His Blushing Toy (Corporate Correction) by Emily Tilton

Author:Emily Tilton [Tilton, Emily]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2021-11-10T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Victor

I had a difficult time concentrating on the training session. The urge to put the girls in a suspended pause state and rush back to the lab to try to figure out how Jane’s naughtiness had spread to Heather and Isabel pressed at the edges of my mind more urgently with each passing minute.

Theoretically the pause state shouldn’t affect their training: that subroutine in their brains had the ability to erase the few seconds of their short-term memories that contained the command I would give to suspend their conscious function. Then they would awake when I told them to, without noticing I had rendered them unconscious. Even if I forgot where I had been standing, their minds would edit out the difference—ironically much the way a conventional human brain would edit out inconsistencies in reality, to preserve its mental health in the face of a changing world.

But I would remember, and my own mindset would inevitably differ. Training a submissive concubine required consistency, above all, on the part of the trainer. I owed it to these girls, to the Institute, and to the eventual purchasers of my AI bed girls to keep going and to use the captured video feed and sensor data from this session to analyze it, even at the expense of the intense emotional and rich intellectual impressions roiling in my brain and my body.

As I looked at Aida—no, dammit, Jane—I had to concentrate to keep my thoughts hidden. The idea that someone else, some trillionaire, might buy her and become of the master of her beautiful body, the possessor of her blushing face and her wanton pussy, inflamed the natural alpha rage in my chest to a degree I just hadn’t experienced with any of my other AI concubines.

Not just her body. That part represented the most confusing element, the one I wanted to get back to my lab to see if I could get it down in writing—and at the same time figure it out myself.

An Institute trainer learned early on to spot in himself the signs of romantic attraction. If he didn’t fall in love to a certain extent with every girl he trained, he wasn’t suited to the job. Affection, I had learned in my own training as a trainer, must lie at the heart of a dominant’s mastery, and love must be part of every act of erotic discipline.

Falling a little bit in love, though, differed substantially from what a trainer learned to recognize as a more problematic circumstance that could, if left unattended to, crop up from time to time. Real love: the alchemical beginnings of a lasting connection with another human being, whose exact origins even the Institute’s knowledge base had never managed to nail down, and—so the assessors thought—probably never would.

Trainers learned how to cope with it, and, if it got severe enough, to recuse themselves from a girl’s case—or, on the other hand, to go with it, to use their accumulated wages to buy the girl, and to settle down into semi-retirement.

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