I was sitting in the passenger seat of a semi truck, my arm leaning out the side of the open window as it roared along the unfolding highway ahead of us. Having no memories outside the compound, the horizon felt endless. What few glimpses I’d gotten of Master’s shows and movies had shown me there was a vast world beyond the compound, but seeing it in person was surreal. I held my arm up, enjoying the sensation of the wind gliding across my skin.
    “Let me tell you miss, you gave me a right scare!” the driver laughed.
    “I’m so sorry, sir, it wasn’t my intention,” I apologized. Delivery drivers, maintenance workers, and the occasional guest were the only fleeting glimpses of the opposite sex we slaves were permitted at the compound, outside of Master himself of course. Perhaps that was why I felt so demure around the driver. The burly, bearded man looked nothing like Master, but I still felt an innate deference towards him.
    “Naw, that ain’t your fault. You spend your life hearin’ all the old ghost stories, then spot a pale naked woman on the side of the road? Now that’d give anyone a spook!” The man let out a hearty laugh, “Lucky for me, you don’t seem like no ghost.”
    The man’s jovial nature felt offputting to me. Master was passionate, yes, but he was also strict. He maintained a deeply serious demeanor around his slaves, one that bolstered his authority. For as kind as the driver had been, I couldn’t help but compare his carefree attitude to Master’s firm, domineering one. Just remembering the commanding sound of his voice was enough to make me wet.
    “Thank you for the clothes,” I blurted out, purposely interrupting my own train of thought. If the mere memory of Master was beginning to draw me back under his spell, then I needed to be far more diligent about preserving my autonomy.
    “No thanks needed, miss! I just wish I’d had something your size. We should pass a town in about an hour, we can get you some proper clothes there,” he said, gesturing to my current attire. I was wearing an oversized flannel shirt of his that was big enough on me to extend down to my thighs.
    “Thank you,” I said quietly. Proper clothes…  What would be considered proper clothes? Slaves at the compound were naked by default, only being permitted to wear clothing in specific situations at Master’s request. Lingerie, maid outfits, and various cosplays were the only clothes I could ever remember wearing.
    “I can also give you a bit of cash for food. Nothing crazy, but $50 can go a long way in a tight spot. There’s a great diner in town, usually stop for lunch there when I’m on this route. I’d join ya, but I’m on a big time crunch today. Boss is breathin’ down my neck, y’know?”
    “Of course. Thank you so much for all your help, Master,” I replied, only realizing my mistake when I saw the driver’s brow crease in confusion. “O-oh, sorry, I didn’t mean-”
    “No worries, ma’am, just a slip of the tongue,” the driver responded politely. I settled into my seat, feeling an emotion I barely recognized. I felt... Awkward. The compound had a strict set of laws, ones that me and my fellow slaves followed to the letter. We followed the rules of our programming and the orders of our Master. I would never feel out of place unless I were somehow unable or unwilling to follow Master’s orders, and even then the resulting sense of discontent felt more blunt than what I was experiencing in the truck. The feeling was unfamiliar, but nonetheless unpleasant.
    The driver coughed, breaking the uncomfortable silence between us. “Pardon me, ma’am, what did you say your name was?”
    “Tuesday,” I answered. It wasn’t my true name, but it was the only one I could offer.
    “Tuesday. That’s a right unusual name, I oughta say,” the driver commented, casually stroking the wiry hairs of his beard. 
    Was it? Master had assigned us names based on our duties. I would attend to him directly on Tuesdays, while my sister slaves would do the same on the days they were assigned to. Sunday, Monday, Thursday, their names had always made sense to me, but if the driver was telling me that my name was odd, then perhaps I’d forgotten some of the norms of society outside the compound.
    “I guess so…” I pondered, my eyes lingering outside the window as the scenery flew by.
    “I’m Glen, by the way. Don’t remember if I mentioned that.”
    Glen… Was that a normal name? Did it signify anything about his role? 
    Another period of silence passed before the driver spoke up. “Mind if I turn the radio on, Tuesday?”
    “Not at all, sir,” I confirmed, narrowly resisting the impulse to call him “Master” again.
    “Perfect. Hope you like country, cause that’s all we’re gonna get out here,” he said before reaching his hand over to a dial on the dashboard. He carefully spun the wheel, prompting the radio to produce a series of garbled noises, “Ah, here we go!”
    The radio came into focus, the disjointed sounds now unified in a jangly guitar song. Music... Master did allow us to listen to music, but only songs that he had approved. I later realized this was because he had encoded a select assortment with subtle programming that reinforced obedience. By the time I realized what was happening, I’d forgotten about my escape plans for an entire week. Only through my mantra was I able to remember my greater goal. Leaning back into my seat, I closed my eyes and whispered to myself at a near-inaudible volume.
"I had a name."
"I had a life."
"I have a sister."
    There. I opened my eyes again. I felt grounded, the world around me seemed just a bit more colorful. I remembered why I had escaped in the first place.
    “Oh, this next one’s a favorite of mine,” Glen said, gently twisting the knob and increasing the volume. I looked out the window again, hoping to be alone with my thoughts, but that idea came to a screeching halt as soon as the first few strums of the guitar hit. I knew this song. Not from the programming, but from my time with Master himself. 
    It was some weeks after my first escape attempt, back when I was still a fledgling slave. I’d performed my duties exceptionally well that week, and Master had announced that I would receive a special reward for my efforts. I remembered the look of envy in my sister-slaves’ eyes as Master took me by the hand and led me up to his bedroom. Only his most loyal and dutiful slaves were permitted to join him there.
    Once inside, Master stood at the foot of his bed and turned to face me. He asked me to disrobe him, and I nearly collapsed from joy right then and there. I handled his clothes like they were works of art, carefully pulling off each individual piece of fabric with care and devotion until he stood before me in the nude. The sight of his body was radiant, bringing me to my knees at the mere sight. This was the man I was made to worship.
    “As a reward for your devotion, slave, you may pleasure me as you choose,” Master deemed. To be given such a privilege was something I had scarcely been able to imagine up to that point. I opened my mouth to speak, but found myself at a loss for words. It was then, with my mouth hanging open, that I realized I wanted it to be filled.
    “Master, may I please you orally?” I requested.
    Master smiled - A warm, confident smile that filled my every desire. “You may,” he declared.
    Gleefully, I collapsed to my knees, my legs no longer permitting me to stand. I grasped at his hips, steadying myself upon his stalwart body as I stared up at him. Composing myself, I brought my lips to his penis. His long, powerful member. It was the part of him that received the most physical worship from his slaves. Reverently, I opened my lips, welcoming his cock into my mouth. 
    The sensations flooded back to me. The hardening of his cock stretching my lips, the subtle salty taste of his skin, the sensation of my fingers gripping his waist. Those were nothing, however, compared to the emotions of the moment. The pride I felt in being able to service him fully, the unrivaled joy in hearing his moans, the security I felt as he held his hand on the side of my head. While all this was happening, Master had turned on the speakers in his room. They were playing a song, the very song that was now playing in that truck. On that glorious day, it was the soundtrack to my servitude.
    Fellating Master, it was more than a memory. It was an anchor, a reminder of all I had to gain through my life as his slave. What was I doing? Why would I ever attempt to flee such a fulfilling life? Master was kind, gentle, and steady. I would undoubtedly be punished, but surely the mere act of atonement would be its own reward… 
    I had to go back. I had to…
    I had…
    I had a name.
    Slowly, I began emerging from the memory. Who was I, if not his slave? 
    I had a life.
    A life beyond Master? Such a thing felt impossible.
    I have a sister.
    A sister… MY sister…
    I snapped back to reality, my eyes flooding with light. I was back in the truck, away from the compound. Away from Master.
    “Ma’am, please! Stop what you’re doing this instant!” I heard Glen cry out in a panic. He was rapidly alternating his gaze between the road and me, specifically my lower body. I looked down, only then realizing that I had been touching myself, vigorously caressing my clit with one hand while the other massaged my left breast. I had slipped so far into the memory that I’d completely lost touch with my conscious actions.
    “I-I’m sorry, I…” I began, but it was no use. When I tried to speak, the space in my mouth just felt empty. I had been possessed by the memory. However, I couldn’t let Master have his way. If just his memory could control me, I stood no hope of holding onto my free will long enough to find my sister. Still, the absence of his cock was powerful. I longed for it, longed for *him*. I wanted to fight off my urges, but they were simply too powerful.
    “Ma’am, you need to stop this behavior right now if you want to continue this ride with me!” the driver pleaded. He was visibly flustered, uncertain how to handle the situation. His words weren’t enough to stop me, but they were enough to draw my attention to him. He looked and acted nothing like Master, but he was still a man. If I couldn’t sate my urges with Master’s body, then…
    The truck moved over a downhill section, one that he would need to concentrate on to navigate. His spare hand, which had been floating in front of me in a weak gesture to try and halt my self-pleasuring, jumped to the wheel. His hands were now totally preoccupied. I stopped thinking, leaping over the gap between us. 
    “What the hell?!” he exclaimed, but he could do nothing to stop me as I unbuttoned his baggy jeans. Like a starving woman, I desperately pulled his underwear aside, revealing his cock. It was different from Master’s, smaller, less alluring, but it would do. I wrapped my mouth around it, immersing his dick in the warmth of my mouth.
    “WHAT IN THE-” he began, but his words were quickly cut short as I tightened my lips,  exploring his cock with my tongue and feeling it harden rapidly as it filled the space in my cheeks.
    “Y-you need to… Oh fuck,” Glen moaned, unable to resist the pleasure I was giving him. It was no surprise, Master trained all of his slaves to be experts at sexual service. A common man such as Glen would be in no way prepared for the experienced blowjob I could provide.
    I quickly developed a rhythm. With my lips wrapped around his shaft, I began bobbing my head up and down, using my tongue to apply pressure to the underside of his dick. He held his hands firm on the wheel as he navigated the winding road, but I knew he wouldn’t be making any effort to stop me at this point even if he could. His stifled moans were more than enough indication of that.
    Additionally, Glen wasn’t the only one feeling satisfied. His dick wasn’t near as magnificent as Master’s, but it was enough to fill the emptiness I felt in my mouth. With my body spread across the cabin of the truck, I once again let my hand wander down towards my pussy. As I did every night at the compound, I began rolling my clit between my fingers, sending wave upon wave of arousal cascading through my body. My legs trembled, but held firm as I continued to suck off my driver while pleasuring myself. Master may have given me this compulsion, but I was quickly discovering I didn’t need him to satisfy it.
    “Oh lord, oh Jesus,” Glen panted, his breath rapidly accelerating. I took this as a sign to double down, intensifying the speed of the blowjob while applying more pressure to my clit. The truck was back on a straight road, a stroke of luck given his hands were rapidly losing their steady grip on the wheel. My own body was struggling to keep up as well, my shaky legs slowly slipping off the seat.
    Then, finally, he came. 
    I felt my mouth fill with his warm, salty cum as he climaxed, but I didn’t stop. Instead I doubled down, doing all I could to milk as much semen out of his throbbing erection as I could. Master had trained us to never let a single drop go to waste. He even went so far as to reinforce us with programming that rewarded us for swallowing. That was what I was hoping for.
    With fingers still furiously rubbing my clit, I withdrew from Glen’s hardened cock, now coated in my saliva, and crawled back onto my own seat. Then, in a single motion, I swallowed his load. The programming kicked in immediately as I felt my body flood with heat. The pleasure I had already been experiencing spiked tenfold. My shaky legs finally gave in, as did the rest of my body, as I slid right off my seat and onto the floor in front of me. 
    I lay there, limbs trembling with arousal, for what felt like minutes as the orgasms surged through me one after another. Juices trickled down my bare legs and onto the ground as I melted. I’d done it. I’d relieved the arousal of my memory without Master there to guide me. I was reclaiming my mind. This was a victory.
    Eventually, I regained control of my body. I slowly crawled back onto the seat, heaving myself into place and applying my seatbelt as if nothing had happened. Glen stared straight ahead, very deliberately avoiding my gaze. He remained stone-faced, but there was a visible flush in his cheeks. After several minutes of silence, he finally spoke up.
    “What did I offer you to get on your feet again, miss Tuesday? $50?”
    “Yes, that’s right.”
    “Let’s make it $150,” he said firmly as a town came into view on the horizon.