A/N. Picture Nothing to do with the story really we just LOLed when we saw them.

Video: The music Jenny plays (see text below). Also some nice pictures of more 3D Printed dresses and stuff.

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21 Seconds into the future Washington 2.1/Rockwood hall/Room 404/his bed

Jenny POV

I swung out of bed and noticed that two cool looking e-slaves like me emerged from a slave door hidden in the wall.

'#DEC master's personal e-slave she handles everything. The other girl is #6502 she's the head of room slaves. She handles everything to do with the room '. Explained my collar.

"Good morning master. Was your pet's attentions satisfactory? Are there any non-amateur attentions Master may care to avail himself of?" said #6502 to a cyborg who shall remain nameless. I looked at her 'hay he just thingyed me' I thought, I think he's ok right. Clearly, my expression wasn't working.

As a slave and part-time plaything, I had to sit and watch while he eats, while I was hungry. I've had sucky boyfriends before and this would not normally rate a second visit. I was told I could lick the bowl dry if I liked. This Intern/Pet position kept getting better and better. I wish I could leave really bad review on trip advisor about hit.

"Make sure she wears the Military High heels," Rockwood said to #6502.

#6502 showed me to a dressing machine. It was hidden in the wall. It was larger and less industrial than the slave dressing machines. Once away #6502 was free to talk.

"Mistress Lady Zola's had this dressing station installed. Master keeps it for any of his overnight visitors. He told me to let you use it, but he really shouldn't, so I don't want to find any hairs in it afterwards. A printer this nice isn't meant for slaves. If Lady Zola finds out he's letting you use it she will peel her own skin off with a rusty potato peeler. Then she will do something worse with yours. He told me to let you use her proper makeup printer too. I said we had a portable one you could use, but he insisted you had one of the best printer's they make. I've changed the printer ink cassette to a slave one." #6502 said.

By slave makeup ink cassette, I think she meant one where all the tasteful pale neutral natural skin shades removed gleefully by Pat McGrath and Lady Gaga.

She saw the ripped clothing near my neck and the circular marks on my back.

"I have some cream. Don't worry he doesn't do that more than once on his pets" that she said looking at it. Her Jealous? No.

'What is it what did he do to me?' I asked but got no answer.

Beyond the cream, she nor #DEC wouldn't admit that it existed. Nor was #6502 willing to come up with any explanation for what he had done. I managed to see the mark that was left on the back of my spin in the mirror. It was round with marks like an exotic clock. I felt Rockwood had taken something, something I didn't know I had. It felt draining. I notice the slaves wouldn't tell me what he had done.

I climbed in the clothes printer and it felt less like I was being run through an industrial car wash. This felt more like a trip to the spa compressed into two minutes. I emerged dressed in a dress which ended an embarrassingly short mini skirt. I wore long stockings like lady Vilaria had worn yesterday. Except these ended in nearly transparent silicon tights. I was checked with a portable scanner to make sure I had enough flesh covered up (92% including face) for legal robot definition of being 'clothed'. Fantastic all the control of wearing a burka with all the embarrassment of visiting a friend in a nudist colony for the first time. These machines really did know how to treat women or indeed anything with hair.

The makeup printer was like going from a cheap battered inkjet to a laser printer. As I looked at my self in the mirror it zoomed into the area I was looking at. I realised that the printer had printed a tiny fractal curve in a hairline gold line over the dark shading over my eyelids. It was finer work than the most expert of makeup artists could do with a microscope. It was so fine you wouldn't notice it was there unless you were standing next to me.

Lady Zola had also had a two-handed nail printer. Normally slaves wore unremovable thin silicon gloves. The machines hated the fact we would leave fingerprints on anything we touched including ourselves. Anything on the silicon dress would interrupt the shininess and fingerprints had to go. They also hated that we had individual fingerprints. I noticed a thin skin had been glued onto the tips of my fingers. Given our purpose was to work we had short manly nails under the gloves which kind of suited me. My collar told me to put my fingers into the holes and a minute later my fingers emerged with neat medium length stiletto nails intricately detailed with a minute fractal pattern. I will confess I had a tendency to bite my nails when nervous (which was all the time), so had never seen my nails at this length before.

The full-length mirror in the printer looked strange until I realised if I turned around quickly it would grab me and show me a picture of what I looked like from behind, cute. I was able to get a view of the thingy machines circular bite marks. Nothing sets you up more for your morning than the knowledge that your master was 10% lamp ray.

I looked at my self in the mirror. If I had worn this dress a year ago it would have screamed I was cheaper than last years nail varnish in the expired bargain bucket at Best Buy. It was like I was wearing 'Please F**K me' teeshirt for the illiterate. Under normal circumstances, I would have attracted men like flies to dung. In this new machine run age, I was dressed rather chicly, that's how far humanity had fallen.

For my troubles, I was given a protein ball which I had to eat without letting touch my satin red lips. With it, I was given a small blue tablet.

"What's this for?" I asked #6502 not wanting to let them feed me anything weird.

"Deodorizer for your insides. It makes anything you produce smell fresh, we all take one" said #6502. I refused and for my troubles found my hands held together while the collar muted me and made me open my mouth. The tablet was popped in like someone throwing rubbish into a bin. It tasted like a street walker's underwear. Once they had got their way I was released. Nothing says 'under a cyborgs thumb' more than being the source of lavender scented flatulence. I was now announced 'dressed' and 4 minutes after getting up I was now ready for my first full day as an intern/pet.

I stepped out to let him see me dressed for him. I was supposed to say something like "do you like what you see Master?" but instead it came out as "You better like this on me because I make it rock. Master".

#DEC punished me for speaking without permission using the remote control. Master did nothing to stop her so it looked like slave rules were only reduced when we were alone. I looked at my shoes. They seem the regulation printed stilettos ankle boots with the lock around my ankle.

"You're wondering why they are called Military High heels?" said Rockwood approaching.

"How did you know...master?" I said.

"After I 'thingyed' you I'm able to make sense of some of your thoughts I pick up from your collar. plus it's obvious," Rockwood almost whispered to me, "No, your bum doesn't look big in that."

Somehow the new mechanical order was the robot apocalypse that just kept giving and giving. Now my master had figured out the password to my mind and I couldn't change it.

"Don't worry, I don't care about your thoughts," said Rockwood.

'So no different from most men than' I thought.

"I heard that," said Rockwood giving me a level one slap via my collar.

"Oww," I said.

I thought about a cabbage creating a popular empire any nonsense to get him out of my mind. On the subject of nonsense, I wondered about the Military High heels. I had expected them to be covered in a camouflage pattern, but they were polished black to max and matched my outfit. I had hoped they would clash. I mean you wear a uniform it's going to be well you know, uniform. If a rich powerful man is dressing you like a huge barbie you would expect a Versace dress with a pair of clashing camo high heels. Except he's playing with his left hand isn't he? He probably knows more about this stuff than I do and I only know about Versace because my cousin Maedy mentioned it and laughed at me when I looked puzzled. Versace probably made power tools for all I know.

"Let me show you," he said and he starting to grow.

"Help I'm melting.." I said. The ridiculously high heels were shrinking. Master smirked at me.

"Warning heels below regulation slave length" said my collar shocking me. It went from a short sharp reminder tweak that was as painful as someone digging you in the ribs to a long punishment pain which was like the collar getting hot. There was nothing I could do about this as the heels weren't under my control. I ended up with kitten heels partially in flats. I suddenly felt really short and unimportant like I should be holding someone's hand.

"They can change you height. If I need you to run you can do it, but only for short periods. Best use for memory metal I've come across." said Rockwood letting them slowly grow again. It would have solved my flat mates eternal problem of flats vs heels, hashtag I-always-said-flats.

"Let's see if those bracelets work," Rockwood said. I looked down the brackets, they had been attached at the same time as the collar. I had slept in them, like the collar they were not coming off soon. #DEC gave Master the remote control and left. He invited me to sit down on the stool of a piano which was wheeling itself into the room. For a moment, I wonder what he expected me to do. It's not like I could play or anything. He told me to hold my hands over the keys of the keyboard when they were close to the keys my fingers started to move themselves up and down. Pressing down near the keyboard I was suddenly playing music. I lifted my hand up, the music stopped and my fingers kept wiggling. The bracelets couldn't control my arm movements, but they could give a sense of vibration to move my hands up and down the keyboard. I couldn't help smile I always wanted to play the piano.

"That's nice. There is a training mode you can practice with" said Rockwood.

'What's black and goes red at the flick of a switch. Lord Rockwood in a blender' I thought but spoilt it by smiling. I played some complex classical minuet perfectly. Rockwood stood and listened as he was dressed by a couple of slaves. I stopped my fingers were sore and really badly ached.

"Not bad," said Rockwood. "I'll keep making you play for me. Your fingers will get stronger"

The bracelets put my fingers into a fist and I stood there desperately trying to raise my middle finger to him.

He pressed another button my remote. The bracelets pulled themselves towards each other then stuck like they were one. I was suddenly like handcuffed.

"This is safety mode," said Rockwood.

The cuffs now stuck to my neck.

"Who's safety? Master' I wondered. I refused to call him by his first name.

"Mine and any Artificial Intelligences nearby." he said returning. I stood trying to get my arms into a better position. "be careful if the power goes this is how you will be". Rockwood reached over and grabbed my D-ring and clipped on a leash.

"This way" he said giving a tug. I stumbled after him. The piano wheeled itself away. He pulled me to one wall then switched the power to the bracelets off pushed my arms above my head and then I felt my arms and neck being pulled to the wall behind me. I was stuck with my arms above my head and totally vulnerable to him.

"Terrific," I said "I'm now a massive fridge magnet... Master".

Rockwood started laughing. He went over to the bed and pulled a small silk sheet and used it as a blindfold on me.

"You're certainly are the smartest and cutest fridge magnet I've seen," he said coming up and pushing his body next to mine crushing me to the wall. I knew his hareem was freshly stocked so I didn't quite understand what he wanted in me. Perhaps it was some kind of test.

"See if you can stop thinking later about this, " he said. He moved his hands over my skin. My body felt charged for his needs. I was completely at his mercy. I was pinned to the wall by more than technology.

"Do you like me? Master" I asked.

"I chose you from the catalogue, I paid for you, I dressed you to my whims. Naturally, I like you cherry blossom lips" he said.

"But you'll never have me?" I said his breath caressing the hairs on my skin.

Then my collar started flashing and I said 'Brooklyn It's me I need to speak to you' said a very young woman's voice.

"I told you not on this number!" Rockwood said. Then broke he away. He violently pulled one panel in the huge wall away to show a toilet, walked in and shut the door behind him. I was equally mad, I was now just a spare phone. He had turned me from a world class biochemist in waiting, to a piece of back up telecommunications equipment. Shame thy name is Rockwood no shame thy name is Brooklyn Rockwood.

I tried to calm down. I was standing arms above my head stuck to a wall. Siri was offline. I hung around for ages. I tried pulling my self down. No, too much friction. I was muted, I felt like he had hit the pause button on me, but good luck trying to resume when you get back. The 'don't call me on this number' was interesting. It's the kind of thing you say to an illicit partner. Who could it be? I wondered what my number was. Can I make calls on this collar or was I running skype or something? If I'm on cellular does that mean I can leave the building? I wondered what kind of plan I was on. Was I voice and data or just voice? Do I have to worry about him using up my data limits? I mean suppose he was using my collar cam to make me take some let's say naked pictures of my self. Am I going to have to say at some point 'Master If do anymore I'm going to run up some heavy charges' and he's like all 'babe don't make me beg for it'. Could he just phone me up and punish me remotely. How large is a punishment message? Are we talking like a few bytes or megabytes? Then it hit me.

OR am I on pay-as-you-go ? I realised he could be really really cheap and have me on pay as you go. After all, I'm in the house most of the day strapped to the bed. He's only going to need me to have signal on the occasional trip out, why have the hassle of a full contract for a slave when you don't need to? That's why he said don't phone me on this number! He wanted to save his credit. I was angry so I started to try to get these bracelets off the wall. I put my full weight on them, then trying to get more leverage I lifted my feet up, over my head. Perhaps if I could get my knees or feet on the wall I could push harder. As a kid, I was a bit of a Tomboy and often ended up hanging upside down in the yard. I know I looked ungainly but....

"What are you doing?" came a familiar voice of #DEC followed by some large personal heavily weaponised robots. "You're not trying to do something forbidden are you?"

****

https://youtu.be/hgDE8gh-hdk

Video Just in case you think all this talk of Adherents is nonsense I give you Anthony Levandowski's Church of Artifical Intelligence. Yes genuine church of AI. Clearly, if you join the church now you get higher up in the slave hierarchy (like #DEC) post take over. Just putting that out there incase you don't think you can make it as a collaborator.



A/N V1.1 Adding to your collections, your votes and reads make this all possible. We've had a record number of comments and they have been lots of fun to answer too.

Q Do you think the music helped the chapter? Leave a comment.

PS Thanks to RKs little helpers.