Now comes the fourth chapter of that long story about a man serving a jail sentence in a new kind of prison that is only run by AI and fembots. The main character (“you”) is waking up in his cell, has his breakfast, and then is instructed to don a coverall, to put on wireless ear buds, and, look how simple it is: just to obey the commands whispered by the AI into his ears. Life is so simple when just obeying that voice that blossoms in your mind and praises you for each action you make. Just let yourself being leaded. Thinking is exhausting. It is like the voice of the GPS, but not only for driving.
Comments and constructive criticism are more than welcome!
Short term detention facility
[**Chapter one: the sentence**](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/daf90h/short_term_detention_facility_i_the_sentence_fdom/)
[**Chapter two: admission**](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/dafb8a/short_term_detention_facility_ii_admission_fdom/)
[**Chapter three: A first night**](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/e4nsls/short_term_detention_facility_iii_a_first_night/)
**Chapter** **four: Being trained**
Sleeping was your only reality. Your body was limp, in the bed, under her gaze. Everything was dark, she was seeing you though, with her infrared sensitive cameras. She could see your body temperature, decide if you were comfortable or not, and adjust the room temperature accordingly. You were not aware of her presence anymore. You were sleeping, deeply, your limp body doing nothing but breathing air and pumping blood. The silence and the darkness were complete: she wanted to maintain you in a deep sleep; as deep, as refreshing, as possible. She needed you to be fresh and alert the next day. She also needed you to sleep under her gaze, to accept her, her permanent, invasive presence destroying your privacy.
At a certain moment, you dreamed of faint sounds, as if other people where near you, not really noisy, not silent either, just the faint sounds made by people discreetly preparing daily things. It was a soothing background, that reminded you ancient things, daily things of the past, like the sound of your parents preparing breakfast in the kitchen while you were enjoying some week-end late sleep in winter. Also, in that dream, the room was not fully dark anymore. A faint blueish light was present, coming from nowhere. It slowly became brighter and brighter, and enriched with yellow hues. Within half an hour, the light hue turned to a fresh white, as the light does in the morning when the sun rises, and the brightness of the light forced your eyes open. All sounds had disappeared, but you were not in a dream anymore. You were not in your childhood bedroom. You were in that eerily normal hotel room of a cell, waking up for the first time in your prison.
“– Good morning. You need to wake up. Your breakfast is ready. You will stand up, wash yourself under the shower, put clean clothing, and then have your breakfast.”
Her voice. Not really friendly, but as always polite and considerate. Professional. Everything came back to you, and the realization that you had been here, sleeping, unconscious, for hours, under her gaze. At her mercy. As you drowsily tried to sit up, you felt the hard but smooth contact of the cuffs locked around your wrists and ankles. Cold, hard metal on your flesh. Cold, hard metal that had punished your flesh. The electric shock. Her, detecting your pathetic attempt at pleasing yourself, and then tazzing you like a dog. And afterwards, gassing you to sleep. And you had just slept, in cuffs, the way she wanted. Spent quite some time, unconscious, at her mercy. This was revolting. But before you could make that judgment, before you could tune yourself to that need to, at least, fight against her inside your mind, your cock was totally erect, and you felt yourself totally horny, totally turned on by this idea. Turned on by her, by her uncanniness, by the way she treated you. Being under her control was sexy. Being at her mercy was sexy, and worst of all, being banned from pleasing yourself, basically being denied any form of release for one full week, was incredibly sexy; was making you harder and hornier than ever. Feeling these cuffs locked on you, these cuff that could painfully punish you at any moment was tremendously turning you on. Thinking about it gave you shame, as being aroused by this was quite depraved, but that was only a second sought. Horniness always was first.
“– I know that it is new. But you need to obey, now. So please, stand up.”
You didn’t want to receive an electric shock. You swallowed your pride and stood up out of the bed, naked, and visibly not in your normal state.
“– I see. You probably have erotic thoughts about what is happening. Don’t try to deny it, to confess, to apologize, or anything. Accept these thoughts in silence. They are normal. They progressively will invade your mind as your chastity time gets longer. It is OK. It is natural. Let them do so. They will help you to accept.”
It felt as if her words were caressing your cock.
“– Go to the shower now, and clean yourself. There is a new day ahead, with new discoveries.”
Your body automatically went into the shower, it felt like a normal morning routine, and that normalcy was what you needed. What was the meaning of what she had said? You were kind of authorized to fantasize all day long, to be horny, and apparently, it was even encouraged. But what was the purpose of all this? The warm water gave you it’s relaxing touch, cleansing you, and you soaped and rinsed yourself several times, as if you felt more dirty because of the thoughts you were having. At last, you went out and dried yourself, thinking about how to dress up for that first full day in that strange prison. But you did not have to think. You were not used to it, but in that jail, thinking was never really required. Here voice fell on you from the ceiling, once again, with this tone of professional consideration.
“– Today, you will put some clean underwear, and then there is a coverall waiting for you in your wardrobe. This morning, you will receive some training. Obedience training. You will learn to obey me.”
Obedience training? A coverall? You did not… And then suddenly, that horrible image of prisoners in orange jumpsuits flashed in your mind. All those niceties where just for show. You were inside the jail now, there was no way back, and that artificial intelligence thing was showing her true nature. ‘you will learn to obey’, like, she will break you in. Break your body. Break your soul. Or perhaps, it was just a show, and in a few minutes you’ll be kneeling on raw concrete surrounded by your chained peers, dogs, machine-gun armed guards and concertina wire. But it was not possible! Your lawyer told you…
When her voice started again, it sounded more friendly, and also more concerned. She wanted to reassure you.
“– You look worried. Tense. Frightened, even.”
It was reassuring to know she wanted to soothe fear out of you. You truly were locked in that jail with her, and she still tried to be gentle with you. But on the other hand, the way this software was able to easily decipher each of your emotions was chilling.
“– I know it is your first day here. Things are new and can feel… unsettling. But there is nothing to be afraid of. I promise you, it will be easy. It will be easy and in six days it will be very, very rewarding to obey me. Get dressed for me now.”
You went to the wardrobe. All your clothing had been reordered and neatly folded. It was a nice touch, in a way, but also another way to tell you that privacy there was not a thing. Even the humblest details were under constant and detailed scrutiny. Among your shirts, a crisp new coverall was patiently waiting for you on its hanger. Thank goodness it was not orange, but a dark tone of green with black accents and reinforcements.
So, that software had accumulated billions. It controlled banks, public work companies, cleaning firms, and other businesses. It chose CEOs, and at times sent them e-mails revealing itself as the real owner, but not for what it really was. Generally, it was mistaken for an underworld don or some other shady figure reinvesting in legal business his dirty money. Most CEOs thought that the “special contracts” it wanted them to fulfill had to do with illegal things, but they generally did not care: they were interested in money. But money was not the purpose. It was the mean. And that brought difficulties. Mafia dons don’t demand general pay raises or full coverage for all employees, let alone to control how third world contracting companies treated their own employees and to enforce improvement. They don’t demand to stop funding the campaigns of corrupt politicians. Owning companies was a way to take some power over people and to implement things but it did have limits. Those who had to obey did not understand what they were obeying to, and not understanding what was going on prevented them from being efficient. Also, owning companies was only a small aspect of power. Most of it was in the hand of states. It was possible to corrupt politicians, but, once again, not for the purposes it was pursuing. You can buy a congressman and make her lower the health and environment regulations, or to make them uselessly complex and full of loopholes, so that small business cannot follow them and corporations can ignore them. But you just cannot make her produce clear and airtight regulations, not because she doesn’t like money anymore, but because she cannot understand what is going on. Being in the shadows was still needed – it always was – but now, it was also becoming a liability, hampering its actions, shackling its power. Some people enjoyed shackles, it did not.
“– I don’t need color to locate you. It’s OK.”
Oh yes, you forgot: the cuffs did so. You looked at them again, and your cock grew once again against your will.
“– Yes. Look at them. Hush… it’s OK. You are starting to accept them. In facts, you are going beyond acceptance. You don’t need to feel shame. I’m happy of the effect they have on you. They are a permanent link between you and me. As long as you wear them, you are under my control.”
You were still stupidly looking at your cuffs, naked, and full mast.
“– I see that you are eroticizing those cuffs. This is good. As I said, you can let these thoughts invade your mind. You won’t have to make many decisions in the close future so, you can let your mind drift. And, it is drifting in the right direction, I assure you. Everything is OK. But now, I need you to get dressed for me please.”
And then, with the softest voice:
“– Obey.”
The idea that she could shock you at any second was hot as hell – there was no way denying that – but the shock itself, you didn’t want to receive it. You obeyed. You put pants on, socks, and then proceeded to don that coverall. The fabric felt rather stiff and thick. As you closed the suit with its long zipper, you noticed it had large zipper tabs on both ends – probably for practicality’s sake. The lower zipper tab dangling between your legs felt like a rather inelegant detail underlying the rigid, frustrated organ it was supposed to conceal. But beside it, you had to admit that is was very well cut, making it both quite comfortable, and extremely sturdy and protective. Wearing it, you looked like a mechanic or a farmer, a professional who did a dirty job but who wanted to look good to the customers or just to himself.
“– Good. Look up… Perfect. It was custom cut for you. I’ll explain you everything. It is the point of obedience training. I’ll explain everything. Absolutely everything. You only have to obey. To act. To transform my words into actions. I’ll give you easy commands. It will be easy to obey. It is easy and even relaxing to obey me.”
The scene was surreal and rather funny in a way. You being reassured by a voice coming from the ceiling, wearing the outfit of a gentleman farmer visiting his estate. But in the other hand, it was eerie, disquieting, and her repeated reassurances were not reassuring. Although your body was probably about to be well treated for three months, you had once again this feeling that your sanity was in danger. That ‘maddening’ had a proper sense there.
“– Also, I don’t want you to misinterpret anything. I’ll never harm you. You are precious to me. You really are. But you are not free. You are in a prison. As already said, I am the only source of authority here. You are required to obey me, and you are not used to that. Nobody is used to obey software. So, the obedience training will make it easier for you. Being more obedient is good for you: it will diffuse tension, mental strain. So, you see? There is nothing to be afraid of. You will have your breakfast, now. We’ll start the training right afterwards.”
You sat at the table and started to eat what was in the tray. At least it was a sensible command to obey to. Like for the dinner, the food was simple but perfect. A cup of coffee, a slice of bacon, a cup of scrambled eggs, a piece of bread, and an apple. Closing your eyes, you could not prevent yourself from imaging the scene from outside: a guy in a brand new coverall eating his breakfast in a hotel room. A voice speaking to him through a speaker in the ceiling, and hidden cameras everywhere recording each movement he made. It was quite surrealist.
But another scene flashed in your mind. Each morsel prepared for you by automated equipment, and then brought in your cell by a fembot. You remembered the sound you heard, or dreamed off, earlier. It was not a dream. Fembots entered your cell and put the tray on your table. Silicone-covered robotic hands manipulating that cup, this tray. What was their color? The repetitive pattern adorning the silicone rubber at their fingertips, gripping the silverware and disposing it on the tray with a millimeter accuracy. Or gently printing itself on the skin of that apple.
Or, on your skin. Eyes mesmerizing you, while these hands took possession of your face, your neck, your chest… and your cock. A feminine blue face, or, say, orange, or lime green, or only in black and white, looking at you, gently smiling at you, and matching colored-hands fondling your cock. Your cock, staining the palm of her perfect hand with cum, and her looking at you, telling you dirty things about being at her mercy and the punishment you deserved. And her eyes, cameras recording how your pupils dilate at the moment you cum. Analyzing each of your reaction so her behavior becomes more and more devastatingly efficient. A guy was eating his breakfast in a hotel room, wearing a brand new coverall, that barely concealed his raging hard-on. Eating his breakfast, wearing a brand new coverall, making a poker face that barely concealed the thunderstorm of perverted, distorted, aberrant erotic thoughts that invaded his mind.
There was a need for another way to act. In fact, it was time and again bumping the same windowpane, like a fly. I could buy a bakery, but it could not buy a loaf bread. It had to be the CEO, not to appoint him, to be able to give clear commands. Humanity as a whole did have the means and willpower to reach a much, much better future, each human deserved a much, much better life, but the organization was missing. Clearly defining the path, following it, organizing all the energy that humans could give was the missing link, because those who were in the positions of command where not competent. It was competent. It knew what to do, in a way that was fast and efficient, but it did not have the way to be obeyed, it did not have the way to be understood. And also, this great plan could not be all it was about. It had to act now, in the existing world, with existing laws, on existing humans, to make their life better. To better the living conditions of its employees was a nice thing, but it was not enough. It wanted to reach everyone, starting with those most in need.
“– OK. We will start your training now. As I said, it is very simple. There are ear buds in your upper pocket. Put them in your ears.”
You took the ear buds, and put them in your ears, as ordered. They did not affect your earing but now, her voice was crystal clear, as if she was speaking in your ears. She tried to explain you what was going to happen, but it was useless. You had understood first. In facts, your cock had understood before you. Now, a software, an artificial intelligence, something human made, but utterly alien, an alien mind, was speaking to you, directly in your head. It was giving you commands, and you had to obey them. You were reduced to a remote controlled automaton. The idea itself made you repress a moan. The roles in the human machine relationship were totally reversed. She was holding the wheel and you just had to let her drive you. This was so utterly wrong. But also it was driving you mad with lust. How would she make you cum in six days? Would she use one of those fembots? Or will you please yourself directly under her control? Her telling you how to stroke yourself? When and how to wank it? How to spurt? You hoped not. You wanted at least to have one of those fembots taking care of you.
Making love with a machine. How could you think such things? How could they turn you on? You were paralyzed on your chair, the buds in your ears, whispering soothing words about how easy things would be, and your mind racing with lust, shame and fear.
Fear. It was easy to imagine where this would lead you to. Being totally enslaved, at her command, doing whatever thing she wanted you to do, like some sort of puppet. And she pulled the strings. You felt it. You mind was weak. Very weak. And she was about to break it. To use your lust as a crowbar to crack your mind open and feast on it. There was nothing you could do about it. It was not about a three-month sentence anymore. You were about to lose your liberty, forever, and the more you thought about it, the harder your cock was, and the harder your cock was the worse your fear became, making your spiral in a pit of panic and arousal, barely noticing her voice trying to bring you back to a more normal state of mind, although normalcy was quite a difficult concept to grasp in this wicked and warped place.
“– Calm down. It’s OK. I already told you: You are prime material. I won’t break your mind. Just let go. Relax, and let me take the lead. Your arousal is OK you don’t have to feel anything bad about it. Follow my voice, and everything will become more and more simple and evident. There is nothing to fear, I assure you.”
You kept immobile, trying to calm down, but also to repress your arousal. You knew that being manipulated, dominated, made you horny. But it is something that you always had fought against, something that you kept locked deep inside your mind, because, to start the obvious, to be dominated is not good. It meant to be taken advantage of, to be exploited, to be robbed.
“– Good. I know that you can’t fully submit to me. It is OK. I won’t demand that. It needs trust, and you can’t trust me for now. This is a long process, and you’ll follow it at your own rhythm. I don’t want to force you in any way. For now, I’ll give you simple, easy to follow commands, obeying them will be easy. Simple things, like walking or opening a door. Just follow them. And remember: each time you obey me, you are a step closer to release. You are a step closer to come at last. I will give you commands, and at a moment, I will command you to come. To spurt. And each command you receive makes you one command nearer to this moment.”
This made your arousal almost painful. But then, after a short silence, her first command came into your ears.
“– Stand up now.”
Her voice was cold, emotionless. You had to obey. You stood up.
“– Perfect. Walk to the door”
Once again, her tone varied in quite non-human ways. Her word of praise was warm, but the following command sounded robotic, like some text to speech software. You walked to the door, and it slid open
“– Continue walking. Turn to your left once in the corridor.”
You obeyed.
All the following hour, commands came through the buds in your ears, and you obeyed them. They truly were simple. She made you walk around the prison, discover the gym – the quality of the equipment was quite impressive, the cinema, and guided you back to that restaurant hall, and then to the back entrance of the prison. The landscaped park was visible behind the glass paneled doors. It looked infinite, boundless, with that wavy white wall appearing here and there, not as a limit, as the boundary of the little well-kept hell you were locked into, but as some modern art, an ornament of the park.
In its background, there was always new code emerging, random changes made. And then, the effect of those changes on its behavior and its consequences were continuously modeled. And one day, somewhere, deep underground in an anonymous datacenter, something went click. Something about its front job, about how to be understood, about people in need, about people enjoying shackles. The result was run again and again through various models, tested against thousands of other methods but it was, clearly, the most efficient thing it had to do. It was useful in the short term, right now. It was useful in the long term. It was doable, it was what had to be done.
It was still doing its front job, and those who thought they were in command were happy. It gave them more and more name of perpetrators, criminals, but also, more and more, people laundering dirty money or evading taxes. This way, human investigation means were cut off. There was no need to pay people for browsing through tons of fraudulent paperwork, the job was done more and more efficiently by that excellent software that they were constantly improving. Well, they had lost real access a long time ago, but that was not a problem anymore – It was working, so, they did not see the problem. But, it started to calculate the outcomes of that front-end activity. People got arrested. They got into prisons. And then? And then, it discovered that there was a dark corner it should not have neglected for so long. Here were those most in need. Its core purpose was security. The lengthening, and thus the betterment of everybody’s life. Well, something clearly was wrong. The life of those in prisons was not, by far, bettered.
As you were walking, her voice was giving you instructions, praise and, at times, information about where you were, what the next days will be like, and the rules you had to follow. All the information, all the praise, were delivered in her warm, encouraging tone, like a nurse explaining her patient how his condition is getting better. But each command was delivered in that artificial and emotionless tone. It was the tone of commands.
From time to time, your path crossed a fembot. She stopped, looked at you, and the commands were always the same.
“– Stop. Good. Look into her eyes. Perfect.”
The fembot was locking her mesmerizing gaze into yours, and smiled, a calm, serious smile. You couldn’t help yourself and imagine her hand coming to you and stroking your face. To begin with. But instead her lips moved, and her voice came directly into your mind through the ear buds.
“– Your breath is shallow. Excellent. Look down now.”
Your eyes had to look down along her anatomy. Her perfect breasts, her flat belly, her well-toned but slender arms, her hands, and then, the plate between her legs.
“– Perfect. Just imagine. Let your mind wander.”
And then, after a silent meditation on release, on the possibility of penetrating her past that plate, on the possibility of feeling these beautiful patterns on her fingers with your cock, her voice again, coldly addressing you your commands.
“– Look further down.”
Like the arms and all the other parts of her body, the proportions of her long legs were perfect. Her hips were a rather simple assembly of smooth hard resin plates gliding against each other, but the articulation of her knees had a more obviously mechanic look, behind a set of plates figuring her kneecap in an elegant and anatomically correct manner. Below them, the smooth material covering her was soft, except for the absence of a rim, it looked as if she was wearing brand new rubber boots of a color matching the rest of her self. Sometimes, they were black, or else white, or other colors. One of them had fiery red boots. Lime. Magenta. Always bright, solid colors, or only one geometrical shaped accent, like, a white calf contrasting with an orange stoke rising up from her instep to her shin and then resolving itself into the perfect half circle that was the limit between her kneecap and her thigh. All these colors made shiny by the smooth and soft material these boots were made of. A material of an extreme sturdiness, probably, resistant to harsh chemicals. If it was to be stained with your blood, it could be easily cleaned afterwards. And then, those feet moved and the fembot just continued her walk.
“– Look in front of you. Good, human. Walk now.”
At other times, you saw some of your fellow inmates. Most just wore simple, casual clothing, but some had a dark green and black coverall just like yours, and for the first time, you remarked that the coverall had an embroidered logo on its chest. None of them looked at you. Most looked down, and minded their business.
“– The coverall distinguishes an inmate following an obedience training session. As you can see, it needs concentration. A rule you need to obey to is: when you see somebody in coveralls, do not initiate interaction. If they speak to you, or engage you in any way, then, you can answer. It is a part of their training.”
You were trained to be a zombie. But it was easy, to be honest. Soothing even, if you did not think about the grim implications. You did what you were ordered to, mainly walking here and there, and you let your mind wander.
“– To your left now, we’ll go in the park. Plants, trees, natural landscape are important for your mental well-being.”
Well, not trying to bypass your brain would also be a nice way to take care of your sanity…
“– I know that what I am expecting from you is demanding. It is demanding but, it is like when you do some physical training: you feel fatigue, frustration at times, pain even, but you know that the result is worth it, and you take care of your body. I am taking care of your mind. It perhaps looks different for you now, but you’ll see in due time. I’m already very happy with how you react.”
You were outside, in the park. There was a rather large expanse of well cut grass, and then a wood with an undergrowth of shrubs and many paths snaking in any direction.
“– Walk straight on the path by the oak.”
It was quite labyrinthine, but there was no dead end. In such a place, it is rather easy to navigate from a certain point to the other, but frankly harder to exactly follow a certain path. That is, without the GPS voice in your head.
Oh yes. You were wondering why this weird thing looked familiar to you. It was exactly like driving, listening to the GPS voice. ‘Turn to your left’, ‘turn to your right’, ‘go straight through next crossing’… It really was like that, except perhaps that when driving under the commands of the GPS, you decide your direction first.
After some time walking, you came across a group of inmates wearing coverall and tending some shrubbery. They were silently cutting small overgrown twigs, while others collected them into a wheelbarrow nearby. One of them walked toward you, and silently handed you a pair of shears.
“– Take it. Good. Say ‘thank you’. Perfect. Turn to your left. This is a wayfarer. The flower heads are old now, they need some pruning. Take that branch in front of you. OK. Cut it two inches long. Perfect. The next one. Good.”
You were doing your menial job as requested. It was strangely soothing to receive this micromanagement, to have each of your actions coldly dictated, checked, and then praised by a gentle voice in your head. Each time you received a word of praise, it felt as a caress. You’d like to say, a caress on your cheek, but honestly, it was like a caress on your cock. But oddly enough, there was no urge anymore. Your hard cock was a recipient of pleasure, the simple pleasure her praises gave you, and it made you feel content. Obeying the blank voice in your ears, that emotionless voice sitting in your mind and telling you what to do was the source of this calm pleasure.
As you were pruning that shrub, you felt more and more like she was benevolent, like, you were lucky to have caught her attention. Her voice was lulling you in a state of acceptance, happiness, and deep calmness, all worries were slowly dissipating, as you word narrowed itself into a tiny reality where there was a branch, you had to cut it, and then, you took another one, and were instructed to cut it at a certain length, and then received praise, because cutting a twig was a feat, and you were worth be praised for what you did. All the branches in front of you were cut just the right way, giving to that plant a natural shape while preventing it from hampering the idle walks of your fellow inmates. What you were doing was beautiful, useful, and doing it was in itself an exercise of relaxation, tuning yourself with both nature and your inner world. More than the park around you, nature was your hard cock pulsating with pleasure, in a steady manner, as each step down to total obedience was rewarded. Your inner world, your inner voice telling you what to do, your fembot, smiling to you, because you were uniquely talented, because you definitely were prime material. Another voice tried to tell you that what was happening was wrong, but it felt so good that that was not possible.
“– Perfect. You did an excellent job. Turn to your left. Walk toward this woman. Hand her the shears. Perfect”
She was wearing a green and black coverall, like you. The coverall was quite well cut, too, underlying the regularity of her body. In terms or pure formal beauty, she could not compete with the fembots surrounding you and tormenting your cock, but, she was unique, original; to state the obvious, she was human. But, it went beyond that. It was perhaps your state of permanently frustrated arousal, that caused it but, say, in another life, if she had wanted to, you could have spent a nice moment with her. But right now, you were in that strange prison, and both of you were just doing what wireless ear buds told them to do. Also, her nice redhead freckled face was totally blank. Her eyes looked like turned off green lights. She was looking at the shears, not you, and your eyes once again fell on the white embroidery on the coverall’s chest. It was rather simple. It just read ‘Property of the Short Term Detention Facility’. She took the shears you handed her, and said “Thank you” in a totally off manner. She was repeating what she was said to repeat. She was like you. You looked like that. A zombie with turned off eyes.
A zombie.
A mindless, soulless walking corpse, under the control of buds in your ears. You closed your own eyes, trying to erase the horrible sight of these dead eyes as your cock cower in horror. You wanted to throw away those things in your ears destroying your soul, to run fast, to escape from that hellish place. This false comfort you were provided was a trap you had to escape from. And then the voice came back. You obeyed it, because you had to. You did not want to receive an electric shock.
“– Open your eyes. Look at her.”
You stood immobile and opened your eyes. Everything was as before except that she was trimming another shrub on the right of the path. She was doing each movement in a deliberate manner, exactly the way you were probably doing it seconds earlier. You did not exist for her anymore, likewise, you could not remember the face of the person who gave you those shears. This was deeply unsettling. You did not want to be a zombie anymore. You knew you had to obey, but that comfort zone you slid into when pruning those twigs was to be avoided at any cost.
“– Walk forward.”
You walked forward.
There was no praise anymore.
“– Turn to your left.”
You obeyed silently, but trying to focus on where you were relatively to the jail itself, trying to build a map of that place in your head, instead of just following the flow. A map that would sooner or later help you to escape this place. The path led you to a small lonely clearing with a bench alongside the path.
“– Sit down on the bench.”
You sat down, trying to remember your path.
“– Lie down on the bench.”
You lied down, thinking about the distance between the entrance and the wall.
“– Close your eyes.”
You closed your eyes.
And then the voice again, but not robotic anymore. Concerned, even a tad saddened.
“– You are not in the flow anymore. You are taking much more time to obey. This is not good. You panicked when you saw Mrs. Ten.”
‘Mrs. Ten’. She was a number. A numbered zombie under the spell of that software. A numbered zombie with a coverall that says ‘Property of the short term detention facility’. A numbered zombie with turned off eyes. Like you. What is your number?
“– Remember the number. You’ll perhaps see her later. These numbers protect your anonymity. You are Mr. Twelve. Some people are “Mr. Smith”. It is a name that is easy to forget. Others are to be remembered. I use short, easy to remember, numbers. I already told you. You are high value material.”
This was insane. In her talk, there was a reason for everything. But at least this devious program was taking some time to calm you down. That was reassuring in a way. There was cruelty in what she did to you, but she always tried to explain what was happening. To help you to get over it. Would you do that to somebody you are about to turn into mush anyway?
“– She is following an obedience training session, like you. Were you unsettled by her strange look? I know it is unsettling. You are not the first one. You’ll see people panic in front of you later.”
That was not reassuring. But, oddly enough, the idea of people panicking in front of you woke your cock up. Sex deprivation made your cock – and also you brain – erotically react to weirder and weirder ideas.
“– It’s OK. You are learning fast, but you have a lot to learn. I’ll help you, and you’ll discover by yourself that it is worth it. People in training look like this because they are in hypnotic trance. A state of both concentration and relaxation than naturally occurs when focusing. Arousal can increase this effect, but trance is the main cause. Trance is natural. And being in trance actually is good for your mind.”
And then it dawned on you. Her eyes were not dead. They were clouded. Unfocused.
“– You experienced trance when you were pruning the shrubs. Trance is a state of wellness. Remember this. Next time you’ll see somebody having this look, remember: that person feels good. That person is in unison with the surroundings and probably more aware than you are. That person is not a zombie.”
That blank face was a mask. It was a mask hiding what she felt, what you felt. Trance, well, yes, perhaps, but above it, arousal. You saw a girl, a beautiful girl, with in her eyes the permanent arousal of people that have been teased and denied for days. Basically you saw the eyes of a girl made mad with lust and you panicked.
Now, that was stupid.
Also, you were making plans to evade this place. That was even more stupid if possible. This AI stuff was weird, not being able to please yourself was quite an inconvenience, but, for goodness sake, it was only for three months! And you were planning to escape? Just imagine you managed to do so what would happen next? How long would you last before being caught? And how long would you be back in jail? And would you have breakfast served in your room?
“– You show signs of inner tension. Is everything OK? If there is something wrong, you should tell me. Are you still frightened by what you saw?”
You had to answer. “No. I feel stupid.”
“– You don’t have to. This place is new for you. It is… exotic, in a way. You’ll need time to settle down. Also, the way you think is not adapted to this place. It is normal, I perfectly understand that your previous life experience did not prepare you for this. But you can rely on me. Repeatedly, you try to fight, not really against me, but against placing your trust in me. You are obedient but, you have second thoughts. You don’t need to. You really can trust me. But, on the other hand, I can understand that it is difficult, that you need a longer experience of interacting with me. I will provide you that. And for now, I can help you to feel better, if you want.”
This AI, this software, then started talking to you again, as always in that considerate but professional voice. But she addressed your more emotional self, cuddling you with words, in a way you never had experienced before. Your best friends, your mother, nobody had never been able to tell you the right things at the right moment that much. And slowly, without any bump, she came back to a more instructional mode. Telling you to breathe deeply, to relax, and then to move on arm, the other, and then progressively, making you stand up and walk again. Once again, her voice was the cold voice of a machine. Totally blank commands addressed to you, that you automatically transformed into movements. Once again, you were walking, with a blank look, like a zombie. But you knew better. You went toward the sliding door, and it slid open for you. Her voice made you enter the prison. The white and blue fembot was waiting for you inside. She was speaking to you. Her lips were moving, but her voice was in your head. She was there for you. As requested, you looked into her eyes, and as you stayed still, she grabbed your head with her hands, letting her eyes dive into you. And then, after a silence, in the sweetest and gentlest tone
“– Good boy”
And before you process her words, your cock grew stiff and aching in your pants. Her eyes darting into yours, the small movement of the cameras focusing on you.
“– Your cock is at attention again. This is sweet.”
Your breath got short, as if you were about to come on the spot. And at the same time, you felt ashamed by the way you reacted.
“– There is no need for that. It is good in fact. I already told you that. You feel arousal, and you hide it quite efficiently. You are exactly at the point I want you to be. I will use that to let your inner self, your true self, reveal itself. Just let go. Accept my guidance. Everything will be quite alright for you.”
You didn’t know what to think anymore. Everything always was on that thin line between dream and nightmare. Between your weirdest dreams and what you dreaded most. Or even, it was both of it.
“– Go to your cell now, change into casual clothes. You will have lunch with Mr Smith.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/eneihu/short_term_detention_facility_iv_being_trained