This story takes place in the same world as A Matter of Convenience and A Matter of Taste, but does not feature any characters from those stories. This time, we get a peek inside the daily life and mindset of a full service sex slave, and explore the potential shortfalls in how slaves are sorted in the training facilities. What happens when a slave trained for full service doesn't live up to the easy orgasm expectations promised by her training? Very dark content rating, 3k words.
This will probably be the last story set in this world. But then, I have been wrong before...let's say it's the last one I have planned at this point.
Content Warnings/Tags: sexual slavery; implications of brainwashing; extreme sexual masochism; pain play (pussy spanking, pussy whipping, clit pinching, cuntbusting); careless use; sex in an office setting
The slave sucked hard as one of her Masters yanked her head down, burying himself in her throat and spending. She held her breath and fought back the urge to cough, muffling the involuntary choked whimpers as her throat spasmed around his twitching cock, doing her best not to create any sounds out of turn.
When he released her, she covered her mouth to muffle the noisy breath she sucked in. The Master rubbed a shoe casually between her legs, leather dragging over the wet lips of her cunny, and she had to bite her lip to quiet the little cry of pleasure that tried to burst out.
Quiet, quiet, quiet. The Masters and Mistresses were having a meeting over her head, and good girls had to be quiet during meetings.
Good girls had to be quiet most of the time, when they served in an office, because it wasn't good at all to disrupt the Masters and Mistresses while they were working. And the slave wanted, more than anything, to be a good girl.
So she kept quiet as the Master she'd just serviced moved his foot back and forth, teasing her tingling folds oh-so-gently while she caught her breath. She kept quiet and stayed still as his idle movements sent wave after wave of pleasure through her needy body, making her drip and tremble.
He wanted to play with her, and she wanted to be a good girl, so she let him play until he was finished, until--with one last nudge that almost made her eyes cross with the force of the arousal pulsing inside her--he let her be, tapping the toe of his shoe into her thigh to indicate that she was dismissed.
She took only a second to compose herself. She reached between her legs, not to touch, of course, but to gather the fluid dripping down from her cunt, to wipe it onto her thighs where it would be less likely to make a mess on the carpet.
Then she went on her way, crawling along under the conference table to find another Master or Mistress waiting for her attention.
There: the Mistress at the head of the table had her skirt pulled up to her knees expectantly.
The slave crawled to her quickly--careful, careful not to disturb the fancy shoes lined around her of the other Masters and Mistresses gathered for the meeting--and leaned in, burying her face eagerly in this Mistress's thighs, pulling aside the panties that the Mistress wore so that she could bury her tongue in the Mistress's cunt.
The Mistress made a startled sound overhead, and then laughed. "Goodness, there she is. I've been waiting so long I thought one of you might've choked her."
The others laughed, too, and the slave blushed with pleasure, because laughing was happy, and good girls made their Masters and Mistresses happy, and she had just made them all happy by doing her job for just this one Mistress.
The conversation settled back into work--work, work, important things, things that slipped off the slave's mind like water, because it was not any of her business what subpoenas or billing rates or settlements were.
She licked and suckled and licked, and the Mistress she was servicing put a foot between the slave's legs as well, nudged the more pointed toe of her shoe against the slave's cunny, making the slave's body excited all over again. Occasionally, the slick leather slipped ever-so-lightly against the slave's sensitive clit, which was stiff and throbbing and felt like a live wire connected to her spine, making it so hard not to hump down into the pressure.
The slave muffled her moans in the Mistress's pussy, fixing her hips firmly in place.
Good girls did not hump, not unless they were told to, no matter how very, very, very much their bodies wanted it.
And the slave's body did want it very, very, very much. But she wanted--she needed--to be a good girl even more.
The slave had not always been a good girl.
Of course, all slaves were not always good girls: they were born naughty, confused, believing themselves to be free. But that was before the training, so it didn't count, not really. How could she have known she was being a naughty girl until she was taught otherwise?
Once they were educated in the training facilities, taught how to be good and why it was so important to be good, how special it was to be good, then there were expectations.
And she had failed, once, to meet those expectations. She had been so, so, so bad.
The slave had belonged to a single Master once. The Master had been very gentle with her, very kind, and she had loved him so much, and that made it hurt even worse when she thought of how bad she had been.
Because the training had taught her many things, but it hadn't taught her what to do with gentleness.
The slave had been trained for full service, and it meant she was taught to come easily, to come on command, to come when being spanked or whipped, to come from being fucked rough in both her pussy and ass, to come from having her nipples bitten or her clit pinched.
She had loved it all very, very much, had delighted in how the pain and pleasure together brought her to greater and greater heights of physical rapture, how the bruises and marks had lingered to remind her of what a good girl she had been.
But her first Master had not spanked her. He had not whipped her, he had not bitten her, he had not pinched her.
