"My name is Amanda Doyle, and I am a slave."
My words sparked are round of polite greetings from the circle of strangers in front of me. Their words felt hollow, but were sincere enough. Unlike most people these days, there was no undercurrent of contempt. Understandable, since every one of them was just as enslaved as me.
Today was my first meeting of the school's "Support For Unemancipated Students" group. It met the second Tuesday of every month, and my attendance was mandatory for the rest of the school year.
There were forty or so of us altogether, and even a quick glance showed a clear division in the room. Even at first glance, there was a clear division in the room. Looking out, I could see at least three distinct groups in the room.
The largest of the three was remarkable only for its unremarkability. They looked like perfectly normal students, no different from any other college student you might. I could have passed them in the hall, and I would have never known they were chipped. In fact, I think I did recognize one or two from class, and had no idea that had been slaves all along.
The second group wasn't so fortunate. Their clothing was so obviously old and secondhand, given only the absolute essentials needed to get by. Their owners were in it for the money, I guessed, gambling that their purchase would earn enough to make up for their expensive education.
Shortsighted idiots, as far as I was concerned. The chips could do a lot, but they weren't omnipotent. No matter how hard they worked, a happy, healthy student was going to be more successful than one living in squalor. Even if money was all they cared about, a few creature comforts would go a long way toward recouping their investment. Given how much they had already paid, a few extra dollars for clothes and food would have paid dividends later.
The third group was all too sickeningly familiar. In them I saw everything I had been living since that first awful morning. I could see it in their dress, their demeanor, they were just like me. The others were dressed normally, or even modestly, but not us. We were dressed to show off the one thing our owners prized most: our bodies. More than a few of us bore obvious signs of enslavement, collars or cuffs, or whatnot. I still wore mine, even if Victor had allowed me to forgo the leash for now. I wasn't the only one.
They were an eclectic bunch, whose clothing was as unique and eccentric as anything I had seen. Take that guy in the front row, for example. He wore an absolutely ridiculous looking silk shirt whose open V front was cut almost to the bottom. His pants were so tight that I couldn't help but commiserate. I may not have had balls myself, but his larger than average bulge was so constrained it made me wince. He was in ridiculously good shape, though. If I'd have met him back when I was free, I'd have probably chuckled at his ridiculous outfit, but only after checking out his abs. I've seen tables less solid than those things. A shame I didn't really feel much anymore when I looked at guys.
Besides Victor, that is.
The girl next to him was also like us. Her outfit wasn't quite as slutty as mine, but still left little to the imagination. Her long, skintight leggings may not have revealed as much as the short skirts I normally wore, but they left little to the imagination. Speaking of well toned abs, her midriff was totally and completely bare, and it was impressive.
There weren't that many of us, we were the smallest of the three groups, but we sure stood out in a crowd.
If I'd expected some kind of mutual commiseration, I was sorely disappointed. Five minutes in, and it was clear that this group existed to reinforce the system. After the initial meet and greet, we sat down for a long, dull speaker that talked at seemingly unending lengths about "contentious service". I would have zoned out completely, but something in the way he described obedient servitude really got me worked up. I bit my lip and tried to deny it, but the thought of obedience was really making me horny.
I shifted in my chair, wondering if I could excuse myself for a couple minutes of alone time without getting in trouble.
"Hot, isn't it?"
I looked over to see a girl dressed like a cat slip into the formerly empty chair next to me. Her outfit was ridiculous, a patterned, skintight full body jumpsuit with a long tail trailing off the back. It should have been uncomfortable to sit with, but she managed to slip into the chair without it getting tangled up underneath. Practice, I suppose. She wore a set of cat ears atop her head, and if I looked closely in the darkened room, I swore I saw whiskers painted on her face.
"Go ahead, it's ok," she whispered. "No one's going to notice."
She couldn't possibly mean- but then I looked down and saw that her own hands had slipped down to her lap.
"I can't," I hissed, just a bit too loud, "It's too weird."
"Why do you think they turn down the lights?"
"There's no way that-"
But then I looked. It was hard to tell, in the dim light, but she was correct. Not everyone was touching themselves. In fact, most weren't, but we weren't the only ones getting turned on by the talk.
Even so...
"I don't know..."
"Here, let me help you."
"Wait, I-"
But her hands had already slipped over mine, guiding them between my legs. A moment's hesitation, and then my fingers pushed into my slick opening. I looked around, sure that the others would catch me, but no one even noticed. For the most part, all eyes were on the speaker, staring in rapt attention as if his dull lecture was the most mindblowing thing in the world.
"Way more interesting this way, isn't it?" she said as her fingers pushed aside the tight lycra covering her crotch.
My head swiveled about, sure that at any moment people would turn in shock. But if I was hoping to make a scene, I was in for a disappointment.
I still couldn't believe I was doing this. That I had even considered frigging myself off in a crowded room was a sign of how much I had already changed. Actually going through with it would have been unthinkable once, and yet here I was.
Worse still was what got me off now. I wasn't just playing myself in public, I was playing with myself as a speaker lectured me about how to be a better slave. That should have been a thing of horror, but it was way too hot for any outrage. With each pulling stroke of my pussy, I thought about all the humiliations Victor had forced upon me, both great and petty, and gasped as they drove me to new heights of pleasure.
I hated this, just as I hated him, but I could not deny that being Victor's obedient sex pet brought an erotic charge beyond anything I had ever felt. Just being in the same room with him was enough to put me on edge, and actually carrying out his will, no matter how degrading, was like a thousand teasing caresses spread across my body.
At some point, her hand returned to my lap, and mine to hers. Together, we pleasured one another to blissful thoughts of absolute servitude. The speaker ended and lights came back. I hurried to clean up the puddle on my chair, having long since started carrying a towel for just such an occasion.
"Wow," I said, still a bit in shock. "I can't believe that just happened."
She laughed.
"Why do you think I come here every month?"
"Dunno, I didn't have any choice."
"Well I do, but I still show up. Wanna bet that you'll do the same?"
"Bet what? They already took everything from me."
"We'll think of something," she said with a sly grin.
