Chapter 7 The Belt & The Bunny Tail #2
"You were right," he said, voice still rough. "I do get hard watching you. Punishing you. Breaking down those walls you've built so carefully." He adjusted himself without shame. "The question is: what are you going to do about it?"
"I—what?"
"You pushed until you found a reaction. Well, here it is." He gestured to his obvious arousal. "Your move, Bunny."
I stared at him, this man who'd taken everything from me. My name, my freedom, my sense of self. Who'd rebuilt me into something new, something that responded to his voice and craved his approval even as I hated him for it.
"I don't—"
"Yes, you do." He moved closer, close enough that I could smell his cologne mixed with sweat and something darker. "You know exactly what you want to do. What you've been thinking about during those long nights with your pacifier and your shame."
"Shut up."
"Make me."
The echo of my earlier defiance made something snap inside me. I dropped to my knees, hands going to his belt before I could think better of it. He made a sound—surprise or approval, I couldn't tell.
"Is this what you want?" I looked up at him as I worked his zipper. "To see how low I'll go? How much I'll debase myself?"
"I want to see who you really are when you stop fighting yourself."
I freed him from his jeans, taking a moment to appreciate that even his cock was perfect. Of course it was. Everything about him was designed to make me feel inferior.
"Bunny—"
I took him in my mouth before he could finish, deep enough to make myself gag. His hands flew to my hair, the braid unraveling under his grip. I worked him with all the fury and frustration of the past weeks, using every trick I'd learned in my previous life.
"Fuck." The curse sounded torn from him. "That's—you're—"
I pulled back just enough to speak. "Shut up. You wanted to see who I really am? This is it. Someone who kneels. Someone who takes. Someone who—"
He thrust back into my mouth, cutting off my bitter words. I let him, let him use me the way he'd been using me all along. Tears streamed down my face, mascara running in black rivers. The tail shifted with every movement, reminding me of my humiliation.
When he came, I swallowed it all. Not because he told me to, but because I wanted to take this one thing from him. Wanted to make him as wrecked as I felt.
I sat back on my heels, wiping my mouth, glaring up at him. "Happy now? Is that enough data for your fucking research?"
He was breathing hard, face flushed, that perfect control in tatters. For a long moment, we just stared at each other. Captor and captive. Researcher and subject. Whatever the hell we were becoming.
Then he dropped to his knees in front of me, cupping my face in his hands.
"You're crying," he said softly.
"I'm always crying here."
"No." His thumb traced the path of tears. "This is different. Tell me why."
"Because I don't know who I am anymore!" The words exploded out, raw and true.
"I'm not Lilah but I'm not really Bunny either.
I'm just... this. Whatever you've made me.
And I hate it. I hate you. I hate that I dream about your voice.
I hate that the collar feels wrong when I sleep on my side because I'm so used to it. I hate—"
He kissed me.
Not like before, all clash and conflict. This was gentle, careful, tasting of regret and something that might have been apology. I should have bitten him. Should have pulled away.
Instead, I kissed him back, salt and shame mingling between us.
"I know," he murmured against my lips. "I know you hate it. But you're becoming something extraordinary, Bunny. Something neither of us expected."
"I'm becoming broken."
"You're becoming real." He pulled back enough to meet my eyes. "The girl who signed that contract was all surface. All armor. This? This messy, furious, brilliant creature who pushes until I forget my own protocols? She's real."
"Is that why you cleared your whole day? To break your own rules?"
A smile ghosted across his lips. "I cleared my day because I knew you'd do something that required my full attention. You never disappoint."
"Fuck you."
"Later." He helped me stand, gentle despite everything. "For now, let's get you cleaned up. The tail stays until bedtime—consequence for spitting—but you've more than earned some aftercare."
"I don't want—"
"I know." He led me to the bathroom, which unlocked at our approach. "You don't want gentleness. Don't want care. Don't want to admit that sometimes you need both. But I'm going to give them to you anyway."
He ran a bath, adding salts that smelled like lavender and something medicinal. Helped me out of the dress with clinical efficiency. The tail stayed, as promised, making me hyperaware of every movement.
"In," he instructed.
The water was perfect, hot enough to sting the welts but not enough to truly hurt. I sank into it with a sigh I couldn't suppress.
"Good girl."
The praise made me shiver despite the heat. "Don't."
"Don't what? Acknowledge when you do well? Notice that you're trying despite hating every second?" He knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves. "Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Because I asked."
I did, too tired to fight anymore. Felt him wet a cloth, then gentle pressure as he cleaned my face. Washing away mascara and tears and the evidence of what I'd done.
"You terrify me," he said quietly.
My eyes flew open. "What?"
"You heard me." He focused on his task, not meeting my gaze. "Three years of research. Dozens of subjects. I've never lost control like that. Never forgotten that this is science, not... whatever this is becoming."
"Then let me go."
"No." Simple, immediate. "You're too important now. To the research. To understanding how trauma shapes behavior. To..."
"To what?"
He finally looked at me, and something in his expression made my chest tight. "I don't know yet. That terrifies me too."
We sat in silence while he finished washing my face, then worked conditioner through my tangled hair. His hands were gentle but sure, like everything else he did. Even unraveled, he couldn't help but be competent.
"The door really was unlocked?"
"For three days." He rinsed my hair, careful to keep soap from my eyes. "You never tried it."
"Would you have let me leave?"
"I don't know." The honesty seemed to surprise him. "Part of the protocol is allowing subjects to self-select continuation. But you... I might have come after you."
"Why?"
"Because you're mine." The words came out raw, possessive. "My subject. My responsibility. My fascinating, infuriating Bunny who hates me just enough to be interesting."
"I do hate you."
"I know." He helped me stand, wrapping me in a towel that had been warming. "But you also knelt for me without being told. Took me in your mouth because you wanted to see me lose control. That's not just hate, little one."
"Don't psychoanalyze my blowjobs."
He laughed—actually laughed—and the sound transformed him. Made him look younger, less controlled, more like a man and less like a god of behavioral modification.
"Come on," he said, still smiling. "Let's get you dressed. We'll have dinner together tonight."
"Together?"
"In the dining room. At a table. Like civilized people who don't spit at each other."
"I make no promises about future spitting."
"I'd be disappointed if you did."
He helped me into a soft nightgown, the tail making every movement awkward. But his hands were careful, professional despite what had passed between us. Despite the way he'd looked at me on my knees.
"Dr. Mire?"
"Gabriel." He paused in the doorway. "In private, you can call me Gabriel."
"Gabriel." I tested the name, found it fit better than expected. "What happens when the twelve weeks are over?"
"That depends entirely on you, Bunny." He studied me with those storm-grey eyes. "Some subjects leave and never look back. Others... find they don't want to leave at all."
"And which do you think I'll be?"
"I think," he said slowly, "that you'll find a third option. You always do."
He left me to rest, promising to return in a few hours. I curled up on the bed, tail making it impossible to get fully comfortable. Everything ached—my ass from the belt, my throat from taking him so deep, my heart from admissions I hadn't meant to make.
The collar caught the light as I moved, initials that weren't mine anymore glinting like a promise. Or a threat. Or maybe both.
I closed my eyes and tried not to think about how his name tasted on my tongue. How he'd looked on his knees in front of me, admitting to fears I hadn't known he could feel.
How the unlocked door meant nothing if I didn't want to walk through it.
"Rest well, Bunny," the AI said gently. "Dinner will be served at 6:00 PM in the main dining room. Daddy is looking forward to it."
Daddy. The word should have made me cringe. Instead, it made me think of his hands in my hair, his voice saying I terrified him, his control shattering because I'd pushed exactly the right buttons.
Gabriel.
I pulled Mr. Hoppy from his shelf, curling around the stuffed rabbit like the broken child I was becoming. Or maybe always had been. It was getting harder to tell the difference.
The tail shifted as I moved, constant reminder of consequences and care twisted together. Just like everything in this place. Just like him.
Just like me.