Author's note: A vignette while I work on longer things...
Professor Miles C--
Miles, formerly Professor Miles C---, knelt silently, nude, on the floor of the steamy wet changing room attached to the university's biggest sports pool. He knelt, as he had been so sternly trained to do, looking down and with his knees spread wide apart to show off the stainless steel chastity cage that dangled between his legs, a constant weight on his tortured dick. His balls ached with fullness, but there was nothing he could do about that - except wait.
Miles was a lean man, silver-haired with bright blue eyes, who had been kidnapped and enslaved just two years ago. Freedom was a distant memory for him, one that he tried hard to let go of. Instead, he focused on the feeling of the hard floor on his knees, the way he yearned to please his captors, and the ever-present gaze of the planet's AI, which watched and assessed his every move, every expression of his face or glance of his eyes.
The slaveboy waited. The door swished open and two girls strode into the changing room, hand in hand, their bright summer dresses swirling around them as they walked. Miles caught sight only of their pretty painted toenails and the hems of their dresses, for he was watched over always by the AI-driven slave-management system, and to look up without an order would have brought great pain through his shock collar.
"Chasty! Chasty boy! You, there, slave M, attend me," said one of the summer dresses in a lilting voice; she had read the 'M' branded into Miles's chest, just above his left pec.
"At once, Mistress," said Miles.
He rose from the tiled floor and scurried over to the girl - he thought she was perhaps twenty - then he stood in front of her as she took off her backpack with his legs spread and his eyes on the floor, as he had been trained, so the girl had a clear view of Miles's owned package, just one more amongst the hundreds she saw every day. She left him standing there while she got a towel and a swimsuit out of her bag, then she clicked her fingers at him and spoke. Miles trembled at the sight and scent of her, and her beauty inflamed his pent-up lust even further.
"Strip me, bathe me, then get me in my swimming costume," said the slender brown-haired girl; she did not tend to waste many words on mere service slaves.
"Do me at the same time, chasty boy," said her buxom blonde friend, with a huge grin on her face.
"At once, mistresses," said Miles in a hoarse tone.
"What's your tally, chasty?" said the brunette as Miles got down on his knees to take off her shoes.
"Nineteen days, Mistress," said Miles.
"Nineteen?!" said the blonde.
"You have to keep a chasty boy dammed up or they lose their edge and their work gets sloppy. Isn't that right, chasty?" said the brunette.
"Most certainly correct, Mistress," said Miles in a low voice.
"So, I heard Stacey fucked Jo's slaveboy so hard he passed out, then Stacey got fed up of him serving her better, so she sold him to the city, and now she has a new one courtesy of mummy-warbucks and she's renting the old one as a ponyboy to take them on trips," said the brunette.
"No!" said the blonde.
"Yeah, and you know what else..."
Miles blocked out the chatter as he did his work. He removed the brunette's socks then he moved his hands beneath her dress and pulled off her tights, carefully rolling each one down her slender legs until they were in a neat ball. Her legs beneath his fingers felt toned, perfectly smooth, and oh-so-desirable. He pushed away an impulse to kiss the brunette's legs, placed her balled-up tights reverentially in her bag, then stood and moved behind her, to undo her zip. It parted the way to reveal perfect unblemished skin, and Miles ached to feel it for longer than the few seconds it took to take off her dress,
"Good boy," said the brunette absent mindedly as he worked.
"Thank you, Mistress," replied Miles.
