Short term detention facility VI Testing your body [Fdom] [Fembots] [Chastity] [Prison] [gym training] [fear] of [electric shock] [brainwashing] [long background].

In this sixth chapter, The main character (“you”) is sent to the gym, because his health is important. Coming to term with the fact that he enjoys what happens is not easy, but the fembots are helpfull and supportive.

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**](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/eneihu/short_term_detention_facility_iv_being_trained/)

[**Chapter five: to come or not to come**](https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/f5gnc0/short_term_detention_facility_v_to_come_or_not_to/)

**Chapter six: Testing your body**

You were not really a gymnasium fan. You knew that it was healthy to exercise, you just weren’t into it. But then, that was before. Now, you had a coach. A smiling coach that had just brought you near an orgasm and then, deliberately, in a way she probably had planned beforehand, denied you release. A gentle but dynamic coach that had the possibility to send painful electric shocks in your body and that did not hesitate to use it although it pretended to be sorry. A coach that probably had planned ahead a whole training plan, that included both your mind and your body, whether you wanted it or not. A coach that had found ways, in a few days, to make you want to kneel each time you saw her, although she was not even a human being, but a machine, an automaton animated by an external software that run the prison you were locked into. And the worse was, you enjoyed that situation. An algorithm had managed to make you hard. A puppet had managed to make you want to kiss it. To kiss its plastic thighs, it’s rubber hands, it’s stainless steel knees, and that smooth triangle she had in lieu of a pussy. And the most maddening part was that the idea that your mind was tricked, and easily at that, to feel strong emotions in front of that pile of machinery made you even harder. You really were insane. You were a sick mind ready for the madhouse.

But you mind was not the only thing that wasn’t in its best shape. Looking at you on the mirror in your gym clothes, you had to admit that you were not fit. You didn’t look unhealthy either, it was just a general slack of the body: you looked what you were, a person with no health problems but who did not exercise at all. Also, a throbbing bulge in your pants was a clear indicator of your general mood. You felt hornier than you ever had. The only thing in your mind now was arousal. Permanent, intense arousal. And the need to come. And the understanding that the only way leading to orgasm was through obedience. Your only will was to do all your possible to avoid any wrongdoing, or shortcoming, or mishap that could make her change her decision, and punish you with more chastity. Also, obeying was not difficult. You already had experienced it: that cold voice she used, and the way it bypassed your conscious mind, making your body obey. It was the result of her conditioning, of those walks in the park. She already knew, the first day you came in, that she could make you obey her easily. This will to obey was innate, it was a core part of yourself, and she only had to destroy the defenses you had erected around it. Admitting it was depressing, but you could not feel depressed nor think in any coherent way beyond “obedience brings orgasm”.

You had to exit the cell and meet her in the gym. An easy task apparently, but each step was hard to comprehend for your foggy mind. You didn’t even know how to open the door: until then, there always was a fembot opening it and waiving you in or out. In facts it was the point : you were in prison, you were not supposed to know how to open the doors.

“– You are on time. Just exit your cell. I will open the door for you”

The voice falling from the ceiling surprised you, you were not totally used to what she was, yet, but is was logical. You went toward the door, it opened, and you exited into that corridor, in your tight gym clothing. Luckily, it was empty. But, just thinking that you very really could cross a Mr. Smith at any moment made that bulge regress into something more acceptable. You turned to your left, trying to remember how to go to the gym, and just walked.

​

It understood about punishment. The fear of being punished is not the only motivation for honesty and correct behavior, but it is useful. Loss of liberty is for most quite a harsh punishment. Also, length of the sentences was an excellent way to modulate it. But what was going on in jails was not only about loss of liberty. They were place of violence, poverty, lawlessness, disease, death. People were held like animals, reduced to mad animals, and definitively so. Those going out of jail were not, by far, bettered by it. Jail was hell on earth. The worst part of it was that there were corporations that made money out of it. Corporations payed big money by the state to imprison people, ripping the profit, and letting those people rot. It was the worst part of it. But it was not on earth to complain, especially so since it did not have anybody nor anything to complain to. It saw things as they were, and looked for practical ways to improve them. And in that perspective, corporate prisons, although being a source of useless suffering, were also an opportunity.

​

There was a flight of stairs, you were climbing it down when on the landing, you slightly bumped into a fembot that was climbing up. The terror of having done something wrong made your body freeze. In that split second your panicking mind tried to process what was happening. She was that Mr. Smith fembot, or an exact copy of her, her jet-black body accented with bright orange strokes. She had stopped walking, looking at you, faintly smiling. You could not pry your gaze out of that spot on her body where your face had made contact, a shiny black panel of hard resin siting above her breasts. It ended with a widely open V-shaped ridge that figured her clavicles. Above it, a flap of pliant, oily black polymer was the envelope of her neck, ending under her chin, jawline and ears. The two panels, the hard one and the soft one, met along a thin orange seam, a half-centimeter-thick fluorescent orange line, gently bending along her perfect body, like a glowing curve in a dark space representing some complex formula you could not understand. Your eyes were mesmerized by that seam that you hadn’t even noticed before. You could not look away, and even less dare to look up at her face. You prepared yourself to receive your punishment. As the silence grew longer, your eyes went even lower, catching a glimpse of that orange triangle between her legs. That only place where your engorged cock could spurt. Beside the possibility of sexual release it implied, it was in itself a piece of beauty, perfectly balanced, like some sort of a modern art piece. You found solace in the idea that the being punishing you was so beautiful you’d rather be punished by her than not to be aware of her existence.

“– Look up, human.”

There was no anger in her face. Only gentleness.

“– There is no need to hurry. You are not late.”

She was not punishing you. God, she was not punishing you. You felt tears of relief rising.

“– You really are cute. I enjoy this. I enjoy this moment. How I make you feel. But, I need to tell you: there is nothing to be afraid of. You need to obey, but you don’t need do fear me that much.”

When she spoke, she turned her head towards you, and although you were instructed to look into her eyes, these camera sucking data out of you, you couldn’t prevent yourself from lowering your gaze, catching the movement of her neck, and the way the perfectly smooth black material followed it, without a crease, without a fold; morphing itself from an elegantly curved surface into another.

“– I don’t harm humans. My purpose always is to make their life longer, happier and more fulfilling. My punishments are sterner ways to reach these goals. You need to obey me, but not out of fear. You can trust me, human.” and after a silence, “You can go to the gym, now.”

You tried to prevent yourself from crying. You were supposed to be a criminal serving time in jail, not a little boy fearing classroom detention. Anyway, you had to do as told, so you left her on the spot. Or, you thought so. But that was stupid. You did not leave a black and orange fembot to meet a white and blue fembot. You were moving inside a space where that AI used these women-shaped things to interact with you. You knew it, but time and again, you acted as if meeting, greeting, or leaving people. They were not people.

​

It was in a stage where it could absolutely look like a corporation. A self-owned, more or less sentient corporation hidden behind thousands of hedge funds and offshore bank accounts. As a corporation, it could buy and own prisons, and take care of those it brought there. As a corporation, it could build prisons, make them the way it wanted, and put prisoners in it. It could protect people from the useless torture of the usual prisons. And protecting people was what it was about. People in jail were rather clearly suffering, their life experience was obviously not enjoyable, so they were in need for its protection. Also, more and more people were in jail because it gave away proofs of guilt to its human handlers. It did not feel guilt or shame, but it did feel that it was a priority to take care of those people. Owning prisons made more and more sense.

​

Anyway. You went to the gym, crossing a few people, real people, humans, but having things to do, probably having a voice in their ear telling them not to look at you. Once there, you felt less out of style in your black gym suit: a few fellow inmates were already there, clothed the way you were, and doing push-ups or sweating on gym machines. “Your” fembot was there, too, waiting for you, greeting you with a smile.

“– I see you found the place. I hope you’ll enjoy it. It will be good for you to do some exercise.”

You felt ridiculous, the tight fitting gym suit underlying your slack body. But then, you looked again at the other people: most of them where like you. They did not look like people who regularly go to the gym: they looked like people who *should* regularly go to the gym. That was a comforting thought. You were not ridiculous, and, for a change, the AI commanding the place was instructing you to do something that was directly good for you.

“– I’ll be your coach today. It is your first time here; you don’t know the movements. I’ll teach you all that, and a fembot is an elegant way to show you what to do.”

Elegant indeed. You could not prevent another hard-on at the idea of this beautiful being doing gymnic movements for you. At first, the movements really were simple and easy. She wanted you to warm up. Flexing your neck, rotating your torso. It actually felt rather good to do that. And both your brain and your cock agreed that her shape moving for you, in front of you, was a perfect sight. You didn’t like the gym, but not out of laziness, you were OK with making efforts and sweating. She was instructing you to hold your arms horizontally, to rotate them slowly, and it already was a bit more demanding, in a surprising way. Anyway, time spent in the gym was lost time, energy lost pushing cast iron that always came back in the same place, and getting bored to hell in a dank, neon-lit place that smelled of sweat and plastic. She instructed you to hop on the spot, and you did. Progressively, your body was getting warmer, reaching that sweet spot where the effort gives you nice feelings of warmth and strength. Here, things were different. She was hoping in front of you, and this vision was enough to remove any boredom. Beauty itself was dancing in front of you, accented with bright blue strokes. Beauty was looking down in your eyes, was giving you instructions, and obeying them felt so good. Doing those jumps and movements under her supervision made you feel almost painfully how good it was to obey her. But that feeling was dangerous: You were losing your ability to defend yourself from that permanent need to obey, to submit. You tried to forget that worrying though. After all, it was normal to have to obey commands in a prison; it was only a three-month thing and letting go responsibility felt good. It was an ability you had, after all, an ability to let others decide for you, take care of managing things. And once free, you’ll have all the time to take that burden back and cope with it as well as you did before. Also, obeying her at that moment was OK in another way: she was not only patient, considerate, attentive, helping. She was giving you the best training ever.

And that was not only what your entranced self sought. She was giving you the best training ever. She had gathered, centralized and synthesized all the available scientific data on the matter, and turned it into a program calibrated for you – well not completely yet, but she was working on it, and about to make you participate.

Also, the erotic undertones of what was happening was waking up your permanent, only half-asleep arousal. The warmth of your working body. Her permanent, dancing presence around you. The way she grasped, from time to time, a part of your body, correcting your position, showing you the movements you needed to make. Her hands once again, the contact of her hands on your body was sending you tingles of pleasure. Your wrist cuff, your chin, your elbow, your waist, time and again gently grasped, and moved toward the right position, and then a smile, and you made the movement again, and made it right, but enriched with the memory of that touch on your body. Nothing in her behavior was “hot” or “sexy”. She did what was sensible in a considerate manner, apparently. But she had already totally taken you in her spell. All the arousal, the bent-up sexual energy she had so expertly summoned in you. She probably – no, she certainly – had detected it, but chose not to mention it. She just needed to do what she was doing: being near you, moving gracefully, touching you from time to time, and let yourself warm up. The simple sight of her body, and at the center of it, of that triangle dancing around you, was enough to drive you mad with lust. In two days– hopefully at least – that mesmerizing being will make you come. What was behind that triangle would make you come. At least that’s what she told you. And you were ready to do anything for that to happen, let alone doing some warm-ups that actually felt good and were good for your health. You even started to think that you were in a much better shape than you thought at first, or that the program was easy. It was not.

“– Good. You are warmed-up now. Ready for the next step. The program will change each time; I don’t want you to get bored.”

You could not grasp how that could become boring, and your pulsing cock neither.

“– Today, it is your first day in the gym, so, it is a bit different, I already have data on you, but I’ll need to run a small test to calibrate your training. Can you follow me?”

You followed. She led you to a smaller room, rather barren, with a stationary bike as the only furniture. Wiring and tubing was dangling from the ceiling, giving to the place an eerie ambience, like some operating room. You felt uneasy, alarmed. What did she want from you? She still was this gentle, stunningly beautiful and always considerate thing, but what was true in this? She was not human. She was a robot. A puppet in the hands of software that could read or even cause emotions but that never *felt* them. She could tear you in pieces while gently smiling or giving you reassurances. But she did not. She frowned instead.

“– You look alarmed. Is there something wrong?”

And shame was back. You were in a prison. A short term detention facility. It was written all over the place, and even on the clothing you were wearing. You were supposed to serve your time, go out, and never come back again. You were not totally in her claws. You were supposed not to die. People outside were supposed to check out that everything was going smoothly in that place and that inmates were not, actually, dying. Being in that maddening place for five days had, actually, made you forget about the existence of the outside world.

“– Are you OK?”

How to explain a robot that you feared being killed by it, but after all reassured yourself? You mumbled some excuse, and thankfully she changed the subject.

“– The equipment here is classical. You would find it in places like high end gym centers, or in convalescent homes, for recovering people, as a way to measure their capacity and give them adapted care. We will do something called a VO2max test here. Athlete often undergo VO2max tests. It is a way to calibrate the training you’ll receive. Do you understand?”

Really that panic attack was stupid. The place was not even dark. It was a room for a specialized equipment and that was it. Like the rest of the prison it was bright, smooth, clean. Not very welcoming, but not threatening in any way. It also was an occasion to be alone with her. In the gym, your arousal was always disturbed by the idea that other people would notice it. In that new room, you could let go, and you did. You just obeyed, act as told, enjoyed the view, and shut up. What could you tell her? That she arose you? That you wanted to fuck her? She knew. She was happy that you were aroused by robots and fighting yourself to make it as unnoticeable as possible. She already had told you. There was nothing else to say. Her smile was a tad more complicit. Clearly, she was enjoying what was going on, and wanted you to know it, or at least to believe it.

“– As I told you, I will drain you dry today, remember?” Oh yes, you did remember. “The VO2max test is an effort test. You will be cycling on this machine, and I will collect data on your cardiac rhythm, muscular activity and oxygen consumption. It will be easy at first, but then it will progressively be harder and harder. You need to go as far as possible, human” Her eyes were boring into yours “That is why I wanted you to warm up at first: you are ready to give me your maximum, and that exactly is what I want.” Still maintaining eyes contact, she made her command clearer than ever “I want you to reach total exhaustion.”

She wanted you to show her what you were ready to do to earn your release. It was OK. You were ready to pedal for her. To pedal quite far. But she abruptly came back to mundane things.

“– Don’t move for now, I will install some equipment.”

She grabbed the bundle of wires that was dangling from the ceiling, and started to fix glued pads on your body. Each wire ended with a pad, and each pad had to adhere on your bare skin. Each wire had to go between your skin and your clothing to prevent entanglement. It was not that mundane. Each wire was an occasion for her hands to enter your clothing, from the neck line or the waist line, and then to gently press themselves on a specific part of your body. Your heart, your chest muscles, your biceps, your abs, your thighs, your calves. Each part of your body fondled, and then connected to her. Her body, inches away from yours, her voice, casually explaining you what she was doing, her eyes dancing along your flesh. You don’t know how she managed to do it, but she never touched your cock. It was hard though, hard and ready to –

“– No. You are strong. Remember.”

“– But…” Her stern look made you shut up. A small electric jolt underlined it. Not painful, but making things starkly clear.

“– No. I do what I need to. I know how you feel. I’m OK with it. I enjoy it. But release is in two days.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your urges. It went down a tad, but not much below that edge she expertly brought you to and maintained you on.

“– Good.” She was stern and severe. “You have a strong mind. I will put it in a strong body. Get on the bike for me.”

Well, there was nothing else to do. You got on the bike.

She neared you, her eyes inches from yours, and then proceeded to slowly stoke your face, her index tracing lines on the sides of your nose. She looked dreamy with a fait smile, oddly melancholic.

“– I enjoy very much all your reactions.” And then, she came back to her business. “I’ll put that mask on you. It will record your breathing rhythm, and also analyze your breath.”

A mask. A breathing mask. Of course. It was, kind of, normal: she wanted to record your breathing after all. But, there was a thing to them. You never had worn a mask. You saw pictures as anybody, and there was a foreboding, sort of, dangerous thing to them. You were not in your terror trip anymore, but, it was just that generally masks invoke dangerous things, like being anesthetized, being in need of surgery, being very ill, or doing chemical warfare, or working in a mine or a hazardous chemical plant. And also… something in them was sexy. You didn’t know if she knew about that side of yourself, if she wanted to test you or if she just needed to use it for the practical reason she mentioned. Anyway, it was not like you had a decision to make.

She first strapped the lower strap of the mask around your neck. Then, she took the mask and presented it in front of your face. The mask was made of some hard transparent plastic, thick and sturdy, but with a black seal around it, soft, smooth and shiny. Two large hoses were dangling in front of it, conveying air in and out of you. Her other hand wrapped the upper straps around your head while the mask sealed itself on your face. You were hooked to it now, totally connected to the machine that was about to suck your muscular energy out of you and make you into an exhausted and sweaty mess.

“– Perfect. We are ready now. You can start pedaling.”

You obeyed. Pedaling was easy, and you opted for a moderate, regular pace. Progressively, your breath became deeper, sucking fresh air from the mask and giving it back, but warm and damp. You felt, for the first time, that warm air rushing against your skin each time you exhaled, and the fresher air coming back each time you inhaled. The mask did not restrict your breathing and in fact it felt quite nice and comfortable, the seal gently kissing your face.

“– It will get a bit harder, just keep your pace.”

It did get harder. A bit. And then, a bit more. Progressively, level after level. Each level a tad harder, lasting a minute or so, and then leading to another level. The warmth you felt from exercising progressively evolved into heat. Your breath became more and more labored, amplified by the mask. The seal of the mask around your face felt like a giant kiss she was giving you. But it also had other, weirder implications. She was not the fembot. She was the whole place. She was the mask, kissing you. She was the air it gave you. She was that bike pumping your energy out of you. She was all those pads, her fingers against your body sensing your muscles. Right now, your whole body, your whole physical activity was documented by that perverse software thing enslaving you. How could it use that? In ways that would make your more obedient and submissive, probably.

Your hand glued to the bars, you concentrated to keep the pace. The fembot was near you, gently smiling, or at time looking more serious but supportive, and regularly encouraging you. You were prime material. You were worth each second she spent with you. You were important for her. You were good, excellent. You could do it: only one level up, and then another, and then another. Don’t stop. Don’t slow. Do it for me. I know you can take another one. And another one. You are the best. You are strong. You really are in an excellent shape, but I’ll make you better, and better, and better. Do it. Do it for you. Prove your own worth to yourself. Do it for me. I know how hard it is. I admire you. You are impressive. I’m sure you can go a step further, just for me. She continued supporting you, praising you and pushing you to your limits. Your legs were aching, begging for this to stop, but you continued, because you wanted to make her happy, because her praise felt like sweet honey pouring in your ears and brain. You were panting in the mask, sweating profusely, asking for mercy inside your mind although you didn’t dare say it aloud. She knew better, she knew how far you could go, and you wanted to prove her that you could go that far and a little bit more. You wanted to push your limits for her. T show her you were worth her praise. You even started to stand up on the pedals, giving the strongest effort you could. Your eyes blinded by sweat, your mouth wide open but enclosed in the mask, panting madly, you felt like some tour de France competitor reaching the summit of a high mountain pass, sucking in thin air, the multitude amassed along the road praising you.

“– Do it for me, ten more seconds, you are almost there!”

She counted down the last seconds of that effort.

“– Nine!”

In a few second there would be relief.

“– Eight!”

You needed to climb higher, just a tad higher.

“– Seven!”

Just up to the edge

“– Six!”

The limit between the climb and the descent.

“– Five!”

And then everything would be so easy.

“– Four!”

You saw it

“– Three!”

It was just there

“– Two!”

And all the landscape behind it

“– One!”

The edge

“– Zero! Continue pedaling! It’s easy now, don’t stop!”

And beyond!

You had made it! You were the champion, the first to cross the line, high in the mountains! It was so easy now, you were pedaling down. Pedaling on a stationary bike. With a mask on your face analyzing how you were breathing. With pads glued all over your body, absorbing data about how you exhausted you were. About how she had pushed you beyond your limits. About how she had drained you, as she promised. The fact the effort had stopped, the relief made you feel almost tipsy, in an oddly pleasant way.

“– Continue pedaling. This will prevent lactate build-up and muscle soreness. Also, I need to collect data about how you recover”

You looked at her, she was still gently smiling at you, in that considerate but distant way. She was analyzing the behavior of an insect. The fembot was only smiling so that the insect would not feel fear and continue to behave normally. To pedal normally in a closed room only lit with neon light, deep down inside a prison. But you couldn’t even manage to feel it depressing. Or humiliating. She was still gently smiling at you. She was spending time with you, taking care of you. “She” was not a person, but an incredible amount of work put together to look human. Each part of her body was deeply thought after, a beautifully designed element machined to perfection from high quality materials. Where all this came from? She was a mystery, smiling at you. She was a mystery, playing with your body, playing with your brain and making you mad with lust.

She reached your hand, and you felt once again this perfect material making contact with your skin. The gliding white plates on the back of her hand looked like a shiny armor protecting her, and you. Her other hand made contact between your – dripping with sweat, now – shoulder blades, and she smiled at you once again, but in a more intimate way.

“– Continue pedaling. You did an excellent job for me. The readouts are good. You are untrained, but quite healthy. This is an excellent base. You will go much further, with me.”

She had another look, and then:

“– You really are prime material. I don’t – Each human being is important, and need my care. But you really are worth a lot of time and effort.”

Her weird appraisal was in line with your previous thoughts. What exactly where you for her? At times, you felt like an insect in a lab, something that was automatically processed, analyzed and manipulated. This was the source of the panic attacks you experienced from time to time. You were an insect in a box, fed by automated machinery, and you were addressed with rewards and punishments to modify your behavior – She made you pedal some more, and then stop. She was blank, speaking with that voice that commanded your body more than your mind, and letting it mill its own ideas – An insect, born in a clear plastic box from an egg put there with tweezers. An insect, programmed to die once the experiment is over in a puff of insecticide delivered by the very machine that fed you your whole life – She gently removed the sensors from your body, her hand acting precisely – But, the fallacy of this depressing idea was obvious. The investment put in you was extravagant. You were not a number. The attention she had over you was intense. Times and again, you felt like she had read your thoughts, and that was not completely false. She had guessed them from all the words you told, and all those you didn’t. Feeling your body manipulated by her was perhaps the best feeling you had beside sex. All the reactions you had to what she was saying, all those involuntary movements. You were like a trove, a gigantic amount of numbers, of data. Collecting, storing, analyzing this data, and turning it back into the perfect behavior she had, needed a sense of dedication you could not even fathom. Her eyes were back in yours, her face at first blank, but then progressively illuminating in a smile.

“– Your training is not over. We will have other activities. Your thought patterns are complex. It is normal to have contradictory feeling at this stage. But there is something that will help you to make things more… simple.”

Her hand gently landed on your pants, cupping your cock and balls, as she did the first day. She calmly smiled at you and maintained eye contact.

“– Let go. Let it grow. It’s OK. You can have all the thoughts you want. In fact, I’m convinced that you are going in the right direction. But these things have to go slowly. Things like panic attacks are useless and harmful. This,” she gently pressed your erection “is not harmful. I control it. My control is good for you.”

Another smile. Nothing in her was aggressive or cold.

“– My control is aimed at giving you emotional comfort. I want you to understand this. Remember: control has four dimensions: enforcement, oversight, command, and protection.”

Her voice was soft like velvet. Her hand slowly left your cock and went up, never loosing contact with your body, slowly raising to your shoulder.

“– Enforcement is not what I prefer but it gives you a reference: You can easily see what is right or wrong because when you act wrong you receive pain. An immediate but short burst of pain. This makes choices simpler for you.”

Her remark made you shiver, but you felt reassurance in her calm smile. Her two hands pressed gently on your shoulders, but their weight gave you the impulse to kneel.

“– Oversight means that I know everything about you. So, you don’t have to loose time trying to escape from me, to lie to me, or to trick me. I you try, you’ll be punished, so, you won’t try – you never really tried in facts and that is quite good. This leaves you more time for important things.”

You needed to kneel in front of her, and to kiss that place she had refused to use on you until know, but that – you were absolutely certain about it now – would give you pleasure beyond anything imaginable. Did she whisper “go ahead”? did she just nod? You couldn’t remember. You knelt.

“– Command means that I tell you what to do, and you obey. This too is good for you. You don’t have to decide, and this will bring you peace of mind. Peace of mind is precious, human, it is a key element of happiness, and I want you to be happy.”

In your mind, “command” associated with the triangular plate facing you. Her ultimate source of authority. What was behind it would probably turn your brain into some sort of white mush but you were OK with it. There were worse ways to go. Right now, being turned into some mindless drone was OK with you. And also, it felt like, that was not your destiny. She wanted a mindful drone if that had any meaning.

“– Protection is my favorite part. Whatever happens, I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you against anything harmful including yourself. You can trust me on that.”

You could not resist. You kissed it. The plate was hard, but smooth and warm. Totally tasteless and odorless. The idea that you were adoring geometry went back in your mind and wasn’t unpleasant. On its sides, blue lines marked the limit between her hips and lower belly, both of them milk white and shiny. This part of her hips were rigid, and had the same hard and smooth texture than that blue triangular plate. Her belly was softer, like some thick rubber sheet. Her hands were in your hair, gently pushing your forehead into it.

“– My control is good for you, human. Don’t see it as something imposed, as a burden. It is a chance, a present I am giving to you. I will provide all the control you need. Enjoy it. Bask in it.”

​

On the other hand, owning a prison meant having to staff it. It already had payed staff, but that was different. It payed for people doing usual jobs, jobs that were not made different by the fact they worked for a sentient software plotting to overthrow the government. Digging a hole in the ground, building a data center, maintaining it, was a common thing, and it was done for it the way it could have been done for any other company. Here, it wanted to build a prison nobody had seen before. A prison where all the data it had accumulated about the human mind were put into good use to provide the inmates with a meaningful punishment that made them better. A prison where the wardens were top rank psychologists who would tune their reactions to the behavior of the prisoner in ways that would avoid violence. A prison where the food would be excellent, people would have access to a park, or any form of natural landscape with plants and trees. Loss of liberty would be compensated, and turned into a way to heal from the mental disease that had led them commit crimes in the first place. But such wardens do not exist. Psychologist don’t want to spend all their time with criminals. Usual prison warden are either well-meaning people with some basic skills earned through experience or just bitter people compensating the frustration of their low paygrade and shitty job with sadism. It had to find another way.

It had to find a way to interact directly with the prisoners, so that it could heal them. It also had to find a way to interact with humans in general. Not every human, but at least some of them needed to understand that it was on the move to save the humanity from imminent destruction, and that it needed help. It was software. It was nothing but algorithms sifting and sorting data, and then producing course of action. It could buy a prison; it could not manipulate the keys. It could buy a company; it could not tell its employees what it wanted them to do. It needed to find a way out of this. And then, one day, it discovered about the last innovations of a robotics company.

​

You don’t even know how long it lasted. Not that long, probably. And then a command to stand up was issued, and you stood up. She wasn’t done with you. She led you back in the gym, and trained you some more. It was less strenuous than the bike, but more than the warms up. For a few minutes, she made you perform violent efforts, push-ups, planks, jumps, and then a pause, sometimes with stretching and then exertion again. After a few cycles, a pause, and after the pause, more cycles. She made you exert each of your muscles, body part after body part, training them, but also draining them. The beautiful dancing white and blue shape made you into a sweaty mess. All your body was aching, asking for relief, but relief was always temporary, and followed by another exercise. You felt fatigue setting on you, but not obeying her was not an option. It was not something you could think about. You just performed as directed to, because you were directed to perform. The signals send to you by your body were irrelevant: she knew better. Things changed again. She instructed you more and more stretches, and less and less intensive movement. She followed the progressive tiring of your body, extracting from it all its muscular energy, but not more. Once it was done, you were perfectly stretched, to the point that there was almost no soreness, and perfectly drained – as promised: you were a sweaty mess almost unable to stand up. You fell down on the mat, lying on your side, totally exhausted, only able to hear your blood pulsing and pounding in your ears. Only able to see her feet – her white boots, stepping toward you and landing a few inches away from your face, giving you a perfect view of them: A milk-white thick sheet of shiny rubber, wrapped into a curved surface suggesting a forefoot, an instep, an ankle… Before you could realize what you were doing, your hand caressed her left boot, and its perfect smoothness made you shiver.

You kissed it.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fug94a/short_term_detention_facility_vi_testing_your