Good Girls Don’t

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

This story takes place in the same world as A Matter of Convenience and A Matter of Taste, but does not feature any characters from those stories. This time, we get a peek inside the daily life and mindset of a full service sex slave, and explore the potential shortfalls in how slaves are sorted in the training facilities. What happens when a slave trained for full service doesn’t live up to the easy orgasm expectations promised by her training? Very dark content rating, 3k words.

This will probably be the last story set in this world. But then, I have been wrong before…let’s say it’s the last one I have planned at this point.

Content Warnings/Tags: sexual slavery; implications of brainwashing; extreme sexual masochism; pain play (pussy spanking, pussy whipping, clit pinching, cuntbusting); careless use; sex in an office setting

The slave sucked hard as one of her Masters yanked her head down, burying himself in her throat and spending. She held her breath and fought back the urge to cough, muffling the involuntary choked whimpers as her throat spasmed around his twitching cock, doing her best not to create any sounds out of turn.

When he released her, she covered her mouth to muffle the noisy breath she sucked in. The Master rubbed a shoe casually between her legs, leather dragging over the wet lips of her cunny, and she had to bite her lip to quiet the little cry of pleasure that tried to burst out.

Quiet, quiet, quiet. The Masters and Mistresses were having a meeting over her head, and good girls had to be quiet during meetings.

Good girls had to be quiet most of the time, when they served in an office, because it wasn’t good at all to disrupt the Masters and Mistresses while they were working. And the slave wanted, more than anything, to be a good girl.

So she kept quiet as the Master she’d just serviced moved his foot back and forth, teasing her tingling folds oh-so-gently while she caught her breath. She kept quiet and stayed still as his idle movements sent wave after wave of pleasure through her needy body, making her drip and tremble.

He wanted to play with her, and she wanted to be a good girl, so she let him play until he was finished, until–with one last nudge that almost made her eyes cross with the force of the arousal pulsing inside her–he let her be, tapping the toe of his shoe into her thigh to indicate that she was dismissed.

She took only a second to compose herself. She reached between her legs, not to touch, of course, but to gather the fluid dripping down from her cunt, to wipe it onto her thighs where it would be less likely to make a mess on the carpet.

Then she went on her way, crawling along under the conference table to find another Master or Mistress waiting for her attention.

There: the Mistress at the head of the table had her skirt pulled up to her knees expectantly.

The slave crawled to her quickly–careful, careful not to disturb the fancy shoes lined around her of the other Masters and Mistresses gathered for the meeting–and leaned in, burying her face eagerly in this Mistress’s thighs, pulling aside the panties that the Mistress wore so that she could bury her tongue in the Mistress’s cunt.

The Mistress made a startled sound overhead, and then laughed. “Goodness, there she is. I’ve been waiting so long I thought one of you might’ve choked her.”

The others laughed, too, and the slave blushed with pleasure, because laughing was happy, and good girls made their Masters and Mistresses happy, and she had just made them all happy by doing her job for just this one Mistress.

The conversation settled back into work–work, work, important things, things that slipped off the slave’s mind like water, because it was not any of her business what subpoenas or billing rates or settlements were.

She licked and suckled and licked, and the Mistress she was servicing put a foot between the slave’s legs as well, nudged the more pointed toe of her shoe against the slave’s cunny, making the slave’s body excited all over again. Occasionally, the slick leather slipped ever-so-lightly against the slave’s sensitive clit, which was stiff and throbbing and felt like a live wire connected to her spine, making it so hard not to hump down into the pressure.

The slave muffled her moans in the Mistress’s pussy, fixing her hips firmly in place.

Good girls did not hump, not unless they were told to, no matter how very, very, very much their bodies wanted it.

And the slave’s body did want it very, very, very much. But she wanted–she needed–to be a good girl even more.

The slave had not always been bursa escort a good girl.

Of course, all slaves were not always good girls: they were born naughty, confused, believing themselves to be free. But that was before the training, so it didn’t count, not really. How could she have known she was being a naughty girl until she was taught otherwise?

Once they were educated in the training facilities, taught how to be good and why it was so important to be good, how special it was to be good, then there were expectations.

And she had failed, once, to meet those expectations. She had been so, so, so bad.

The slave had belonged to a single Master once. The Master had been very gentle with her, very kind, and she had loved him so much, and that made it hurt even worse when she thought of how bad she had been.

Because the training had taught her many things, but it hadn’t taught her what to do with gentleness.

The slave had been trained for full service, and it meant she was taught to come easily, to come on command, to come when being spanked or whipped, to come from being fucked rough in both her pussy and ass, to come from having her nipples bitten or her clit pinched.

She had loved it all very, very much, had delighted in how the pain and pleasure together brought her to greater and greater heights of physical rapture, how the bruises and marks had lingered to remind her of what a good girl she had been.

But her first Master had not spanked her. He had not whipped her, he had not bitten her, he had not pinched her.

He had only fucked her, so slowly and gently, and kissed her. And he had been so, so disappointed when she didn’t come from it.

It had been awful. The disappointment, and the long long time between orgasms, too, because she had been young and silly then and had been so used to coming all the time in training, and she just hadn’t known to handle it, the way her need would build and build as he slowly rutted inside her, would reach an inferno when he came in her–and then would fizzle, unsatisfied, when he pulled out, leaving her horny and cold and knowing that she had been bad.

She had been very young and very silly, and had made the mistake of suggesting that if he perhaps pinched her clit while fucking her, it would help.

Well, the slave understood now that that was not good of her at all. Good girls never, ever asked for more than they were given.

Her first Master had been so upset and disappointed with her that he had sold her straight to a brothel.

The brothel had made her feel like a very bad girl indeed; she had spent most of the day tied to a bed, or strapped into a breeding bench, having her various holes fucked or rutted or her tongue rubbed on by Masters and Mistresses whose faces she never saw. Sometimes they were quite rough with her, and so she would come from it, but she hadn’t enjoyed those orgasms at all, because she was so upset with herself for everything she had done.

It had been a very educational and dismaying experience, to realize that she had had such a kind Master and had so foolishly given up her place with him only to go somewhere where nobody ever even looked at her or smiled at her, where she felt like she wasn’t making anyone happy at all.

And then she had gotten so so so so lucky, and had been bought from the brothel to come serve at the office.

There were so many Masters and Mistresses at the office, and most of the time they were too busy to pay attention to her–but even then, even when they couldn’t speak to her because they were focusing on a computer or on a meeting or on the important things that Masters and Mistresses did in the office, she could still look up and see their faces most of the time.

Not right now, because the table was in the way, but most of the time. And she didn’t even mind the table being in the way at meetings, because sometimes they would talk about her, like the Mistress had just now, and then the slave knew she was being good.

Sometimes they even showed her off and enjoyed her together, several of them, in a group, instead of quietly in their cubicles or offices. It made the slave so happy to know that they liked her so much.

So she was very, very invested in being a good girl.

Sure, in training, she had been taught that part of being a good girl meant coming–a lot–but she had learned her lesson now. It was so much more important to not ask for more than she was given, to not ever act like she knew better than a Master or Mistress how they should enjoy her.

Besides, the Masters and bursa eskort Mistresses here didn’t seem to mind very much that she didn’t come very often. The Mistress who was rubbing a shoe on her pussy now knew the slave wasn’t going to come from it; she must know, because she did it all the time, and had never made the slave come, but she must have liked to do it anyway because she kept on doing it.

Eventually, the Mistress came, herself, her thighs squeezing hard around the slave’s head. Her leg jolted and her shoe slammed up against the slave’s hole, bruising against the tender flesh–and the slave nearly lost track of herself for a moment as she very nearly jammed her hips down, nearly tried to force more of the shoe into her body, her vision turning to static for a moment with the sudden flash of pleasure and how near she was to coming–but good girls don’t fuck themselves on a shoe unless they’ve been told to, so she held very still and panted dizzily into the dark embrace of the Mistress’s thighs instead.

The Mistress’s grip on her hair relaxed, and the shoe slid away, leaving her body aching and dripping.

A pat on the slave’s cheek sent her on her way again, her knees wobbling only a little as she crawled across the office carpet.

The next Master she went to pulled her up, out from under the table, into his lap. He wanted her to warm his cock with her pussy.

It felt so, so good going in, pressing on the bruises where the Mistress’s shoe had hit her. She had to put a hand over her mouth to keep herself quiet, had to focus very, very hard on being still and quiet and not disrupting the meeting as her pussy trembled and squeezed around the stretch.

“She’s sensitive today,” the Master remarked, stroking her hair.

“Oh, that might be my fault. I kicked her in the bits earlier.”

Another round of laughter. The slave smiled dizzily. That was her, she was the one who had been kicked, so she was making them happy again. They liked it, that she had been kicked, that it made her more sensitive to this Master’s cock.

“Brenda, you can’t tease the poor thing that way. You know how she is.”

“It was an accident! She was sucking my clit so hard I could barely see straight.”

“Imagine the noise, if you’d kicked her straight to orgasm in the middle of the meeting–“

“Forget the noise. Imagine Geoff’s reaction! You know how he is about her.”

Geoff. That was the name of the Master that the slave was sitting on now: he touched her more than any of the others, and her bed was kept in his office, and he was the one who brought her to the vet when she needed shots or a check-up. The slave tried very hard not to have a favorite of her Masters and Mistresses, because she suspected that good girls did not have favorites, but she did like him very much.

He was laughing along with everyone else, his lips pressed to her throat, one hand playing with the hair at the nape of her neck, the other reaching down…down…

One of the Master’s fingers prodded at her cunny, at where her lips stretched around his cock. She shivered. Another prod, and this one found a sore spot from the Mistress’s shoe, forcing the slave to bite her lip on a whine as her body tightened up and throbbed around him.

“Oh, yes, you got her good, Brenda,” the Master said. “She’s practically milking me.”

“Can we get back on topic, please? I have a client meeting in fifteen minutes.”

The conversation turned again, away from the slave, back to work, work, work.

That was fine. She felt amazing. Her chest was full of warm, cozy feelings, so happy that they had talked about her for so long. Her pussy felt so so so good, too, stretched around this Master’s cock, and his fingers kept finding and prodding at the sore spots, making her tighten up and squeeze around him.

It was hard, of course, because her voice wanted to whine and beg, and her body wanted to squirm and hump, to rub into his prodding fingers until the pain and the pleasure came together and made her come and come and come.

But that was her whole job, to be in charge of her body and her voice and every other part of herself so that she could be good. And her Masters and Mistresses worked so hard at their jobs, she needed to work hard at hers, too.

So she stayed very, very quiet and very, very still and did not make any disturbance at all. She just sat on the Master’s lap, keeping his cock warm in her pussy, occasionally clenching around it when he touched her in a way that made it happen.

The slave was so lost in sensation, so focused on being quiet and still and good, that she didn’t notice the meeting had finished. She only realized when the Master picked her up and put her on the table and started fucking into her.

He fucked her steady, and hard, banging her hips into the corner of the table, and her body liked it a lot and a few times she almost–almost–almost came, but she didn’t know if she was supposed to. And they usually told her, in the office, especially this Master would tell her, when he was trying to make her come.

So she just let the pleasure happen and didn’t try to let the orgasm out, even though her body was begging and begging her for it.

He spilled into her and patted her on the head and then he said it: “What a good girl.”

The slave practically melted right into the table, blushing red with pleasure, her twitching, aching pussy dripping mess down her thighs. She had been a good girl, he said she was a good girl, she was so good.

The Master was speaking again. “When was the last time we made you come, pretty little thing?”

A direct question. She wasn’t supposed to talk most of the time, so as not to disturb the Masters and Mistresses while they did their work, but if she was asked a question she was supposed to answer! “Mistress Justine’s birthday party, sir.” They had put her over a table and one Master had been fucking her ass rough and another had been fucking her throat and then this Master, Master Geoff, had spanked her pussy with a ruler until she came so hard.

“Justine…well, that was nearly five months ago.” He brushed his fingers through her hair. “I got busy and lost track of time, hmm? You must have a nice, big orgasm waiting in that tight little body of yours. Do you think?”

“Yes, Master,” she agreed, because if he said so he must be right, since he was one of her Masters. And also, she could feel it, how if she had just been kicked harder by that Mistress earlier she would have come and come and come. She probably would have made noise and disrupted the meeting, but that wasn’t bad as long as it was because someone had made her come; she always screamed a lot when she was coming and couldn’t help it and nobody ever got mad at her for it.

“Mm.” He trailed a hand down and thumbed her pussy, rubbing the sore lips and making her shiver again. “If I’d been thinking, I would have given your fat clit a nice little pinch just then before I finished in you. You always make the cutest noises when you finish that way.” He pulled his hand away. “Oh well. Maybe tomorrow–oh, wait, it’s Friday already, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Master.” She knew that. She kept very careful track of the days, because it was five days a week that all of the Masters and Mistresses came in to see her, and then two days of week-end when only sometimes one or two would come in or, most of the time, none at all, and she would just be alone except for when one of the cleaning staff came in to clean and to feed her.

Those days were hard, because she got lonely and bored, and also because sometimes she wanted to touch herself so so so bad–but good girls did not touch themselves, except, of course, if a Master or Mistress told them to explicitly.

“Well.” He rubbed a thumb over the crack of her buttocks. “Monday, then, if I remember. That’ll be a nice start to the week, won’t it?”

“If it pleases you, Master,” she said happily.

He didn’t ask her to remind him, so she wouldn’t. Whether he remembered or not, whatever he chose to do would be for the best; he was a Master.

But she would certainly be thinking about it, through the long week-end, while the bruising in her cunt made her ache and tremble with desire, her clit stiff and remembering the feel of the shoe-leather.

It would be a nice thing to think about, that he might pinch her or spank her or something like that on Monday. Maybe he would invite some of the other Masters and Mistresses to watch, and show off how loud and messy she was when she came.

“Alright. Back to the grind,” Master said, pushing himself away from the table and straightening his clothes before heading back out into the office proper. The slave slipped down to the floor and crawled after him.

She barely got out of the conference room before one of the Masters, one who hadn’t been in the meeting, whistled her over, and then she was bent over in a cubicle, gripping her knees and getting her ass fucked as her pussy dripped and spasmed and she held back her whimpers so as not to disturb the other Masters and Mistresses working around them.

Quiet, quiet, quiet, like a good girl. Never asking for more than she was given, no matter how much her pussy clenched and her clit throbbed.

She understood now: coming was only good when it made her Masters and Mistresses happy. She was good. She was good. She was a good girl, and she was so, so happy.

***THE END***

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32