Kari sighed as she hefted the laundry out of the washer, pausing to absently scoop her breast back into its tiny holster. Her uniform was a tricky one today: a fuzzy, cow-print mico-bikini, its scant, soft fabric far more revealing and impractical than anything she’d ever worn before. Just walking across the room without exposing herself was a challenge—she had to be constantly aware of how she was moving, compensating for every jiggle and bounce of her body as she swayed barefoot down the compound’s corridors, fighting between the urge to cover herself and the need to finish her chores on time. It was excruciating. Humiliating.

 

And…though she hated to admit it…more than a little thrilling.

 

The cowbell collar that came with outfit was an especially sadistic touch. It was heavy enough to not clang constantly, but it still reliably tolled out whenever she bent over. Every time she heard it, she was freshly reminded of how shameless she must look: her thong-strapped ass in the air, her tits hanging heavily in their spotted restraints, her face burning as she both feared Leurre finding her in such a state, and wished desperately for it to happen.

 

If he saw her like this what would she do?

 

Part of her believed that she would curse him and flee; that it would be the last straw before she quit the team; that she still had enough dignity to be mortified by her own degradation.

 

But another part of her felt otherwise.

 

After all, what self-respecting woman would even end up in this position in the first place? Wasn’t it just as likely that she would succumb yet again? That rather than running from her tormenter, she would simply raise her hips higher, begging him to grasp them, peel her panties off, and use her like the animal in heat she was?

 

The washer lid slipped from Kari’s fingers, slamming closed with a clang that jolted her from her reverie. She exhaled, resting a hand on her chest, willing her racing heart to slow. This was bad. The fantasies were becoming more frequent, more vivid, more tempting every day. Every time she let her thoughts wander, they were captured by the same devilish daydreams: Leurre taming her, claiming her, putting her on her knees where she belonged. When and why he’d become her erotic ideal was a question Kari often asked herself. She’d never really been into older men before meeting Leurre, and certainly hadn’t felt attracted to him at first. But in trying to retrace her attraction, Kari always somehow ended up with the same result:

It all made perfect sense. Her coach was a handsome man, and an authority figure who held a great deal of power over her. It was only natural for a submissive slut like her to crave him, to yearn for his guidance and control, to offer herself for his pleasure and—

 

No! Kari shook her head. She was a professional Strikeforce player, dammit, no matter what her fantasies or fetishes. This was a temporary setback, nothing more. Her feelings for Leurre were just loneliness and lust looking for an outlet. They wouldn’t last long. She would come to her senses soon enough.

 

And yet…didn’t it seem like she was getting worse? When was the last time she’d even played Strikeforce?

 

Kari frowned as she moved the damp laundry into the dryer, struggling to remember when she’d last even logged on. Time had become increasingly blurry lately. She could recall the first time she’d masturbated in-game, but could no longer say for sure whether that had been days or weeks ago. All she knew was that, contrary to Leurre’s theory, being forced to rub herself stupid in front of her teammates hadn’t shocked her out of her bad habits; it had lit a fire that she couldn’t seem to put out.

 

It'd happened exactly as her coach had feared.

 

Ever since her first mid-game masturbation session, it was like a demon had awoken inside her, an incubus that invaded her thoughts whenever she missed a shot or messed up a play. It would tempt her with jeers of her teammates, some real, some imagined, all urging her to give up, to admit she was a hopeless slut, and fuck herself on-mic for the entertainment of her tormentors.

 

For a while, she was able to resist the siren song of self-ruin. But it wasn’t long before she gave in. Once. Twice. Then every other game. Eventually, it got to the point where her fingers spent more time inside her than on the keyboard. She would play late into the night, not aiming to win but to debase herself, losing sleep and leaking juices all over her chair, giving herself over to the guilty, giddy high, over and over and over again.

 

Until her account was permanently banned. Apparently, moaning into the microphone while throwing her matches had earned Kari quite a few player conduct reports. The following morning, Leurre forced Kari to uninstall Strikeforce from her machine, barring her from downloading it again until she learned to control herself. She could still use the aim-training program of course, a privilege she was deeply grateful for. But beyond that, her gaming privileges were indefinitely revoked.

 

That didn’t mean Kari’s training was over though—instead, Leurre devised a new system for her to follow. Every morning she awoke to find a new, humiliating outfit hanging on her bedroom door, along with a list of tasks for her to complete around the compound. If she could finish them all and make it to the following morning without masturbating, she would be permitted to play Strikeforce once again. This was, her coach admitted, a rather extreme measure. But it was the only way he saw to heal her fractured psyche. She needed to tame her bestial nature at any cost, and prove once and for all that she was the master of her destiny, not her pussy.

 

So far, it was a fight she was losing. Badly.

 

The arousal that had once been an occasional hindrance was now a constant companion, a warm mist that clung to her skin and fogged her brain. She’d become keenly aware of the compound’s many security cameras, their lenses always staring as she flounced from room to room. In such a state, even the most banal tasks became erotic, to say nothing of those clearly intended to tease her. One memorable morning had her doing jumping jacks on the upstairs balcony, her lewd performance in full view of the neighboring houses. Such “chores” never failed to crumble her resolve. Even on the rare occasions she managed to go the whole day without touching herself, by nightfall her resistance would always be wavering, her panties soaked and her thighs quivering, her legs spreading and her hands stroking the moment she collapsed into bed.

 

The dryer started up with a beep. Kari sighed, pulling her thoughts back into the present. She turned and leaned against the machine, waiting patiently for the cycle to complete. The cold metal rumbled and whirred against her ass, sending tingles rippling through her sensitive body.

 

That gave her an idea. An awful, terrible, irresistible idea.

 

Licking her lips, Kari hefted herself onto the appliance, straddling a corner as the machine shuddered beneath her. This wasn’t breaking any rules, was it? Even if she spread her legs apart, even if she leaned back and pressed her crotch against the buzzing, vibrating surface…that didn’t count as playing with herself, did it? She was just sitting here. Closing her eyes. Biting her lip. Letting a soft moan leak from inside her.

 

Uh-oh, it seemed one of her breasts had slipped from her top again. And wouldn’t you know it, the other just bounced free as well. She couldn’t be seen like this, could she? It was only right that she should correct herself; that she should grasp her flushed, needy tits; that she should squeeze and massage their tender softness, teasing her fingers around the quivering tips. She was just trying to get them back into place—that was all. So what if she was taking her time? So what if the heat inside her was rising? So what if her hips were wriggling with anticipation? So what if she no longer cared about winning? So what if she wanted to lose?

 

So what if…if…

 

It was happening again. She never remembered when it was over, but always recognized when it came. As the first orgasm shook her body and blanked her mind, Kari felt her eyes roll back, her vision blurring as an explosion of colors filled her mind. It was a familiar cascade, one that she felt she could place, if only she could think long enough to do so. But she couldn’t. Her thoughts were now barely a whisper, drowned out by another voice, warm and commanding, saying words her sluggish brain couldn’t follow, even as her lips quietly repeated them.

 

“I am an obedient slut...”

 

“My pussy controls my body…”

 

“My owner controls my mind…”

 

The dryer continued to rumble. Kari’s hands continued to play. But it wasn’t her moving them anymore. Something else had taken control. The pleasure. The colors. The words reshaping her world.

 

“Nothing is more important than pleasing my owner...”

 

“I am always eager to serve…”

 

“I am always ready to be used…”

 

The machine buzzed. Kari blinked.

 

Oh—it seemed the drying cycle was complete.

 

How long had she been sitting there? Had she just been saying something? Why couldn’t she remember?

 

And why were there spots of drool on her tits?

 

After a moment of puzzled staring, Kari shrugged, wiped her lips and chest, and hopped off the dryer to continue her chores. There was no point in asking so many questions—her head felt too floaty and bubbly to come up with the answers anyway. She must’ve just spaced out again, as she’d done plenty of times before. If it was something she should worry about, Leurre would tell her. She could trust him, after all. He had only her best interests at heart.

 

Speaking of which….as she folded the laundry, Kari couldn’t help but notice the security camera overhead, light shining against its polished black casing. No doubt it’d caught her in her latest shameless act. No doubt Leurre would count this as another failure. No doubt Kari the Pro Gamer had once again lost to Kari the Silly Slut. Vaguely, she wondered if Leurre would soon reach another breaking point, and come up with yet another way to punish her for her uselessness.

 

A part of her dreaded the thought. Another couldn’t wait to find out.

Leurre smiled at his monitor as he watched Kari remove the laundry from the dryer, her naked skin still flushed from her little episode atop the appliance. It seemed like only yesterday that she’d shown up at the compound as a no-nonsense professional, with the wardrobe and attitude to match. Now, she was practically his plaything, an obedient slut that didn’t even question his commands anymore, much less the fact that it’d been over a week since she’d worn pants.

 

But her training wasn’t complete. That was evident from the data readouts scrolling across his screen. While Kari’s mind was reshaping itself nicely, it still held a strong ego-drive at its core, a belief that there was more to life than submitting to her superiors. That needed to change. Leurre’s client wasn’t paying for a promiscuous employee—he was paying for a sex slave, a devoted and insatiable thrall, eager to be controlled and used for the rest of her life. It was a transformation that would only stick if the subject chose it, using the last of her free will to surrender completely.

 

Until that day, a certain degree of caution was warranted. Which was why the recent security reports were so concerning.

 

Leurre’s phone began to rattle against his desk, indicating a call from Nora, his right-hand woman. He sighed, forcing himself to turn away from the camera feeds as he answered.

 

“Yes?” he uttered, not bothering to hide his impatience. Nora was one of his earliest subjects, a former student who’d been the first to demonstrate the power of his reprogramming method. He’d since grown bored of her as a sexual conquest, but her sharp mind and unquestioning loyalty made her quite the capable assistant.

 

“Good morning, Master,” Nora replied. “I’m calling to update you on our mystery driver.”

 

“Do we have an ID?” Leurre asked. Recently, his cameras had picked up a sedan with tinted windows circling the neighborhood, often slowing as it passed the Team Salt compound. Clearly, the driver was searching for something. Or someone, as Leurre feared.

 

“I have a lead,” Nora answered. “One I suspect has a 98% chance of confirmation.”

 

“Go on.”

 

“Are you familiar with Sean Fairfield?”

 

Leurre rubbed his forehead. “He’s a Strikeforce player, isn’t he?”

 

“Yes. A member of 500 Voltz, actually. The car is registered in his name.”

 

“What does he want with us? Is he trying to spy on a rival team’s bootcamp?”

 

“Possible, but unlikely.” The clack of a keyboard. “I would bet on a more…personal motivation.”

 

“Elaborate.”

 

“I did a little digging, and I think it’s safe to say he’s rather infatuated with our latest subject. He’s watched nearly all of her streams, and rewatched those wherein her clothing could be construed as revealing or flirtatious. He also stalks her socials, plus those of any other male she follows.”

 

Leurre grimaced, the pieces falling into place before him. “I see. A man with that kind of mindset would undoubtedly notice her abnormal behavior. And he’d have a strong desire to uncover the reason.”

 

“Yes Master, that was my thinking as well.” Nora paused. “Shall I…dissuade him?”

 

Leurre tapped a finger on his desk, thinking through his options. If Kari did come into contact with an old friend of hers—or worse, someone she’d once had feelings for—that would pose the greatest threat to the stability of her conditioning. Then again, if Leurre could manipulate the scenario just right…there was a chance such an encounter could prove useful. But was it worth the risk?

 

The professor smiled. What kind of question was that? If all he wanted were safe results, he would’ve remained on university campuses, quietly enslaving student bodies until the end of his days. But experiments were only exciting under the threat of failure. It made his inevitable success all the more thrilling.

 

“Actually,” Leurre purred. “Why don’t you let me handle this one, Nora? I have just the plan in mind.”

 

“…As you wish.”

 

“Oh come now, there’s no need to sound disappointed. You’ve done very well, my pet.”

 

Nora’s breath hitched, followed by a soft whimper. “Thank you, Master. I live only to please you.”

 

“I know,” Leurre ended the call with a chuckle. It wouldn’t be long before Kari echoed his assistant’s devotion. But first, he needed to give her a little push.

The following morning, Kari felt a rare rush of relief as she scanned the task list pinned to her bedroom door. There were no purposefully humiliating exercises for her to complete, no chores that would bring her into close contact with Leurre or any other sources of temptation.

 

Instead, it seemed the dining hall would be her domain for the day, an area of the compound she rarely saw her coach enter. All she had to do was clean the space, organize the kitchen, and then practice the recipe Leurre had left her until it was perfect and ready to serve as his dinner. There was nothing even remotely erotic about that, was there? Surely, today would be the day she halted her runaway fetishes, and became a Strikeforce player once again.

 

Not that it would be a complete walk in the park. While the task list was uncharacteristically merciful, her uniform for the day was downright devious:

 

A gingham apron with dainty frills. And absolutely nothing else.

 

It was the most revealing, demeaning outfit yet, and the realization that she’d be completely uncovered below made her naked sex quiver, a drip of arousal already streaking down her thigh. Her hand slid down to smear the drop away, only for her fingers to drift up towards its source, pulled by a deep, instinctual need. It would be so easy—just a quick touch, a couple strokes around the lips…it was a test, really, only a test, to see how wet she was getting and…

 

No! Yanking her traitorous hand back, Kari hastily tied the apron in place, its cloth surface just big enough to keep her tits from spilling free. Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she slapped both sides of her face, willing herself to focus on the chores and recipe she had to complete. No matter how she looked or what she felt, she was not going to act like a slut today. Leurre was counting on her to be better. And pleasing him was very, very important.

 

The dining hall was as sleek and spacious as the rest of the compound, its soft blue tiles glittering under the sunny skylights. At the far end stood the kitchen: a shining fortress of cutting-edge appliances, the countertops covered in bags of utensils and ingredients, waiting to be unloaded and organized in the nearby cabinets and drawers.

 

First though, the space needed a wall-to-wall cleaning session, at least according to the task sheet. Why Leurre wanted Kari to scrub floors and tables that were already spotless, she couldn’t possibly fathom. Then again, it wasn’t her place to question orders. It was very important to do as she was told. It was very important for her to be obedient.

 

With a determined smile, Kari adjusted her uniform and got to work, beginning with a quick wipe-down of all the countertops. Her nipples still felt a bit sensitive as they shifted and swayed behind the apron, but the slut inside her remained mostly subdued, her arousal little more than an ambient buzz across her skin.

 

She could do this. As long as Leurre didn’t make any surprise visits and break her composure, she could finally complete her entire chore list without masturbating. Salvation from servitude was just hours away.

 

Several of those hours later, when Kari caught herself straddling and grinding against a mop handle, she realized she was in more trouble than she’d thought.

 

Gritting her teeth, she carefully peeled herself off the hard wood surface, a faint stain on her apron where it’d clung to her increasingly needy sex.

 

It seemed she’d miscalculated: ever since her new training had begun, Kari had assumed that the humiliating chores were to blame for her constant masturbation, that if she’d been left alone and unstimulated, the yearning between her legs would finally fade. But her time in the dining hall was forcing her to consider an alternate, much more disturbing conclusion.

Her uncontrollable desires weren’t a result of external factors: they were coming from inside her.

 

It was maddening. Left to its own devices, her bored mind kept wandering deeper into lurid fantasies, as though it’d forgotten how to think about anything else. She kept fearing—no, wishing—that Leurre would appear. She dreamt of his piercing, commanding eyes watching her crawl across the floor, her bare ass wiggling as she polished every tile. She pictured him lifting her onto a table, one strong hand clasping her neck as the other ripped the apron aside, her legs opening eagerly for him as he unbuttoned his pants and revealed his…

 

Cooking. Kari had to focus on cooking. That was the final chore she had to accomplish, and one that should keep her spiraling thoughts occupied. The recipe wasn’t especially complex—a simple beef and bell pepper stir fry, as far as she could tell—but the culinary arts had never been her strong suit, and the task list specified that the meal had to be perfect. If she couldn’t keep it together long enough to accomplish that then…

 

Then…that would be considered a failure, right? And if the day was a failure anyway, it wouldn’t matter if she let herself relieve some of this awful, desperate tension. Kari put a finger to her lips, another tracing lazy circles across her apron, absently coaxing her nipples to attention. In fact, now that she thought about it, maybe she should just give in now. Maybe it would be best if she resolved to try harder another day and—

 

Kari let out a pained whimper, forcing her hands onto the countertop as a powerful shudder passed through her body. She was so close. Victory and defeat were both right at her fingertips. If she could push through, if she could just finish this recipe, then her bondage would finally be broken. Her new training would be complete, and she’d be able to rub herself stupid as much as she wanted.

 

Oh. And she’d be able to play Strikeforce again. That was the whole point, wasn’t it?

 

Wasn’t it?

Sunbeams slanted through the wide windows, casting an ochre hue as Kari began yet another attempt. She wiped a bead of sweat from her lip, fanning herself as heat wafted from the burning stove. No need to worry about keeping the apron in place anymore—the fabric was practically plastered to her curves now, stretching and straining as her glistening chest sloshed inside it. She felt so hot, so needy, so pathetic. But she kept her gaze fixed on the sizzling pan, stirring the vegetables according to her coach’s instructions, trying to keep her mind on task.

 

Why was she having so much trouble? This had to be her fifth…no, sixth attempt at the dish, and she was running out of time. Leurre would be coming to the dining hall soon, expecting his dinner to be ready. Kari needed to succeed. She needed to please him. That was…that was…

 

That was why she’d been struggling, Kari realized as she reread the recipe. If she was just cooking for herself, she would’ve been satisfied with her first or second attempt. But every time she completed a plate, the instructions on her task sheet would flash through her mind.

 

Perfect. It had to be perfect. Leurre wanted it to be perfect. And she had to give him what he wanted. Nothing else mattered as much as pleasing her owner.

 

Coach. Her coach. That’s what he was. Not her…

 

Wait…what had she just called him?

 

Whatever. Kari wiped her forehead, the shadow of concern disappearing into a warm, dizzy haze. It didn’t matter what she’d been thinking—what mattered was what she was cooking. And this attempt was looking like her best yet. The vegetables were flawlessly prepared, the meat seasoned and seared to perfection. All that was left was to keep an eye on the rice and…

 

“How’s it coming?” Leurre asked, his honeyed voice slipping into Kari’s ear.

 

The flushed girl startled, nearly dropping her spatula. Somehow Leurre had snuck up on her and was now hovering over her shoulder, peering curiously at her efforts.

 

“G-great!” her trembling lips stammered as she stirred the pan. “Should be done, in uh, a, um…….” The rest of her words failed to form, her mouth hanging open dumbly as a single thought consumed her:

 

God he was so close.

 

She could feel the steady strength radiating from his body, the subtle tickle of his breath caressing her cheek. He must’ve just come from his office, his collar unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled up, a tantalizing peek of chest visible as he leaned against the counter, one of his toned arms mere inches from her hip. Close enough to touch her. Close enough to take her. To pull her into him and…

 

Kari’s mind was spinning. Her body was moving on its own. It couldn’t resist. The gravity of his presence. The need to be closer. To feel him. To yield to him. To make him know she was his.

 

Like moving in a dream, Kari felt herself bending over the stove, shifting and pressing herself into the man behind her. But as she fit herself into the subtle curve of his torso, she felt a hard warmth press against her bare ass. And suddenly, a new awareness blossomed inside her.

 

He wanted her. Her owner wanted her.

 

Owner? Wait, that wasn’t what he was.

 

Was it?

 

It was so hard to think about that now. Hard to think about anything but the way he stiffened against her, the way his hands instinctively grabbed her hips, holding her body against his. Kari thrilled at his touch, a tiny moan escaping her. A voice inside said that this was wrong. That she shouldn’t behave this way. But she could barely hear it over her own pounding heartbeat. How could this be wrong when it felt so right? How could she possibly stop herself now? Her body was rolling with a rhythm she couldn’t control, grinding against Leurre in slow, sumptuous waves, her sex quivering with joy as she felt his grasp tighten on her lewd and needy flesh.

 

“Uh, K-Kari…?” His voice was strained, as though it took all of his willpower to speak. “I-I think the rice is…”

 

Kari’s gyrations slowed, her half-lidded eyes scanning the kitchen with confusion.

 

The rice?

 

The rice! Oh no!

 

In a bolt of panic, Kari pulled herself away from Leurre, hands flying to the beeping machine on the countertop. She scrambled to open the lid, then flinched as sharp cloud of steam belched out. Even before it’d fully cleared, she knew with dreadful certainty that she was too late. The rice was horribly overcooked, the once-fluffy pile now a craggily, unappetizing mound.

 

“Is…” Leurre cleared his throat. “Is everything okay?”

 

“N…” Kari sniffed, struggling and failing to stop tears from forming. “No. It’s not.” She gripped the counter, head bowed and voice cracking with shame. “I’m sorry, sir. I-I wanted it to be perfect, but now…now…”

 

“Hey hey hey.” Strong hands clasped her naked shoulders. “It’s okay. You tried your best.”

 

“B-but I…I…”

 

“Shh…” Leurre gave a gentle squeeze, rubbing her arms as he murmured into her ear. “Relax.”

 

“Relax…” she repeated. Her eyelids drooped. Her knees weakened. Without meaning too, she found herself falling back into him, her stomach fluttering as her head rested against his chest.

 

“That’s right,” he purred. “See? No use crying over burnt rice, is there?”

 

“Mm…” she murmured in assent. Forming words suddenly seemed like too much work. She just wanted to keep relaxing. Keep melting. Until she was nothing but a warm, pliable softness for him to play with as he pleased.

 

“I’m sure dinner will be just fine,” Leurre assured her. “Why don’t you go ahead and serve it for us, hm?”

 

If anyone else had made the suggestion, Kari probably would’ve protested. She didn’t want to think about dinner anymore. She didn’t want to think. She just wanted to stay right where she was, safe and empty-headed in Leurre’s arms. But when her (owner) coach spoke, she obeyed. So with a reluctant sigh, she peeled herself from him, taking a moment to find her balance before turning to the task at hand. Though her head had begun to clear, it still felt oddly airy as she plated the food, her steps a little dazed and unsteady as she brought it to the table where Leurre was waiting.

 

“Thank you.” He offered a grateful smile. “It looks…good.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Kari mumbled. She sat at the other end of the table and folded her hands onto her lap, staring at her fingertips. Without Leurre’s soothing touch, reality was closing in on her again, reminding her of the disaster she’d just placed before him.

 

“Aren’t you going to have any?” he asked.

 

“No. Not hungry.”

 

“Are you sure? You’ve been working hard all day.”

 

“It’s fine. I ate as I cooked.” That was only mostly true. Kari had been snacking on the failed dishes, but even if she hadn’t, she doubted she’d be able to eat now. Not with the awful twisting guilt in her gut.

 

She’d let him down. There was no other way to put it. Leurre had been so nice and patient with her, had done nothing but look after her best interests. And what had she given him in return? Nothing but disappointment. If only she weren’t such a stupid slut. If only she hadn’t gotten so flustered when she’d pressed herself against him and felt his…his…

 

Kari’s thighs clenched. She bit her lip, suppressing a frustrated moan. What was wrong with her? She couldn’t even feel bad like she was supposed to. Her (owner) coach, the man she’d failed, was fewer than three yards away, showing her the utmost patience and support, and all she could think about was his…his…

 

Was he thinking about it too?

 

Kari risked glancing across the table. The moment she did, Leurre lowered his own gaze, eyes suddenly plummeting to his plate. But he hadn’t been fast enough. Kari knew he’d been staring at her, appreciating the taut contours of her apron-packed cleavage.

 

He still wanted her. Even now. And if that was the case…what if he always had?

 

The thought broke something in Kari’s brain, a rush of realization tearing through her memories. She thought about every humiliating task she’d completed, every degrading outfit she’d worn, every orgasmic defeat she’d endured. At the time, she’d been so focused on what they’d meant for her, she hadn’t even considered what they might mean for Leurre. She’d always assumed he was how he presented: a dispassionate professional trying to pull his subordinate out of a tailspin.

 

What if there was more to it than that? What if he’d been holding back? What if every time she’d soaked her sex with thoughts of him, his cock had been secretly aching for her?

 

What if she had a chance to make her fantasies could come true?

 

She was already sliding out of the chair before she could stop herself, her hands trembling as she slid under the table, only stopping when she rested them on the cold, tiled floor.

 

“Kari?” She heard Leurre set his fork down. “What are you doing?”

 

She needed to make it up to him. That’s what Kari told herself. There was nothing more important than pleasing her owner (coach), and she hadn’t pleased him all day. She’d tormented him. With her horny, useless body. With her stupid, slutty brain. With her lust. With her failure.

 

He didn’t deserve that. A man as wonderful as her owner (coach) deserved what he wanted. By any means necessary.

 

That’s what made it okay for her to crawl to him on all fours. That’s what made it logical for her to nuzzle her face between his legs, and exhale a hot, excited breath when the tent of his pants pressed against her nose and mouth.

 

“Kari?” Leurre’s voice sounded apprehensive, but he didn’t pull away. One of his hands slipped under the table, resting uncertainly on her head. “Are you sure?”

 

“Please,” she whispered, voice strained with longing. “Let me do this for you.”

 

Her owner (coach) said nothing in reply. Then, ever so slowly, he ran his hand down her hair, pausing to stroke her cheek before pulling away. His posture in the chair shifted, his legs widening slightly to accommodate her.

 

“Thank you sir,” Kari murmured, kissing the hard bulge before her. Her hands struggled to undo Leurre’s belt, her fingers fumbling with uncontrollable excitement. When at last the buckle came loose, she slid his pants down slowly, her desire deepening with every inch. By the time she grasped the hem of his boxers, and felt her mouth water at the sizable peak in the black fabric, she was practically giddy with anticipation.

 

She pulled the garment loose, and his cock rose like an emperor, tall and proud as it lorded over her awed, flushed face. Suddenly, Kari felt nervous. She’d only given head a few times in the past, and rarely felt anything but embarrassment afterwards. What if she wasn’t good enough? What if she couldn’t give him the pleasure he demanded? What if she wasn’t just a poor excuse for a pro gamer, but a slut as well?

 

Such dark thoughts threatened to ruin the mood. But as Kari knelt before her owner (coach), skimming her lips up his quivering shaft, her doubts quickly faded. All she felt was his radiance. His power. The comforting pull of his presence. The overwhelming desire to give herself to it.

 

She yielded to the feeling gradually. Carefully. A soft kiss on his tip. A longing lick up his shaft. A glance up for approval. A feeling of rapture at his smile.

 

Kari could resist no longer. She wrapped her lips around his cock and, with a soft, grateful hum, slid him inside her. Her tongue continued its service, stroking and circling his warmth as her head gently bobbed. She could feel his tension. His want. Every twitch sent a flutter of happiness through her. Every gasp was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard. She wanted to give him more, to take him deeper and harder. To be the perfect slut he deserved.

 

But her throat and mouth refused to accommodate. Her body was only willing to open so much for him, despite her best wishes. She began fondling his balls with her free hand, hoping it would be enough to compensate. When his open palm suddenly cupped her face, she paused, fearing the worse.

 

“Remember your training,” he said.

 

Kari blinked. The sentence didn’t making sense at first. Then her eyelids drooped. A spiral of swirling colors filled her vision. And everything made, perfect, wonderful sense again.

 

Or, perhaps more accurately: nothing made sense. Which was perfect for a senseless slut like her. When her owner rested his hand on the back of her head, and gradually thrust himself deeper down her throat, there was no resistance. She opened effortlessly for him, as if her mouth was made to be fucked, her owner’s cock the missing piece to the puzzle of her purpose. A delirious moan crawled from her stuffed lips as he yanked her apron away, her tits bouncing freely as he began thrusting. The last of her conscious thoughts popped, drummed away by the need pulsing through her. She was lost in the heat. In the pleasure. In the colors. In flashes of herself kneeling at her game station, dazed eyes glued to her monitor, her mouth drooling and sucking on a plastic dildo as her owner coached and corrected her, reshaping her in preparation for her new role.

 

New…role…?

 

Something about that was weird. But the feeling vanished as her owner’s rhythms became more urgent. His hand roughly grasped her hair, hips pumping as he used her like a toy built for his pleasure. Kari felt a deep part of herself shudder with joy. The heat inside her rose to a fever pitch, her body crying with anticipation until…

 

At last. She felt her owner’s cock spasm and stiffen inside her, his cum hot and thick as it filled her mouth and slid down her grateful throat. In that moment, the wonderful, awful tension broke, and a torrent of pleasure erupted within her, melting reality away. She shuddered, consumed with mindless ecstasy as her owner pulled free, a string of drool stretching from her shaking lips to his glistening head. Waves of bliss crashed through her, higher and higher each time, until at last she was pulled under completely, lost and floating, unaware of anything but pleasure.

 

Which meant she didn’t hear her owner’s chuckle.

 

Nor her own voice chant in a breathy monotone.

 

“I-I am an obedient slut...”

 

“My pussy c-controls my body…”

 

“My owner controls my m-mind…”

 

The curtain was open.

 

Sean slammed on the breaks of his car, stopping just in time to keep the offending window in view.

 

He wasn’t seeing things: the curtain really was open. But it was never open. In the hundreds of times he’d driven past the Team Salt beach house, not once had he been able to get a good luck inside. Now, one of the massive bedroom windows was completely open, the space beyond tantalizingly hidden in shadow.

 

If only it wasn’t night. Sean fumbled with his phone, bringing the camera up and zooming into the dark glass. He fiddled with the filter settings, attempting to find the perfect combination of brightness and contrast to penetrate the gloom. But it was no use. The light was too low and the distance too far. Which meant no signs of Kari. Or whatever was keeping her from him.

 

With a sigh, Sean lowered his phone, prepared to retreat home yet again, hounded by his worries and doubts.

 

But then a spot of light appeared in the window, revealing a figure standing by the bed.

Sean started, quickly raising his phone back into view. Through the screen, he saw Kari straighten from the desk lamp, shuffling over to the mattress before plopping herself on top of it. Even through the low light and resolution, Sean could tell she wasn’t wearing anything. His breath caught as her bare thighs parted, his pants tightening as he watched her slip a hand between her legs and tilt her open mouth to the sky, a silent moan escaping her.

 

Without thinking, Sean’s finger tapped the “record” button. It was for the investigation, he told himself, evidence he could review later after he’d calmed himself down.

 

Though it might take a few tries.

 

Kari’s fingers continued to circle her sex, her free hand playing with her tits as her back arched with pleasure.

 

Then something strange happened.

 

A man stepped into the room. Tall. Smartly dressed. Like a middle-aged professor. Who he was, Sean didn’t know. But before he could form any theories, Kari suddenly pushed herself off the bed, sliding to her knees before the mystery man. She grasped his leg, pulling herself to him, grinding against his shin like a misbehaving puppy. Her hand reached for his crotch, but he stopped her, grabbing her face. His lips moved, forming words Sean couldn’t make out.

 

Kari’s shoulders slumped and her arms went limp. Without saying a word, she stood, walked to her desk, and sat. Sean couldn’t see the screen around the back of her head, but he could’ve sworn he saw fuzzy halos of color flashing around her hair.

 

The man stepped in front of the window, blocking Kari from view. Sean swallowed his hammering heart. It seemed almost as if the man was looking straight at him.

 

No—smiling straight at him.

 

The curtains drew to a close. Sean exhaled a horrified breath. His palms were sweating. His ears were ringing. His mind struggled to make sense of what he’d just seen. Yet even as his thoughts spiraled in confusion, one hard, undeniable fact settled at their core.

 

He was right. Kari was in trouble. And she needed him to save her.