Part 1: Fun to Drive
This story is a direct sequel to one of my earlier works, Jasmine's Last Stand. It's not necessary to read that story prior to this one, but if you like this story, you'll probably like Jasmine's Last Stand. If you haven't read it, all you need to know is that Jasmine is the hypno-slave of Devon Stockwell, who fully activated her a few hours prior to Generous Natures, and intends to share her with his wealthy friends.
* * *
She'd been Devon's slave for less than a day so far, and a sudden, curious thought came to her.
Was Jasmine her real name?
She ran her hand along the silk of the dress she'd be wearing that evening, hanging in the walk-in closet. He said he'd help her get it on when he finished shaving and styling his hair. It always took him a long time to get ready. He was meticulous with his appearance.
He was meticulous with everything, in fact, including her mind. He was so skilled as a hypnotist that he could make her forget or remember things with a snap of his fingers. She shuddered at the thought, wondering if it would always make her this horny to understand how deep his control ran.
One could only hope.
So that was why she wondered if Jasmine was her real name. Well, it was her real name now, but she didn't know for sure if it was the name she'd been born with. The name she'd had before Devon made her his. He hadn't taken her memories away, of her life before. She didn't think so, anyway. There was just a dull sheen over everything, like the memories were neglected and covered in dust, not worth thinking much about if she thought about them at all.
It wasn't really important, in the grand scheme of things. She liked the name. She liked the way it sounded on his tongue. But it seemed, maybe, a little too exotic for someone who also happened to be a kept sex toy. Maybe her parents had been fans of
Aladdin
. Or maybe Devon was, especially of the scene where the princess dressed in red.
Either way, it was her name now. She wanted it on a collar. She wanted it imprinted on one side of a little tag, with the other side bearing Devon's name and number, in case she ever got lost and some kind soul had to help her find her way home.
It wasn't likely that would happen, since she couldn't leave the penthouse without him. He'd built a mental block into her programming so that she would be unable to open the front door or cross the threshold unless he gave her permission or went with her. But, say they were at a club together, and it was crowded, and they were separated. And someone might find her, read the collar, recognize the importance of Devon's name, or just be a generally good Samaritan. "Hey, uh, I found your...Jasmine," they'd say on the phone, and Devon would come running, offering profound thanks. Jasmine might be punished for letting herself get separated. Or she might be offered up to the one who found her as a token of appreciation. Either way, she'd enjoy it.
Those were the kinds of thoughts she was allowed to have now. He wanted her head to be as fluffy and smut-filled as possible, always thinking about new ways she might be used or please her owner. Always horny. Always ready to go.
She gripped the silk dress a little tighter, bit her lip, bent her knees slightly. Her slut cunt was getting slick with arousal, but yet another function lost to her was the ability to touch herself without his order. And she wasn't allowed to ask, either. He might offer, but it was up to him. The thought of that, of course, only made her more aroused.
How was she supposed to get through tonight with her head like this?
Devon emerged from the bathroom, a thick cloud of steam behind him. He wore his black dress pants and a white shirt, with an untied tie draped over the back of his neck. She inhaled the scent of his herbal aftershave as she watched him adjust his cufflinks.
He eyed her grip on the dress, then his gaze fell to her bare crotch, and he smirked. "Darling," he said.
She let out the tiniest whine. It was just a word, just one word. Not even an order. Not even anything, really. But it made her want to drop to the ground and put her forehead against his feet.
But that was what she would have done if this was a game. If she was only playing at behind obedient, only playing at being brainwashed, only playing at belonging to him the same way anything else in this apartment did. A true and owned slave obeyed her Master first, and then her programming. Her own urges didn't even make the list. If she was allowed to have them, then their purpose was to serve as a reminder of how deep her submission ran, how far removed she was from freedom. It was yet another way of playing with her, because Devon could always see the lust plainly on her face and in her body language.
He knew her inside and out, but she knew him too. And oh, did he want to play with her right now. He bit his lip and she did what she was allowed to do while she waited for orders. She clasped her hands behind her back, jutting out her breasts. She glanced at his cock, and salivated behind her lips when she saw it bulging against the inside of his slacks.
Maybe one day, she thought, the novelty of owning her would wear off, and he would be able to keep himself from staring at her in awe, reminded that his plan had worked; he'd made her his fuckdoll. But she would savor every moment, regardless of his moods.
"We..." He gave a deep laugh and shook his head as he continued to stare at her. He bit his lip and hummed. "You want me to fuck you, Jasmine?"
"Yes," she said. The answer would always be yes.
For a moment, she thought he would. He closed the distance between them with two long steps, put one hand on her cheek, and stroked her ear with his thumb. "Good," he said. "I want to fuck you too. But I need your cunt wet, your clit hard, and besides...we're short on time."
The arousal was pounding in her belly, even more now that he spoke to her in his husky, commanding voice. She whimpered, but nodded.
He took the dress off the rack with his free hand. "Turn."
She turned and stepped into the gown, a backless teal number with thin straps. He zipped up the back, which ended just above her ass. "Might be the only time I get to show you off in a backless dress." He grasped her forearms and rested a chin on her shoulder. "I'm thinking about whipping you," he murmured. "Nothing disfiguring, of course." He stroked her back with his knuckles. "But I'd like you to start associating pain with pleasure."
She shivered, couldn't help but gulp.
If that was his goal, there were easier ways. He could simply program her to like pain, during a hypnosis session.
But that probably wasn't as much fun for him, and she existed for him to have fun with her.
He squeezed her forearms, and she relaxed, remembering what he taught her during her training. That she would always be safe, always be happy, as long as she was his.
He ran a finger up her spine, as if tracing the spots where he'd been thinking about leaving marks. "Get your hair and makeup finished," he said.
She obeyed, heading to the bathroom. She plugged in the curling iron and let it preheat while she tended to her face. Permanent makeup had done some of the work already, but she put on foundation, mascara, and a deep red lipstick. Devon had considered getting her lips tattooed with her eyes and the small amount of blush on her cheeks, but he hadn't been able to decide what color they should be. Plus, he liked when she left lipstick on his cock.
Once that was done, she set to work on her hair. Devon liked her to keep her strawberry blonde locks down as much as possible, so she brushed it out, using a bit of product to keep it from frizzing, and curled the ends so they hung loose around her neck and shoulders. Then some hairspray to keep it all in place. She thought she looked like a movie star, though he'd conditioned her to be a little vain. He wanted her to be proud to be his, and before she was, she never put this much effort into her appearance. It helped that Devon spared no expense when it came to beauty products. Or anything.
She left the bathroom and put on a pair of high heels in the closet that matched her dress, draped a wrap over her shoulders and grabbed her clutch, then headed up the stairs. It had just been a few hours ago, before he set her programming in permanently, when she had climbed these stairs confused and frightened, unsure what was happening to her.
What a horrible start to the morning that had been. So much fear, so much uncertainty. But it had all been part of Master's plan, to ensure his control over her memories was absolute, and she'd passed with flying colors.
Devon was in the foyer. He'd put on a navy blazer over his shirt. When he saw her come up, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialed a number. "Cesar, it's Devon." Cesar said something on the other end. "Good. I'm great, actually. You?" A pause as he let the other man speak. "Glad to hear it. Can you have my car brought around to the front?" He winked at Jasmine. "Thanks so much. See you in a minute." He hung up and put the phone back in his pocket. "Incredible," he said to Jasmine.
"I wasn't sure about the lip color," she said honestly. He could train her to take anything up the ass, but color theory was a bit different, especially since he'd given her so many to choose from. In her old life, she'd only ever been able to afford two or three colors at a time, if that.
"No, it's perfect." He grinned and cupped her chin. "My little doll."
She hummed under his touch. Speaking, while not forbidden, was something she tried not to do without purpose. If Devon asked her a question, she would answer, and if she had something she needed to say, she could say it. But her Master wasn't interested in a dumb bimbo who whined about how horny she was all the time. That was fine for some Masters, but not for hers. So if a mewl or a moan could work instead, then that was what she'd do.
