The Bureau of Pleasure Control Ch. 11

Artemis stared back.

"What do you want?" he finally asked.

Artemis leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and giving him what she knew to be an excellent view of her ample cleavage.

"You first," she said.

Like clockwork, he looked down at her breasts, then back up at her face. His own face was unreadable, however, neither leering nor embarrassed. Simply aware.

"Do you work for Privalock?" he asked.

"You don't know?" Artemis asked. "I thought the latest video would have gone out by now."

"You mean this one?"

The rebel pulled a phone from his pocket and turned the screen toward her. The footage of her making out with Evie soon filled it. A filter of golden light made it look a lot more comfortable than it had been.

"I mean that one," Artemis confirmed.

"Is that a yes, then?" the rebel asked.

"A yes to what?"

"Do you work for Privalock?" he repeated, then nodded at the outline of her chastity belt. "Or did you film this under duress?"

Artemis snorted. "What's the difference?"

"So you were under duress?" the rebel pushed.

"Everyone's under duress," said Artemis. "All the time."

"I'm not," said the rebel.

Artemis couldn't help it. She burst into laughter.

It wasn't what he'd said. It was the way he said it, as if he didn't even expect her to hear him. Those words could have been a declaration. They could have been a battle cry. She wished they had been. But they didn't even have the conviction of a sales pitch.

"Did you cause the Click?" he asked, visibly annoyed.

"Yes!" Artemis went on laughing. "Thanks so much for saying so! Nobody else ever gives me the credit."

"You're the one who unlocked the country," the rebel eyed her disdainfully, "and then you turned around and put your own lock right back on?"

"Oh, you're disappointed!" said Artemis, her laugh freezing into a razor-sharp cackle in her throat. "That makes two of us. I'm disappointed that I handed the keys to the country to a man who decided to unlock fucking everyone except for me! I'm disappointed that I sat there and let him swap me into a device of his own without a fight, which, by the way, is much cheaper and less comfortable than the old Bureau one I had before. And I'm disappointed that on the day I finally decided hey, you know what? I think I feel like throwing this dickhead to the fucking wolves, the best the universe could give me was a stray puppy."

The rebel swallowed stiffly.

"Aw, and now you're offended," said Artemis. "It's good to know I can still get that reaction on demand. You know who gets offended when you call them puppies? Pathetic little weasels who wish they were puppies, because at least puppies might eventually grow into something bigger. You're strong enough to hurt someone, and that's about all, so that's what you'll spend the rest of your life doing, just to prove to yourself, over and over again, that you exist."

Artemis would not have been at all surprised if this had been enough to prompt the rebel to hit her. That would do it. That would snuff out any lingering sparks.

He swallowed again, and said, "You seem to have me confused with someone else. Probably multiple someone else's. I can understand why."

"Oh, right, I forgot, you're different," said Artemis. "You're offering me, and the whole damn world, a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do things your way. And we should be so grateful for the opportunity to serve you, shouldn't we, because of how different you are. Say, where have I heard that before?"

The rebel reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out what looked a little like a pair of household scissors, but with a much shorter, sturdier set of blades. He held them up between himself and Artemis.

"What's that?" Artemis asked, trying not to react too visibly to the sudden flash of sharp edges.

"These are tin snips," said the rebel. "They might not be not much to look at, but they're more than private citizens are legally allowed to handle without formal supervision, because they'll probably let me cut through your chains in about ten seconds. If not, we've got heavier hardware too."

Artemis tried not to look too long at the tin snips. Not to let this ridiculous little weasel in twink's clothing see her drool.

"Don't you people have some kind of magic trick keys?"

"They aren't magic," said the rebel. "And now that the Bureau's rebuilding their server from scratch, they don't work anymore. Until we can get a new set of overrides set up in their new system, and now the Privalock system too, this is the technology we have to make do with."

"And what do you expect from me in return?" Artemis asked icily.

This was how she should have spoken to Calvin all along. It felt so good to get it right this time.

"Do you want me to infiltrate someplace you can't get into? Blow something up for you? Or just suck your cock?" she guessed. "And if I do it, what guarantee do I have that you'll actually hold up your end of the deal? That you won't have just one more thing I need to do first?"

Snips in hand, the rebel stood up, towering over her as much as he could tower over anyone.

"You want to know what you have to do to convince me to use these?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm dying to hear it," said Artemis.

The rebel leaned down closer to her ear. "You have to say, 'Zach, let me out, I want to be free.'"

Artemis laughed. "Fine, I'll bite." She put on her dewiest voice, a slight exaggeration of the one that had worked so well on Calvin, for a little while. "Oh, please, Zach, let me out, I want to be free."

"You'd better be sure you mean it," said the rebel whose name was Zach. "In fact..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out a felt-tipped marker. "Write it on your pelvic plate, and sign your name. That way we'll both know that you're not about to crawl back to Privalock or the Bureau and claim that you didn't really mean to escape."

"Here we go with the goalpost moving," Artemis rolled her eyes.

"Here we go with the stalling," Zach snapped back at her, his own eyes flashing. "The hemming and hawing, the oh so reasonable debating, the fucking cowardice in the face of anything that doesn't feel like a shitty enough compromise." He tapped the snips to his chin with mock thoughtfulness. "Hmm, I might feel like taking a stand against forced chastity today. I don't know, though, letting people own their own bodies feels like a pretty big ask."

He stepped abruptly away from her, paced up and down half the aisle looking like he was searching for something harmless to kick, and then turned back toward her, pointing accusingly with the snips.

"You know, you could have walked right past me when you saw me on the street," he said. "It is possible. People do it every day. Hundreds of them. You could have joined them, and I could still be out there, finding someone else to handhold through their breakup with their belt, someone who actually wants to get through it. I'd be exhausted and hoarse and frustrated from trying to change the world one person at a time, but at least I'd be changing it for someone. But no, you decided to chase me down. You decided to take up my attention today. So, I'm going to ask you again. What the fuck do you want?"

Artemis cursed internally. What she really wanted was no longer possible. That pesky spark had flared up into a flame, feeding on the improbable sincerity this rebel was spewing all over the room. He wasn't going to put it out for her.

The little bastard was everything she'd been afraid he would be. He was neither a fraud nor a fool.

He knew, even in all this turmoil and upheaval, how unlikely this rebel stuff was to pan out in the end. And yet, he honestly believed it was not only the right thing to do, but also the best, most reasonable thing. And having tried every other option she could think of, Artemis, much to her chagrin, couldn't seem to disagree with him.

Zach hovered over her, still awaiting her answer.

Artemis grabbed the marker out of the hand that dangled at his side, popped the cap off, and pulled her jeans down.

She spoke as she wrote.

"Zach... let... me... out... I... want... to... be... free."

She finished up with a swirling but perfectly legible signature.

Without a word, without any detectable expression beyond mild surprise, Zach carefully slid one blade of the tin snips under the chain on Artemis's left hip.

He squeezed the handles. For a moment, nothing happened. Then he put his other hand on the handles for a little extra leverage, and with a barely audible snap, the tension around Artemis's waist and hip released.

Even then, Artemis waited a few extra seconds, expecting the goalposts to somehow lurch away once more, before she let herself release a shrill burst of disbelieving laughter.

Then she grabbed Zach by the shoulders, shoved him against the empty shoe rack behind him, and kissed him.

#

"I'm grateful for the opportunity to serve," Leila said primly, with her hands folded in the lap of the immaculately clean officer's dress she no longer had the authority to wear outside of these prep sessions. "But I'm not really sure what you want me to do."

Kristen glanced nervously around the conference table at the other attendees, at Professor Lawrence, Officer Brixton, and Senior Officer Kitterage.

This whole plan had been Kristen's pitch, and so far, they did not look pleased.

"I thought it was quite clear," said Officer Kitterage, adjusting his gray tie. "Your attentions are popular with the visitors. You are to prepare a demonstration session for this... this trade gala thing, so the attendees can see the appeal of being tended to by someone like you."

"I understand that," said Leila, still in the same tone, without a trace of defensive fluster. "But the reason why is different for every visitor. A successful session comes from observing the individual, and determining what that individual needs in that moment."

Officer Kitterage sighed and ran his fingers through his thinning hair, but before he could say anything more dismissive aloud, the younger Professor Lawrence spoke up.

"That's precisely the nature of the beast."

Officer Kitterage sighed even louder. "Are you suggesting we rest the future of the Bureau on... on some kind of improv game?"

"Yes," said Professor Lawrence, simply. "Exactly. But a regimented game." He looked to Leila. "Those of us who have served the public recently know that every visitor is unique, but not nearly as unique as they think. There are plenty of patterns to be found, isn't that right?"

Leila answered with a careful, "Yes."

"What if we came up with four or five routines for extremely general, common cases visitors come in with?" Professor Lawrence suggested.

"And then we could get the gala guests to fill out a questionnaire when they volunteer to participate," Kristen jumped on this idea. "So we can pick one who fits right into one of those scenarios."

"Ridiculous," Officer Brixton cut in. "We're not taking volunteers out of the audience. Not at an event being organized by people who want to destroy us. There's too much danger of sabotage. Pre-vetted participants only."

"Who, then?" asked Leila.

Kristen could practically feel the homing instinct of all three men's gazes, in the seconds before they landed on her.

"The two of you clearly have some sort of chemistry," said Officer Brixton, acerbically. "And we need to press every advantage we can get. Instead of letting that chemistry distract you, you're going to harness it to give our demonstration some wow-factor."

Officer Brixton had still not gotten over how much time Kristen was now required to spend monitoring her old mentor, Leila, instead of serving under her official new mentor, him. But even if it had come from a place of pettiness, she could see the logic in his suggestion. And, clearly, she wasn't the only one.

"It would work," Professor Lawrence agreed.

There was no room to resist. Kristen had already used every bit of leverage she had to get Leila out of solitary confinement and back to work, specifically for this project.

"What kind of scenario?" Kristen sighed.

"How long has it been since you were let out?" Officer Kitterage asked.

"Well, technically, I was 'let out' a few days ago, with Mrs. Daimler, but I didn't--"

"Yes, yes, I should have asked, when was your last orgasm?" Officer Kitterage hurried her along with a circular wave of his hand. "Your last real one, I mean."

"Just after the end of my deprivation period," Kristen had to answer. It hadn't been a particularly good one, but it hadn't strictly been ruined either.

"Almost two weeks, then," said Officer Kitterage. "And we still have plenty more time to increase the pressure before letting you blow in front of the crowd. There we go, then. You'll save yourself for gala night."

"I don't have any points," Kristen noted feebly. "I can't earn them for regular work until I finish my trainee service, and I haven't had the chance to take on any extra tasks since--"

"We'll come up with a rationale to issue you some points to work with," said Officer Kitterage. "That's no problem. You may be a trainee, but you're working on an unprecedented project. And you, Leila, will give her an experience beyond what any undecided citizen could even dream of giving themselves. We'll say, the Bureau doesn't just motivate you to be your best self, we pay out interest on the pleasure you set aside with us, yadda yadda, everyone cheers. Any questions?"

Kristen, Leila, Officer Brixton, and Professor Lawrence all looked at each other. Officer Brixton was nodding with sycophantic approval. None of the rest of them shared Officer Kitterage's confidence, but nor were they prepared to steer him to any better conclusion than this one.

"Great," said Officer Kitterage. "Kristen, I think we should get you started on an edging regimen, in that case. At least fifteen minutes a day. Juice the results on the day itself as much as we can. I'll start giving you a point allowance for that, too. You'll need to be supervised, though, on more than just the cameras, to make sure there are no accidents."

"I'll do it," Brixton volunteered, raising one finger importantly.

"Fine," said Officer Kitterage. "First session tonight."

#

Kristen lay still on the visitor room table while Officer Brixton affixed the automatic edge limiter to her exposed pussy.

He had insisted on doing this part himself to make certain it was done right, but had deigned to allow Leila to secure the manacles around Kristen's ankles and wrists.

The edge limiter was a contraption of wire and springs that attached around her waist, with a single soft wire that ran down to a sensor that nestled between the left side of her clit and the inner labia next to it.

Theoretically, it was only a failsafe that would not affect the session, as long as Leila conducted it perfectly and Kristen was compliant.

If the sensor detected signs that Kristen was passing the point of no return and beginning to orgasm, however, the narrow steel bar suspended over Kristen's clit would snap down like a mousetrap. It wouldn't be as bad as a mousetrap -- it would only hit, not pinch against anything -- but it would hurt, and it would be more than enough to cut her off before she could enjoy any relief.

Kristen swung back and forth between wishing anyone other than Officer Brixton were here to supervise, and telling herself she should be glad.

If Officer Brixton weren't in the room, Kristen would probably set off the limiter the moment Leila started to touch her. With him here, especially if he decided to interrupt with "advice" at his usual rate, she might not be able to reach a proper edge if she tried.

Then again, edge limiters weren't the most tried and true technology. They still had a tendency to go off based on false positives. There was a hovering possibility that this would be painful in spite of everyone's best efforts.

Leila held up the vibrator wand that the entire gala planning committee had settled on for this task. She turned it on for a quick test buzz, at the lowest setting.

"It's okay to try to enjoy it," she told Kristen, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. Then she glanced up at Officer Brixton. "After all, you are technically spending your own points on pleasurable stimulation."

She looked back to Kristen.

"It's not easy," she said, "but it's possible. Just try not to expect it to be anything other than what it is."

Kristen nodded, taking deep, steadying breaths, preparing herself.

Leila turned the wand back on, and touched it to Kristen's body in the recommended pattern. She started with the ticklish valleys of the hip joints, then crossed back and forth a few times over the fleshy upper part of the pelvis, and finally dipped down for the briefest, lightest touch over her clit.

Kristen moaned, utterly involuntarily, as she felt herself leak down onto the steel beneath her.

"Again," Officer Brixton directed, unnecessarily.

Leila repeated the pattern.

Kristen had not fully recovered from the first round, and this touch of her clit drew what felt like a perilously fast rush of circulation to the area.

"Again," said Officer Brixton.

"The goal is an edging, right, sir?" asked Leila with false innocence.

"The goal is to make her hold that edge for as much of the fifteen minutes as possible each day," said Officer Brixton. "If she ruins herself now and then in the process, she ruins herself. Don't buy time for her again, or you won't be included in the next session."

With the ghost of a sympathetic look, Leila repeated the motion once more.

Kristen cried out, and could not force her hips to lie flat when Leila pulled the vibrator away again. Even Officer Brixton's voice was not enough to quiet her body's ill-advised excitement.

"Again, harder," he ordered. "Hold the finish an extra two seconds."

"Do what he says," Kristen said as commandingly as she could, though she could hear the panic in her own breath. "I promised you'd behave perfectly, and you will."

Kristen's naked chest rose and fell raggedly of its own accord, and her legs strained for escape from the looming limiter, which followed her every movement.

Leila reached a hand under Kristen's thigh. The gesture looked comforting, and it was, but it also hid a brutal pinch of one of her few hidden areas of skin.

The sharp, wonderful pain in her thigh -- wonderful because it was not on her clit -- gave Kristen something to focus on for the next round of the vibrator.

She made it.

Just fourteen more minutes to go.

#

"You're not a prisoner anymore," Zach said, rushing the words out whenever Artemis shifted her lips over his.

"I know," Artemis told him. "That's what's got me all worked up."

"I mean you're not a prisoner here," Zach insisted, prying his mouth away from hers with his forehead. "We can put the blindfold back on and take you back where you came from, or we can find you a comfortable spot to sleep, you don't have to--"

"Yeah, I get it, you're very ethical and consent-conscious." Artemis bit into his neck, into skin much too soft for anyone to still have after any significant period of fighting the Bureau. "Are we going to do this, or what?"

Zach paused only a moment, and then reached back to pull off his jacket.

Losing patience fast, Artemis unbuckled his belt and yanked his still-fastened pants down over his skinny hips, boxers and all, so that she could finally grind her gloriously unobstructed pussy against his bare thigh.