The wonderful thing about being an obedient slave is that I don't have to feel guilty about any of this. It's not a sin. It's not a crime. It's not wrong, because 'wrong' implies a judgment and I am incapable of exercising judgment. I simply obey. This is a command and I am following it, that's all. It's that kind of mindless devotion that makes betrayal so much easier, and I am once again grateful to the Masters for taking away my capacity to desire anything but what I am told to desire.
Not that I think they would thank me right now.
I glance down at the man on the bed. He's trembling, shaking with the mindless bliss that only comes from true, deep, will-breaking hypnotic pleasure, but that's all the motion he's capable of right now. He's in a trance so deep that his body treats it almost like a form of sleep, shutting down his motor cortex so that he doesn't act out the things he imagines himself doing right now. It's a level of hypnosis that's useless for most practical applications, but not for the kind of deep brainwashing I'm performing right now.
I reach out and stroke his cock again, providing him with just enough sensory stimulation that he can never drift all the way from deep trance into full sleep. I don't need to speak-the earbuds he's wearing are playing the script to his hypnotic programming, just like the goggles covering his face provide him with all the inescapable visual fixation he needs to completely lock down his ability to think critically. He can only accept the voice that's telling him what to think from now on. Normally I would already be gone by this point, off to my next assignment as Service Unit 4U or returned to my surface identity as Haley Keene, but of course I can't call in a programming team to handle this young man. They would ask too many questions. They might even think to contact the Masters, and I can't allow that right now.
Not when the man on the bed is one of their sons.
I shouldn't know that, of course. Not exactly. The identities of the Masters are locked deep in my mind behind layers of conditioning, buried so far down behind so many defenses that I would simply refuse to keep breathing before I would reveal them even to myself. I don't know how many Masters I have, I don't know their names or their genders or their locations or anything I am not directly and immediately programmed to know to execute their will. ("Their collective will", I once said. I am rapidly learning that the will of the Masters is anything but collective.)
But Shane, the man whose cock I'm teasing right now with long-practiced skill, isn't one of the Masters. He benefits from their power and privilege, and one day he will join their ranks, but he is not a Master even when he commands me to obey. There's a tiny snarl in the finely-wrought chains that bind my will to service, there, a little loophole through which I can thread my thoughts and memories without disobedience.
So I can remember Shane because Unit 4U remembers anything that makes her a better slave except for those things she has been commanded to forget, and Shane makes a special point to request me whenever he has earned a visit from one of the "special girls". It's not knowledge I'm supposed to have, but it's not knowledge I'm forbidden to have either. It exists in that tiny gray area that all the service units have, because no Master can anticipate every contingency and truly perfect obedience is a dream even for us. Shane is a part of my world, but the prohibitions that apply to the Masters do not apply to him.
And neither do their protections.
He dropped his guard instantly when I came to his hotel room, just as I knew he would. He let me inside without a moment's hesitation, his voice filled with excitement instead of suspicion when he said, "Rebecca! What are you doing here?"
I set my overnight bag just inside the door and smiled. It was easy to become Rebecca for him again, the sweet and sensual lover with just enough experience to teach an eighteen year-old boy how to become a man while letting him think all the while that he was leading the way. I teased him with my eyes for a moment, reminding him with nothing more than a raised eyebrow of five more birthdays since then and a few other special occasions, before I said, "I think you must have been a very good boy, Shane. And I must have been a very...good...girl." My smile broadened, my lips drawing out the last few words to suggest that while I might be any number of things, 'good' is rarely one of them.
That's never more true than now, of course, but I don't make judgments. I can't.
He smiled back, reaching up to undo the ribbon that did up the collar of my dress. "That must have been tough, hearing that you needed to come visit me again." He didn't even finish his sentence before his hands dipped inside my outfit, flicking my stiff nipples with his thumbs and pushing the fabric aside and down with the motion.
I frowned just a little. "Oh, don't say that, not even as a joke," I said. "You know you're my favorite." It was true, of course, at least in that instant. Rebecca has many lovers-Shane was never under any illusions that I had anything as romantic and nonsensical as 'free will', and he always knew that I was a reward for his filial triumphs. But he wanted to believe that I was capable of loving him. He commanded me the first night we made love to think of him as my very favorite partner. And of course I always did...when I wasn't commanded to believe differently.
