WARNING: Once again, it's time for my Please Don't Sue dance. This fanfic contains strong language and sexual content, including domination/submission themes between two male-bodied computer constructs (one of whom does some fairly sadistic stuff in this particular story). If you’re under the legal and/or emotional age to read such material, DON’T READ IT. Simple as that, folks. I don't own the characters and concepts of The Matrix; The Wachowskis do. Characters are used without permission. No profit is being made from this file. English translations for the French words used in this fic are listed after the story. Do not allow Happy Fun Ball to claim leadership of Poland, no matter how much it begs.

Special thanks to Starfyre, my beta reader, and Catilina, my sitemaster, as well as to the Moulin Rouge tunes "The Show Must Go On" and "Complainte de la Butte" for being such good Muse Chow (TM) during this particular story's creation.

NOTE: This fanfic takes place directly after the events of the previous story in the iFic series, "Purpose That Binds." Those reading the fics out of order are subject to their own confusion.

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Just Cause
by Apricot the Gerbil


As he relaxed on the black leather couch, feet tipped up on the television room's table, iSmith took a chocolate from the small box on his lap and chewed at one square corner thoughtfully. He wondered to himself, as he did every now and again: whatever would his parents say, if they could see him now?

He had never met Mister Anderson... It was doubtful the human known as "Neo" had ever even been aware of Smith's two flawed copies, much less that one shared fragments from his coding. However, he was sure Smith would only view his descendant's position as a disgrace. How dare he, iSmith could almost hear Smith's icy voice sneer, how dare he go and trade his dignity in order to keep on living? How dare he let an upstart program like the Merovingian use him as a sex toy, or go flaunting-- not even that, but enjoying as well!-- those horrible human emotions iSmith received from his own nemesis?

iSmith bit down on the sweet's cream center and smirked to the empty room. If he were still around, Smith could go screw himself... iSmith was having the time of his life.

Sure, a life under the servitude of the Merovingian wasn't all fun and sunshine. For the most part, iSmith spent his days alone, with only a collection of movies to pass the time until, after days and days of boredom, he could finally spend time with his beloved master. Even among the other exiled programs working for the Merovingian-- some of whom could dismantle a person down to the molecular level, or were immune to any attack short of a nuclear explosion-- iSmith was looked upon as something not to be trusted.

Exiles already wary of the Agents prowling the Matrix tended to include iSmith as one of their former pursuers, and the rest seemed unsettled by a program who shared so many of the humans' mannerisms. There was a definite classism at work in the Megacity’s community of programs, based on whether one had a flesh-bound body floating somewhere outside the Matrix or not. Programs would toss around phrases like "you're breaking my heart," or "you make my brain hurt," but such sayings were meant as nothing more than sarcasm. Few programs bothered spending their time around one flawed enough to seriously mean the words.

Then again, as he often boasted to himself, the lack of company didn't bother iSmith in the least. His boss seemed proud of his talents, and that was enough. The Merovingian himself had been designed as a program to mimic the biology of humans; he harbored a burning curiosity to learn more about iSmith's coding, being partially tailored from 'the real thing,' as it were. The Agent-like programming passed on from Smith gave iSmith an incredible devotion to whatever tasks he was given, a crystal-clear memory archive for actions the Merovingian preferred, and a body that wouldn’t quit, if only in the literal stamina-based sense.

For another thing, there was no way the Merovingian could've missed the symbolism in keeping someone so related to an Agent as his own lapdog, much less one who had to suck his dick to survive. Who knows? Maybe that was the main reason iSmith had been kept around... Still, he couldn't help wondering if, just perhaps, his boss might have some other reason for treating him so well. He touched the tag dangling from the pink collar he wore, sighing. Were the occasional gifts he'd been given truly only for a job well done, or did the Merovingian--

iSmith cut off that thought where it started. He couldn't bear thinking about whether his boss really loved him or not. That hope was to be kept hidden in the recesses of his mind. He’d finally come to realize he might LOVE his master, but if the Merovingian didn't know this, iSmith wouldn't have to find out if it was unrequited. He preferred uncertainty over the idea of rejection.

Footsteps could suddenly be heard approaching from the hallway nearby. iSmith felt a fluttering inside him... It's not him. You know it's not him-- it almost never is, he thought to himself, but try as he might, he couldn't crush that tiny inkling of hope. Maybe, just maybe...!

If iSmith had such a thing as 'a heart,' it would’ve jumped. His master had just walked into the room.

The Merovingian made no effort to hide the annoyance seething from him. The two guards flanking him seemed to sense it; they kept their eyes away from him, even as he paused at the doorway to give them their orders. "Now. You will stand outside this door, and keep it closed until you hear two knocks from the other side. Do not let ANYone in. This should be simple enough for you, yes?"

One guard shifted his grip on the .44 he held, eyeing iSmith warily. "Sir, your wife's still going to be--"

"Waiting?" interrupted the Merovingian, smiling. "Oui, of course. I know this perfectly well... but you will still not let her enter if she comes looking for me, will you? She needs to get it through her pretty skull that SHE is not the one controlling things around here." He crossed his arms, giving a nod to both of them. "Now leave me."

The double doors slammed shut. iSmith sat up on the couch and moved the box of chocolates to the table, but stayed silent. Arguments between the Merovingian and his wife were terribly commonplace... iSmith had learned long ago never to ask questions, as his boss often came to him to avoid thinking of her in the first place.

"Aiii-yi..." the Merovingian groaned, bringing one hand up to rub his forehead. "I would not wish matrimony on my worst enemies. I tell you this in advance, little one-- I have little time, and much less energy. I think I shall make you earn your keep, today." He strode to the couch, all but dropping his body into a seat, and stretched his arms, settling his hands behind his head. He said nothing more, only staring off into space.

iSmith nodded silently, understanding the request. He got out of his seat and knelt down on the floor. Carefully, he unfastened the loops lacing his boss's pants closed. With the black satin brushed away to either side, the Merovingian's genitals dangled listlessly before him. iSmith greeted them, gently rubbing his fingers along the rim of foreskin rumpling the tip of his master’s cock. "Hello there. I missed you," he said, his mouth curling to a smirk.

He kept his light grip on it, bowing to give a strong, suckling kiss just under the head... the Merovingian stayed limp, but gave an appreciative, wordless sigh. iSmith continued, kissing a slow, wet trail down the fleshy underside. Even after all this time, he still marveled at how his master even had a pulse-- one that was starting to beat faster, he noted proudly. With a twist of his tongue, he licked back up again... then paused, breathing cool air along the skin.

The Merovingian shivered at the sudden chill, even as he felt himself start to go stiff. Having his pet do anything with his mouth was always a bit of a shock at first, as iSmith had no body heat of his own to speak of. Thankfully, iSmith's shell was quick to absorb his own temperature. With the beginning's cold tingles out of the way, there was only an unbelievably satisfying tongue left, servicing him just how he liked it.

He bucked further into his pet's mouth, sitting up just enough to grab hold of the back of iSmith's neck. Even though the Merovingian seldom forced iSmith's head around much when in such a position, being able to pull his pet closer or shove him away as he wished made the feeling of control that much more exquisite.

iSmith moaned at the touch, sending a throatful of vibrations washing over his master's erection. He could taste the first tiny rivulets of precum begin oozing out onto his tongue. So perfect-- steamy-hot, with just a tinge of sweet... The sampling made his mind reel, driving his delicate kisses to become full, raging slurps.

If iSmith had still been paying any attention to the world around him by that point, he would have seen the Merovingian's eyes flutter upwards, a flash of white... would have heard his quiet grunt, pulling his lip into fixed teeth ever-so-slightly.

What iSmith felt just then, though, was always poetry enough. The twitch of his jaw, the sudden burst of slippery heat, his throat spasming as he swallowed it all down greedily-- iSmith knew of the physical actions involved, but it was somewhere in that jumble of stimuli that he felt it all become something more, something undefinable.

The best word he had ever found for it was the human term ‘orgasm,’ but logic would say this was impossible. iSmith had no programming designed for ejaculation. He couldn't even achieve such a state on his own; the release he felt could only happen when his master came.

The second best word, as iSmith's casual research had found, was the human term ‘love.’ Thus, in his mind, what he was now experiencing must be love. He could understand why humans did such foolish things in its name, if this was the case-- his body all but shook from the feeling, drowning in it, completely at the mercy of something so invisible...

When he began to regain his senses, iSmith still had his master's penis in his mouth, limp and sated, with any traces of semen and spittle already licked away. He clung to the flesh like a lifeline, but gently released his grip when he felt the Merovingian easing his head back with those elegant hands of his.

iSmith looked up at his master, eyes shining with adoration. "Vinci," he whispered, his lip trembling.

The Merovingian only blinked, unsettled at hearing his pet call him by that name again. The two of them sat there in silence a moment more; iSmith was too far gone to notice the distant, solemn expression sullying his boss's sweat-beaded face.

It was the Merovingian who moved first. "Well, that was... interesting, I suppose." He tapped a finger against iSmith's head. "Up. Now. I am not yet finished with you." As his pet clambered to his feet, still acting a bit disoriented, he grinned to himself. "An idea has just occurred to me, little one. You service me so well, yet so often, there is no evidence to even suggest we have met! Truly, my Persephone cannot feel jealous if she has no proof I have turned to someone other than herself."

His pet seemed confused at this, but the Merovingian didn't wait for a response. His hand had already moved to iSmith's tie, grabbing and pulling him back down to a crouch. He dabbed a finger past iSmith's lips, poking along the inside of his mouth.

A thin glob of pearly white stuck to his finger when he brought it back. The Merovingian smiled at it, then swept it down the lapel of iSmith's black blazer. "There. Such a beautiful 'accident' you wear," he said, stifling a chuckle at the smear. "Be sure not to mention it to her, now. Her reaction will be all the sweeter if she notices it on her own."

He heard no response. In fact, iSmith was still shuddering slightly, his eyes unfocused and glazed. The Merovingian grew curious. “Que ennuis vous?" he asked, following his pet's downward stare... and raised an eyebrow, seeing the fabric tenting up from iSmith's slacks.

"It was my impression that we were already finished for today. I must leave by now as it is," said the Merovingian, distaste darkening his voice. He flicked a finger towards iSmith's erection. "Get rid of this, would you please?"

iSmith squinted, sending the command that would set his groin back to its featureless default pattern... only to find, to his surprise, that it hadn’t budged. He tried again-- nothing. iSmith looked up at his boss, giving him a nervous little grin. "It won't go away...!"

The Merovingian frowned. "Come now. I have no time for jokes!" he said, stamping his foot onto the offending bulge.

A blast of some strange new sensation swept through iSmith's senses at the touch-- like a shard of ice had just been stabbed into his groin. Both hands leaped to clutch at the erection already shriveling back into his body. He choked out a tiny, strangled groan. Apparently, the floor had decided to leap up and meet with his face.

iSmith stayed there, unable to move, to do anything other than shudder. As if through a haze, he could hear his boss mutter a confused-sounding "...the hell?" The shape of someone hunched over him swam in and out of iSmith's tear-blurred view.

The Merovingian studied iSmith's form, squinting occasionally as he watched the patterns of coding trail downwards. Was his pet coming down with some sort of virus? The symbols looked no different than they'd always been, so what was the--

He paused, watching one blinking bit of code follow its course with all the rest. That hadn't been there before... It was grouped with the programming used for sensations. Of course, the Merovingian thought to himself-- the command to feel pain. It only made sense, given his pet's sudden bizarre behavior. But hadn't that been disabled when iSmith first had his coding upgraded?

The answer seemed obvious, once he realized it. It had always been in his own code-- which had been mixing with his pet's for how long now...? The Merovingian shook his head, smirking at this unexpected turn. "Vraiment, vous êtes une petite éponge!" he said, patting iSmith's huddled shoulder. "I shall have to look into this at some later time. My wife is expecting me... In fact, I'm a bit surprised she didn't interrupt us by now. Rest assured, we will continue this soon enough. Au revoir."

The only goodbye iSmith could give was to uncross his eyes-- and by then, his master had already tapped on the door, and was gone.

---

The next few days slogged by so uneventfully that iSmith found himself resorting to sleeping. He had no dreams, of course, just a null space before consciousness returned... but at least such an action passed the hours more quickly.

It was during one of these forced naps that iSmith was awoken by someone flicking their fingers sharply against his forehead. His eyes snapped open to see his boss already standing there before him.

"Did you have a pleasant rest?" the Merovingian asked, smiling as people would after seeing a kitten or puppy do something adorably stupid. He raised a hand to calm iSmith, who was rustling about in an attempt to straighten his rumpled suitcoat. "Here, now, worry not! For once, I am in no great hurry. I only thought you should know what I have found, regarding your new... er, condition."

iSmith's expression lit up at the news. "Ooh, really? What'd you find out?"

"I still am not entirely sure how you managed it, but due to our having had such direct contact for so long, it seems the lock on your coding to feel pain has eroded away-- rewriting itself to match my own, but without the control I have." The Merovingian paused, smirking at the unease beginning to cloud iSmith's face.

"However," he continued, "I have decided to allow you the final say in this matter. It should not be difficult to fashion a patch for this problem. If you choose to have it applied, you would be as you were again, no longer troubled by such a nuisance. Your other option is to do nothing, and live on as a more human-like being. Both decisions have their own costs you must deal with, but I think it only fair that the decision be yours."

"Oh, my," iSmith said, feeling a bit overwhelmed. He scratched at his hair absentmindedly, asking, "Do I have to choose right now?"

"Not immediately, no," his boss replied. He raised a lone finger, eyes narrowing for emphasis. "But know this, little one: I am giving you only the one chance to decide. You cannot change your mind afterwards." He crossed his arms and continued. "It has been most intriguing, watching you grow over time. I would not wish to slap such a vital learning experience from your grasp... even IF I do not always approve of the ways you have learned to express yourself."

iSmith noticed the flat tone of disdain creeping into his master’s voice. "Is this is about how I called you Vinci last time we-- when we were...?" he mumbled, trailing off to look at the floor.

The Merovingian gave him a solemn nod. "Normally, it would not bother me quite as much. But as you know, this is not the first time you have done this."

iSmith frowned, guilt creasing his brow. "I can stop saying it. I really can, if I try-- I'm sorry!"

"No, no... Even if you were never to speak it again, the fact that you have called me this name means you would still be thinking it," his boss replied, shaking his head in disappointment. "I suppose I have been ignoring your development, as of late. I have never heard an Agent give a name to someone that was not that person's own, but humans have often been known to give special names to others." He stared sternly at his pet. "Do you know why it is, that humans would do such a thing?"

iSmith found himself wondering if Mister Anderson had ever given anyone a nickname. Was that human's reasoning the same as his own? Best to say something different... "Maybe as a term of respect?" he guessed.

"Perhaps," the Merovingian, still looking unconvinced. He paused, suddenly... iSmith had brought a hand up to worry along the edge of the pink collar he wore around his neck. The Merovingian had given that collar to his pet not long ago, and had noticed iSmith's new habit of touching it when nervous-- but as he saw the action just then, a thought occurred to him.

That heart-shaped tag. It had been a purely ornamental choice, but as he now recalled, humans often ascribed an additional meaning to the shape. He closed his eyes, thinking of the best way to strike down this misunderstanding his pet had developed.

"There is something I have learned, over all these many years," the Merovingian began. He opened his eyes again, flitting his gaze about the posh decor of the room around them. "You see this? None of it is necessary, of course. I have little need for rest or sleep, if I do not want to be bothered by it. Or food, for that matter-- and yet, I have the Chateau as my home, and dine at the most prestigious restaurants the Matrix has to offer. I could have my pick of whichever lovely beauty I may desire, and they cannot refuse me. In fact, many would be honored to spend such time with me..." He turned his attention back to iSmith. "Yet I so often turn to you for the pleasures of the flesh, more often than I would need to. Why do you suppose that is?"

iSmith fidgeted, fearing he already knew his own answer would be wrong. His voice stumbled as he tried finding the safest words. "I-- I don't know."

"Why not?" answered the Merovingian. He repeated himself, giving a smug smile as his hand bobbed in a half-shrug. "Why not? It is the perfect reasoning. The more I have satisfied the 'why's of life, for myself and so many others, the more I find myself admiring it... It gives no other reasons but itself, yet it needs none. And once all the opportunities of this world are spread before me, I truly need no more explanation for choosing one thing over another. Why should I do something? Because I CAN. Why? Why not?"

He walked closer to iSmith leisurely, the catlike grin never leaving his face. Standing there to nod at his confused-looking pet, he paused... then, without batting an eyelid, drew back and smacked his fist squarely into iSmith's jaw.

iSmith crumpled to the floor, his pained cry trailing down with him. He raised a hand to cradle his jaw, whimpering softly, and stared up at his boss with wide, terrified eyes. The Merovingian's gaze practically sparkled back as he asked him, "Why did I just do that?"

iSmith fought through the stinging haze jabbing at his face. "Why... not...?" he soon managed.

His boss chuckled, bending down to run his fingers through iSmith's hair. "Trés bien! Ah, my little one... you learn so very quickly."

"So you... You don't--" iSmith tried stringing his thoughts into a question, but couldn't bring himself to finish it.

The Merovingian stared down at him, as if he was reading the unspoken thought from within iSmith's pained eyes. "Could it be...? You thought I loved you, peut-être?" he asked, seeming amused by the idea.

iSmith only slumped further along the floor, closing his eyes in silent, guilty defeat. He lay there, feeling a sickness he couldn't describe gnaw its way through him for the first time in what seemed like ages. No witty comebacks sprung to his mind. Nothing at all.

He heard the Merovingian give a sharp clap of his hands from above. "Up. Now," his voice ordered. iSmith slowly pulled himself back to his feet, not daring to look directly at his master-- or, more importantly, that look of amusement on his master's face, now that his secret had been confessed. When he felt the Merovingian pull at his tie, leading him to the couch, he followed with hollow, shuffled steps, letting himself be bent over the armrest.

Strange, iSmith thought... For the first time he could remember, he wasn't overjoyed at knowing he was about to have a 'session' with his boss. He folded his arms underneath his chest, resting his head to the side on the seat-cushions... and waited.

The Merovingian unfastened his own pants, then slipped a hand underneath the Agent-standard suit, pressing upwards against iSmith's waist. His pet recognized the cue, and arched up to allow his hands a few inches' room. With practiced ease, the Merovingian picked away at the belt, threading it loose and unzipping the fly of iSmith's black slacks.

As he hiked the pants down below his pet's rump-- as far as iSmith's programming would let them budge-- the Merovingian started to speak, as idly as if he and the program lying prone on the couch were sharing a teatime chat. "There are many women I have enjoyed the pleasure of taking, whether it be my wife, or whichever shallow beauty is thrilled at the opportunity I offer her," he began, watching the flat, plastic-like skin of iSmith's lower back begin shifting to a more realistic design.

The design twitched suddenly, blurring back to its default. The Merovingian rolled his eyes skyward, sighing to himself. His pet didn't seem very eager at the moment. "You misunderstand me. Certainly, I appreciate your own skills, and you do use them well. But as I was saying..." He carefully settled himself atop iSmith's back, wrapping his arms around the dark suit to pull his pet close. "Les belles, they can become so tiring. All their fuss of chatter, or 'their feelings'-- such a waste of my time, for any pleasure they bring. Sometimes, I only wish to have a quick fuck."

The Merovingian brushed his lips over the back of his pet's neck-- a mockery of a kiss. "And that, mon petit pédé doux, is why I come to you. You are a quick fuck. Nothing more." With that, he trailed down to roll his fingers along the flat skin of iSmith's groin. iSmith shuddered at the cold words, even as he felt himself push closer into his boss's hand. He quickly generated a suitable set of male genitals for him to grasp hold of. The Merovingian's touch was so gentle, so warm-- a warmth he desperately craved, loving or not...

"For now... let me see," the Merovingian mused, bringing his chin to rest on his pet's shoulder. "I want you to be tight, this time. So tight that when I am done, I expect there to be blood when I pull away." He smiled, feeling the cleft beneath him shift its shape ever so slightly. "I would not deprive you of this chance to test your new sensations, after all."

iSmith had little time to feel dread at these words; no sooner had he heard them, he felt the thick prod of his boss pressing up against him, already stiff and willing. He knew there was no way he could protest... He sucked in a breath through rigid teeth, closing his eyes. Making sure his body matched up with what the Merovingian wanted to feel for any given session was always the trickiest part to pull off, even before he had to worry about the possibility of pain. If it was anything like when he'd been smacked in the face...

He gasped, uttering a whine-- the Merovingian had begun thrusting, back and away, in shallow little jabs. iSmith hurriedly willed his body to contract against his master's erection, as strongly as he could muster, but the blunt tip soon pushed its way through. A splintering barb of-- this must be what pain was, it had to be!-- shot through iSmith's mind as he clenched. Without thinking, he let out a tiny scream, his body bucking away from this once-familiar intruder.

"Shh, shh-shh..." whispered the Merovingian. He noticed the tears welling up in his pet's eyes. Crying, he knew, was a reflex of the programming they both shared-- an automatic response to feeling sad, elated, or in this case, terrified. He nuzzled his nose along iSmith's cheek, trying to brush the cold water away. "Don't be afraid."

"It-- it hurts--!" iSmith managed. His voice broke, body tensing, as he felt his boss press into him once more.

"I know, I know it does... Don't worry. I promise you, nothing will be damaged. This is only a reaction, only programming... although it has been said that to feel pain is to know what it is like to be truly human." He inched the hand curled around iSmith's groin further down, cupping his pet's coded ballsack to warm the skin there with gentle, encouraging strokes.

He heard his pet moan blissfully at the touch, and chuckled. "Ah, le remède miracle.” The Merovingian eased iSmith's legs further apart, hoping to help relax him... and paused, feeling the nudge of something pressing into his hand. His pet was sporting a very noticeable erection, twitching against the arm of the couch needily. "Qu'est-ce? This may get in the way, as we are now. Can you remove it?"

iSmith squirmed. He couldn't help feeling disappointed at having his massage cut off so soon, but he mentally commanded his crotch back to its default. Once again, nothing happened. He gave his boss a confused shake of his head, mumbling, "I can't!"

"Hmm. Interesting," the Merovingian said. A smirk tugged his mouth as he thought to himself. "Such a grand mystery you can be," he finally said. "You may be unaware of this, but your sensations of pleasure and pain come from the same, single command. Now that both have awakened in you, perhaps they both have you at their mercy, hm?"

"I guess," iSmith replied.

His boss smiled, one eyebrow tipping upwards. "Such an unburdened mind you have! If a human's bodily reactions are commanding you, you will have little control over yourself. Why are you not worried?"

iSmith only grinned, his voice a wavering purr. "You just told me. Why should I be?" His answer given, he lurched forward impatiently into his master's hand. He hissed a sigh as the Merovingian started moving once more, and gripped at the flesh bucking into him for all he was worth. The pain still made itself known, but the warmth coming from between his legs quickly seemed to be blurring into much the same sensation.

The thrusts were coming more harshly now. iSmith relaxed where he could manage to, letting his body be shoved about in time with his boss's motions and feeling that wonderful floating feeling begin to wash over him. He breathed in the Merovingian's heady scent-- musky cologne, tart wine, a tinge of sweat-- as if he could taste it, and waited for the release soon to come... As he lost himself in his master's arms, he hardly realized the words slipping from his mouth.

"...feels so good... ahh, god, Vinc--"

By the time iSmith snapped back to reality, choking away the end of that forbidden name, it was already too late. The Merovingian had stopped still, his eyes wide open in surprise. His voice shook with barely suppressed anger. "What was that?"

"Oh god-- I didn't mean, I-- I'm so sorrAAAAIIAHH--!!" iSmith's pleading voice cut off in a shriek, as the Merovingian's fingernails dug into his balls. In the haze of pain flooding his mind, the instinct of struggling was the only thing that broke through.

"Don't you dare try to pull these back!" the Merovingian commanded, giving iSmith's scrotum another slow twist. He shook his head in disgust, listening to his pet sob. "Aii, ai-yi-yi... Did I not already make myself clear? You are nothing special to me-- vous êtes merde, une tache sur mes chaussures, rien! NOTHING! What must I do, to wipe this foolish idea from your brain?!"

The Merovingian felt his pet thrash desperately within his grasp... and realized he was hard as a rock.

He had occasionally told iSmith to cry out, to struggle, in past sessions; the actions were nothing new. However, the idea that the mewling little wretch was no longer merely acting-- that for once, the humiliation and fear was genuine... The arousal pounding through the Merovingian's senses almost made him dizzy. How long had it been since he was this turned on?

With a sadistic glint in his eyes, the Merovingian started grinding mercilessly into his pet's hole. He gripped his arm tighter against iSmith's suited chest, forcing his face down against the cushions. "Tell me! What did I say you are?" he demanded.

"i-- i'm a--!" His pet's voice was a falsetto whimper, hardly audible.

The nails dug in deeper. "A WHAT?!"

"a-- i'm, a qui-- a...!" iSmith choked. Fresh tears trailed from his eyes, dropping dark specks onto the leather underneath. "I'm a quick fuck--!"

"Louder..." his boss threatened.

"I'M A QUICK FUCK!!" iSmith cried. He felt his arms wobble, and tried bracing them back against the frame of the couch. He couldn't hold himself up much longer, he could feel it...

This was wrong. He didn't know why, but somehow, iSmith was sure what was happening shouldn't be. The heat from his boss was still giving him that wonderful warm feeling, but his whole body ached at the same time, with fresh stabs of pain being carved into his ass even now, over and over. His thoughts were frozen in an endless shriek, refusing to believe his master would be doing this... The stinging and burning and beautiful heat were all sloshing about into one horrible, confusing mess.

He began sobbing louder, until the noise caught in his throat, making him gag. This only seemed to excite the Merovingian more; the thrusts pounding into iSmith's trapped body grew frenzied, making the couch's legs creak as he lunged. iSmith dimly heard his boss's voice, all melodious pretense dropped, huffing out a stream of French that iSmith didn't understand-- Nom de Dieu, vous petit putain-- rien mais saloperie!-- only to crest off into a wordless ungh, ungh, UNNGH--

With a ragged growl and shiver from the Merovingian, the familiar, gummy burst of heat finally let loose. iSmith could only gasp, his boss's release coupled with one last spasm of protest from his fake sphincter...

The outside world faded from his notice. He barely registered his own gulping breaths through the feeling of bodiless bliss, the kind he could only feel when his master's code was freshly coursing through him. Thankfully, he could feel nothing else. The pain didn't find him there-- in fact, he grudgingly admitted, it seemed to make the sudden pleasure all the more vivid.

Much to iSmith's despair, however, he found the prickly shivers there when he faded back to the couch. His boss was still on top of him, embracing him... As the Merovingian softly rubbed his face against his pet's neck, iSmith felt sick flutterings creep through him. Was this supposed to be comforting? Could he even assume that much from his boss, anymore?

"Beautiful... absolutely beautiful. Ah, my little one, I do regret having to give such a harsh lesson today," the Merovingian said, still wheezing slightly from his orgasm. "But, then... if one does not teach a pet quickly... it may grow to have problems later on, yes?"

iSmith closed his eyes. "I want my code put back to normal again."

"So soon?" remarked his boss. He sighed, sounding disappointed. "Very well. As always, I am bound to my word... I shall make arrangements for it to be fixed. Probably for the best, I suppose. It would be a terrible annoyance, to not be able to control such a thing." The Merovingian smirked. "Though I must admit, I will miss your... shall we say, newfound enthusiasm? ...very much indeed."

He gave iSmith one last peck on the cheek, then inhaled slowly, pulling out. iSmith gritted his teeth at the burning sensation left behind, waiting with newfound dread for the usual command to lick his master clean... but he heard nothing. He turned his head slightly and saw the Merovingian patting a red-streaked silk handkerchief around his flaccid penis.

"As always, you do such a splendid job at following your orders," the Merovingian said, giving iSmith a pleased grin. "I shall only trust that I hear no further nonsense of terms of endearment from you, now that I have made my own intentions perfectly clear. Is this understood?"

"Yes," iSmith answered. That strange, sick feeling jumped again; he tried his best to hide it.

"Bon." His boss nodded, tossing the bloody silk onto the couch. He refastened his pants, smoothing away the wrinkles his mad friction had caused. "If that is settled, I have more urgent tasks elsewhere." The Merovingian gave iSmith a quick pat on the head. "Until next time. Farewell, my little one."

iSmith made no attempt to move from the couch as he watched his master leave. The more rational part of him was feverishly scrambling to make sense of what had just happened, even as the thoughts going through his mind were by now only a chant of self-loathing-- you idiot, you IDIOT, you stupid IDIOT... Why had he revealed his affections like that? Why did he keep saying that forbidden name?

He still wasn't sure which he should be more scornful of-- the fact that he'd let his emotions lead him into disobeying his master so, or how the Merovingian showed such disinterested spite when his own feelings were laid bare before him.

With a sigh, iSmith finally dragged himself off the arm of the couch, curling into a huddled ball on the cushions. His master's actions had done their job well... He doubted he could ever even think of the Merovingian as "Vinci" again. To use such a name would denote a fond respect, would assume a bond that-- as was now painfully obvious-- had never existed in the Merovingian's mind, and had no hope of being reciprocated.

A raw urge of hatred welled up in his thoughts, one that Smith himself might have found eerily familiar. iSmith grappled with the logic he knew couldn't be denied... Following his boss's orders was just another rule of the pact the two of them had signed. He’d chosen this servitude with his own free will. By that reasoning, thinking that the Merovingian had done something wrong made no sense.

However, iSmith couldn't help thinking that a line had been crossed, just now. When it came to his master, the only parts of iSmith that could possibly be called 'private' were his thoughts, and when even those had been wrenched from him, the Merovingian had treated them the same way human children would pull apart an already-injured fly.

Then again, when all was said and done, the whole issue was irrelevant. iSmith’s purpose was to serve his master, and to a program, purpose gave them their only reason to exist-- their everything. Willingly or not, he still needed the Merovingian's code in him to survive. The warmth was already draining from his body, he could feel it... His thoughts strayed to more bitter territories, and he wondered if deletion was truly the worst fate a program could face.

Even after the automatic lights blinked off from the room’s lack of movement, iSmith lay curled and silent on the couch, weeping, feeling more human than any program could possibly bear.

---

That Tuesday night seemed much like any other at the esteemed Le Vrai restaurant. Plates clanked in and out from the busy kitchen. Waiters skimmed along the tables, their grace made all the more impressive by the massive trays of orders they carried with ease. The human customers bustled about in their endless social games-- trading attempts at witty chatter, or striking up business deals, building their unknowingly virtual incomes.

As they did every Tuesday, the Merovingian and his entourage had appeared for an evening meal. The twin albino bodyguards traded sips of smoke from a hookah set at a nearby side table. They, along with a handful of the Merovingian’s more presentable guards, lounged about, waiting for any threat of an attack to their boss-- a threat that, as usual, showed no signs of appearing.

iSmith sat amongst the guards, his face a blasé mask. He clutched his fork, pushing something around on his plate that was possibly vegetable, or meat, but was too gourmet a food to easily tell.

The Merovingian’s meal was nearly untouched as well. “I cannot be sure what, but... something is wrong,” he wondered aloud.

From her seat next to him, Persephone’s brow tipped upward, sarcastically high. “Oh~! Poor you!” she cooed.

The Merovingian shot his wife an indignant glare, but said nothing.

“I saw your toy lost its collar, too,” she continued, smirking proudly over her wine glass. “Did you break it, perhaps? I’m not sure dragging it along with you tonight will help fix very much.”

Remaining silent only by sheer force of will, the Merovingian resolved to keep his musings inward for the evening. He still couldn’t understand why his pet was malfunctioning so badly. The update patch wasn’t at fault-- he’d checked it twice already, only to find it wasn’t affecting any programming it shouldn’t be. Why, then, had the boisterous spark he’d admired in his pet’s personality suddenly faded away?

It must have been something he’d done the last time he had a coding session with iSmith, but what could he have possibly done wrong? He owned his pet completely, and that was that. If iSmith had been stupid enough to think otherwise, then he deserved to reap what his misguided thoughts had sowed.

He eyed the glittery pink feathers wrapped around iSmith’s neck, biting back a surge of very uncivilized disgust. He’d been surprised to find his pet wearing the boa yesterday, lounging in his usual seat in the television room, with no trace of his pastel pink collar to be found.

iSmith had noticed his shock. He curled one feathery end slowly through his fingers, speaking with such an icy, humorless tone that the Merovingian barely recognized it as iSmith’s own voice: “I just got it. What do you think?”

The Merovingian snapped back to the present, shaking his head. He tried to focus on the string trio playing some Debussy piece in the background... Why was he wasting his time worrying about such a silly trifle as his pet having mood swings, anyhow? He tipped a finger towards the nearest waiter and ordered another glass of wine.

“That’s your fourth tonight, my love,” Persephone noted. Her quiet smile of triumph had been haunting him all night long. “Is there something troubling you?”

“My darling,” the Merovingian hissed, keeping his voice low enough to avoid suspicious glances from those around the head table. “The only reason I have not yet beaten you back into your rightful place is because we are presently in public!”

“I know,” she said, her grin still shining merrily. “But if you can’t see that you’ve lost him, you’re an even greater fool than I thought. Do what you like! No matter what you try to do at this point in your game, I win.”

Her husband kept his even-faced stare, the flickers of rage leaping from behind eyes that had centuries’ worth of practiced restraint. Still, Persephone heard a shiver in his voice that would spell a painful death to those of lower ranks. “Mark my words, woman. This is NOT yet over. Think what you will, but you have won nothing.”

“As you say...” Persephone said, shrugging before taking a delicate sip from her glass. Her smirk had not faded, but her eyes wandered back to the milling tables before them. Her final words for the argument lilted musically, a mocking tune: “My love.”

The Merovingian ignored her. Let the bitch think she has the upper hand, he thought... There was no way he would get rid of iSmith now. To do so would give her the false idea that he’d admitted some sort of fault.

And there were still so many uses to which iSmith could be put! The Merovingian smiled to himself, glancing over at his pet. Willingly or no, iSmith was still under contract to obey his master’s wishes. It wouldn’t do to have iSmith sitting there in the television lounge all day, so listless-- no, not anymore.

Possibilities rushed to his mind. Perhaps his pet would do better as a new sort of interrogation tool. There were always those stubborn opponents who could shrug off shocks and beatings, but for whom sexual torture was an entirely different matter... Yes, there were many ways to draw out someone’s secrets. None of his other employees were presently assigned such a task, were they? Such a convenient oversight. For once, his pet could enjoy a taste of what it felt like to be in control.

He allowed his imagination to wander, picturing iSmith hard at work in his new job... that chilly, emotionless face of his, barking demands to whomever was at his mercy for that session, even as he strained from within, trying to ignore the shivers starting to wrack his frame...

And then he would walk in. He’d see iSmith pause, knowing that the end of a week of emptiness was soon at hand... and he would take his pet, there against the wall, forcing him if he had to-- a reminder of who was really in charge. The Merovingian wondered if iSmith would still give the same powerless, gasping little whimpers when being fucked, even if raped in front of his own captive. Would pride keep him silent? Would he cry?

The Merovingian felt himself going hard, his erection pounding like mad under the tablecloth. He willed it away, for propriety’s sake, but felt a new rush of lust as he looked over at iSmith again, saw his pet cutting the same piece of food into ever tinier specks, off in his own little world.

Returning his attention to the meal before him, the Merovingian carved off a morsel of roast duckling. He bit down on the meat, savoring the tang of shallots and onions, the finery many in the Matrix could only ever dream of... and sighed, the feeling of mental calm returning to him at last.

This was no end for his pet and himself. No, it was only a new beginning...


[fin]






-----
Oui = yes
Que ennuis vous? = What troubles you?
Vraiment, vous êtes une petite éponge! = Truly, you are a little sponge!
Au revoir = Goodbye
Trés bien! = Very good!
peut-être = perhaps
les belles = the beautiful ones
mon petit pédé doux = my sweet little faggot
le remède miracle = the miracle cure
Qu'est-ce? = What’s this?
vous êtes merde, une tache sur mes chaussures, rien! = You are shit, a stain on my shoes, nothing!
Nom de Dieu*, vous petit putain-- rien mais saloperie! = Goddamn, you’re a little whore-- no more than filth!
Bon = Good

*Note: In his movie dialogue, Merv tends to begin any long strings of obscenities with “Nom de Dieu”-- hence, the less filthy-sounding start.