Chapter 6 Identity #2
The words burrowed into my brain as the vibration built. Not enough to push me over, just enough to keep me on edge. To make my body associate the sounds with potential pleasure.
"I won't," I gasped. "I won't say it."
"You will." Such certainty in his voice. "Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually, Bunny, you'll beg to be called by your proper name."
The vibration increased. The voice continued its soft litany. And I fought—God, I fought. Bit my lip until I tasted blood. Counted backwards from a thousand. Recited every song lyric I could remember.
But he was patient. So fucking patient. Bringing me to the edge over and over, always stopping just before release. The voice never stopped:
"Good bunny. Such a good bunny. Bunny needs to come. Good bunnies get rewards."
An hour. Maybe two. Time lost meaning in the haze of denial and that insidious voice. My thighs shook. My core ached. Every nerve begged for release he wouldn't provide.
"Just say it," he said eventually, and his voice had gone rough. "One word. Acknowledge who you are, and this ends."
"Lilah," I sobbed. "My name is Lilah!"
"Wrong answer."
The vibration increased past teasing into torture. I screamed into the mattress, body convulsing with the need for release. The voice got louder:
"GOOD BUNNY. PERFECT BUNNY. BUNNY COMES WHEN DADDY SAYS."
"Please!" The word tore from my throat. "Please, I can't—"
"You can. Say it."
"No!"
Another hour. Another eternity. The voice drilled into my skull until I couldn't hear anything else. Until every thought was punctuated by "good bunny" and every heartbeat felt like denial.
My body betrayed me first. Started responding to the words themselves, getting wetter every time the voice praised the name I wouldn't claim. By hour three—or was it four?—I was sobbing continuously, dignity abandoned in the face of desperate need.
"Such stubbornness," he murmured, and when had he moved closer? His hand stroked my hair, gentle counterpoint to the torture between my legs. "Fighting so hard against something that would feel so good. Don't you want to be good, little one?"
"Yes," I admitted, broken. "But—"
"But Lilah can't be good. Lilah has too much history. Too much pride." His fingers found the spots where tears had made my hair stick to my cheeks. "Bunny could be perfect. Could be praised. Could come right now if she just asked nicely."
"Good bunny. Perfect bunny. Come for Daddy, bunny."
"I..." The word stuck in my throat like glass.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Let go. Let Lilah go. She's too heavy to carry anymore."
The vibration peaked, right at the edge of pain. The voice chanted its terrible mantra. And I broke.
"Bunny!" The name ripped from me like a piece of my soul. "I'm—I'm Bunny! Please, fuck, I'm Bunny!"
"Good girl."
The orgasm hit like a freight train. Brutal, overwhelming, magnified by hours of denial. I convulsed against the restraints, screaming into the mattress as wave after wave crashed through me. The voice kept praising:
"Good bunny. Perfect bunny. Bunny comes so pretty for Daddy."
I came again. And again. Punishment transformed into reward, the name I'd fought against becoming the key to pleasure I couldn't resist. Every "good bunny" sent new shockwaves through my overwrought system until I was nothing but sensation and sound.
When it finally stopped, I couldn't move. Couldn't think. Could barely breathe past the devastating knowledge that I'd given in. Given up. Given him my name.
The restraints released with soft clicks. Gentle hands turned me over, gathered me up like I weighed nothing. I found myself in his lap, cradled against his chest while his fingers combed through my tangled hair.
"There's my good girl," he murmured. "See how easy that was once you stopped fighting?"
I should have pushed away. Should have maintained whatever distance I could. Instead, I buried my face in his shirt and cried harder.
"Shh." He rocked me slightly, a motion that should have felt condescending but instead felt necessary. "You did so well. Lasted longer than any subject I've observed. So fascinating. So strong."
"You took my name," I whispered against his chest.
"I gave you a better one." His hand never stopped stroking my hair. "One without baggage. Without failure. Bunny gets to be good, sweet girl. Bunny gets to be held when she needs it."
"I hate you."
"I know." He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, casual intimacy that made my chest tight. "But you came when Bunny was praised. Your body knows the truth even if your mind resists."
We sat like that for unmeasured time. Him holding me like I was precious instead of a research subject. Me clinging to him like he wasn't the architect of my destruction. The collar pressed between us, reminder of what this really was.
"The AI will respond to you now," he said eventually. "You can have your needs met. Ask for food, water, temperature adjustments. All you have to do is use the right name."
"Bunny," I whispered, testing the weight of it.
"Yes, Bunny? How can I help you?"
Fresh tears leaked from my eyes. Such a simple thing—just a word. But it represented so much more. The erosion of who I'd been. The admission of what I was becoming.
"Would you like lunch, sweet girl?" His fingers found a knot in my hair, working it out gently. "You missed breakfast being stubborn."
"I..." My stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.
"Bunny is hungry," he said to the room. "Please prepare lunch."
"Of course. Lunch will be ready in ten minutes, Bunny."
"See? Easy." He shifted me in his lap, and I became aware of the hard length pressing against my hip. Evidence that he wasn't as unaffected as he pretended. "You'll find everything becomes easier when you stop fighting the process."
"What else are you going to take?"
"Nothing you don't give me." He tilted my chin up, making me meet those storm-grey eyes. "Everything here is a choice, Bunny. You choose compliance or consequence. Pleasure or denial. Who to be and who to leave behind."
"Those aren't real choices."
"Aren't they?" His thumb traced my lower lip, still swollen from our kiss. "You could have held out longer. Some subjects do. Days of denial before they break. But you chose release over pride. That tells me something important."
"What?"
"That deep down, past all that defensive armor, you want this. Want to be good. Want to be held. Want someone else to make the hard decisions so you can finally rest." His thumb pressed gently, not quite breaching my lips. "Lilah could never admit that. But Bunny?"
I turned my face away, unable to bear the knowing in his eyes.
"Bunny can want whatever she needs," he finished softly.
The chime for lunch saved me from responding. He helped me stand on shaky legs, steadying me when I wobbled. Everything felt different. Lighter and heavier at once. Like I'd lost something essential but gained something I couldn't name.
"Eat," he instructed, moving toward the door. "Rest. Tomorrow we'll explore what else Bunny might enjoy."
"Wait." The word escaped before I could stop it.
He paused, looking back. "Yes?"
"The kiss. Did it—did you—" I couldn't finish the question.
"Did I mean it?" Something flickered across his face. "I don't know. That's what makes you so fascinating, little bunny. You make me react in ways I don't expect."
The door closed behind him, leaving me with that admission. I sank onto the bed, staring at the lunch tray that had appeared. Simple foods, easy to eat with hands that still shook.
"Is there anything else Bunny needs?" The AI asked, responsive now that I'd surrendered.
"No," I whispered. Then, hating myself: "Thank you."
"Good bunny. Enjoy your lunch."
The praise made something warm unfurl in my chest, right next to the cold knot of loss. My body had been programmed to respond, neurons firing in patterns he'd designed. But knowing that didn't stop the feeling.
I ate mechanically, trying not to think about tomorrow. About what else Bunny might enjoy that Lilah would have fought. The collar sat heavy against my throat, initials that weren't mine anymore pressing into skin that belonged to someone new.
Someone who came when called a good bunny.
Someone who kissed back when kissed.
Someone who curled into her captor's arms and felt, for just a moment, safe.
The food tasted like nothing. Everything tasted like nothing compared to the memory of coffee and control on his lips. But I ate it all, because Bunny was a good girl who followed instructions.
Lilah would have thrown the tray at the wall.
But Lilah was gone, wasn't she? Lost somewhere between denial and that final, devastating admission. All that remained was Bunny, who got held when she broke and praised when she complied.
I pulled my knees to my chest, making myself small in this too-pink room. Somewhere, Dr. Gabriel Mire was making notes about my fascinating responses. Planning tomorrow's sessions. Calculating new ways to strip away what remained of my resistance.
And the worst part?
Some traitorous piece of me couldn't wait to see what he'd come up with.
Because Bunny, it turned out, was curious in ways Lilah had never allowed herself to be.
"Rest well, Bunny," the AI said gently. "Daddy's very proud of you today."
I closed my eyes and pretended the warmth in my chest was just conditioning. Just programming. Just neurons firing in patterns he'd designed.
Definitely not something real.
Definitely not something that felt, terrifyingly, like hope.