Chains

Part 1

Not for those under 18 (or whatever the legal age for this sort of stuff is in your area). If you’re not that old, Boo! Go away now. If you are offended by graphic descriptions of sexual activities, especially non-consensual ones, then don’t read this. All characters and situations are fictional.

Copyright 2024 greyscribbler@yahoo.com

Archived on the Read Only Mind web site by permission of the author. This story may be downloaded for personal archiving as long as this notice is retained.

Swipe.

The slave’s lower lip quivered as a phantom tongue brushed teasingly over its clit. The delicate sensation rewarded the performance of the slave’s assigned task, its hand mechanically moving a cloth from the right to left across the polished floorboards and then back, its long blonde ponytail falling across its left shoulder as it knelt on all fours.

The slave’s eyes were focussed on its hand.

Its mind was nowhere at all.

Swipe.

The slave was unaware of how long it had been performing this task. It was not the slave’s place to consider questions like that. It was incapable of even forming the thoughts.

Swipe.

It simply knew pleasure in performing its function, each brush of its hand across the floor accompanied by that whisper on its clit, the sensation sufficient to leave it aroused, but no more, held deliciously suspended on the edge.

Mistress allowed her slaves to experience pleasure in carrying out her instructions. The slave knew that without thinking. A picture of Mistress almost formed before slipping away, the slave’s harnessed mind incapable of holding even that much. Mistress would always be there. The slave did not need the image to carry out its task, its mind settling back into blank obedience.

Swipe, the wood left shining and clean.

Like the slave’s mind.

The current section completed, the slave inched forward to the next part of the floor on gloved hands and padded knees. The equipment was not for its own comfort.

Mistress’ possessions were not to be damaged.

The slave focussed on the floorboards. It didn’t know how far away the end of the corridor was. It could have looked up. But that would have required curiosity. The slave’s mind was incapable of registering anything like that.

It could have remembered from what it saw from when it arrived in the hall.

That memory had vanished from the slave’s mind. It was unnecessary to its task.

It would simply know that its task was complete when it arrived at the wall.

Swipe.

The slave did not know whether it had performed this task before. This may have been the first day it had been assigned to clean this particular hallway. Perhaps it had performed the task before. Perhaps it had been performing this task every day for weeks. Months.

Years.

Swipe.

The question didn’t matter. The slave was incapable of forming it. The slave was being useful. It was performing its assigned task.

“The slave is the one designated lucy.”

It was a statement, not a question.

The slave did not pause in its cleaning at the interruption. It had not been ordered to stop. Even so, something approaching thought slowly formed in its placid mind. ‘lucy’ was its designation. Not its name. Slaves owned nothing, not even names. But Mistress gave her slaves designations. The slave did not question why. There was an ache of gratitude in its heart that Mistress had given it that much.

“Yes,” the slave confirmed without looking up, another swipe rewarded by the brush of that unseen tongue across its clit, pleasure seeping through its body. “This one is the slave designated lucy.”

The slave knew, without thinking, that the one speaking to it was another of Mistress’ slaves. That slave would also be obeying, phantom contact playing across the slave’s most sensitive areas as it carried out its task.

Obedience was rewarded.

The other slave had not asked the first slave whether its designation was ‘lucy’. It would have been told that lucy could be found in this hallway. The statement had simply been to get the slave’s attention.

“Slave lucy, listen to the words.” The other slave said something after that. The slave designated lucy did not consciously register the words, the memory of what they were slithering from its mind the moment the other slave finished uttering them.

It didn’t matter that the memory was gone, the slave knew what the words meant. It was to obey the other slave.

“This slave hears and obeys.” Despite that acknowledgement, it did not pause in its task, edging forward across the floorboards again as it finished the current section. It had not been given any order to stop.

“Stand and face this slave,” the other slave ordered.

The slave’s hand stopped mid-swipe before the slave rose to its feet. Had it been in any condition to appreciate its own movements it may have marvelled at the grace it displayed.

Such considerations were beyond it.

The phantom tongue flicked at its clit again. It had obeyed.

The slave standing in front of lucy was female. That wouldn’t have surprised the slave, even if it had been capable of registering surprise. All Mistress’ slaves were female. All were beautiful as well. The other slave was wearing a grey skirt suit over a black silk blouse, the outfit well-tailored, even elegant. Anyone looking at the other slave would have thought they were seeing a professional young woman. Its makeup was understated and immaculate, not a hair on its brunette head out of place. Its heels were not high, maybe two and a half inches. Perhaps its rigid posture might have raised a frown. Or the long hair, falling halfway down its back, loose unlike the blonde’s gathered tresses. Mistress did like long hair on a woman. Still, that onlooker might have shrugged off the long hair as a personal affectation. But if they’d looked in the slave’s eyes, they would have known something was strange, those pretty hazel orbs so empty.

Slave lucy knew without thinking that the other slave was an overseer. That overseers were favoured by Mistress. The slave didn’t question how it knew these things.

The slave also knew that its own clothing, a parody of a maid’s outfit, the skirt so short that it must have ridden up so far as it knelt on the floor and the neckline so low, was nothing like what the overseer wore. Even its footwear was different, simple flats. Mistress only had her maids wear heels on special occasions. She didn’t want to damage her toys.

Mistress was kind.

The phantom tongue flicked at its clit again.

“The slave will refer to this slave as Overseer helen.” Even overseers were given designations, not names. The slave had not been curious about the overseer’s designation. The slave had no sense of curiosity The slave may have met helen before. It was likely that it had at least seen helen amongst Mistress’ other slaves. Perhaps not. Overseers, unlike maids, ventured into the world. helen’s eyes would be alive then.

But the overseer would still be a slave.

If the slave had seen the overseer before, the slave had no memory of it. If there had been such a memory, Mistress had taken it away.

The slave wished that it had more to give Mistress, something sighing between its legs at the urge.

“Report,” the Overseer designated helen commanded.

“This slave was tasked with cleaning the floor of this hallway at 9am this morning.” The information came to the slave. It did not wonder why it had not been aware of it before. The information had not been necessary to the performance of its task. “This slave has not completed its task.”

More obedience, that tongue teasing at lower lips that were so wet.

“That task is no longer assigned to slave lucy,” the Overseer announced. “That task is now assigned to slave mary.”

The slave was now aware of another slave, behind the overseer, the third slave standing rigidly at attention. mary was attired in an outfit identical to lucy’s, even down to the gloves and knee pads. Like the first slave, mary had its long hair held back in a tight ponytail. Apart from that, it looked completely different to lucy, the other slave a few inches shorter and its delicate features clearly Asian, its silky hair black.

Like the blue eyes of the slave designated lucy, its dark brown eyes were blank.

In every way that mattered it was identical to its fellow slave.

“Slave mary will take the cloth and proceed to clean the floor of this hall.”

“This slave obeys,” mary acknowledged. Not a word passed between the two maid slaves as mary took the cloth from lucy’s hand. Their eyes did not meet. There was no need for them to do so. Wordlessly, mary sank to its hands and knees. There was a faint whisper as the cloth resumed its steady side to side swiping, an interchangeable slave propelling it. That slave, mary, would be feeling the phantom tongue playing across its clit.

The slave designated mary was obeying.

The slave designated lucy had no more memory of meeting the slave designated mary than it had of the Overseer. That meant nothing. It may have passed mary countless times in these hallways and rooms. Perhaps shared tasks with it. They may have pleasured each other, for reinforcement or simply for Mistress’ amusement. Such memories, if they existed, would only be accessible if they were needed for whatever task the slave was given.

That sensation sighed between the slave’s legs again, at the image of its Mistress taking the memories.

“Remove the knee pads and gloves,” the Overseer ordered.

The slave designated lucy obeyed. It did not wonder why. It did not think about whether they might be needed for its next task or what that task would be. It simply obeyed.

Obedience was rewarded, a delicate kiss at its clit.

“Leave them there,” the Overseer instructed, pointing to a table that sat against the wall of the hallway.

The slave designated lucy obeyed, that tongue trailing oh so slowly along its lower lips. Obedience was rewarded.

Obedience was always rewarded.

“Slave lucy will follow this slave,” the overseer announced.

“This slave obeys,” the slave designated lucy replied as the overseer turned and headed back down the hallway. lucy followed, phantom fingers rewarding its compliance. Behind the two slaves, the slave designated mary moved the cloth across the floor, just as lucy had.

The slave designated lucy had already forgotten the other maid-slave’s existence.

The slave followed the overseer through the halls of Mistress’ home, one softly clad foot landing in front of the other, each step whisper quiet. Maids were trained to be discrete. Something delicious shivered through the slave at the notion of ‘trained’. They passed other slaves. Most were attired identically to slave lucy, maids cleaning, tidying, rearranging. There were some guard-slaves, their bodies harder, sharper than the maid-slaves in their tight black pants and skivvies. Their long hair tied back in tight braids. They were still attractive though. Mistress loved beauty. Their eyes were so much more aware than those of the doe-eyed maid-slaves.

There was still a blankness there.

The slave designated lucy didn’t register any of that. It forgot each slave as it passed them. The other slaves were not important to its task.

The slave rounded a corner in the hallway, following the overseer. Its eyes swung past an ornate, gilt-edged, mirror. In the mirror was the image of a beautiful young woman, her blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail, the hemline of her maid’s dress so high and so much of her chest exposed by the low neckline.

The slave didn’t register any of that.

The blue eyes of the girl in the mirror were so blank.

“Shit!” Ashley shot bolt upright in her bed, sweat poring off her body. She sat there, staring, almost as blankly as the image in her dream.

The image of the maid-slave in the mirror.

Her image.

Sweat wasn’t the only thing she felt on her body.

“Ash?” Ashley heard her sister, Samantha, calling from the doorway to the bedroom. The spare bedroom in the apartment, the one Samantha had given her. Not the house of some imagined mistress. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Ashley blurted. “Uh, no. Um. It was dream. Well, a nightmare. I think.” She wasn’t sure what she was saying.

“A nightmare…,” Samantha ventured hesitantly. “You been having a lot of those?”

“What?” Ashley started. “Why do you think I have?”

A frown of concern spread over her sister’s pretty features, ones that so clearly resembled hers. “Because this isn’t the first time I’ve heard you crying out since you got here. To be honest it’s been just about every night. This is the first time I think you’ve woken up though.”

“Ah, uh, well. Yeah, I’ve been having a few,” Ashley admitted. “Well, just one.”

Samantha’s deepened into confusion. “What?”

“Well, I’ve been having this same dream. Or nightmare. Or something. Every night. I’m a maid. Well, a slave really. And I’m cleaning this hallway. And.” Words failed her. Ashley didn’t want to admit how blank she’d been in the dream. How the simple performance of her task had sent arousal crashing through her dream-self. Or how the dream had affected her, her mind refusing to dwell on how slick she was between her legs.

Her eyes widened as she felt a whisper of that tongue, memories of the dream playing through her. Shit.

“A slave,” her sister replied, doubtfully.

“Well, I’m wearing this skimpy maid outfit.”

That evoked a raised eyebrow from Samantha. “That’s pretty kinky, Ash.”

Ashley glared at her sister. “Do you want to hear about this or not?”

“I dunno,” Samantha laughed. “A sexy slave in a skimpy maid outfit? Does it come with an age rating?” Samantha was twenty-two, only a couple of years younger than Ashley, but she did like to play up the difference.

“Look,” Ashley shot back, suddenly annoyed. “This is serious. I don’t know why I keep having this dream. It’s not fun.”

Her tongue tasted the almost-lie of that.

“Yeah, sorry,” Samantha allowed. “You sounded pretty freaked when you woke up.”

“Yeah, well.” Ashley paused for a moment, frowned. “Every other time, it’s just been me in the hallway. At least that’s all I can remember.” And how much obeying turned me on. Ashley crushed down on that thought. She wasn’t like that at all. And she certainly wasn’t telling her sister about that part. Or how wet she still was. “But tonight it went on longer. And there were other people. Other women.”

“If you’re about to tell me you had that kind of dream about other women…”

“No!” Ashley shot back. “They were just there. And they were other slaves. We didn’t. God, I’m not into girls. You know that!” Even if there was the memory of a memory of her and mary.

Except it wasn’t mary.

“And a couple of them were people from work. Lauren and Mei.” Except they hadn’t been Lauren and Mei in her dream. They’d been helen and mary. And she hadn’t been Ashley. She’d been lucy.

A shiver shot through her body, Ashley unsure if it was fear or something else.

“Well, that’s it then,” Samantha concluded. “You and some people from work? As slaves? I think your mind is trying to tell you that you’re working too hard.”

That made some sense to Ashley. At least, she wanted it to. Lauren might have only been two years older than her but she was Ashley’s immediate boss. So maybe it made some sense that she’d turned up as an ‘Overseer’. Whatever that was.

“Did you have dreams like this back in California?” Samantha asked.

Ashley shook her head. “No.” At least she couldn’t remember any. And she’d remember dreams like that. Wouldn’t she?

She shook her head again.

“I’m sorry,” the elder of the sisters offered meekly. “You don’t need me waking you up in the middle of the night. Maybe I should have taken that hotel room. The company would have paid for it. They still would.”

“No way!” Samantha shot back. “My big sister comes to town after I haven’t seen her for almost a year because of her new job and then she stays in a hotel? Not while I have a spare room. Anyway, while you’re here it saves me looking for another roommate. Any more idea how long that’ll be? Not that I’m complaining, that company of yours is paying more than any roommate would, so the longer the better.”

“Don’t know,” Ashley shrugged. “A few weeks. Probably. It’s being difficult. New client. You know. Then you will have to find a real roommate.”

Samantha’s face screwed up in a frown. “Yeah. Hey, you can’t drag it out even more? Maybe even get assigned here permanently.”

“Sorry,” Ashley apologised. “Not going to happen.” She wasn’t that sorry, much as she loved Samantha, there was a pull deep inside to return to her own place.

“Oh well,” Samantha shrugged, a gesture so like her sister’s. “Had to try. Anyway, you going to be okay? Didn’t you say you needed to get up for a video call with work in the morning? Once you go it’ll be back to video calls for us. God, your place looks amazing, Maybe I should visit you some time.”

“Yeah,” Ashley agreed, even if there was something she couldn’t place that wasn’t so keen on the idea. “That’d be good. And yeah, I do have that call, but it’s not that early. Have things to do before it though. Look, I’ll be fine. Sorry about waking you up.”

“Don’t worry about it. What are sisters for?”

In the morning, Ashley settled herself in front of her laptop. Samantha had left hours before, dressed and prepped for her own job, marketing, fresh out of college. Her sister had been in a rush, but she’d been so solicitous, genuine concern on her pretty features. Ashley had reassured her sister. She hadn’t had any more dreams after the one that had awoken her. And certainly not that one. Or if she had, she didn’t remember them. She could still remember the dream she’d had. A shiver shot through her. She’d been so blank in the dream, so, well, nothing. Just a possession. A tool, cleaning the floor.

That wasn’t her. She’d never been that domestic, anyway. And she was here to do a job, help the new client install her company’s software and make sure it was running smoothly.

Not clean floors.

Not get turned on by the idea.

Something definitely did not ghost across her clit.

She wished Samantha hadn’t had her hair, blonde like Ashley’s, pulled back in a ponytail this morning.

Ashley shrugged it off. She was just being silly. At least that’s what she told herself.

She stared blankly at the screen, only her own image there, waiting for the meeting to begin.

It’s like a mirror.

Ashley didn’t want to think about that.

An image joined hers, Lauren and Mei, sitting in one of the meeting rooms in their company’s offices, all the way across the country, in California. A memory drifted across Ashley’s mind. Of the dream. And a scent, of floor polish.

She pushed it aside.

“Hi,” she said. “How’s life back there?”

Lauren was wearing a blouse, white, not black. Ashley couldn’t see what Lauren had on apart from that, her boss only visible from the waist up. For a moment she wondered if Lauren was wearing a skirt suit. She often did. Well, that’s why I’d have seen her like that in the dream, the young woman told herself. Not surprisingly, Mei wasn’t wearing a maid’s outfit. Ashley’s colleague, her liaison with the development team, was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, the casual outfit typical of her. Her black hair was back in a ponytail. But that was how she normally did it, at work anyway, so it made sense she’d appear that way in Ashley’s dreams.

Didn’t it?

“Good,” Lauren replied. “Probably sunnier than it is there. What is it there now, 11am?”

“Yeah,” Ashley confirmed. “And yeah, it’s overcast. I miss the west coast weather.” Just one reason she wanted to be back, whatever her sister might have offered.

“I won’t tell you about how I went surfing on the weekend then,” Mei smirked.

“Better not, or I might just come back before this is done.”

Lauren raised an eyebrow, before drawing the meeting back to its ostensible purpose. “So, want to give us a run down on progress?”

I wonder what would happen if I called her ‘Overseer’? Samantha was probably right. In a twisted way, the dream fit their roles in the company, Lauren giving Ashley and Mei their orders. An image from the dream flashed in Ashley’s mind, mary and lucy so blank as helen ordered mary to take lucy’s place cleaning the floor. Why did I think about that? I should put in for some holidays when this is done. I’ll have earned it. The meeting might not have been until 11am her time, 8am on the west coast, but she’d been working since Samantha left and if the experience of the last few weeks held true, she’d be working well into the night.

She didn’t mention any of that. “Yeah, it’s good. We applied the latest patches yesterday. But they’ve got a new feature list they want implemented.”

Mei rolled her eyes. “Typical. They couldn’t have worked that out up front?”

“You know what customers are like. They never know what they want when they start.”

“Yeah, true,” Mei agreed. “I just wish for once…”

“Send the list through,” Lauren interjected coolly, “and Mei and the team can work out what’s doable within the budget. If they want more beyond that it’ll have to go to negotiation. But give us an outline now, so we have an idea what we’re working with.”

Ashley did, even through more eye-rolling and interjections from Mei. “You did point out that’s going back on half of what they said last week?” her colleague observed drily.

“Then you can use some of the code from the previous version,” Lauren pointed out. “Sometimes they don’t know if they want it until they actually try it.”

Mei threw her hands up in defeat. “I suppose.”

“How are you, Ashley?” the brunette asked once the blonde was finished listing the client’s requirements. “I know it can’t be easy being our only rep on site.”

“It’s fine,” Ashley replied. She didn’t want to seem like she couldn’t handle the pressure.

Lauren didn’t appear convinced. “Hmm. I know the hours you’ve been putting in. Don’t try and deny it,” she continued as Ashley tried to protest. “I can see when you’re logged in. How are you sleeping?”

“Okay,” Ashley muttered.

Lauren’s eyebrow rose. “Really? Sorry, but you don’t look it.”

“I’m fine,” Ashley repeated. Then wondered if she sounded like she was protesting too much.

“Don’t worry,” Lauren replied reassuringly. “I’m not trying to take this off you. But this is the first time for you working remotely with a client. I want you to see someone.”

“What?” Ashley protested. “I said I’m fine!”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Lauren pointed out. “But prevention is better than cure. And you’ve never claimed anything on medical. Don’t worry about it, we’ll find someone, you can talk to them for an hour. And then see if you need anymore. All on the company’s time.”

Ashley knew that tone of voice from her boss. “Alright,” she allowed glumly.

“Well, you better get off to the client’ site,” Lauren said, winding up the meeting. “Mei will let us know about the evaluation of those feature requests. And I’ll let you know about the appointment.”

A few minutes later, Ashley stood in front of the bathroom mirror of her sister’s apartment, checking her appearance. Not that she used much in the way of make-up at work.

How did I let her talk me into that? She didn’t want to see a therapist. But arguing with Lauren was rarely a productive activity.

Ashley’s image didn’t give her any reply. It just stared back at her. Ashley realised that she’d done her hair up in a ponytail. Not that unusual for work, her hair was long and that kept it out of the way. But the way it looked today, with her simply standing there, her eyes wide…

Ashley reached out, her fingertip alighting on the glass surface, touching her image.

“This slave obeys.”

Was something sliding between her legs?

Why the hell did I say that?

Ashley shook herself. She was being ridiculous. It was just Lauren giving her orders, like she always did.

Ashley hurried out the door to her first meeting of the day with their client.

(To be continued)