Her body was betraying her again.
Sophia had done everything she could to distract herself. She had cleaned her tiny dorm room twice, attempted several homework assignments and watched the least arousing anime she could think of. But when she folded her legs to reposition her laptop, there was no denying it.
She was wet. And she knew why.
Chelsea had called him “Master!”
Sophia groaned and pulled at her hair. Why was she like this? She should be mad. Annoyed. Royally T’ed off! Those would be the normal reactions to having your intimate, emotional reunion interrupted by some random, blonde stranger. But instead, Sophia had spent the rest of the morning in a flushed fog, trying not to think about the implications of Chelsea and Seb’s little “inside joke.”
But what if it wasn’t a joke?
Both Chelsea and Seb had certainly seemed caught off-guard at the time, which was strange if calling Seb “Master” was just some harmless teasing. Besides, given Seb’s…history…Sophia doubted he would play along with a pet-name like that, nor would a supposed “close friend” put it on him.
If it wasn’t a joke, though, that meant that Chelsea had called him “Master” by accident, and then the two of them had lied to cover it up. And if that was the case…
Sophia bit her lip and fell back on her bed, wrapping a pillow around her face as if that would block out the horrible, perverted thoughts invading her head. But it was no use: she knew the depravity was coming from inside of her. No matter how much she fought it, no matter how many times she swore off of smut or masturbation, she couldn’t uproot the urges that had been growing in her since puberty, urges that had exploded during her first year away from her family. Even if she was good, even if she stayed away from parties and PornHub, her dreams would be filled with visions of collars and cuffs, submission and sadism: wicked fantasies that became only more elaborate and inescapable the more pent up she got.
So here she was: the show on her laptop completely forgotten as memories of Chelsea and Seb’s variety show filled her head. Only this time, Sophia didn’t imagine it as a misunderstanding, as a fake performance meant to keep the show running. She saw it as real. The moment Chelsea dropped. The brief flicker of surprise in her eyes before the spark behind them dimmed to a glassy dullness. The grace of her movements as she obeyed Seb’s whims without hesitation, her body no longer her own, but the extension of his will. His voice as he toyed with her mind, the ease with which he molded her world to his liking. The way she sunk to all fours at his command, before looking up at him with adoration, her pride completely lost as she panted and leapt to his chest, pressing her breasts against him and…
Frick! Sophia slammed her hands against the mattress. Her libido had caused plenty of trouble before, but this was a new height of suffering. Anger, envy, and arousal swirled through her in equal measure, twisting her insides into knots. Just who did Chelsea think she was? Chatting up Seb like it was no big deal, looking all prim and pampered as she took control of their conversation, with her stupid shiny hair and thin, perfect waist and…
And before she knew it, Sophia had Chelsea’s social media profiles arrayed on her screen, eyes darting between them as she scrolled with extreme prejudice. It was all the sort of stuff you would expect from a college princess: glossy photos of sorority activities interspersed with casual-yet-choreographed pre-football selfies and “candid” party snaps. Plus a tasteful swimsuit shot or two.
God, she was so pretty. That sharp jawline. Those petite yet pronounced cheekbones and mischievous smile. Sophia wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap that perfect face or force it between her legs. Maybe both.
No wonder Seb had been able to get over high school so easily. Sophia thought with a sigh. If he had a girl like Chelsea calling him “Master,” why would he even think twice about one stupid kiss two years ago? Meanwhile, not a day went by without Sophia fantasizing about that moment, and then kicking herself for being so weak back then. If she had just gotten control of herself, had been honest with her feelings and not freaked out…maybe she wouldn’t be here alone in her dorm, soaking in her own suppressed desires while he and his new pet did God-knows-what together.
But no. It was too late now. Seb had moved on, and Sophia was still a prisoner of her own body. With its dumb, soft curves, thick, chubby thighs and slutty, salivating pussy. She was so pathetic. So useless.
And so, so horny.
Sophia’s hand was already sliding beneath the waistband of her sweatpants before she was even conscious of it. She sighed, giving in to the moment. There was no use stopping the forces already at work inside of her. Better instead to adjust the laptop screen, and stare at Chelsea’s swimsuit-clad curves as Sophia sunk deeper into the bed, her fingers tracing the wet warmth behind her panties.
Was she really going to do it? Was she really going to rub one out to a pool-side picture of the girl who had stolen Seb from her?
Well…Sophia didn’t know for sure that was the case. They might actually be just friends but…
But she was already picturing it. Seb alone in his room with Chelsea, dangling that glittering pendant in front of her eyes. Whisking away her thoughts and replacing them with his words. Bending that haughty sneer into a docile smile. Her clothes falling away as easily as her mind, until all of her was open and obedient to her Master’s will.
And Sophia was there with them now. Picturing herself seated on the bed with Seb, watching him drop their slave deeper into his power. Maybe Sophia would drop a little with her, feel her mind and eyes grow heavy as she saw Seb’s wonderful magic at work.
God, it was incredible. Even though it had been years, Sophia could still recall the feeling as though it was yesterday. The sense of intense, yet dreamy focus, the soothing descent into blissful submission. It was so gentle, yet so compelling. And it caused her pussy to drip like nothing else.
Sophia gripped the sheets tight with her free hand, wallowing in the fantasy as the heat and pleasure grew. She imagined Seb leaning back with a wicked smile, indicating that Sophia could have first crack at their newly-emptied slut. Sophia saw herself pushing Chelsea over the bed, the blonde whimpering as Sophia’s hand smoothed over her ass, knowing what was coming, yet being powerless to stop it.
Sophia almost heard the smack of her hand against Chelsea’s tight little ass, pictured in vicious detail the red mark left behind on the otherwise pale skin. In this world, Sophia was no longer the meek, awkward nerd, spreading her legs for any ounce of attention and affection. She was a vengeful avatar of lust, her body an all-consuming fire of pain and pleasure.
Ten strikes would be all that Seb would allow, but Sophia knew that wouldn’t be enough. She could see herself losing count, losing herself in Chelsea’s yelps of surprise and whimpers of satisfaction as Sophia kneaded her shivering flesh between strikes, soothing and seducing it before reminding it of its purpose.
Sophia imagined Seb’s hand suddenly on her wrist, stopping her. She had been a bad girl. She had disobeyed him. Forgotten her place. Forgotten her Master’s commands.
Master wouldn’t even bother moving Chelsea, Sophia decided. He would throw Sophia down right beside the limp, moaning blonde, giving the two slaves only a moment to lock eyes before yanking on Sophia’s hair, forcing a gasp of pain from her lips.
And then the fun would really begin.
Sophia pumped her fingers between her gushing folds, gasping in ecstasy as the imagined punishment played out. She pictured each spank with searing precision, could envision the ways her thick, soft body would ripple with each impact, carrying waves of pleasure and pain through her, causing her arms to shake and give out as the awful joy crested higher, and higher.
Eventually, Master would stop, panting with exertion and exhilaration behind her. And the two slaves would bask in the moment, locked eye to eye. Knowing that whatever they were to each other, to Master they were his obedient playthings. Knowing that they were too weak and wet to do anything but share a sloppy kiss as Master tore off Sophia’s panties and…
Sophia shoved her face into the pillow and screamed as she came, thighs clenching on the soaking sheets as her body shuddered with disgraceful ecstasy. It took a few moments for her sanity to return, tremors of euphoric aftershock pulsing through her as she tried and failed to get her breathing under control.
Eventually, she exhaled the last trace of the dream from her head. She had actually done it. It was 2:00PM and she had already fingered herself silly over a girl she had just met that morning.
New college. Same Sophia.
It wasn’t all bad, though, she decided as she slid off the bed. At least here, she didn’t have a roommate to ask her why she kept blow-drying her sheets. But as she began her clean-up routine, she couldn’t help staring at the enticing image still up on her laptop screen, her mind drifting back to the question that she had been avoiding all day.
What was she going to do now? Would she admit defeat and hide away like she always did?
Or maybe…if Sophia wanted change…drastic action was needed.
Chelsea stifled a yawn as she flipped through her flashcards. She could basically recite them front-and-back by now, but the process of running through the set was the only thing keeping her grounded. Her thoughts felt oddly scattered this afternoon, liable to drift in all kinds of directions if she wasn’t careful. The fury and focus that had propelled her into the café had dissipated at some point, replaced by a listless, anxious haze. And Chelsea couldn’t for the life of her figure out why.
So she studied; made meaningless underlines in her notes; ordered more coffee; thought idly about what she would do if Master showed up, then chided herself for getting off track again; worried about getting her grades back up in time for her mother’s visit, then wondered if her energy would be better spent thinking of a way to achieve single-minded slavehood beforehand.
It came as a welcome distraction then, when an unexpected notification lit up her phone:
“Sophia Iglesias sent you a friend request!”
Chelsea’s brow furrowed. Random invitations like this weren’t completely alien to her: even as a sophomore, she was fairly well-known in the halls of Delta Sigma. It wouldn’t be odd if a hitherto unremarkable sister was reaching out to Chelsea to force a connection or work some kind of angle.
But…Chelsea opened the notification to investigate, seizing the chance to do something besides marinate in an aimless, academic miasma. Her curiosity lead her to Sophia’s profile, which revealed that not only was this strange girl not in a sorority, but she and Chelsea only had one other friend in common:
“Sebastian Wakefield.” Master.
Now the back of Chelsea’s head was really tingling. She flipped through Sophia’s photos, trying to figure out if the two of them had ever crossed paths. The small, busty girl didn’t seem familiar, but she also didn’t really seem like the type to stand out. Her mop of black hair, thick-framed glasses, and penchant for hoodies and jeans would make her practically invisible in the usual college crowd. Those pink headphones she seemed to wear everywhere were pretty distinct though—if Chelsea had run into her more than once, she was pretty sure the doe-eyed nerd would stick in her memory. Plus, she was kinda cute, in an awkward, unassuming way.
Why was she reaching out to Chelsea? It was always possible this was just a tossed-off friend request from a lonely classmate looking to expand her social circle. But the connection to Master still felt like more than a coincidence.
So Chelsea accepted the friend request. And sent a message.
CJ: Hi. Sorry, but have we met before? You seem familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
To Chelsea’s surprise, her note was answered immediately by a pulsing “…”, the sign that the other party was composing a reply.
SI: …SI: …SI: …
(Apparently she was having trouble finding the right words.)
SI: This is Sophia. Seb’s friend. We met at the Undergrind Café this morning?
Chelsea blinked, her grip on her phone tightening. The words on the screen stared back at her, utterly absurd, yet unapologetic. For some reason, they made her pulse race.
Time. She needed to stall for time and figure this out.
CJ: Oh duh lol. Sorry, I’ve been studying all day and my head is in a total fog.SI: lolSI: it’s okay.SI: I get it.SI: …SI: …SI: …
Chelsea grimaced and massaged her temple, as though she could somehow push her memories back into place. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t recall meeting anybody that morning, much less a friend of Master’s.
But why would Sophia lie about that? It was such a brazen, easily disprovable falsehood. What would she have to gain by leading with that? Either Sophia was abysmally bad at forcing a social connection…or…
SI: I know I dipped out kinda suddenly but I was wondering if you wanted to maybe grab coffee sometime or something?SI: Or just hang out?SI: I don’t know a lot of people at this school yet besides Seb and you seem really cool soSI: yeahSI: if you’re free, I mean
The tingling in the back of Chelsea’s mind had become burning itch that she couldn’t seem to scratch. Why on earth was she drawing blank? Sophia’s messages implied she and Chelsea had shared more than a passing encounter, so why was it that Chelsea could only recall studying all morning? Her eyes scanned the preceding exchange in the chat feed, desperately searching for any clues, before finally landing on two words.
Why had Sophia led with that?
The only reason to bring it up would be if their relationship to Master played a key role in their acquaintance. Which meant that there were two possibilities. Either Sophia looked Chelsea up online first, saw that they shared a connection with Master and then brought up that fact to Chelsea as a means of building a rapport…
…Or Master had been present during their meeting and had helped introduce them.
Suddenly, a light clicked on in Chelsea’s head, revealing a narrative too astounding to be true and yet too perfect to be false. Chelsea remembered clearly coming to the Undergrind Café to study—the textbooks and materials she had with her were proof enough of that. At some point in the morning though, it would appear she had met Master and Sophia in this coffee shop. Chelsea doubted Master would go out of his way to introduce an old friend to her, which meant that Chelsea had probably been the one to initiate the conversation. Which meant something about Master and Sophia had caught her interest. Something that Chelsea now couldn’t remember. And if Sophia had “dipped out kinda suddenly”, as she put it, it followed at some point in the interaction, Chelsea was alone with Master, but now couldn’t recall that moment either.
All the signs pointed in the same direction. But even so Chelsea could scarcely believe it.
Had Master really used the Vox to erase her memories?
There was only one way Chelsea was going to get to the bottom of this. Her thumbs flew across her phone keyboard.
CJ: I’d love to! How’s the upcoming week looking for you?
The conversation continued on autopilot as Sophia and Chelsea bounced times and places off of one another. Though she kept her messages courteous and open, inside it felt like Chelsea’s world was in danger of spinning of its axis.
Could the Vox actually force her to forget things? Could its control actually stretch that far? True, Chelsea’s memory was always a little hazy after a prolonged trance, with sensations sticking out more than exact details or words. But this was something else. This was a fundamental change in her mental makeup, something she couldn’t undo no matter how hard she tried. And Master had seemingly improvised it in public, catching Chelsea off-guard and sweeping her into his power without her say in the matter at all.
It was…it was…
It was perfect.
A grin slowly spread across Chelsea’s lips as she set her phone aside, her mind racing with the new possibilities now at her disposal. If Master could exert that much mental control, maybe he really would be able to give her what she wanted. Maybe she really could be transformed beyond a mere temporary trance, beyond lingering urges and speech habits. Complete and utter brainwashing seemed within her grasp. And Chelsea had a feeling Sophia might give her some clues as to attaining it.
But Chelsea would have to be careful. As exciting as these new revelations were, they came with an important lesson: Master was not to be underestimated. The fact that he had acted suddenly and in public meant that it was probably in reaction to something Chelsea had done or said. She had been careless, and he had punished her. If she didn’t play her cards right going forward, he might find a way to more permanently stymie her plans. Including…possibly erasing all memory of the Vox, Chelsea realized with a shudder.
She wasn’t going to let that happen, no matter what. She would be patient. She would be meticulous. And she would win. If this was going to be the final game Chelsea Jaeger played, it was going to be beautiful.
And Sophia might just be the ace in the hole.