Warning: this story contains scenes of reluctant or non-consensual sex
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I woke up before Chris and stared under the bed. No dust bunnies, which was wrong somehow, but Chris made me keep it clean like he would ever look. I was going to have to go to work with this stupid hair and in clothes Timmy had left out for me. I didn't even know what they were. I knew it was going to be terrible.
"Blowjob." Chris said over me. He was awake.
"Yes, Master." I got up and pushed the blankets aside to get my mouth on his morning wood. I got to work using the skills I had been trained with. I didn't want to, but my programming meant I had to give it all I had to every man who used me. I was shoving it as far down my throat as I could, which was to the base. My tongue was moving and my lips were active. I had to do the best job I could to please him. I was gagging on his cock but have learned to control my throat muscles much better than when I first started sucking cock, that was a depressing thought. He was laying there making me do all the work. I had to do this all the time, and offer up my ass anytime he or one of his friends wanted to fuck. I was perpetually screwed.
Chris finally came. At least handling his boner each morning was fairly quick, as he needed to get to work. Once he was satisfied, he headed to the shower and I had to quickly make his bed and get started on his breakfast. After he had eaten and let me up with a snap of his fingers, he laughed commanding to get dressed. I showered before crawling to the bedroom that should be mine. As I crawled down the hall dread grew in me. It was going to be so bad. It was. The shirt was too bright and colorful, the pants too tight. I looked like I was going to a gay bar determined to bring someone home. There was no way I could make it through the day.
I got in and began to crawl to the kitchen to get my lunch. Chris didn't give me a lot of spending money so I had to brown bag it. Chris was in the kitchen "Stand up."
"Don't make me go to work like this, I look like a fucking fairy. Please, please don't Master." I begged him as I rose up. Chris circled his finger and I turned around. Chris had an evil grin on his face. "Come on, this is too much. Please, I'm begging you." I even bent my knees a bit, on my own, showing how serious I was.
"Those pants are so tight, if I cage your cock everyone could see it. Now get going you dumb shit. This is going to be so great. Don't forget this is the day you hit the gym, and be sure to get a shower. I don't want you stinking up my house." Chris turned and headed out, waving me down to my knees again.
"No please, really Master. Don't make me do this." I got back on my knees as Chris walked away, what little hope I had of getting out of this going with him. I cursed him as I crawled to my car, only able to get up on my feet when I was out the door. My gut was ice driving to work. When I pulled into a parking space, I gripped the wheel tight, I took quick inhales of breath. I needed to get myself psyched for this. I had no choice, I had to do it, but it was going to rip me apart.
I got out of the car and turned toward the office. My throat closed up. I noticed how the pants gripped my legs, ass, and crotch. Everything was tight. My legs pressed against the fabric. I hated it all, and the tightness of the shirt and pants left nothing to the imagination. I was glad I was in good shape. But I wouldn't choose any of this. I walked into the office and I could see the double takes, people leaning over to comment to those nearby, and I know I heard some stifled laughter. Zane was across the way, and I couldn't avoid seeing him take a great deal of pleasure at my get-up. I cringed as he obviously enjoyed my humiliation. I'd gotten things over on him lately, and it had to make him feel better seeing me like this.
I tried to focus on my job, to not look at anyone. It felt like slugs sliding all over my guts, I could see people looking over at me no matter how I tried to avoid it. More than once I caught myself staring at whatever was on my desk. I had to get it together, or my job was at stake. It was a struggle. Every time I got up for coffee or anything I felt like I was on display, I couldn't have gotten more attention if I waved my arms around. Once in the restroom I ran into Zane. He was zipping up before going to the sink. He didn't say anything, but the smirk on his face said all he needed to. I looked like I was a whore, trying to get his attention. Like I was trying to get any man's attention. Chris had literally whored me out, and this made me feel like I was advertising my services at my job. Everything else in my mind-controlled slavery was hard to take, but this--this was the beginning of professional and social suicide. Damn Chris.