He stood up before she could speak, and strode in front of her.

"You are not wearing the clothes I gave you," he said softly.

"No," she replied stiffly. "I didn't-"

"I bought them for you to wear. Go put them on."

"Excuse me?" Her gaze hardened. She stood her ground, even though Claude towered above her. "I shall not wear clothing to which I object."

They stood at a standstill.

"I see," he murmured.

He slapped her across the face.

She nearly fell from the heavy blow. She reached for her face, upon which a welt was already rising. Claude leaned in close, he could feel her panting breath.

"Again, I was not asking you a question. I will explain this once." She began to back away, but he gripped her chin. "You are in my house, and you will obey my rules. You will address me as either "master" or "sir," and you will do as I tell you." He gripped her chin tightly, then released it. "Understand?"

She glared at him balefully. "Yes."

He slapped her across the other cheek and she gasped. "Yes-?"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "Excellent. Now, go and change for dinner. It will become cold."

She left, more slowly this time.

When she returned, she was wearing the longest sun-dress, it ended an inch below the knees. Her cheeks were rosier than before, but no bruises seemed to be rising. Good. He had requested extra durability; her bruises would be there, but they would not show, and any other injuries should heal fairly quickly.

An icy silence prevailed over the meal. He allowed it, and only clucked as she rose from her seat.

"I did not give you permission to leave the table."

Renee stared at him, then sat back down. "May I leave the table, sir?"

He took another sip of the soup. Swallowed. "No."

He could nearly feel her anger.

" ... when may I leave the table?" she asked. "Sir."

"When I choose to grant you permission." He resumed his meal.

She shoved away, clearly deciding she had had enough. She had barely taken one step when Claude utilized the conditioning software that had been packaged with the syn.

She screamed and collapsed to the ground. He waited for three seconds as her limbs twitched violently, trying to escape the pain.

Then he turned it off.

She lay there, nearly hyperventilating. "Wh-wh-what-"

"What was that?" She nodded and he smiled. "'That' was a shock designed to cause you a specific level of pain. You only experienced the first level, however. There are eight. I suggest you start obeying me." He waited until her shivering tapered off. "Now, go sit in your chair, and await my dismissal."

She shakily climbed into her it.

"Good. You are dismissed."

She left without a word.

Claude had been expecting the knock. He'd spent the three hours after the dinner listening in, her thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. The confusion, however, had soon given away to more pressing matters...

"Enter."

She crept into the bedroom, and stood an inch from the open doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

"Yes?" Claude asked.

"Sir. When the Sisters sent me here," she stammered, "they-they gave me a thing..."

"And?"

"I mean, they said they sent the other part ... to you. For me." She paused, hoping he would nod and hand it over. Instead, he gestured for her to continue. "A key, I mean. I need it. Sir."

"For what?"

She whispered something.

"Pardon?

" ... to relieve myself, sir."

Claude raised an eyebrow. "You need a key ... to piss? That makes little sense..." He wanted her to say it aloud. But she didn't know at all what a chastity belt was called, and her embarrassment was such a treat.

"No ... sir. Just- do you have the key?"

He lifted it from the table and held it in the air. She stepped forward with relief.

"Not yet," he held it back and she stopped. "They never specified what you were going to use this on. Show me, and I'll give it to you."

"But-"

"That was not a question."

The blood rose to her face. "O-okay." She took a deep breath, and gripped the edges of the dress. Another breath.

"Okay."

She pulled it up, then immediately released. The belt had barely seen the light, but he had finally seen the delicious extent of her legs. He already wanted to touch them ... to hold them apart, and-

"Oh," he said. "I see." He tossed the key at her. She missed it, scrambled on the floor, and more or less dashed from the room.

The first night, he just watched her. She sprawled carelessly upon the giant bed, on top of the warm comforter. The nightgown was barely a few inches past her hips. The finely woven threads were all but transparent; her budding breasts swelled against the fabric. The long curls were a halo around her head; she was an embodiment of temptation...

But not yet.

Renee was quiet the next day. Claude peaked into her mind from time to time; he knew she was brooding, and also planning. She was thinking of various ways to escape his home, but she had settled on none, yet. He didn't press her.

He set her to simple tasks, such as organizing the vast number of relatively worthless books in the library, or polishing the banisters of the staircase. He caught her reading once; he tore the book out of her hands and ripped it to pieces. He shocked her too, for good measure. She needed to learn not to slack on the jobs.