When morning came, it took Kari a moment to remember where she was. Her head rose from the pillow with a groan, sleepy eyes blinking in the sunlight as her surroundings came into focus. Bright, tasteful décor; soft cushions and dark wood furniture; a sliding glass door leading to a sun-bleached balcony. The room would seem like that of a typical beach resort, if not for the whirring gaming PC in the corner. That’s what finally snapped things into place: Team Salt, the bootcamp, the luxury accommodations—it all came rushing back to Kari in an instant.

 

Well, mostly. Strangely enough, she still couldn’t remember when she’d gone to bed last night. Nor why her bra was missing and her panties were crumpled around one ankle. With a slight frown, Kari reached for the loose garment, only to feel the distinct, stiff texture of fabric that had been soaking overnight. What was more, her fingers seemed...faintly sticky…almost as if…  

 

Wait—had she fallen asleep masturbating?

 

Kari scoffed aloud. Ridiculous. She was no prude, but it wasn’t like her to rub herself unconscious either. Then again—she gave her fingers a wary sniff—she had been feeling rather…needy the past few days. But it was a low-level, ambient kind of longing, easily attributed to the loneliness of the compound’s empty halls. It wasn’t the sort of deep, desperate desire that would make her pass out in a puddle of her own arousal. 

 

But then…how else could she explain the state she was now in? And why couldn’t she remember what’d led to it? 

 

Casting her mind back, Kari tried to piece the previous night together. She recalled the end of practice, and debriefing with her coach, though she couldn’t exactly remember what they’d talked about. Then she’d gone back to her room, showered, and decided to do a little extra aim training before bed. She remembered booting up the program. She remembered feeling excited as the colorful vortexes spiraled into view.  And then…and then…

 

Kari crossed her arms, suppressing a shiver. It was disturbing enough to lose so much time, but worse still was the fact that this wasn’t the first instance, or even the fourth. It’d started with minor gaps in her memory, her practice sessions with Leurre always becoming fuzzy, colorful blurs the moment she tried to recall them. Now, a few days into bootcamp, even the time outside of practice was becoming warped and faded, like light spiraling into a black hole. Leurre had assured her that this was all part of the program—that her symptoms were merely side-effects of hyperfocus and fatigue, and should fade over time. On one hand, Kari wanted to believe that this was the case. She trusted her coach completely, of course, and believed he only had her best interests at heart. But forgetting all-night masturbation session was not something mere exhaustion could explain. It made her wonder what other memories might be missing. And what might be the cause.

 

Should she try to press Leurre on the issue? 

 

A strange shudder ran through Kari’s shoulders. Though the idea had seemed reasonable at first, the thought of questioning her coach suddenly felt absurd. He’d had already explained things to her, after all. To doubt his expertise would be…would be…rude…or…ungrateful or…wrong…or…

 

Wait…was that right?

 

The phone on her nightstand beeped, snapping Kari out of her conflicted daze. It was her backup alarm—shit. She would be late for practice if she didn’t hurry. Kari dismissed the alarm and was just about to move on with her day when a strange notification caught her eye. She paused, peered at the message, and felt her jaw drop.

 

“What the hell?” Kari muttered aloud, unlocking the screen and scrolling rapidly through its contents. Her phone was showing a text conversation with Sean. A conversation that had been going on for days. A conversation she had absolutely no memory of.

       

Kari’s eyes widened, her lips gaping in disbelief. When had she sent these? Why had she sent these? Why did her texts read like some kind of mindless robot? And why couldn’t she remember ever writing them?

 

With a grimace, she set the phone aside. That settled it: she was stopping by Leurre’s office before practice. And either she was gonna get some answers, or she was getting the hell out.

 

But first, she had to decide on a cute outfit for the day. After all…

 

“It’s very important to look my best in training,” she murmured to no one.

       

---

 

Coach Leurre frowned. “I’m not sure I understand,” he said slowly. “We’ve already had this discussion, haven’t we?”

 

Kari swallowed, crossing and uncrossing her legs for what felt like the hundredth time. Maybe this was a bad idea. She’d thought she would be able pin Leurre down and get some answers from him, but all it had taken was a skeptical glance for her to feel like a schoolgirl caught without her homework.   

 

“It’s gotten worse,” she muttered. “Like, a lot worse. It’s not just pracatice anymore—I’m starting to forget…other things too.”

 

Leurre arched an eyebrow. “What kind of things?”

 

Kari opened her mouth, then quickly closed it again. For a brief moment, she’d been about to tell him about her soaked panties. “It’s uh, things like…like this.” She lifted her phone screen. “I don’t have any memory of sending these texts. At all. That’s weird, isn’t it?”

 

A flicker of concern passed across her coach’s face, but it was soon replaced by a placating smile. “Not necessarily. As I said before, you’ve been through a rather intense training regimen. Your concentration has been laser-focused for so long, it’s not surprising that some background details may slip from your notice.”

 

“But…don’t you think that…that…maybe…”

 

“Kari,” Coach Leurre suddenly stated. “Relax.” 

 

“Yes,” Kari answered automatically, eyes blinking and back straightening as she took a slow, deep breath.

 

Leurre paused. For a moment, it looked like he was about to pose a question, but then he just smiled, as if she’d already given him the answer. “I understand your concerns. If it bothers you this much, we can scale back the training just a bit. Or at least, introduce some variety into the mix. Actually,” he chuckled, “your timing is perfect. I’ve just finished arranging your first pro scrimmage.”

 

“Really?” Kari gasped. She’d been aching to try her skills against another squad, but had assumed she wouldn’t get the chance until the rest of her team had arrived.

 

“Indeed. Though,” Leurre’s expression sobered, “I’m afraid your future colleagues remain unable to join us just yet. So I’ve rounded up some stand-ins from our backup roster; not ideal, but they’re all seasoned veterans in their own right.”

 

Kari nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. Grateful though she was for the change of pace, she’d been really hoping for a chance to meet the rest of the team.

 

“Now now, don’t look so glum,” Leurre held up a finger. “This experience will still give you a feel for competition-level play, and test some of the skills we’ve been building. That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

 

“Sure. Right.”

 

“And besides,” his eyes gleamed. “This is still part of your training. And we like training don’t we?”

 

Again, Kari felt her posture straighten. “Yes.”

 

“Training is fun,” her coach repeated. “Training feels good.”

 

“Training is fun,” she agreed with an easy smile. “Training feels good.” They’d done this kind of call-and-response before. It seemed a little silly, but it always made her feel better in the end.

 

Leurre grinned. “Good girl.”

 

Kari stiffened, eyes darting away as her heart raced. Coach Leurre had always had a slightly paternalistic way of speaking to her, but lately it’d been making her feel…strange. Normally, she didn’t like being talked down to, and yet, whenever he gave her that certain look, and his voice became low and approving, it sent a warm, tingling flutter across her chest.

 

“So,” he continued, standing. “You’re going to follow my instructions and give it your all, right?” 

 

“Absolutely.” Kari beamed. “I’ll always give my best to you.”

       

---

Kari headed for the practice space with a bounce in her step, the morning’s worries feeling miles away. The room was colder than usual when she entered, sending anxious shiver through her body. for a moment she regretted her choice of outfit—a tight tank-top and short shorts weren’t exactly going to keep the chill away. Then again, she had caught a few lingering glances from her coach, so she supposed it was worth the trade-off. 

 

As she logged on, Kari vaguely wondered if he was watching now, and if his cameras could see her nipples stiffening against the black fabric. It was a strangely intriguing thought, but it soured when she saw her new, professional Strikeforce handle.

 

“Is something wrong?” Coach Leurre’s voice piped into her headset.

 

“What’s with the, um…” Kari hesitated. “The letters before my account name?”

 

“Letters?” her coach repeated. “It’s our team’s tag. You know, like a callsign.”

 

“‘SLT?’”

 

“Like ‘Salt.’ For ‘Team Salt.’”

 

Kari sighed. Could Leurre really not see how “SLT Kari” might be interpreted, especially by a rowdy group of gamers? Before she could spell out the obvious, however, the server began filling with other players, and Kari’s full attention returned to her screen. This was training after all. It was important to stay focused during training.

 

She had to give Coach Leurre credit: he’d put together a pretty solid match. The opposition was assembled from K/9, a relatively new team with a lot of potential. Kari’s own squad was made up of mostly old-school vets, players who’d competed during Strikeforce’s early days and now spent most of their time as streamers and commentators. It wasn’t the kind of backup she would’ve wished for, but for her first scrimmage, Kari supposed it could’ve been worse. 

 

“Okay, seems like everybody’s here,” Leurre announced. “I’m going to mute myself now, but I’ll still be observing and recording the session. Good luck everybody, and have fun!”

 

The game launched, and Kari exhaled, trying to quiet her thundering heart. She trusted her coach, trusted that his program really was improving her game. At the same time, there was a part of her that wondered if her training was enough to seize victory, or if she was about begin her pro career with a big fat L.

 

Relax, she reminded herself. It’s just a scrimmage. Relax. Relax.

 

“Relax…” Leurre’s voice rumbled, sending a warm pulse across her chest and between her legs and…

 

Kari blinked. “Did you guys hear that?”

 

“Hear what?” one of her teammates responded.

 

“N-never mind.” Kari shook her head. Focus. She needed to focus.

 

The match got off to a lopsided start. It was clear that K/9 was a seasoned team—their coordination and playmaking surpassed Kari’s expectations, putting her squad at an early disadvantage. Fortunately, she and her comrades rallied as the rounds went on, and Kari managed to pull off a triple-kill that had her teammates whooping with triumph. She smiled. Maybe there was something to Coach Leurre’s program after all. The change in her aim hadn’t been noticeable, but she did find it pretty easy to keep her mind on the game. 

 

At least, until she whiffed an easy kill. And a chat message from the opposing team appeared on her screen.

       

       

Instantly, Kari’s heartrate spiked. Her body stiffened, the voices in her headset suddenly faint.

       

“Whoa, did he just call her a slut?”

       

“That’s messed up.”

       

“Maybe he thought that’s what her name stood for?

       

“Bro, no way.”

       

“Kari, you there? You gonna let him talk shit like that?”

 

“U-uh. Um.” Kari fumbled at her keyboard. Something was…off. She shouldn’t have been this rattled. She’d suffered through enough gamer rage in the past to consider herself fairly inoculated to this kind of blatant misogyny. So how had such a simple message left her so upset? 

       

Or…no…not upset. It was a different feeling. Unpleasant sure, but…not…completely so.

       

In fact…

 

“Kari wake up!” One of her teammates called, moments before a hail of gunfire tore them apart.

 

“Shit, sorry!” Kari winced. What was happening to her? Why was she finding it so hard to focus? She knew this snypz guy was just trying to get under her skin—she should just ignore his messages and move on. But for some reason, she couldn’t stop reading them. Couldn’t stop fixating on them. Couldn’t stop the tightening…warming…feelings inside her. 

       

       

“This fucking guy,” her teammate fumed, clearly exasperated after the tenth perverted message scrolled by.

       

“Bro, just mute him,” another squadmate chimed in. “Don’t let him get into your head.”

       

In her head. Kari shuddered. That’s how she felt. He was in her head, playing with her thoughts, toying with her feelings. She felt trapped. Teased. Degraded. Controlled. It made no sense. They were the most bog-standard, unoriginal taunts she’d ever read. And yet, every message made her skin burn hotter. Her breath run shorter. Her aim drift wider. Her mind spin faster. 

       

What was going on? Why couldn’t she resist? 

       

She was such a hopeless slut. Such a stupid whore.

       

“Dude, Kari, I thought you were covering that angle?”

       

“S-sorry,” Kari stammered, voice shaking as her heart thundered. 

       

“What is your deal? Don’t you want to beat these assholes?”

       

“Maybe she doesn’t. Maybe she likes it.”

       

“Bro!”

       

“Is that true? You like being called a slut, slut?”

       

Kari let out an involuntary whimper, her hips squirming. The misogynist chat messages continued, and now her teammates were getting in on the fun. There was no escape. She was surrounded. Helpless. Hopeless. Humiliated.  

       

And wet.

       

Very, very wet.

     

---

 

After the match ended, Kari wanted nothing more than to run back to her bedroom, throw herself on her bed and…work out all the weird, confusing feelings inside of her. But her coach always insisted on debriefings after each session, and so she was forced to return to his office with awkward, dragging steps, her still-soaked panties squishing between her thighs, her lips mouthing prayers to every god she knew, begging them to keep Leurre from noticing how inexplicably, skin-searingly horny she was.

       

“I’ve already spoken with their coach,” Leurre exhaled, rubbing his hands across his face. “He assured me this won’t happen again. The rest of the team extends their apologies as well. I suppose that’s the least they could do.”

       

Kari nodded, hoping that would be the last said on the topic.

 

“Unfortunately,” her coach continued, “I’m afraid we can’t leave the discussion there.”

 

Kari tensed. “What do you mean?”

 

“I mean this wasn’t a case of first-game jitters or being unsettled by some trash talk. Was it?”

 

“Um.” Kari looked away, her hand clasped tightly on her lap. “I dunno. I mean…”

 

“Kari,” Leurre murmured, in that soothing-yet-firm voice that always made her thighs clench. “There’s no point in hiding it. My cameras capture more than just raw footage; they also pick up a steady stream of biometric data. But even if they didn’t, it would be obvious what happened back there.”

 

Kari fidgeted, legs crossing and un-crossing. She wanted to deny it. Wanted to be offended by her coach’s implication. But such impulses were barely audible over the roaring blood in her ears.

 

Leurre cleared his throat. “You were…excited by those messages weren’t you?”

 

There it was. The horrible truth. The source of the awful heat smoldering in her core. Kari nodded dumbly, feeling naked before her Coach’s appraisal. The sensation sent another powerful, humiliating rush of arousal through her, her brain swimming in tingling, dizzying sensations.

 

“As I thought.” Her coach pinched his eyes. “This...complicates things.”

 

“It…it doesn’t make sense.” She swallowed. “I’ve gotten plenty of shitty, sexist comments in the past, but they’ve never made me…I mean, I’ve never felt…”

 

“It’s not as strange as you might think. Human sexuality is complex, and what we find erotic can be rather fluid. It could be that you’ve always had a bit of a submissive streak, but never really noticed before. Or, it’s possible that, for whatever reason, this particular situation has…awakened something inside you.”

 

Kari stared at the ground, her face hot and flushed, her coach’s words burning in her ears. 

 

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Leurre assured her. “Plenty of women like to be dominated—it’s a fairly common fetish. That being said,” he sighed. “The timing in this case is problematic.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean…look, I don’t want to cause you any undue worry. And speculating about worst-case scenarios rarely does any good. But…” He crossed his arms, a deep frown weighing on his lips.

 

“Y-you can tell me,” Kari urged him on. “I’m going to worry either way.”

 

Leurre nodded. ““A fair point. After all, you don’t want to let the team down, do you?”

 

The question caught Kari slightly off guard, and yet the answer slipped effortlessly from her mouth. “I do not want to let the team down. I want to do everything I can for the team.” She blinked suddenly feeling grounded. Relaxed, even. Despite how odd her voice had just sounded.

 

“Very well,” Leurre exhaled. “Here’s the problem as I see it. Despite our best efforts, word of today’s scrimmage will probably spread to other teams. Since Strikeforce is such a competitive sport—and since our organization already has a target on its back—the rest of the league will want to seize on this potential advantage. That is, they’ll want to test just how easy it is to rattle you. And they won’t be as obvious as K/9. They’ll work subtly, inside and outside the game, in ways that we can’t easily call out of punish. Ordinarily, we’d be able to weather this sort of thing, but your new fetish could pose a problem. Erotic fixations are often most…potent early on, when the sense of novelty and discovery is strongest. So while other teams are trying to push your buttons, you’ll be at your most vulnerable to having your buttons pushed. If they’re successful, and the pattern repeats, it could create a vicious cycle. Constant arousal will lead to defeat, and constant defeat will lead to arousal.” He met her gaze. “You know where I’m going with this, don’t you?”

 

Kari nodded, the thought filling her with dread. If the scenario Leurre had described came true, she’d be completely at the mercy of her opponents. They wouldn’t even have to do anything—at that point, she would expect to lose, to be dominated and degraded like the useless slut they thought she was. She might even to start to crave it, to desire being treated like a dumb pet, trained and tamed and desperate for approval, her hopes of becoming a pro player lost in a vortex of helpless, horny…

 

“H-how—” She swallowed, struggling to speak. “How can we stop it?”

 

Leurre drummed his fingers on his desk, appearing deep in thought. “The only solution I can think of is a bit…unconventional. But I believe it’s what’s best for the team.” He met her eyes again. “Is that what you want?”

 

“What’s best for the team is best for me,” Kari answered easily. Again, that strange dullness in her voice. Again, the feeling of comfort washed over her. 

 

Leurre nodded. “Well said. In that case, here’s what I suggest. If we try to suppress this new fetish of yours, it’ll likely come back with a vengeance once the season starts. But if we confront it now, we can defang it ahead of time before it can cause the most damage.” He paused. “Do you follow me?”

 

“I…think so?”

 

“I’m saying we should try and incorporate this fetish into your training,” her coach explained. “If we can desensitize you to it now—diminish that sense of novelty and excitement—it will be a lot harder for other teams to exploit. At least, that’s my hope.”

 

Kari bit her lip. “When you say ‘incorporate,’ do you mean…”

 

“Nothing too extreme,” Leurre quickly assured her. “It will be a change in tone, mostly. I may have to speak and act in ways that may seem…unkind. But it will just be a simulation, a trial run for what other teams may attempt to throw at you. Of course, we’ll stop at any point if it becomes too much. Does that sound acceptable?”

 

Kari hesitated. Her first instinct was to despise the idea. She’d come to Team Salt hoping to escape the “gamer girl” treatment she’d endured her whole life. Why would she ever volunteer for that kind of harassment? The very notion of her coach, her professional trainer, teasing and tormenting her to get some kind of sexual response was…was…

 

Well… 

 

She squirmed, hugging her arms and pressing her breasts together. She realized anew how stiff and sensitive her nipples had become.

 

“You trust me, Kari,” Coach Leurre prompted. “Don’t you?”

 

Kari sighed, eyelashes blinking rapidly. “I trust you.”

 

“And you want what’s best for the team, correct?”

 

“What’s best for my team is best for me.”

 

“So…” Leurre arched an eyebrow. “Shall we give this new direction a try?”

       

Kari thought about it, but not for long. Somehow, her concerns had melted away, leaving only simmering, arousing curiosity. 

 

“S-sure.” She smiled nervously. “Give me your best shot.”

 

Coach Leurre took a long sip from his coffee, taking a moment to enjoy the view from his

computer screen. On one camera feed: a close-up of Kari’s face, her jaw slack and eyelids drooping, the spinning colors of the “aim trainer” reflected in her dilated, vacant pupils.  On another: a wide shot of her naked body, limp in the chair’s embrace, her hips rolling in steady waves as the seat’s bulge buzzed her brains away. Her hands toyed with her enormous breasts, squeezing and kneading the bountiful softness, occasionally pausing to circle the tips of her fingers around her pert, pink nipples. 

 

Her training was going well. Within a mere thirty seconds of staring at the program, she’d stood, stripped, and reseated herself of her own accord, sinking into her usual, spread-legged posture as if by second nature. There was no more hesitation in her movements, no more wavering in her voice. Everything was languid and smooth and automatic, the only hitches being the occasional catch in her breath, her tongue panting slightly as the program sent another pulse of hot pleasure into her. The lines on Leurre’s chart spiked, confirming that her brain was drowning in oxytocin and dopamine, rewards it was craving more and more with every session. All the while, her voice mumbled in a dreamy, delicious monotone, repeating the mantras that he’d taught her, driving them deeper and deeper into her helpless mind.

 

“I love training.”

 

“It feels good to be trained.”

 

“Training makes me a better teammate.”

 

“I want to be a better teammate.”

 

“Good teammates serve their team.”

 

“I want to serve my team.”

 

“What’s best for my team is best for me.”

 

“My coach knows what’s best for the team.”

 

“My coach knows what’s best for me.”

 

“I trust my coach.”

 

“I obey my coach.”

 

“I serve my coach.”

 

Leurre smirked, pleased that there appeared to be no deviations from her usual patterns. Today was a big day for her—the scrimmage had indeed been a test, but not of her gaming abilities. Rather, it’d been an important gauge of her progress, a live-fire exercise to see just how deep her training had taken root, and how vulnerable she was to its influence.

 

It’d been a rousing success. Over the past few training sessions, Leurre had built a link in her mind between botched plays and arousal, pulling her along with the explanation that, if in-game errors meant further training, and training was her favorite thing in the world, then failure must therefore be exciting to her. It wasn’t the most solid logic, but it was straightforward enough for her mushy brain to absorb. Then, all that had been left to do was arrange the scrimmage, secretly commission some unsportsmanlike conduct from an opposing player, and wait for the dominos to fall. The moment Kari made a bad play, that would be the cue for Leurre’s plant to let loose in the chat, capitalizing on her instinctual, subconscious arousal. 

       

Of course, the conscious Kari—the one who saw herself as a professional gamer—wouldn’t believe that it was a failed play that was exciting her. Thus, she would likely focus on the chat messages instead, giving Leurre the opportunity he needed. By exploiting her confused, vulnerable state, he could convince her that it was indeed the degradation that was turning her on, not the mere fact of a lost round. If he managed to sway her to this explanation, it would prove that he was not only able to influence her subconscious responses, but her conscious rationalizations as well. If he was able to seize both, he could control Kari completely, and shape her to his liking. 

       

Well, the liking of his client, anyway. But in this case, there was precious little difference. 

       

“That’s very good Kari,” Leurre murmured as she completed her mantras and fell into a dozing, drooling silence. “You’re making your coach very happy.”

       

“Happy,” the entranced girl repeated, lips spreading in a lazy smile. 

       

“You love training don’t you?”

       

“Yes. Love…training.”

       

“That’s right. We did some special training today didn’t we? You remember the scrimmage earlier, don’t you?”

       

“Yes…”

       

“Do you remember what we talked about afterwards?”

       

“Remember…” Her smile slipped into a thoughtful pout.

       

“How did that make you feel?”

       

“Confused.” Her back arched slightly, a longing sigh escaping her lips. “Horny…”

       

“That’s right. The things we talked about excited you didn’t they?”

       

“Yes.”

       

“You liked the idea of being called a slut, didn’t you?”

       

A fluttering blink. “Slut..?”

       

“Just like during the scrimmage,” Leurre pressed. “You liked being called a slut, didn’t you?”

       

“Y-yes,” she repeated, a slight shiver in her voice. “Liked…slut…”

       

Leurre exhaled. “Good girl. Remember we talked about how important it is to face these truths, right?”

       

“Yes…”

       

“And you remember how important it is to follow your coach’s orders, correct?”

       

“Yes…”

       

“Then let’s recall what we’ve learned.” He paused.  “You like being called a slut.”

       

“I…like being called a slut.”

       

“You like being treated like a slut.”

       

“I like…being treated like a slut.”

       

“You like to be dominated.”

       

“I like to be dominated.”

       

“You like to be degraded.”

       

“I like to be degraded.”

       

“These things make you feel like a slut. And you like to feel like a slut.”

       

“I like to feel like a slut.”

       

“Sluts feel horny.”

       

“Sluts feel horny.”

       

“Sluts feel weak.”

       

“Sluts feel weak.”

       

“Sluts feel submissive.”

       

“Sluts feel submissive.”

       

“Sluts obey their owner.”

       

“Sluts…obey their owner.”

       

“Sluts don’t need to think.”

       

“Sluts don’t need to think.”

       

“Sluts let their owner think for them.”

       

“Sluts let their owner think for them.”

       

“You like to feel like a slut.”

       

“I like to feel like a slut.”

       

“Feeling like a slut feels good.”

       

“Feeling like a slut…” She squeaked. The bulge between her legs was vibrating rapidly, her hands gripping the arm rests as she bucked against the machine, her tits bouncing as she rode it into mindless bliss. “F-feels…good…” 

       

Leurre smiled. “And since feeling like a slut feels good, and training feels good, then training like a slut will feel extra, extra good for you.”

       

“Training like a…a…” Her pupils rolled up behind her twitching eyelids. She went rigid, her naked body shaking and spasming as an orgasm stole the words from her mewling, gasping lips.

       

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t finished repeating the command. From the numbers Leurre was seeing, it was clear that any resistance was leaking out of her onto the seat. Being trained for the team and being trained as a slut were becoming synonymous in her mind, each equally, irresistibly important to her approval-addicted brain.  Soon, Leurre wouldn’t even need the program to take control—she would offer it freely, happily, and wonder why she’d ever thought to do otherwise.

       

But first, they needed to shift into a new phase of her training. One Leurre was very much looking forward to.

       

       

Kari approached the bomb site as carefully as she could, clearing her corners and trying to keep her crosshair steady. It wasn’t easy: if the last few matches had taught her anything, it was only a matter of time before something went wrong and—

       

Sure enough, an opponent swung into her sightline while she was distracted, one-tapping her head and knocking her out of the round. Kari shivered, her face hot, ears already burning as she anticipated her deserved rebukes.

       

“What was that?” her coach’s voice was deep with disapproval. “Are you even using your brain anymore? Or are you letting your pussy do all the thinking for you now?”

       

“S-sorry, sir,” she stammered, biting her lip as her sex quivered. Her head spun as the next round began, her focus lost in a fog of excited embarrassment. 

       

The new training wasn’t going well. And it was all her fault. They’d been at it for days now, playing random ranked matches on her old account, trying to desensitize her to the fetish that had taken over her life. But despite her coach’s best efforts, Kari still couldn’t seem to control herself. Every loss came with a swelling tide of arousal, a warm wave of humiliation that washed way her sense of pride, until all she could think about was the dripping desire between her legs, her body so taut and sensitive it felt like it might burst into awful ecstasy at any moment.  

       

Even good plays offered little reprieve. Leurre’s approval sent just as many buzzing, tingling sensations through her, his praise like fireworks sparkling in her head. Once, she’d even cum in her panties after a particularly affectionate comment, a temporary release that only made her even more nervous once the next round began. When that predictably ended in failure, the sudden plunge back into degradation made her want to cry. And the worst part was, she didn’t even hate it.

       

She wasn’t becoming a better Strikeforce player. If anything, she was just becoming a better slut. Hell, she was even starting to dress the part. 

       

Today was no exception: since awaking that morning, Kari had known that a tiny tube top and miniskirt were what she needed to wear. No, what she deserved to wear. It didn’t matter that she didn’t remember buying either, nor the fact that her tits and pussy were mere millimeters of fabric away from exposure. She’d learned to stop questioning such things. Thinking too hard just lead to confusion; it was far easier to simply accept everything as part of her training, and let her thoughts vanish into a habitual horny haze. 

       

Some nights, Kari fantasized about what might happen if she never improved—if Leurre’s worst-case projections came true. She would lie back in bed, hand working furiously between her open legs, cumming her brains out to images of herself kneeling before her coach begging for his forgiveness. She pictured him losing patience, grabbing her by the hair and dragging her to his chair, throwing her over his knee and spanking her pathetic, jiggling ass until—

       

“What do you think you’re doing, slut?”

       

Kari stiffened, jerked back to reality. The round had started, but her hands weren’t anywhere near her keyboard. Instead, they had drifted slowly to her torso, one pawing at her tits while the other slid towards her skirt, moments away from flipping the hem up and stroking the sticky fabric underneath. She froze, paralyzed by shock and shame. Had she really been about to masturbate during a game? Sure, she’d been tempted to before, but she would never actually…

 

“Oh, don’t let me stop you.” Leurre’s voice sounded like a sneer. “Please, continue.” 

 

Kari hesitated. There was no way he was serious, right? Why would she even consider

that? She should just push down her shame and arousal as best she could and—

       

“Didn’t you hear me?” Leurre growled. “Continue.”

       

Kari’s shaking hand hovered over her lap. “S-sir?”

       

“Clearly, playing this game is beyond you. You should just play with yourself instead. Maybe then we’ll actually enjoy ourselves.” 

       

“B-but…”

       

“That was an order, slut. Now.”

       

Kari swallowed.

       

Oh God. She was actually going to do it. 

       

Even as her mind reeled, her body was already moving on its own, one hand pulling her top over her bare breasts while the other slipped her panties from beneath her skirt. A strained breath escaped her as her fingers found their places, sparking pops of pleasure racing across her body, her skin flushed a warm, sensitive pink. 

       

A part of her still wanted to resist, to stop before she did something she would regret. It was wrong, debasing herself in front of her coach, surrounded by cameras recording and tracking her every move, preserving the moment for eternity.

       

And yet…that realization only made her lips tremble, a fresh flood of excitement gushing from deep within. Her fingers plunged inside her, chasing forbidden pleasures she could no longer deny. A manic giggle quivered between her moans, her head feeling giddy and empty. She really was a hopeless whore. A useless slut. Rubbing herself stupid while her team lost another round and—

       

A chat message from one of her teammates:

 

       

“Open your mic,” Leurre commanded. “Let them know you’re still here.”

       

Kari wanted to protest. All she managed was a pitiful, keening whine.

 

“Now, slut.” Powerful and insistent, impossible to resist. “And keep one hand on the keyboard. Make sure the game doesn’t remove you for inactivity.”

       

Dumb and delirious with need, it took Kari a couple tries to do as instructed. “H-hey guys,” she stammered. “S-sorry I—” Her hips bucked, a sudden, shuddering orgasm stealing her voice. Still, it wasn’t enough to satisfy her. She needed to go further. Deeper. As an animalistic groan rose from her throat, Kari bent over her desk, redoubling her efforts, her tits swaying as she panted into her mic, drool stringing from her lolling tongue onto her keyboard.

       

More chat messages appeared in rapid succession:

       

       

“Correct them,” Leurre directed. “Make sure they know the truth.”

       

Lost though she was, Kari knew an order when she heard one. “I-I’m…” she gasped into her headset, trying and failing to think long enough to get the words out. “I-I’m not p-porn…”

       

Leurre laughed. “Listen to you. You sound so useless. Apologize to your team. Apologize for being such a pathetic slut.” 

       

Kari cried, the ecstatic urgency inside her rising. “I-I’m s-sorry for being a p-p-pa-path-th-ieeeeee…” Pleasure squirted between her pumping fingers, threatening to obliterate her for good. 

       

“You’re not done,” Leurre uttered. “Say it.” 

       

“P-pathetic…” Faster. Harder. She needed it. Craved it. “P-pathetic….ssssssllluuuuut.”

       

At last. She was undone. A wonderful explosion erupted through her, snapping her fraying reason and restraint, unleashing broken exultation from the deepest parts of her body. She was nothing but pleasure, nothing but heat and wet and motion and moans. There was no Kari, just a slut serving its purpose, rejoicing in the release of absolute surrender.

       

“Good girl…” Coach Leurre murmured. “Good girl.”

       

Gradually, the overwhelming tide receded. 

       

Kari blinked slowly, languidly. Her head was on the desk, saliva smeared across her lips and cheek. Gaze unfocused, world a blur. She was aware of what had just happened, but too exquisitely, throbbingly empty to care. The tingling on her skin; the thrumming of her pulse; the wonderful, awful sinking sensation; the knowledge that she had somehow reached a new low; and…god help her…she yearned to go lower still.

       

Was there anything left that could stop her?

       

 

Sean stared at his phone as he lay back in bed, swiping through Kari’s socials for the millionth time. No new posts. No new pics. Just the same roll of stream announcements, team photos, and the occasional swimsuit shot Sean never failed to linger on.

 

He told himself it was because he missed her. And he did, to be fair. It’d been almost a month now since she’d left for Team Salt’s bootcamp, and almost a week since she’d last responded to his messages. He understood that she was busy, and that a shot at the big leagues was more important than any pickup game or stupid meme he sent her way. Still, it wasn’t like her to completely ghost him. Something felt wrong, but try as he might, he couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation.

 

With a sigh, Sean set the phone aside, and prepared to resign himself to another night of worries and wondering.

 

Then a thought occurred to him. It was an idea he’d considered before, but one which he’d refused to act on. It would look desperate, he told himself, like he thought Kari belonged to him or something. Worse, he would be committing a bit of a faux pas as a fellow pro, all on a gamble he doubted would pay off.

 

Still…it had been almost a week since Kari’s last text. That was a good enough reason to act a little desperate…wasn’t it?

 

With a sharp breath, Sean grabbed his phone from the nightstand, opening his contacts and dialing before he could second-guess any further. Kari might’ve been ignoring him, but it was possible her teammates wouldn’t. Sure, it was also possible they were just as busy, and that they would be annoyed by this sudden disruption. But if there was a chance he could get answers, or even just a clue then…

       

“Yeah?” Jas0nX’s sleepy, perturbed voice crackled in the phone speaker. “Sean, what’s up?”

       

“Huh?” Sean blinked. He actually hadn’t expected the call to be answered so quickly. “Oh. Hey, Jase. What’s up?”

       

“That’s what I asked, bro. It’s like, two A.M.”

       

“Shit. Right.” Sean rubbed his eyes. “Sorry, I know you must be busy with the bootcamp and everything but…”

       

“Bootcamp?” Jason repeated. “Bro, what are you talking about? That shit isn’t for, like, another month.”

       

“What?” Sean blinked, feeling as though Jason had reached through the phone and smacked him. “What do you mean? Didn’t it start a few weeks ago?”

       

“The fuck?” Jason laughed incredulously. “Who the hell does bootcamp that early? League play doesn’t even start till, like…”

       

“Right, right,” Sean muttered, still reeling and trying to hide it. Come to think of it, he’d also thought the timing of Kari’s training had been odd, but figured it was just a Team Salt thing, a result of inexperienced managers or nervous executives. Now, hearing Jason’s side of the story, Sean couldn’t help wondering if something else was going on. What exactly, he couldn’t say. But…

       

He cleared his throat. “It’s just, Kari said she’s been at the team house for a while now, so I figured…”

       

“Really?” He could almost hear the frown in Jason’s voice. “Huh. Maybe she’s doing one-on-ones with the coach or somethin’. I mean, the managers did mention she might need some ‘special help.’”

       

“They did? What did they say?”

       

“Nothin’ specific, really. It was more, like, they implied it, right? She is the only rookie on the team, and the only, well, y’know…”

       

Woman—Sean did know, but didn’t want to say it. “Okay, that’s…I mean, it’s just, she hasn’t been answering any of my texts and…”

       

“She’s prolly just busy. Wait, are you two, like, a thing now?”

       

“No! Well, not really…”

       

“Then just chill, bro. Let the girl do her thing. Last thing you wanna do is act all creepy and scare her away, right?”

       

Sean grit his teeth, then forced out a laugh. “Right, right. Good point. Sorry man, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

       

“No problem, bro. Hey, if she does turn you down, would it, like, bother you if her and me—”

       

Sean quickly hung up. The call had been disturbing enough already without that particular image in his head. Tossing his phone on the bed, he paced his room, the worry that had been growing in his gut blossoming into full on panic. It was possible that the situation was as Jason had described, that Kari was actually too busy to do anything outside of practice. But then there was the fact that she was alone. That none of her teammates knew. That her texts had seemed strange at first, and then had disappeared completely. All of this added up, and when Sean ran the numbers in his head, he didn’t like what they were telling him.

       

Something was wrong. Something that only he seemed aware of.

       

And it was time he finally got to the bottom of it.