Lexi slipped through the door just moments after Kara, who was still assessing the room in which she found herself.

An open window onto a balcony let in a sea breeze, but her nose still made out traces of sweat and musk on the air, the scent of sex, which had not yet fully aired out. Most likely, then, sex had been both recent and plentiful, especially considering what else she now knew.

The room itself was tastefully decorated, though the atmosphere was heavily changed by the amount of discarded clothing, most of it feminine, at least half of it underwear; it was draped over the back of the chair, it was scattered across the dressing table, and it made small piles in various places around the room. A bra hung forgotten on the white-painted wrought iron of the balcony; Kara could well imagine its obedient owner being told to give him a show from there, or perhaps told to grip the rails and look out at the view while she was taken from behind.

The image arrested her attention immediately. couple of quick glances confirmed an en-suite bathroom, a wardrobe built into the wall, and no other exits. Her professional caution assuaged, she made her way over to the balcony and stepped out onto it, feeling the sun on her bare skin, far warmer and more welcoming than if she’d done the same in Edinburgh.

Kara closed her eyes for a few moments, running her hands along the rails. She bent forward slightly from the hip and arched her back, stretching up on tiptoes, luxuriating in the sensation and in her own sensuality.

“That’s perfect, actually,” Lexi said from behind her. “Hold that pose for me?”

Kara chuckled. “Aye,” she said, her voice dripping with confidence. “Whate’er ye need.” She tensed her muscles slightly, now that there was a spectator and a challenge involved.

She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or annoyed that there was nobody visible from the balcony. What was even the point of being fucked in public unless someone got to watch?

Kara clucked her tongue, chiding herself. That exhibitionist streak, she knew, was really a habit she’d picked up under the influence of the Serpent’s psychotropic serum and psionic control.

Nothing he’d commanded into her - something like that, she knew now, would have broken when she snapped the rest of his hold on her - but just a habit, in the same way she’d taken to enjoying the hypnotic screen left behind in her family home when her mother left to rejoin her Master, Doctor Bimbeau.

The latter soothed her whenever she indulged. The exhibitionism was something she knew, or at any rate strongly believed, she wouldn’t enjoy without his influence.

Lexi, meanwhile, had a tape measure in hand and was taking Kara’s measurements with an efficiency and briskness that any professional tailor would envy. “Shoe size?” she asked, and Kara told her, then corrected herself and gave her the American sizing rather than the UK one.

“How confident are you that you wear the right size bra?” Lexi continued.

“Ah’m not, really,” Kara answered. “If it’s comfortable enough Ah dinnae mind if it’s not quite right. An’ when someone else is in control, mah experience is Ah dinnae get a say in it.”

Or worse, she mused; she’d spent three weeks once under the spell of a man who used drugs to turn women into overly inflated, bouncy, intelligence-drained bimbo dolls, and everything she’d been provided to wear had been too tight. If it hadn’t been for that, in fact, she might not have summoned up the annoyance needed to overcome him before the physical changes would become long lasting, or she might still serve the Jiggle Physician.

“I’ll have to measure you myself, then,” Lexi said. She took the measurement of Kara’s chest band with her tape measure, then cupped both of the Scotswoman’s breasts and hefted them. Kara’s mouth opened, her lips shaping to coo, but she stopped herself. There was no need to show off how well-trained she’d already been for a fellow slave. Especially not when a part of her still wanted, very badly, to prove to her current Master that she was better than her competition.

It wasn’t in Kara to do things by halves, and her will, once subverted, always fell in with her controller with an almost manic intensity. The Thoughtsmith, she thought with satisfaction, would soon come to treat her as his right-hand slave.

“Yuir special skill?” she asked archly. Lexi giggled.

“You could say that. I’ve had to get good at certain very precise measurements.”

“Somehow’ I don’t think Thoughtsmith will mind seein’ mah tits in somethin’ a little too tight or low cut,” Kara pointed out.

“That’s not exactly the point of all this,” was all the answer she got. Lexi finished off by measuring her from tailbone to the top of her neck, and then around her throat, and then she stepped back. “I have everything I need,” she said. “I’m sure Master will be with you when he chooses.”

“That he will,” she said with some satisfaction. It was difficult to read Lexi, who had mostly sounded cool and clinical so far; she might not consider herself in competition with Kara. Or she might understand full well that submission was a contest, and simply be biding her time.

She stayed out on the balcony, though she relaxed from her tensed holding of a pose; she was still enjoying the feeling of sun on her body, remembering the feeling of Lexi’s fingers on her breasts.

She had no doubt that Lexi’s ability to measure cup size by feel would prove to be eerily accurate. Quite aside from the fact she would want to do a good job for their Master, she seemed like the kind of woman who had precision wired into her even before control came into play.

Kara wondered what it might take to push her beyond unfeeling precision and make her properly cut loose.

She was laying out speculative plans when she heard a low whistle from behind her. Kara smiled. Spreading her legs wider, she went back up onto tiptoes, arching her back further, and using her grip on the balcony rails to allow her to angle herself so that her rump was thrust backward toward the observer.

There was, after all, no question that the sound would be the Master. “Ah take it Ah please ye, Master?” she asked, not turning her head to look yet - that might have seemed too arrogant, and she did not want him to think badly of her.

“You could say that,” he said. “The sunlight and shadow…”

“Ye couldnae fairly evaluate me in the other room,” she said smoothly. “Ah felt it important ye see me in th’ best possible light.”

She was grinning broadly to herself, and wondering whether it would be acceptable to let him know that. Some controllers didn’t want to see the person under the control, they just wanted to see the warm, obedient body. She didn’t have a proper read on the Thoughtsmith that way yet.

“Well, I think you’ve done that,” he said. There was a quiet satisfaction and amusement in his voice again, and the near-awe she flattered herself she’d detected traces of was either gone or smothered. It spoke well of a Master to bounce back quickly when they’d been wrongfooted.

He crossed to her quickly, footsteps coming first as herald to a hand resting on her hip. This was harder to interpret. An eager young Master might hurry because he hadn’t had the chance to get used to the control he held, and they would usually be sensitive about what they saw as a weakness in themselves. A long-established Master might hurry because they understand nobody around them can judge whether it be a weakness or not, and they understand therefore that there’s no need to dawdle when you could be enjoying yourself.

Kara gave him a little wiggle, shaking her ass invitingly under his hand. “Ah’m yuir pleasure, Master,” she purred. At times like this, her accent grew stronger as the parts of her mind that usually monitored and second-guessed her actions went dormant. In America in particular, this just seemed to make people’s reactions bigger.

Her immediate reward was a hiss of sharply indrawn breath. “You’re…”

“Yes, Master?” She put as obviously faux-innocent a tone into her voice as she could, expecting something between really hot and so fuckable depending on the Thoughtsmith’s preferred choice of language. She was quite looking forward to understanding his language preferences. She’d had a lot of practice in dirty talk, but not every controller liked to hear that, and some were actively put off by it.

What he actually said was “Different.” And a moment later, he said “It’s like… they’re all enthusiastic. But you’re really enthusiastic.”

“Yuir not mah first Master,” she said gently, carefully not adding that part of her expected he also wouldn’t be the last. “Everyone else is borne along in the current of yuir eyes. Ah’ve the experience tae swim along wi’ it.”

The Thoughtsmith chuckled. “I like that,” he said. “Very poetic, and obviously I’m a big fan of the sentiment. But you’re going to need a whole different approach.”

She opened her mouth to ask him about that, but his other hand was on her other hip and he was suddenly inside her, thrusting into her. He treated her less like a person and more like a cocksleeve and in that dominated state that suited Kara just fine. Her hips bucked under his hands, driving herself up and down his length like an eager, slick piston, coaxing him with encouraging squeezes.

His hands ran up her side from her hips until he had hold of her bouncing tits while he fucked her, groping and squeezing them like he was milking her. A shimmy of her shoulders and her nipples found themselves each between a pair of strong fingers, such that every time he squeezed was also a long, coaxing tease.

“Oh, Master,” she squealed. “Yes, Master, yes!” In answer, the thrusts into her he was making became harder and stronger, his breathing a ragged punctuation between the steady sound of flesh slapping against flesh. In answer her voice went from a squeal to a cry, louder and more eager. If he responded positively to something, she would give him more.

It was such a shame, Kara thought, that there wasn’t anyone there to see her helplessly humping back against him. They wouldn’t know it was a demonstration of his control over her, but she would, and it was a shame to demonstrate something with no audience.

And then, as she lifted her voice and her eyes to the heavens, she saw passing through the sky nearby a single-prop plane, most likely some local rich man’s toy, flying low above on its way from one place to another.

Thoughtsmith gripped her harder and thrust up from below into her and she lifted her feet from the balcony, wrapping her calves around the back of her Master’s legs, letting him impale her deeper and deeper onto his cock.

He came inside her and she came in answer, screaming out enthusiastically, and above them both, the small plane gave a wing-waggle of salute, a shared moment of voyeurism and exhibitionism, and then was abruptly beyond their view.

*

For the next week, Kara was effectively a house slave, but she wasn’t the only one; on the other hand, she had novelty value on her side, and rather than just profess her devotion to her Master, she took every opportunity she had to flirt with him too.

Lexi maintained the same precise, exacting demeanour as before with Kara, though the Scotswoman would grudgingly concede that the woman came alive when put face-to-tip with her Master’s cock. That seemed like it was probably a good sign.

She had also met Marcie, Mrs Henson, and she’d been introduced to Christina and Ellie, who had somehow been involved in bringing her to the Master after Kara lost the fight with Christina’s sister due to a well-timed drugging.

Kara had drawn a sharp mental line between Christina and Ellie and the others, especially Lexi and Henson. They carried themselves very differently, and besides, when wearing more than lingerie was uncommon, it was impossible to hide what someone’s body said about them. Like Kara, the muscle underlying the softness of the other two stood out. It gave Kara a satisfying reassurance that they wouldn’t just be house slaves forever; Thoughtsmith might be laying low but he evidently had plans to do much more.

She had been the Thoughtsmith’s slave for nine days when Henson came to find her one morning. Christina and Ellie had built something of an improvised gym in one of the outbuildings, and as soon as Kara had heard about it, she’d invited herself along.

“The Master requests your presence,” was all she was told. Kara carefully set down the ersatz dumbbells, grabbed a towel, and mopped the worst of the sweat from her brow and pits.

“Aye,” she said. “Lead th’ way then.”

Most of the building the Thoughtsmith had made into his headquarters was homely, even friendly, like the B&B it had been. He had taken over one large room to use as a sort of small stateroom. It was this room that Henson led her to; Kara had admittedly expected it.

The Thoughtsmith was in his customary seat, sprawled in a comfortable high-backed armchair that did him duty as a throne when he felt the need. Marcie and Lexi were standing to attention on either side of him, their chests pushed out; Marcie wore jean cutoffs and a crop top, while Lexi was in black lace lingerie. There was a small bag next to Lexi.

Ellie and Christine were standing side by side in front of the chair, both with their hair tied back itnto tight buns, at parade ground rest. Unlike the others, Kara could find nothing to fault their stance on. That surprised her - she judged by military standards, not those of the police - but she chalked it up to things she’d heard about American policing.

They were also identically dressed, if ‘dressed’ was even the right word; it looked more like someone had taken a dark grey fabric with a lot of stretch and wrapped it around them, binding them into it tight along each limb and around the body, stopping at the top of the throat. Each also sported a pair of durable leather ankle boots in a matching colour, and then wore a slim harness around their shoulders, down their backs, and around their waists and thighs, in a deep red leather. On the harness were several pouches and two holsters apiece; one for a handgun, and one for an extensible nightstick.

The effect of the whole outfit, if anything, sexualised them more than Lexi, the brainwashed ex-supermodel, was sexualised standing to attention in black lace. The bodysuits hugged their figures closely enough to leave an observer in no doubt that they wore no underwear beneath, and also revealed in outline - as Kara noticed on the approach to her Master - the belly piercing Ellie sported. Kara was oddly comforted to see it; she had been set to spend an hour learning its contours with her tongue two days earlier, while Ellie writhed beneath her and the Master watched and enjoyed their performances.

Kara stopped a little short of the Thoughtsmith, standing in front of the two former police, and settled into parade rest of her own. Hers was borrowed from his father, who had been so habituated to the stance during his time in the army that he maintained it ever after. She adjusted it very slightly to incorporate the faintest suggestion of a cocked hip and a prouder arch to her back, more prominently displaying her chest.

She had been wearing baggy towelling gym shorts and a loose tee, both scavenged from Henson’s pre-slavery wardrobe, simply as the closest approximation available to what she liked to work out in. The shorts, having been bought for a softer and larger woman, didn’t even hug her figure, and the towel she wore around her shoulders likely did not improve the silhouette. She felt overdressed compared to the others, and could not shake a feeling of mild embarrassment about it.

“Ah, Kara,” the Thoughtsmith said. “Good.”

This did not need an answer, but she stood straighter in acknowledgement.

“When we brought you into the fold,” he continued, “you had been judged an enemy who should be neutralised. And once you were mine, you made certain claims. Do you recall?”

“Aye, Master.”

“What did you promise me?”

“I am an expert shot, Master. I’m well trained in unarmed combat. I can be stealthy. I am strong, stronger than yuir other slaves.” As far as she was concerned it was a fact, nothing more, nothing less. “I can climb well and outrun most.” There was more she could promise, could offer him, but that was all that had come up when he first debriefed her.

“I have need of women with such skills,” the Thoughtsmith said. “Ellie and Christina are not my only assets in that line. But I can always use more tools. Isn’t that right, Christina?”

“Yes, Master,” came the answer from behind Kara.

“So we will put you to the test,” Thoughtsmith said. “But first, strip.”

“Yes, Master,” Kara answered. It didn’t take long to discard her baggy garb and shrug the towel to the floor. She returned to parade rest. It seemed likely to her that either Christina, Ellie, or both of them would be set as her challengers. They were dressed for it, and she was nude. Would that be an extra challenge for her?

She was more than willing to do it if she had to. On her own initiative, she might even have claimed such and attacked them, seeking the advantage through speed and daring.

As a slave, when not faced with the enemy, there was usually no reason to be hasty, and so Kara waited instead.

“Lexi,” the Thoughtsmith said.

“Yes, Master,” Lexi agreed, and she picked up the bag and stepped forward to hand it to Kara.

Inside she saw two sturdy grey leather ankle boots and a large package of folded fabric in the same shade.

“Put it on,” Thoughtsmith ordered. “Lexi will assist if needed.”

“Yes, Master.” She drew out the fabric and squirmed and wriggled her way into it, a process which would have been much simpler (and likely quicker) if she had taken advantage of Lexi’s assistance, but she was determined not to use it.

In donning it she found a number of hidden zips, both to secure it around the wearer and to give access; one zip opened down her crotch and through to halfway up her buttocks. Two more were artfully concealed in the tailoring that brought the suit in directly beneath her breasts, so that the material covering them could be drawn upward to leave them exposed. This, Kara concluded, had to be entirely for aesthetic purposes, as she could see no practical value.

The material clung to her body perfectly, conforming absolutely to her shape, so that she was presented in just as clear definition as the others wearing it. Looking down, she could see that any casual observer would quickly notice how her nipples had perked up.

When it came to the boots, however, she did not don them herself. Instead she handed the first to Lexi, giving her a knowing smile, and lifted the foot that it would go on off the ground.

Lexi knelt and eased her foot into the boot, then tightened and tied the laces. Kara handed her the second boot, and the process repeated.

She smiled to herself. Little things, she thought. The slaves intended for action should outrank the house slaves, so she would take any opportunity to subtly underline that.

Thoughtsmith had already stood, and he made his way over to her. Once the second boot was knotted and she had set her foot back down on the ground, he said “Look into my eyes.”

Obediently, Kara looked.

Blue eyes met hers; a glowing blue, a hue found nowhere in nature.

A tide of peace washed over her. She lost track even of what was happening to her, would have lost the ability to evaluate how her mind was changing.

Her scalp tingled in a frankly delicious way. Her body untensed, her posture slumping slightly, but her head lifted in compensation, ensuring she could still stare deeply into the wonderful blueness.

A soft whimper escaped her lips.

“This is your uniform,” the Thoughtsmith said, “and you will wear it when you are about my business.”

“This is my uniform and I will wear it when I am about your business, Master.” The words were her own thoughts, now, but they were the most important of her thoughts, the ones that drowned out other considerations.

“You will maintain your body in this state, so that it always fits perfectly.”

“I will maintain my body in this state so that it always fits perfectly, Master.” She had no idea how she would accomplish the balancing of diet and fitness routine to achieve this - yet - but she had and accepted her orders, and would find a way to obey them.

If she was truly to be her Master’s best slave, this was hardly the only demand she would have to fulfil gracefully.

The Thoughtsmith looked away, and Kara blinked vision and consciousness back into eyes which had been simply a conduit for her own domination. “You three, outside,” he ordered.

“Yes, Master,” Kara said, her voice a chorus with Christina and Ellie. It hadn’t been intentional, but she supposed that when three people all responded as fast as reflex allowed, you would get that effect.

They trooped out to the garden. This was still immaculate; keeping it in shape was almost the only thing Mr Henson, Henson’s husband, was permitted to do.

Kara picked a place to stand; Christina marched out to face her.

Thoughtsmith handed Ellie a stopwatch. “Alright, slaves,” he said. “I want you to listen closely and obey.”

“Yes, Master,” all three women answered.

“At my signal, Ellie, you will start the stopwatch. You will then run to the beach. You will stop the stopwatch as soon as you see all three bottles on the wooden box break, and you will take note of how many bullets were fired before they are.”

“Yes, Master. May I ask the signal?”

“You’ll know.” He smirked.

“At your pleasure, Master.”

“Kara, at my signal you will attempt to take Christina’s firearm from her. Once you have it, you will run to the beach and, from the furthest distance you feel confident, you will shoot the bottles on the wooden box. Your goal is to shatter all three.”

“Yes, Master.” Kara couldn’t help herself; she smiled at Christina.

“You are not to permanently injure Christina,” he added.

“Yes, Master.”

“Christina, when Kara attempts to take your firearm from you, you will aim to keep it. If it is taken from you and you are in a position to recover it, you will recover it. Your orders stand until and unless all three bottles on the wooden box are broken.”

“Yes, Master.” Christina offered Kara no answering smile; her expression was set and professional.

“You are not to permanently injure Kara.”

“Yes, Master.”

And with that, the Thoughtsmith hauled off and spanked Ellie’s ass hard enough that the crack of sound echoed around the garden walls.

Kara assumed Ellie had started the stopwatch and taken off running, but she was already - and obediently - in action herself. She was hurtling not-quite-forwards at a low crouch, attempting to be her own feint; her move looked like a football tackle aiming to Christina’s right, and true to form, Christina started to twist to the right. Rather than take a pace with her next step, Kara kicked up off the turf, twisting in the air. She hit Christina side-on, her foot a high scything arc on the top of her twist, right where the former cop had started moving into.

It could have been an immediate victory but Christina’s reflexes were just a hair sharper than Kara expected; she got an arm up so that a shin crashed off a forearm rather than Kara’s instep off her opponent’s temple.

It still drove Christina back a step, and her arm would feel numb for a few moments. The training Kara had paid for operated like reflexes of their own; some part of her noted both factors, computed, and came up with an instant solution. Her motion continued, a low spin based on where one elbow and the other hand had hit the ground, and her outstretched leg caught Christina behind the knees, sweeping them out from under her as Kara completed the turn standing upright once more.

She could have gone for the handgun then but Kara actually went for the harness, dropping to one knee over the arm she hadn’t hit so that Christina’s good limb was pinned while her hands dragged the shoulder loops of the harness down to her opponent’s elbows.

She gripped both loops in one hand, pulling Christina’s arms back together behind her back. This was something she might be able to free herself from given time; Kara wound the overlap together, over and over, until the harness was as tight around Christina’s elbows as it had been her shoulders.

With that done, she drew out the nightstick, extended it with a flick, and thrust it into the harness as an anchor.

Only then did she draw the gun. She took off at a run.

Christina, obedient to her own orders, shouldered her way to her knees then powered her way back to her feet.

She sprinted headlong after Kara, determined even with her arms bound to do what she could.

Ahead of her, Kara rounded the corner of the house. Saw Ellie standing ten paces to the side of a small wooden crate. Saw the three glass bottles standing on top of the crate.

She dropped to one knee as she brought the handgun up, bracing it with both hands and sighting along its length.

She shattered two bottles with two shots, quickly transitioning from one to the next. The kick of the handgun raised the barrel each time; the first bottle shattered at the base, the second from the neck. It took her an extra heartbeat to wrest the barrel back down as she transitioned to the third.

In that time Christina caught up to her and launched herself into the air, flying forward with a two-footed kick to Kara’s back. The impact sent Kara’s third shot wild.

Christina twisted slightly in the air, landing with her shoulder and hip rather than on her elbows - that could have been much worse. Kara was still in range, so she whipped her legs around her, seizing the Scotswoman in a scissor hold, and she clamped down as tight as she could, hoping against hope to disorient Kara for longer.

Kara fired her fourth shot - and broke her third bottle - one-handed, struggling against the grip. She dropped Christina’s handgun, seeing Ellie’s hand jerk around the stopwatch as she did, and then burst out laughing.

“Ye can stop now, ye daft coo,” she told Christina. She was surprised at how much fondness she could hear in her own voice. “I have tae gie ye this, I didnae expect that.”

Christina released the leghold. Kara, who had had no intention of helping to free her, lifted her shoulder and withdrew the nightstick, feeling somehow that the other woman had earned it.