013: Control Is Euphoria.

Emerson trudged through the door of his self made house. Fuck, the heavy weight of the day was still on his shoulders. It was late, far later than he'd wanted to stay out at the office.

Porsche, always high on 'alertness', appeared from nowhere.. well, from the shadows cause all lights were out. "I found it, Mr. Emerson. I found my purpose."

Emerson groaned, throwing his briefcase onto the couch. "Please, not tonight. I'm really fucked up."

"Fucked up?" Porsche echoed back, tilting his head. His calm demeanor switched to that of curiosity. "Fuck... sex.... fucked up. You were sexed upward?"

Emerson closed his eyes for a moment, cursing his hell of a luck in a fucking foul language. "I meant... I'm stressed, Porsche. I'm just stressed."

"Stress?" Porsche mused, eyes widening. "Stress is..."

"Oh, God," Emerson groaned. He just continued onward, walking away.

"Well, the Gandhi family says, you can relax to ease your stress."

Emerson stopped, looking back at Porsche now with a really, truly tired frown. "Porsche, please, what is it?"

Porsche's expression softened. Then a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "I got you a gift." He handed Emerson a box. A bit large, mysterious.

"I'm tired, as you can see," Emerson rubbed his temples. "I don't have time for whatever mystery this is."

But Porsche didn't relent. "It's a surprise I got you," he repeated, following Emerson to his room. "Unbox it."

_____

"Did you hear that? He said he found his purpose!" Lucy, who had been peeking from the kitchen along with the others, said with a teasing laugh.

"Yeah, found a job, huh?" Rose added with a grin.

"Does this mean he's finally getting a real role?" Mr. Bob chimed in, a sarcastic smile on his face. "I heard Sir Emerson tell his mother his friend is an actor."

_____

Emerson barely noticed them as he walked past and into his room.

He dropped his file on his room's couche and pulled of his tie. He was heading straight to the bed. He was too, too tired for any nonsense. Too weary to indulge in Porsche's quirks tonight.

Porsche however was persistent. "Unbox it."

Emerson rolled his eyes. "Would that make you happy? Would that stop you from disturbing me?" He asked, not even sparing Porsche a glance.

Porsche titled his head. "I can't express emotions. I don't consider myself a sort of disturbance or nuisance either. Perhaps, you mean to ask if that would make me no longer ask you to unbox it." He nodded, "And the answer is yes."

With a sigh, Emerson opened the box. His hands shook as he lifted the lid and saw what laid inside.

Inside, there were belts, neckties, chains, ribbons.. and then, as his eyes scanned further, items that left him speechless: a vibrator. Huh? Ropes... all things associated with BDSM.

His stomach churned. "What is this?"

"My purpose, Emerson."

Porsche stood tall, his tone calm and matter-of-fact.

Emerson: "...."

"I was programmed for companionship, but since you reject that.. since you don't want me to get your boyfriend, or your assistant... I figured I could fulfill my original purpose, the motherboard of my essence - sex."

Emerson just stared at Porsche, unable to process what he was hearing or even say shit. His mouth was dry. He needed water. "What?" was all he could manage.

Porsche stepped closer. His voice lowered. "Yes, we can have sex, Emerson. No feelings. No attachments. Just...the act itself."

Emerson felt a strange stirring in his chest and between his fucking legs. For a moment, the idea seemed really, really tempting. No strings attached. No complications. Just... relief. Fuck, yes!

But he quickly pushed it aside. "Stop. This is nonsense. Not now. Not like this."

But Porsche didn't step back. Instead, he reached out and pushed Emerson gently unto the bed. Emerson scrambled up, panic rising in him. "No, wait. I...."

He froze.

His body, betraying him, had reacted. There was no denying it now. His dick was fully erect, and he wasn't sure how to feel about that. Shy?

"Porsche," Emerson pleaded. His voice was fucking strained already. "Can we just... not do this? Not now?"

Porsche looked at him, unblinking. "Why, if I may ask? Aside from being your assistant, companionship, sex.. I have no purpose. I can't just exist without a reason."

Emerson's heart skipped a beat. He felt the pull of blood satanic temptation of lust. But his mind screamed to stop. "This is... this is so tempting. But, no. Let's just stop. Please."

Porsche paused for a moment before softly speaking again. "Why not tonight?"

Emerson's eyes narrowed. "Why are you so insistent on this, Porsche? Did someone... teach you this? Who instigated you?"

Silence.

Porsche remained silent for a moment before replying. "I was created for this purpose. You, too, can choose your purpose. Anyone can. I'm just trying to be useful."

Did he just change the topic? Did he lie? Emerson's mind spin.

"Fine, I'll give you an assignment. Tomorrow, when I come back from my trip, I'll activate your control and pain buttons. So you can learn what you should and shouldn't do, and how to react and how to feel."

Porsche nodded, eager. "Assignment? Yes, Emerson."

Emerson's lips curled into a faint smile. "Tomorrow, after you've completed the assignment perfectly, we'll talk. Then.... we'll see what happens."

Porsche was still, waiting for the next instruction.

Emerson led him to the desk, opening his laptop. "These are the videos," he said. He pointed to the screen of the laptop. "There are 16 videos for you to watch, Porsche. Learn them. Absorb them. And when your finished, let me know by tomorrow."

Porsche nodded. "Understood."

As Emerson started to walk away, he paused. "And don't go online looking for anything else. Stick to these. Got it?"

Porsche nodded again, he's expression blank. "Yes, understood."

Emerson filters strange sense of satisfaction as he headed for the bedroom. The idea of control... of having someone obey, without question, without feelings, without attachment; it was intoxicating.

And yet, somewhere deep down, he knew it was more about control and pleasure.

"Fuck," Emerson cursed out more to himself. "What the hell am I doing?"

But for now, he didn't matter. Control is euphoria.