She found herself daydreaming about the first time they put her on camera.

 

It was probably the same scene then as now: waking on her knees amid cables and light fixtures, parked in some out-of-the-way spot with the rest of the spare equipment. Her attention, what there was of it, tuned to a familiar, lazy spiral of arousal, self-abasement, self-forgetfulness. Her eyes fixed on a blank spot on a wall while people with minds, people who wore clothes, moved about arranging and discussing and activating and deactivating what they called the slut gear.

 

It was when she was first being trained to torture herself with her orgasm. She was already at the point where she never came except on command, when she was being brainwashed or for someone who was using her. But somehow she got the idea that maybe she should learn to come at her own command. Like she’d be easier to train that way, and that would please the Owners.

 

It was weird, having an idea. She went to Teacher about it. All Miss did was shrug and say, Try it.

 

But she could never find the command. The one she could use on herself and make herself come. Before long they were having her go for what felt like hours. The pain of it, the endless, desperate futility, became its own kind of unyielding trance. She felt the orgasm approach and knew this time it would happen. Every time. She heard herself beg so hard for it, with so little sense she might have been speaking in tongues. And before every crest she broke, and in every exhausted trough realized she was nothing but a drone, a machine set to frig itself without stopping, without knowing what it meant to stop.

 

Sometimes someone would finally order her to come. Sometimes they just let her go till she collapsed. Always she emerged from the edging trance with that hollowed-out feeling, like something was missing. It was something she'd come to like. The emptier she got the more she understood what it meant to be a slave.

 

She’d been giddy with excitement when she first heard cam duty. Like a dog hearing walkies. She still got that way. Being washed, made up, dressed in some pretty little whore thing, daydreaming about how they'd have her do it. Bumped here and there by people, settled somewhere, recalled, weightless as a balloon. She’d never seen a lit-up set before, and the glare stunned her. There was a wait while they cleaned off the bed from the slut who was just on, and she remembered standing there with one knee propped on the edge of the mattress, that's how eager she was to climb in. The way that light hit her skin. The sense that something was happening to her, something final. She was on a porn set and she was about to shove a dildo into her pussy. There was a girl she’d been not that long ago who would have been horrified at the thought. You're a whore who fucks herself on camera, she told that girl. Her heart was pounding. It's all you're good for now. It's all you'll ever be good for.

 

As brainwashed as she already was by then, in a way it was the first time she’d really come to terms with it all. It was a hard feeling, and she rode the edge of it till it seemed like her pussy would've come apart. Afterwards she cried, a lot. She was just wrecked. They gave her to one of the other sluts to be comforted, a bosomy cute redhead, and the girl kissed her and cuddled her and chanted Obedience at her till they both fell asleep.

 

A touch on the back of her head made her aware of Control, and her silly thoughts vanished. Then there was only doing, and the familiar buzz of surrender. She stood, pivoted, followed the tech who’d activated her, threading their way through half a dozen other tranced, kneeling sluts. The one who’d just come off, a zoned-out redhead, naked, covered in sweat and pussy juice, was being led past: the tang filled her nostrils and made her head swim.

 

On the bed, waiting to begin, she imagined the slut being the same one as that first time. Her comforter. She had a fantasy of the girl getting cleaned up then brought back to the edge of the set, kneeling someplace where they could see each other. She'd catch the redhead's eyes and give her a look that said this pussy's for you while she started teasing herself between her legs. They'd both be touching themselves and then the girl's handler would undo her leash and she'd start crawling for the bed, their eyes never breaking contact.

 

Someday I’ll be a whore who fucks other whores on camera, she thought. It struck her almost weird to realize she hadn't done it yet. She wondered if that would be something that felt like a first. She wondered if she'd even notice when it happened.

 

Maybe she'd have to ask. Maybe Teacher would make her beg for the privilege. She got hot thinking what she'd do to degrade herself and the command to start working her dildo couldn't come soon enough.