A Slave's Doubts

A Slave's Doubts

Something felt off.

Melissa tugged on the straps of her bra, her breasts jiggling in the lace demi-cups. She angled her face in the mirror, trying to determine if perhaps her makeup wasn't right, or if her sandy blonde pigtails weren't falling like they should. But no matter how she twisted and turned, she could spy no cause for concern, no source for the gnawing unease in her stomach.

She frowned, puzzled, and cast a cursory glance around the slave quarters. None of the other girls seemed to share her discomfort. They were all as they should be: bouncing restlessly on the beds or touching up their appearances at the vanity mirrors, accompanied by the usual chorus of giggles and gossip. It was a morning just like any other. So why did Melissa feel so...restless?

She turned to the mirror again, and tried putting on a smile instead. There, that was better: that was the way a proper slave should look. Melissa wasn't as fit as some of her fellow sluts, but her soft, luscious curves always got plenty of attention from her Masters and patrons alike. She tried out several provocative poses, her confidence growing with every coquettish wink and teasing hair twirl. But then she blinked and, for the briefest of moments, the enticing girl in the maid lingerie vanished, replaced by a dowdy doppelganger in a drab skirt and tightly buttoned blouse. Before Melissa could comprehend what she was seeing, the vision disappeared, leaving her staring into her own wide, confused eyes.

It couldn't be...was she still thinking about that...?

"Mornin' Mel," a lithe, sable-haired girl yawned, plopping down on the neighboring seat. It was Brooke, a fellow house slut and Melissa's de factor partner-in-crime. "Excited for tonight?"

Melissa tried her smile on again, even as a fresh wave of anxiety seized her. "Uh, yeah, can't wait."

"Same," Brooke grinned, pursing her rosy lips to apply a fresh coat of gloss. "Gonna be a looottta competition this year though. You see the new girl? She's practically soaking the floor where she walks. It's adorable. Reminds me of your first homecoming party when...whoa, you okay?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, totally," Melissa swallowed. "Um, why do you ask?"

Brooke raised an eyebrow. "You seem kinda like you're...somewhere else. And not in the 'thinking-about-getting-dicked-stupid' kinda way. You didn't chip a tooth or something, did you?"

"Oh, um, no, nothing like that," Melissa quickly assured her friend. "It's fine. I'm just..."

"Just...what?"

Melissa bit her lip. She should've known better than to try and bluff Brooke. The two of them had been best friends for almost a year, pretty much since Melissa's first day at Alpha Rho. Most sluts preferred not to work with error-prone newbies, but Brooke hadn't hesitated to take the fledgling Melissa under her wing, guiding her from protégé to partner to...something more. It wasn't long before they'd become experts on each other, fluent in the sighs that signaled boredom and the moans that meant the other's tongue had found the exact right spot. They were an unstoppable duo at parties, the interplay of Brooke's sex kitten allure and Melissa's Midwestern innocence able to seduce even the most selective of patrons. The two sluts always had each other's backs, always kept each other's secrets.

So...why was it so hard for Melissa to speak the truth now?

"Mel?" Brooke pressed, craning her neck to meet her partner's averted gaze. "C'mon, talk to me here. What's on your mind?"

"It..." Melissa cast a glance over her shoulder then lowered her voice. "It's about that guy from the store."

"The bible-humper?" Brooke exclaimed. "Seriously?"

"Not so loud!" Melissa hissed, eyes darting to make sure none of the other girls were listening in.

"Sorry, it's just...I thought you were over this."

"I am. Or...was," Melissa admitted, ashamed.

The encounter in question had happened a week ago, while the two of them were grocery shopping off-campus. Brooke had left to find some item they'd forgotten, leaving Melissa mindlessly browsing the magazine rack alone. Then, out of the blue, a stranger in a polo shirt and khakis accosted her, claiming to be Chris, her long lost boyfriend. At first, Melissa had simply tittered and brushed him off. It wasn't unusual for owned sluts like her to have strange interactions with students, especially former patrons trying to talk their way into a free ride. It was possible she had slept with a Chris prior to Alpha Rho—maybe they had even gone on a date or two. It didn't really matter: Melissa didn't care much for dwelling on the past, and she knew there was no way a slut like her had ever matched the object of affection the desperate boy described.

Then he had showed her the ring.

It was a simple little thing, pathetic compared to some of the gifts patrons had bought her. Still, she'd found herself strangely fascinated by it, unable to look away as Chris insisted this "purity ring" had once been hers. He'd claimed it represented a promise between them, an oath to stay virginal and true until they were happily married. It was such an absurd notion, Melissa had almost burst out laughing right there in the store. But when he offered to put the ring on her finger, the mirth instantly died in her throat. There'd been something...familiar about the gesture, something that suddenly made her deathly afraid of the shiny silver band, as though once she put it on, she would never be able to remove it.

Fortunately, Brooke had arrived shortly thereafter, and chased Chris away before things got any weirder. At the time, the two girls had laughed the whole episode off, interpreting it as an unusually crafty attempt to get into Melissa's panties.

But now...now she wasn't so sure.

"So what's the deal?" Brooke crossed her arms. "Why are you hung up on some loser virgin that ambushed you in a Kroger?"

"I'm not 'hung up on him,'" Melissa insisted, the words sounding hollow even to her ears.

"But..?"

"But, well..." Melissa let out an exasperated sigh. "I looked him up afterwards, okay? And...I found his Facebook profile..."

"Oh no," Brooke shook her head. "Please tell me you didn't."

Melissa toyed anxiously with her hair, trying and failing to laugh. "I...I don't know what came over me. I just...got curious or something, I guess. But I was going through his photos and I found...all these pictures of him and me together. And...other stuff too. Like, there's this video of me in a church and...I'm giving this whole speech, about sin and, um, temptation and...it doesn't make sense, right? Because that totally isn't me, and yet, it

is

me, and—"

Brooke held up a hand, halting Melissa mid-spiral. "Mel, relax. Don't you see where you went wrong?"

"Huh?" Melissa blinked. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Brooke gave her a knowing look. "This is what our Masters warned us about. Remember? You're thinking too much."

The phrase hit Melissa's brain like a calming breeze. "I'm thinking too much," she repeated, the words slipping from her lips in an automatic murmur.

"Thinking too much is bad for us," Brooke continued, her own expression relaxing. "It makes us sad and unhappy. That's why we let Masters do the hard thinking for us. So we can be happy and fun all the time."

Melissa nodded, her eyelids drooping. A strange fuzziness had descended on her, slowing and smothering her thoughts. Yet strangely, it took no effort at all to agree with what Brooke was saying, nor did Melissa hesitate to add: "I want to be happy and fun. I want to be a good slut."

Brooke smiled. "And good sluts don't need to think."

"Good sluts don't need to think." Melissa exhaled, the tension that had been clawing through her body receding. For a moment, she just sat there, smiling at Brooke, enjoying the blissful fog that always seemed to return whenever the two of them chatted for long enough. It was probably why they were such good friends, Melissa mused. She had never enjoyed conversations this soothing before...

Before...something about...before...

A knock on the door snapped the dazed girls to attention. They rose to their feet, hurrying into line with the rest of the slaves, arms behind their backs and tits thrust forward for inspection. Master N. was on management duty this month, and though he was strict, he was also generous with rewarding those who pleased him. Earning his blessing now meant favorable pricing and placement later, an honor Melissa desperately craved. After all, she needed to repay her Masters for taking such good care of her.

The door opened, and Melissa smiled as a wave of heat washed over her. The haze in her head doubled, thickened by the sticky steam of arousal that descended whenever one of her Masters was in view. She thrilled at the sensation of her mind dissolving into desire, her doubts reduced to a roiling need to please and be pleased by her owners.

"Good morning, Master!" she and the other girls proclaimed in unison.

"'Morning, sluts," the young man replied. His sharp green eyes roamed the beaming line of girls, all of them dressed in the same pornographic parody of a maid outfit. It was the slave manager's privilege to choose the uniform of his charges, and apparently what tickled Master N.'s fancy were frilly bras and ruffled micro-skirts. Of course, there were no panties underneath: for Master N., it was important every slut be as easily accessible as possible, a philosophy Melissa quite enjoyed. It wasn't as fun as Master R.'s choice of cat-ear headdresses and butt-plug tails, but the knowledge that she could be fucked or fingered at any moment still enlivened her daily duties.

For his part, Master N. was clad in his usual morning garb: jeans and a tight tank-top stretched across his broad chest, his shoulder muscles visibly flexing as he crossed his arms and paced. No doubt he enjoyed making his sluts salivate, savoring the conflict in their eyes as they tried to resist staring. Melissa managed to keep her attention straight ahead as he drew near, but couldn't stop from trembling as his gaze passed over her. She felt it like a phantom touch, tickling and teasing her needy flesh. A part of her wanted to surrender to the sensation, to throw herself at him and do whatever it took to have his fingers in her mouth and his cock in her cunt. But while that might've been the strategy of a garden variety whore, it wasn't how an owned girls behaved. Good sluts like Melissa understood the importance of restraint, of waiting for a Master's permission to indulge in their animal impulses.

With his first pass complete, Master N. moved onto the second part of the inspection. He worked down the line one girl at a time, his powerful hands teasing and kneading the helpless bodies before him, testing each slut's sensitivity and obedience. One by one, his subjects gasped, quivered, and whimpered, but remained exactly as they stood, not even leaning in to his tantalizing touch. The new girl—Chrissy, Melissa remembered—almost didn't make it. Her pale chest trembled as Master N. tugged her flimsy bra down, inspecting her tiny tits before pinching and pulling one stiff, pink nipple. She yelped, almost breaking formation, but quickly straightened back into place and remained still, even as a thin line of drool dangled from her whimpering lips. Ordinarily, this lapse in resolve might've earned her a punishment, but this time Master N. simply laughed, wiping a thumb across her mouth and murmuring something into the poor girl's ear. Her breath hitched so sharply it startled her neighbors.

Melissa exchanged an amused, covert glance with Brooke. They both knew all too well what Chrissy was experiencing. It was this delicious tension that proper slaves lived for, the reason Melissa had sold herself to the fraternity in the first place. She understood that a wild slut needed to be collared and trained, to have a Master's hand guide her to heights of pleasure she never would've experienced on her own. The denial of gratification, the effort and obedience required for every orgasm...that was where true bliss lie. To be so visibly desperate, so nakedly wanting, and yet unable to act on those urges was like...like...

She was blushing as she let her dress fall on the beach towel, revealing the swimsuit that lay underneath. It just was a simple two-piece, she told herself. Nothing overtly provocative or scandalous about it. Certainly not when compared to some of the other beachgoers. Yet, as she felt Chris's stare, a part of her knew that she was lying to herself. She knew that she was tempting him; knew that she was toying with fire; knew that she purchased this suit not to uphold her modesty, but to be seen and desired. And she knew...deep down inside...that she enjoyed it.

Master N. stopped in front of her, his overwhelming presence shattering the strange memory. Melissa stiffened, trying to maintain her composure and posture. But the intrusive vision had left a strange chill inside her, dampening the heat that had kept her in melty, mindless bliss. As if sensing this, Master N. hesitated, peering inquisitively at her face. Melissa held her breath, willing herself to remain still. She had to keep it together; had to hope that he didn't notice something amiss; had to play the part of a good slut long enough to talk to Brooke and...

"P-please sir," a mewling voice broke out.

Master N. turned, surprised. Chrissy had stumbled out of line, and seemed to be fighting with her own hands. They roamed her body in restless patterns, always threatening to slip under her skirt, only to involuntarily divert at the last second.

"I-I need it, Master," she mewled, her words dribbling out in pathetic, broken syllables. "P-please...I...I want to be a good...but...but I..."

Melissa felt the room around her exhale. Master N.'s attention was laser-focused on Chrissy now, which meant the rest of the girls could relax. Melissa even caught a few of them with barely-concealed smirks, no doubt eager to see how their Master would correct the interruption. A public, humiliating task, perhaps? Or maybe he would paint Chrissy's ass pink right here and now, marking her with his hands and belt for the rest of sluts' amusement.

Whatever the case, it meant Melissa was safe. For now.

She paused, catching herself.

Safe? Safe from what? If a Master wanted to reprimand her, it was in their right. And in fact, such punishments often lead to equally intense pleasures, especially for a good slut like her.

So why did she feel like she had just dodged a bullet?

Master N. strode in front of Chrissy, grabbing her face and forcing her bleary gaze into his. "But what?" he prompted. "You want to be a good slut but...what?"

"But...I...need your cock," she sputtered, her hands weakly grasping at the hem of his pants. "Please...I'll die if I...can't...can't get..."

Master N. blinked, seemingly taken aback for a moment, before letting out a sharp laugh. "Goddamn. Where did the pledges find you?" he asked, releasing his captive.

Instantly, she tottered forward and sunk to her knees, her face falling against his crotch, nuzzling the stiff bulge in his jeans as her open mouth panted and drooled.

"You must've been a hell of a slut even before the process," Master N. sighed, undoing his belt. "Be a shame not to take advantage of that."

Cheers and laughter rippled across the room as Master N. hoisted the cock-starved slut upright and threw her onto the bed. Soon he had her on all fours, one hand grasping her hips while the other tugged her hair like a leash, arching her back as he fucked her without mercy.

The other girls wasted no time crowding around the display, many sprawling on the surrounding beds, flipping up their skirts and fingering themselves until strained sounds of pleasure bounced from every wall. Melissa couldn't blame her companions: this was one of the few times they were permitted to touch themselves, and most had been stewing in arousal and anticipation all morning. Yet she couldn't bring herself to join them. Instead, she slipped to the edges of the group, seeking a quiet mattress to sit on and puzzle out what was happening to her.

At least, that was her intent. But the moment she closed her eyes in thought, she felt movement near her legs, and reopened her gaze in time to see Brooke looking up with a mischievous grin.

"B-Brooke!" Melissa stammered. "I, uh, I think I'm good today. Y-you don't have to...really..."

"It's okay," Brooke murmured, gently kissing the trembling folds before her. "I can tell you're still tense. And good sluts make other sluts feel good, right?"

"That's...true..." Melissa moaned, her friend's tongue lapping her stress and resistance away. What had she been trying to think about? It didn't matter now. Her world was narrowing with every second, until there was no more room for thoughts or fears. Just pleasure, relief, and the words echoing in her head and out of her mouth.

"Good sluts make other sluts feel good..."

"Good sluts make others sluts feel good..."

"Good sluts...make other sluts..."

"Good sluts...make..."

"Good....haaah....mmmm..."

__________________________________

Melissa hummed happily as she carried the bundle of sheets down the hall, the smack on her ass from a passing Master putting an extra spring in her step. The house was abuzz with party preparation, some sluts dutifully scrubbing the floors and arranging the furniture while others prepped cocktail glasses and trays. All the while the Masters roamed, providing constant encouragement to their flushed and giggling property.

They were excited. Everyone was excited. Homecoming wasn't just the largest, most lavish party of the year; it was also a reunion of sorts, a time when graduated Masters and patrons would return to see how the current owners were managing. As a result, younger Masters were often eager to show off their well-trained wares, leading to a lot of easy cock and cum for the eager sluts. Plus, there was always the chance one of the alumni would bring a slave of their own, one who had managed to move up from house slut to personal property. Those girls always had the best stories, and offered a tantalizing glimpse of what life could look like after graduation, provided Melissa played her cards right.

So she attended her duties with extra energy, even as her legs still wobbled slightly from Brooke's earlier attention.

"You're slower than usual today," the dark-haired girl quipped as Melissa entered the laundry room. "Guess this morning was good, huh?"

Melissa giggled, the memory eliciting fresh tingle between her legs. "You're on your A-game today," she admitted, tossing the tangled sheets into the nearby hamper. "The boys won't know what hit 'em."

Brooke smiled, kissing Melissa on the cheek before turning back to folding. Melissa practically skipped out of the room, carried through the house on a cloud of happy butterflies. By the time she began stripping the last bed on her route, a melodic song had risen to her lips, the words and notes floating through her as if by magic.

"Oh that day when freed from sinning, I shall see thy lovely face. Clothed then in blood washed linen..." Her movements slowed, the verse sounding more like a question than a song as she continued. "How I'll sing thy...sovereign...sovereign...grace..."

She paused, the fabric to slipping from her hands. That strange feeling was creeping back into her, the sensation of being lost in familiar surroundings. She had the sudden impulse to bolt from the room, to put as much distance between her and it as possible. But that was such a silly notion. There was nothing threatening or strange around her. She had cleaned this bed a hundred times without thinking about it—all of the girls had.

So then...what was this uncanniness taking hold of her? Why did she tense when she saw the leather cuffs hanging from the bedposts? Why did the subtle whirr of the nearby computer set her teeth on edge? Why did the VR helmet on the nightstand constantly tug at her attention? Why was she afraid of seeing her reflection in the jet-black visor?