It was really rare, Erika thought, for her pussy to get this super wet on a car drive.
She had been in the car for about an hour. Since she had started out her slit had gone from just a tad moist to well-lubricated to gushing. She had soaked through her panties. She’d even soaked the cheap cotton fabric of her Civic. She guessed she was lucky it wasn’t leather, it’d be stained to hell.
Erika drank another water bottle. It wouldn’t do to get dehydrated.
It was a minor miracle she hadn’t wrecked the car. Her thoughts kept lazing into the most sordid kind of sex fantasies. Totally unlike her. Turning down the window, blasting newsradio or NPR, nothing had helped. She just kept juicing up, her thoughts straying to boys of all sorts, their cocks, their dicks, their penises. An array of prongs for her to nuzzle and suck, her mouth a receptacle, her face blasted with loads of jizz.
That was another thing, she was totally drool-y. Every guy she passed was measured up for probable cock size.
“C’mon, Erika,” she scolded herself. As fun as it was to laze in a wet stupor of blowjob fantasies, it was a little weird. She was Erika Liu, master’s candidate in comparative literature. She had seen, what, three dicks, a total of eight or nine times. She had given one, single, blowjob, to a desultory college freshman boyfriend who really didn’t deserve oral. He had spurted salt into her eye, she had been mildly traumatized.
Erika licked her lips. Maybe if she had swallowed it would’ve gone better. Maybe if she had vacuumed up all his cum into her mouth and licked him clean it would’ve—no.
“Stop,” she said, out loud. She had to pull a finger out of her mouth to say it. Good lord! She was acting like some sex-mad little hussy, not some woman out driving to a...
to a..
Where exactly was she going?
It was important, Erika knew that. She had written down the address, set up Waze, and was driving well over the speed limit to get there. A... job interview? That had to be it, seeing as how she was well out of suburbia and past even the beachside mansions. Now she was into the hidden estates that were nestled into individual valleys. The type of houses that came with helipads. This had to be a job interview... or.. no... a social event? Maybe the house had some kind of comparative-y literature-y thing she was looking to see.
She relaxed. It wasn’t worth worrying about. She’d figure it out when she got there.
“Stop it,” she scolded her fingers. Really, now they were starting to rub at the outside of her soaked blue and white underwear. Red, raw tingles started to burst in her legs. She stamped her foot too hard on the accelerator and nearly ran into an RV.
Luckily, she had just reached the turnoff from the highway. Erika pulled off the main road, relieved. Her fingers wandered back down between her thighs. She let them stay there. No risk of traffic accidents meant it was probably okay to masturbate and drive.
She could see the house through gaps in the trees, at intervals down a long and winding road. A mansion, really, or an estate. She rounded one last turn and the entirety of the building came into view, just two stories tall but long and stately, roofed with endless rows of red tiles. Like someone had hidden a sedate liberal arts college down a small two-lane road.
She neared a security post with a long, well-kept lawn just behind it.
“Name?” said the security guard, smiling at her. He wore a neat dark blue uniform without insignia, and was blonde with an easy smile. Erika’s pussy gave another surge. Erika guiltily removed the last digit from underneath the waistband. Honestly, what had gotten into her today.
“Erika,” she said.
“Erika... Erika...” the man said, glancing at a clipboard. “No...”
“Number four-ninety-seven,” she said, automatically. Where had that come from? Erika put her hand up to her mouth, surprised, and then surprised again at her drenched, musky fingers. Oh, right, the hand play.
“Ah, okay, got you right here,” the man said. “Go right ahead, park on your right. Any space.” The gate opened.
“Would you like a blowjob?” Erika almost blurted. The fantasy had formed in record time—she stumbling out of her car, through the tiny gate, practically falling onto his cock. Sucking needily at a man in uniform. He’d certainly take his time with her mouth. He had all the time in the world.
But then she noticed that someone was already sucking his cock.
The girl was hard to see, down on the ground. All Erika could really tell was that a brunette was there. But from her bobbing head and the low, lazy smile of the guard, it was plenty obvious that he was getting blown, would be blown in the future, was having his dick nuzzled while checking the clipboard.
Where was she?
“Have a great day, miss,” the man said, and Erika drove, slowly, through the gates.
Probably something literature-y, she told herself.
It had been a strange past few months. Ever since she had gotten the pills.
They had arrived in the mail in a small yellow envelope. Inside was a bottle, and a small sheet of poorly printed text describing them vaguely as some sort of diet or mood or whatever pills—something good would happen if you took them, that was all. Her name was on the bottle, too, along with instructions to take one a day.
She had thrown them out.
But then the phone had rung. Right? It was so hard to remember. The phone rang, she remembered that, on the house phone she never used and only kept in case she had to dial 911. And she answered it? And then... she was digging through trash, through days of garbage, until she had unearthed the bottle beneath old and rotted waste. Erika had carefully cleaned it off and then opened it, and then calmly swallowed a pill.
She had been very, very calm.
And the bottle had certainly been right. Erika had definitely lost weight. She was good about recognizing her own flaws, and the girl in the mirror had been twenty pounds too heavy, with a broad, flat face that could be excused as asian but was definitely unremarkable. Her body just tended to droop, to settle in pear-shaped, and she had resigned herself to big underwear and a large, thick ass. Part of her had glared at the pert rears of the campus undergrads but for the most part she had been uncaring. It was easy to wear band t-shirts and comfy jeans and sneer at the yoga pants and makeup of sexier girls.
Then Erika started losing weight. Lots of weight.
It was magic, those pills. Pounds dropped off of her. It wasn’t like she was eating less. If anything she was eating more, carelessly filling up on snacks and big tubs of late-night popcorn and endless cookies, almost sweating at times from the consumption. And yet she melted more and more. Underneath the slabs there was a shapely mid-20s girl with tits bigger than anyone would expect. The only remnant from her binges was a bit of a fat ass. But bolted on to the rest of her it simply looked plush and—she had to admit—pretty fuckable.
She had thought it without concern. That was another strange thing. Concern, worries... it was just hard to summon them up. It was like her emotional range was cut in half. At times, at one in the morning, slurping chocolate, half-naked, her tits exposed and growing and hot, Erika would attempt to feel concerned. It wasn’t normal, wasn’t right, that unasked for pills with no manufacturer mark would make her drop thirty, now forty pounds. And the feeling just wouldn’t come. Sometimes she’d even giggle, from the effort of trying to be scared, and then maybe finger herself with a chocolate-scented hand.
That was another goofy thing. She was horny, like, all the time. Like a switch in her had gotten turned on and taped. She was warm, constantly, even in the dark of the night, her body burning with heat. Sometimes Erika walked out onto a cold nighttime campus in old shorts and a saggy t-shirt, bra-less, just to do something about the sweat.
She found herself masturbating all the time. Not in concentrated jackoff sessions in front of a mirror, although those certainly happened, but casually, frequently. When she was watching TV her hands would wander between her legs, marvel at how wet she was, and dig a few fingers in. The wet spot on her couch was more or less constant. Her entire shower was spent slowly squeezing her expanding tits. The orgasms were mild, but there were so many of them, and they came so easily, until it wasn’t totally clear when she wasn’t cumming. There was usually some sort of pleasant ringing in her head, either a glow from some recent cum or happy anticipation of the next one.
It was funny, but she didn’t feel any particular need for boy entertainment. Her fingers were enough. And a bunch of vibrators she bought online. And it didn’t hurt to stare at attractive men on TV. Her viewing interests switched to reality television and chiseled men with well-defined features.
Plus there were the phone calls.
There were phone calls, right? Erika remembered the weeks in her apartment with excellent recall—becoming a masturbating hermit, abandoning her thesis, giggling at intervals, eating and sleeping and fucking herself and—right, the phone. She had only the dimmest recall, memories that were overlaid with more pleasant ones of sucking on cucumbers and watching redtube porn. Herself at 2 in the morning, breathing shallow, the phone to her ear, her fingers working furiously as she pinched her tits with her left hand. Waking up naked and drooling, head stuffed with cotton balls, the phone still latched to her ear. There were marks on her shoulder like she had kept it cradled there for hours upon hours...
Oh god, she shouldn’t’ve thought of the phone, it always made her so, so wet...
“Erika?” someone said.
“Uh. Yes?” Erika said.
She had squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to remember and recall. Erika opened them only slowly, to see a girl staring down at her, smiling slightly. Erika took stock of herself. Skirt pulled up to around her thighs, fingers on both hands red and scented from touching herself. This was shaping up to be her most embarrassing job interview ever.
The blonde woman didn’t seem to particularly care. She held a clipboard, and was dressed in a pair of short denim shorts and a tied-off plaid shirt with no sleeves. Her boobs spilled out on all sides. She looked like she was taking a break from a farmer’s daughter porno, but her voice was cool, educated, and relaxed. “You’re number four ninety-seven, I think. Let me make sure you’re the right person. Do you love the master?”
“I love the master,” Erika answered. She kept her mouth open. The Master?
“Oh, wonderful,” the woman said. “I’m Alice. Come on inside, we have to get you ready.”
“Ready?” Erika said, dazed. Her legs were already moving, trailing behind the blonde. She tugged her skirt down.
“I’ll take your underwear,” Alice said. “The Master doesn’t allow it inside. It’s fine if you’re dripping. We have lots of maids. Lots and lots of maids.”
“Oh,” Erika said. A final spark of confusion, practically the same as rebellion, flashed in her. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Oh,” Alice said. She checked her clipboard. “you’re not one of the ones that know. You’re a fuck slave now, Erika. You’re number four-nine-seven.”
A fuck slave. Oh. There were so many things she knew, just knew, she should be feeling. Fear and anger and determination and disgust. She picked at the dull warmth of her own mind, willing it to feel something other than a sense of relief. At least now all the pills and stuff made a sudden sense.
“Oh,” was all she could manage. Erika concentrated, as hard as she could. Her nipples grew hard, her pussy surged. It was like thinking through a dream. “I’m not... not a fuck slave.” she said.
“Of course you’re not done YET,” Alice said. She gently took Erika’s arm. “We’ll see to that. Here, this usually helps convince new arrivals. Do you see what this says?”
She gave Erika her clipboard. Erika stared at it. There were words there. She knew words. They were made out of letters, and formed sentences, and those turned into paragraphs. It was some language she vaguely recognized. “I can’t read this,” she said, handing it back.
“That’s english, honey,” Alice said. “Lets go inside.”
Erika collapsed.
There were pink stars and fluffy clouds in Erika’s head. It was the first time she understood that all the old fight or flight triggers of worry had been rewired to happier, sexier parts of her system. Learning she was an illiterate highly fuckable toy had just made her so very wet and so very hot, setting off endless flashes of hot images in her now-simpler head. Erika kneeling in a circle of boys, all tensed, their cocks ready to spurt. Erika on hands and knees with something long and thick buried deep within her cunt, somebody or somebodies sucking on her teats. It took her awhile to realize that she was, actually, on hands and knees, in the well-kept grass in front of the estate.
There was someone casually touching her pussy. It felt good enough that Erika didn’t move. Gradually the world resettled into place, rebalanced and more honest: she wasn’t a comparative literature student any more. She couldn’t even compare, much less literature.
“Did you shave or did the hair just fall out?” Alice asked, looking at her slit.
“Umm. Ummmm.” Erika mewed. For the first time in years there was a foreign hand inside of her. It was amazing.
“Oh, Dr. Ako will go over it, I guess. Lets finish up.” Alice did something complicated inside of her, and Erika crumpled to the grass, heaving and bucking and gasping and cumming. Alice stepped back, and waited for her to stand up.
Red, confused, turned on, Erika followed Alice inside the building. It was dead quiet.
Alice wiped her wet fingers on her shorts. “We try to keep it very classy, very casual. Everyone is here to have fun and have team spirit and also to pleasure the Master and obey his every whim. Try not to squirt on the rugs. It’s difficult to get out. You can fuck on the rugs, just keep it non-squirty. And the floor too, I guess. Lots of crevices. Try and fuck on the walls.”
“I’m... a fuck slave?” Erika said. Very gradually her overtaxed head was reviewing new realities.
“I mean, the emphasis is on the fuck,” Alice said, sympathetic. “The slave part is a title, kind of? Honestly the Master is so busy we have to amuse ourselves a lot. We have a basketball league, a swim team, we do a LOT of cheerleading, you would not believe how much cheerleading.”
“Like a... a harem?” Erika said. She had a strange sense of waking up while still moving, in a body she only slightly recognized. Like if she looked down and around it would still be the pear-shaped, rough-hewn boring-ass body she recalled. Instead of... fuck slave 497.
“Yes! And no. C’mon, lets get moving. The Master doesn’t like girls to be in the front of the house during business hours unless he asks for us.”
“What happens if...” Erika said. She could feel acceptance creeping in. She was a fuck slave. She was number four-nine-seven. No. She was Erika. Right? “What happens if we disobey?”
Erika turned. Her brow furrowed. “Did you say something?” she said.
“I asked...” what did she ask? It was gone, now.
“Lets get you to Dr. Ako,” Alice said, and pushed through a set of double doors.
Here there were far more pussies. Far, far more. Sunlight streamed through plate glass in the roof, in long airy corridors that were, nonetheless, well-heated. It was warm in this part of the house. The floor was a light grey tile, just slightly cool against Erika’s feet. She had lost her shoes at some point. It wasn’t really worth noting.
She had wondered where girls one through four-hundred-ninety-six were, and they were apparently here. Naked girls, rarely alone, with perfect skin and perfect bodies and happy smiles and perky tits. They walked hand in hand with other girls, and if they had a hand free, it wandered, gripping a nipple or rubbing absently at utterly shaven slits. Maybe half the girls were entirely nude, statue-like in their proud perfection, the classical image only slightly marred by a wet glisten between their legs or the obvious plastic something stuffed up in there. Another half were dressed in all sorts of clothes, mostly sexual, latex and rubber and nylon and just a bit of good regular cotton.
The college graduate in Erika took note of the ethnicities. There were plenty of blue-eyed blondes, definitely, and there were enough porcelain-skin girls with long, lean bodies to repopulate scandinavia. But the Master, whoever he was, and certainly he was wonderful, had populated his garden with every sort, asian girls like her and more indian girls then anyone would expect and a bunch of dusky women with uncertain backgrounds. Something about it struck her as nice, in an extremely fucked up and horrible way. The Master was a slaver [he probably had a huge cock] but at least he wasn’t a racist.
“Have you noticed it yet?” Alice said, taking her lightly by the wrist.
“Ummm?” Erika said. “The hundreds of girls?”
“Well, YES,” Alice said. “I mean, about our butts!”
“Uh.”
It was hard to focus on anything, much less asses. Eventually Erika saw a group of eight or nine girls sunbathing in a row in a large plaza just outside, butts upturned. They were proud, firm, big butts.
“They’re... big?”
“Good!” Alice said, and the praise made Erika’s knees wobbly. Why would THAT turn her on? Maybe she was turned on by everything, now. “The Master has a signature. Maybe why he liked you. Firm, fat, big, bubble, butts.”
“Oh,” Erika said. She rubbed her own butt anxiously. It was just about the same size as before, albeit far more noticeable on a much thinner girl. She had always disliked it, ignored it. The last thing boys wanted from an asian girl was a big butt.
“Cafeteria is down there,” Alice said, pointing at corridors that led off into the distance. Every time it looked like she was pointing at some sexual goddess, who happened to be in the way. “Game room, that way. Library is down to the left, bunks are straight, hair salon is... oh, I’ll just give you a map. Sorry, I love doing the tours!”
“Why bother with a library?” Erika said. A redhead gave her a cheery wave. She had a brunette between her legs, licking away, just up against the wall.
“There ARE books with pictures!” Alice said, brightly. “And if you get enough merits, you get a letter back! I’ve got them all except for three, and they’re the dumb ones! The, uh, one between pee and arr!”
“What, merits? Like the girl scouts?”
“Oh, do they give awards for sucking dick?” Alice asked, apparently in all seriousness.
“Nnnnnnnoo,” Erika said. It was hard to trust her memory, especially when the subject was sucking penis. She’d have to avoid the topic. It made her mouth water. “Are there... cocks... to suck?”
“Well there’s the Master of course!” Alice said.
They both stopped. Sucking on the Master’s cock. Erika couldn’t help but imagine it. Inch upon inch of glorious, male, dick, sliding between the length of her lips. No doubt he would fuck her mouth with the utmost skill, slowly at first, and then letting loose. First a little dribble of precum would slide down her throat, then a bit more, and then, glory be, he’d grab her hair and start to really thrust. And she’d look up into his eyes just in time to catch a smile, praising her deepthroating ability, her ability to suck and suck and suck, until with a flood of godly grace he’d...
The real world spiralled away. It was hard to deal with, anyway. Erika lost herself in a pink dream. Her tits were cartoonish, her body a fantasy, a plush toy that giggled when pinched. All she wanted was friction, wonderful friction, and it was everywhere, an array of boys and girls stroking and sucking and pulling and touching every part of her. Pleasure radiated all over. She barely had to move, just to coo and sigh as expert hands reached into her and sucked and sucked.
Erika opened her eyes. She had been placed against the wall, apparently by the redhead.
“Be careful when you talk about the Master,” the redhead chirped. She had a voice like a whistle. “You can get carried away!”
There were bodies strewn all around her. Cooing, naked girls, daisy chained to each other in a long fractal of pussy-licking and fisting, tits bouncing as they rode or were ridden. Like she was the epicenter of some sort of sex bomb. Erika sniffed, disturbed. She smelled like she had bathed in girls. The sun was suddenly a lot lower in the sky. How long had she been out, triggered into some sort of fuck spasm? And all from just thinking about the M—no. She caught herself.
Alice was between a petite dark-skinned girl and a tall and athletic girl in the tattered remnants of a cheerleading uniform. Her guide had a strap-on, strapped on, and was vigorously pounding the black woman like an experienced male. The girl was squealing, her eyes wide open, dull and glazed over, sweat spraying off her with each thrust. The cheerleader was actually doing the work, moving Alice’s entire body by guiding her hips. Alice nodded as Erika walked over.
“Just be a second!” she said, in that same cosmopolitan, relaxed voice. “Dr. Ako should still be around. Don’t worry about finding clothes!”
Erika looked down. She was totally naked. The exaggerated toy body from her long fuck-dream wasn’t super far off the mark. Her nipples were long, extended, and capped two tits that should have been fake.
“No hurry,” she sighed.
“So what have we got here?” Dr. Ako said. “Number?”
“Four ninety-seven,” Erika said, automatically.
There was a... KIND of relative normalcy in Dr. Ako’s offices. There was an examination bench, one of the truly medical ones that went up and down. And there were cheery posters on the wall just like in a regular doctor’s office, albeit totally concerned with gynecological health and the prompt recognition and treatment of yeast infections. And a computer and tongue depressors in a cannister and cotton balls and all the other things that seemed medical. Plus Dr. Ako herself was quite reassuring. She wore clothes, to start, and a white lab coat, and was asian. She wore glasses. And she had made Erika wait for a half-hour, which seemed like a doctor-y thing to do. There was even a hospital gown to put on, which made her practically dressed.
Sure, it wasn’t quite the same. Next to the tongue depressors was a canister full of plastic purple dildos. The posters were all cartoons, designed for the post-literate sex doll on the go, and there was also the very large and frankly terrifying chair with the restraints in a separate corner of the room, with the 50s-era brainwashing helmet suspended just above it.
Alice had entered with Dr. Ako, reclothed in denim shorts and shirt, although different ones. Apparently farm girl was her uniform.
“Age?” Dr. Ako said.
“Twenty-seven,” Erika said.
Dr. Ako looked at her, smiling slightly. “Not you.”
“Nineteen,” said Alice, checking her clipboard. It was wet and sticky from getting caught in the master-bomb.
“Alright.. she’s most of the way there already...” Dr. Ako said, looking at the monitor. “Just needs a booster dose. Virgin?”
“No,” said Alice. “I’ll just read it out. 40DD, waist and ass unspecified, so standard, illiterate, normal dumb. Typical horniness.”
“Wait, normal dumb? You’re making me dumber?” Erika said, horrified. Her eyes turned to the chair.
“Oh, we don’t use the chair, anymore,” Dr. Ako said, reassuringly. “That thing is awful. Archaic.”
“Oh, good,” Erika said, relieved.
“No, no. You’re already quite the airhead. The pills saw to that. Go ahead and try and do some algebra. Well, actually, don’t, we don’t have time.” Dr. Ako said.
The doctor shrugged at her expression.
“When’s the last time you read a book? Or added a math? Or wanted to? You won’t miss brains. I only have them because I need them for doing doctor stuff!” Dr. Ako said. She elbowed Alice. “Remember when we had that pill batch that literally made girls sneeze their brains out?”
“Ugh,” Alice said. She wrinkled her nose. “That was gross. They came out pink. I don’t know why someone thought it’d be hot. Doctor, bottom line, number 497 needs to be a top-tier cocksucker. The Mast—HE realized he didn’t have an asian-version cocksucker model. And her lips and throat and everything aren’t even close to being ready. Can you get her fixed up and tattooed while I go take care of some things? And then leave her with Marie?”
“Can do,” Dr. Ako said, cheerfully. She opened a drawer and pulled out a very large needle.
Alice put an affectionate hand on Erika’s cheek. “You’ll be fine. Dr. Ako is a very good doctor. I mean, not a medical doctor, but she has an incredible tongue.”
“Go get in the Chair, four nine seven,” Dr. Ako said.
“I thought you said that—”
“Oh, the Chair does other things too,” Dr. Ako said.
“It’ll be okay,” Darren whispered. He stroked her hair. It was possessive, sexist, and treated her like an object, and Erika loved the hell out of it. It never failed to get her wet and ready.
To be honest, she was always a little wet and ready to go. As far back as she could remember, which really wasn’t particularly far, given her legendarily short attention span. She was just a horny little thing. Puberty had gotten carried away with her. Her parents had talked themselves into Erika the doctor or Erika the attorney and had to confront Erika the cocksucker almost as soon as she hit High School.
It was hard to argue with her. She just had a cocksucker body and a cocksucker mouth and, most importantly, a cocksucker mind. She was just always hungry to put something in her mouth. Erika’s Mom had sat her down once, and looked at her, her protruding and ever-growing titties, her thick thighs packed into too-short shorts, her lips smacking on a wad of gum, and just thrown up her hands and walked out. It was some kind of odd genetic destiny. God had decided to give her strong knees to kneel on, and lips that could suck the gum through a blowpop, and a piffling brain that was mostly good for sniffing out dick. Even when she went to Church, in a floral dress, she was a lush invitation for sin, her long line of cleavage drawing the pastor’s eye. When she sat down with her youth group cohort, normal girls in jeans, with ponytails, it was like she had sucked up all the available ass the lord was handing out.
And she was insatiable for dick. Erika would suck a dick if you bought her lunch. The girls whispered, and then talked, and eventually gave up. Boyfriends openly told their girlfriends they needed to work on their technique. They had already gotten the best. She blew an entire debate club. Teachers wavered as she sucked her way through high school and eventually gave in, lavishing her with As. Nervous girls sought her out for advice. Yearbook considered giving her a veiled award for Friendliest, but it was just too weird. The teaching staff got together and insisted that Ms. Rapaport, 75 and still teaching Geometry, give Erika her diploma. Any other pick would ruin someone’s marriage.
Erika didn’t mind any of it. Everything in her life was great. Everything felt good. It felt good, amazing, wonderful to have a cock in her mouth, her body on autopilot, her pussy juicy as ever and spasming with joy. She loved the wet hot salty taste of jism, she loved swallowing it, seeing the look on the boy’s face. She wasn’t even TRYING to dress like a slut. It just felt good to have her tits half-hanging out, caressed by the breeze. And she was so often coated with spunk that cleanup was a real concern. So she just lived in easy-wash yoga pants and tight short shorts.
There was only one problem, and that was a boyfriend. She had gone to college, she had the grades, and Erika had become... lost.
It was just too big of a place. At first it had been nice to hit the frat parties, to nuzzle something more sophisticated then high schooler dick, to kneel in a basement with a ring of boys jizzing onto her. But there were just too many cocks, the lecture halls were just too big, and she couldn’t suck her way to success. She needed... a king. A SMART boy, with a big cock, and stamina to boot, and in return she would be his lips. His toy. It was a clever plan for her little brain. And she had found Darren.
He was smart, he was asian, a big plus if she wanted to bring him home, he had a pretty big cock, and, most importantly, he could get it up 5 times a day. His only downside was a jealous side. But who else wanted a slave? He had to be possessive. Soon he was telling her how to dress, where to be, how to address him, and basically everything else her bitty brain needed to know. Darren would race through her homework while she laid mutely on his bed, basking in his scent, keeping herself wet with a vibrator, until he turned to her and, blessed be, undid his belt.
She learned to talk dirty to him. He taught her to call him sir, Master, mister. Never Darren, anymore. She walked three steps behind him. He stroked her hair and murmured about what a good fuckslut she was when she went down on him. He gave her a schedule with the cocksucking appointments marked in a different color. She learned to love spanking. She had an ass practically made for it, after all.
And then, for his birthday, he had taken her downtown, to the shittiest part, and ushered her in, nervous as anything, to where a group of black-inked regulars leered at her. She was in a black leather dress that had taken all her remaining money. Erika watched him tell the stone-faced tattooist what to do, where to do it. The man had descended on her ankle with a big, humming needle. It hurt a bit.
Darren stroked her hair...
She fucking loved it when he stroked her hair.
Erika opened her eyes.
“Hey, welcome back,” Alice said. She had changed outfits once more. Another in her apparently endless collection of wispy plaid shirts, a slightly darker shade of denim shorts. It wasn’t clear to Erika why she bothered with more than one set of clothes. “Here, have a pill. It’ll make you grow even bigger tits.”
She held another pill up to Erika’s nose. The girl simply stuck her tongue out. Her lips felt full, heavy. Her entire body felt heavy. She shook her head to clear it, and nothing happened. Oh, right, she was a silly bimbo now. Alice stuck the pill onto her tongue, and Erika dry-swallowed.
Dry-swallowed in name. Her mouth gushed with fluid. Thicker spit then she remembered, almost gooey. She felt at her teeth, cautiously. Had they been filed down? She could barely feel them.
“Am I...” she had to swallow, twice. “Am I awake?”
“That’s right! And you look great! Just in time, the Mas—he’s coming today.”
“Darren?” Erika said, still confused.
“Huh? Oh, right, you were under the Chair. No, the Master, silly. OUR Master. Number Four Nine Seven.”
Erika’s mouth dropped open. She was two people, both of them horny—the bimboized grad student brimming with chemicals, the natural-born slut quaking under the tattoo artist, her slit spasming with fear and joy. It wasn’t super clear which of them was real.
Alice patted her cheek, then put a finger in Erika’s mouth, for her to suck. It was calming. “You’re probably having some identity issues,” the experienced bimbo said. “I did too. Don’t worry about them. There’s no real reality, it’s not worth worrying about. Maybe I was a fuckable farm daughter once, maybe I was an investment banker the Master saw on the street, who cares? It’s not like this world is any more real.”
It was a calming notion, and Erika latched onto it. She just needed to stop organizing the world, sorting it into manageable parts, fitting together the pieces into chronology. She was a bimbo. She didn’t even need to know what chronology meant. She should be fucking, sucking, sleeping when tired and eating when hungry. Maybe she was a sexy 19, maybe she was a transformed 27, who knew? Who cared?
Alice let her suck on her fingers for a long time, patient, waiting for Erika to open her eyes again.
But then there was a long tone that echoed through the room, just once, and both girls stood straight up. That was a noise that had been ingrained into them in the crudest, most pavlovian sense. The Master had returned.
“I have to go,” Alice said, withdrawing her sticky, wet fingers. “Look, you’re not quite ready yet. Just stay here, okay? I’ll come back for you later. Just chew some pills and grow some tits.”
She left, quickly, without her usual sashay from side to side. She really was in a hurry.
Erika waited only briefly, just long enough for a quick cum with a medical dildo and to drink some water. If the Master was here she could hardly stop herself from finding him out. He had ripped her out from the world, from reality itself, and turned her into a walking wet dream with a tongue that could skin a grape. She was barely a person. She had a head full of cotton candy and dreams and her pussy was sopping wet all the time. She had to meet the Master. She had to.
She took a step, and winced. Her ankle was marked with figures in a large, black script. They were even underlined. Erika didn’t feel up to school, but they had to mean 4-9-7. They just had to.
Outside, the pleasant, airy harem-lounge of before was replaced by a madcap race, naked and half-naked girls dashing back and forth, carrying items and making ready. Certain girls, Erika supposed them to be Alice-level from their air of reading-ability and clothing privileges, gave orders and looked at clipboards. Tits jiggled everywhere, and not a single girl was getting fingered. Indeed, few were even smiling in the half-abstracted, brainless way Erika remembered. The Master was here, and things had to be perfect. Many girls had donned short-skirted maid uniforms and were sweeping or mopping already spotless floors.
Erika wandered, unnoticed. She hadn’t been introduced into this hierarchy, not quite yet. She was a slave without direction. It was hard enough to learn to walk again, her hips just that much bigger, her breasts that much larger, polishing touches on her body. She tried not to lick her lips. They felt too good, and it was clear how she’d be spending most of her time in the near future—putting things between them and sucking them.
And sucking them and sucking them.
Erika rounded a corner and nearly ran into God.
She fell onto her knees automatically, as quickly as possible. She was still in her hospital gown, albeit nothing else, and wished instantly for some sort of outfit that would present her to better advantage. A skirt at least, a shirt to show off her tits, to lift them up so that they could be efficiently jizzed onto. Her hair was a mess, she was sure of it, unwashed for... however long she had been in the Chair.
He, he was... a lot like her. Asian, dark black hair, calm dark eyes, thin frame but with a hint of muscle. He wore a white linen shirt and a pair of tan joggers. It was incredibly disappointing that she couldn’t see his cock. And there was a scent to him, clean but with a hint of smoke, and it made her feel like a rutting, breeding animal. Her nose flared. She dripped for the first time onto the floor. Erika opened her mouth to show him what he had to offer.
“Oh, what do we have here?” He said. Erika pulled in his scent, greedy for it. She’d remember it forever. No wonder the girls spent so much time cleaning. Nothing could get in the way of this. It was like breathing pure sex. She tried to say something, to flare some tiny spark of rebellion, if only to impress him with how she could. Words got stuck somehow in her slippery throat.
“Oh!” Alice was there, at his side, with a phalanx of other girls. She was flustered. “This is number 497, sir. She’s not ready yet, she just arrived last week. She just got out of processing this morning. No training at all.”
“Four Nine Seven. We’re almost at five hundred, then. Wow. Maybe we should skip the number, it’d be unfair to put so much pressure on one girl.” the Master said. He squatted in front of her, to study her. It was a professional look, assessing her body with a practiced eye. Her proportions, the servility in her eyes. Looking for hints of rebellion. There weren’t any to find. “She’s a cocksucker?”
“You saw her licking an ice cream cone when we were visiting the University President,” Alice said, checking something on her clipboard. “I can get her out of your way, si—”
Master shrugged, and Alice instantly stopped talking.
“I’d say she looks ready to me. Okay, 497, do you want to pleasure me orally?”
“What?” 497 said.
The Master smiled. “Make a note to notch up the brains a bit for 498. Do you want to suck me off, slave?”
“Oh, yes,” 497 said. She slurped, loudly, and a spatter of drool hit the tile.
The Master laughed. “See? If you trained her, she’d never do that. But wasn’t that hot? I’m already looking forward to this.” He pulled down his pants, just a little, and a dick sprang out.
Erika couldn’t see anything else. Her world narrowed. She wasn’t sure she would’ve felt a gut wound. But she managed to slow her descent, to avoid bucking forward, and instead carefully, gently, put her enhanced lips around it. And then slid her mouth all the way to the base, to let the hairs tickle her nose. The scent was strongest here. Her brain cells sizzled and fried from overload. Enough time here and she’d suck herself into an animal.
Instead she gently slid back out, to the tip, and set herself in a seal around his cock. Her tongue set itself on the underside of the shaft. A drizzle of precum had fallen into her mouth, and she swished it back and forth, overjoyed. It vaguely occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten in days.
The Master’s entourage was totally silent. The Master appeared to be waiting, too, letting Erika lap at the underside of his dick, exploring it, feeling at the generous tip. He kept rewarding her with ambrosia, more and more of it. Erika started to suck, to lick, to rub her mouth along the length of it, stopping only when she felt the tip start to graze the back of her throat.
“Unh. Didn’t even ask if wanted to fuck her mouth. What a brazen hussy!” The Master said, laughing. It briefly sounded like criticism to Erika, and she panicked, but then he patted her on the top of the head, and everything was okay. This was rebellion, she told herself, assuaging that distant part of her that still was 27, that still remembered fingering books instead of boys. She was taking the lead. She would make him spurt gallons of cum, that would show him.
Eventually he took control, slowing her pace, forcing her rhythm to slow down. But he was quiet, into it, and it was the greatest of thrills. She was being used as a receptacle. It was everything she wanted, what she had always wanted. And when he pulled her mouth to the very base of his cock, to bask in his scent, it was the greatest of rewards. He came in buckets, each grunt a compliment. Droplets came out of both sides of her mouth, and he laughed at that, too. “Adorable!” he said.
The Master gently pulled out. He patted her head once more. He put his dick back into his pants. His jizz clung to her mouth. “That was good,” The Master said. “Good job, bimbo.”
The orgasm came from everywhere. It was violent, harsh. Erika gasped, bucked, and passed out.
She couldn’t’ve been out for more than a few seconds. The Master was still there when she came back. How many times had she passed out, recently? She got to three, then stopped counting. She hadn’t earned the number four, it turned out.
Alice was mopping her face with her fingers, popping gobs of cum into her mouth. Erika felt a surge of jealousy—she had earned that cum—but forced it back. Alice had seniority. She was probably 21 and could drink.
“What does he look like to you?” she whispered, while the Master was distracted, on the phone.
“A God,” Erika answered, getting her legs back underneath her.
“Well, OBVIOUSLY,” Alice said. “Physically.”
“Oh. Thin? Asian?” Erika ventured.
“That’s interesting,” Alice said. She patted her protege on the cheek. “Good work.”
The Master hung up. Erika blinked. For just a moment, sated sexually, she could see something different. A heavy-set man with a thick, full beard, in a stained sweatshirt. His odor was just unwashed male, nothing special. The man wore thick glasses. But then she blinked, once more, and the God was back.
“We don’t have room in Hawaii?” The Master said. “The new wing was just finished.”
“You staffed it with those stewardesses, sir,” Alice said, getting back to her feet. “And the dance troupe? It filled up right away? Four-sixty-one through four-eight-three?”
The Master shook his head, impatient. “You’re certain you’re full here?” he said. “She was good. B+ good. And that ass!”
B+! Erika swooned. She had earned her first letter!
“The girls are double-shifting on the bunks, sir,” Alice said. She must have special dispensation to contradict the Master, Erika thought. She rose to her feet. “I should’ve turned her away at the start but I had forgotten we had two asian oral specialists in training... I thought she was the only one.”
“Oh, that’s right, I’d forgotten too,” The Master said. He chewed on a perfect lip. “I got a little carried away. Happens whenever I go to a college out here. Hmm. I don’t suppose we have any pending orders?”
“Caucasian orders only,” Alice said, apologetically.
“Racists,” The Master let loose a long sigh. “Fine. Fine! As much as I hate catch and release I guess she’s going back. Dial her back and send her home. Leave the usual triggers in.”
He stood in front of her, hefted her perfect tits, strode around her, slapped her perfect ass.
“Four Nine Seven,” he said, eventually, “It was very nice to have met you. I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
She could read again.
As far as Erika could tell, she was just as smart as... before. As ever. She could analyze difficult works of literature. She read her past works just fine, she wrote a new paper and her advisor said it was good. She could do math, all the math she wanted, which turned out to be almost none at all.
Her body was normal...ish. Erika had gained some weight back. It was funny how about twenty pounds was the difference between a sex goddess body and the heavy side of voluptuous. Sure, she had big boobs, and a big ass, but also something of a big belly, and that was enough to make her look basically normal. Normal plus a boob job. No one said anything about them, but Erika was pretty sure they were thinking it.
She was still pretty horny. Stripping on Thursdays and Fridays and some weekends helped relieve some of it. She was making a ton of money in the back room, especially once the clientele learned that she not only swallowed, she insisted on it.
It wasn’t that she MISSED being a sex slave, exactly. It wasn’t particularly great to occasionally flash to a different upbringing, where she had been a super-sexualized teen bestowing blowjobs to the entire football team. And she LIKED reading. Really she did.
It was just that it was awkward, going around answering to the name Erika, when she knew deep in her heart that her name was actually Four Nine Seven.
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