Another Week, Another Round of Check-Ins (Part 1 of 2)

Michelle Anderson

"Yes, Master... As you wish, Master... I hear and obey, Master... Anything you command, Master..."

I've been repeating those kinds of phrases in mirror for I don't even know how long. They just feel so good to say. And as conceited as it may be to say, I think they sound perfect coming out of my mouth. It's like I was made to say them. Especially that word...

Master.

Master...

Master...

Ooh, I get chills at just the thought. My pussy certainly doesn't get chills though. It feels like there's a fire between my legs practically 24/7. Thank Master I'm still allowed to touch myself (I should know, I made sure to ask the other day, just to be sure). I don't know what I would do if he said I couldn't. Well... that's not true. I know exactly what I would do: I would obey. That's what a **** does.

There's another word I've come to love: ****. Of course, if we're ranking things that Master calls me, nothing beats "good girl," but "****" certainly isn't a bad alternative. It makes me feel owned, which is exactly what I am.

Speaking of being owned, that's a large part of why I'm standing in front of the mirror right now. Ever since Master claimed me, I've made it part of my routine to strip down and recite my vow of devotion in the mirror every day before bad. That might sound like a difficult task, but it really isn't. Those words are burned into my mind. Anytime I so much as think about that day, they come bubbling up to the forefront of my mind with crystal clarity.

"I, Michelle Anderson, hereby agree to be Matthew Anderson's ****. By putting on this collar, I vow to serve and obey him forever," I start.

Each time I do this little bedtime ritual, I can't help but stare at my collar the entire time. That beautiful little pink band stretching around my neck, with a metallic heart to forever show my love for Master and his love for me. The second Master gave it to me, it instantly became my most prized possession. I did a little research and apparently ones like these are incredibly resilient and durable, which is good because I never intend to take it off. Unless Master wants me too, of course.

"I will no longer be a human being, but instead a possession for him to use in any way he sees fit."

Whenever I leave the house, I always wonder how many people will notice my collar. Most people don't seem to, or at least they don't care, but some definitely catch it. I've even encountered a few women who I'm confident know exactly what it means. I can only assume they have some kind of similar relationship, though I doubt any of them are slaves to their own little brother. Their loss, if you ask me. My Master is the best.

"I swear to follow his commands without question or hesitation. I will love him more than anything and will live for his pleasure above all else."

I'll never forget the look on everyone's face when I came into work for the first time after I was collared. No one said anything, but I turned quite a few heads. Luckily, they seemed to get over it pretty quickly. Within just a few days, it was already old news. Although, there was that time that Allison from Marketing tried to touch my collar. Bitch. I mean, come on! How dare she try to put her hands on Master's precious gift?! It represents his sole ownership over me and I refuse to let anyone lay a finger on it because of that!

"With this final act, I willingly give up my freedom and accept my true place as his property."

As I finish the last phrase of my vow, I instantly feel better. I take a deep breath as a feeling of joy wells up inside me. No matter how rough of a day I've had, those words are all it takes to make me smile. They help remind me that I'll always be Master's **** and no one can ever take that away from me.

After taking a few more minutes to bask in this feeling, I finally feel ready for bed. Well... ready to masturbate one more time. Then I can sleep. Maybe I'll break out the old dildo and imagine Master is fucking me from behind again. That always seems to be my go-to nowadays. But to be fair, I am a sex ****, and what good is a sex **** that's not constantly ready to get a hard dicking from her Master?

Phoebe Suzuki

SPLASH!

I feel a slight rush as the cold water collides with my face. I take a moment to collect myself before placing my hands under the faucet to get another handful. Another second later...

SPLASH!

After giving some of the water a chance to run off of my face, I open my eyes and look at the mirror in front of me. I notice that my face is still twitching slightly. Dammit.

"Get it together, Phoebe!" I call out from the small bathroom of my apartment. "What would Mom and Dad say if they saw you like this?"

My parents have always been incredibly sex positive. From a very young age, they always encouraged me to explore my body and the feelings that go along with doing so. Back then, I thought it was really weird, but as an adult, I'm really thankful for that. I don't think I would have ever been quite as confident in bed if they were more conservative helicopter parents.

So then why the hell am I struggling so much now? It feels like every time I try to be sexy now, I just end up fumbling at the finish line. At first it was just kind of awkward, but now it's getting concerning. Every person I've ever slept with has always said I was incredible.

"God, that was the best sex I've ever had."

"You're like a little succubus, aren't you? I'll have to be careful or you'll drain me dry."

"When can I see you again? You know I can't settle for only getting to tap that ass once."

We're talking 5-star reviews! Whether it was giving a sloppy blowjob, riding a hard cock, or even pounding someone with a strap-on, I was the girl for the job. Now I can't seem to satisfy the one person I've fully committed to. I swear, I thought this was only a problem guys could have.

I think my... uh... problematic performance in bed is also starting to affect other aspects of my life. Normally, I kill it at work, but I think I might be having some issues there too. It's my confidence. Ever since this started, I find myself stumbling over my words all the time. I couldn't even flirt with that college kid the other day. A college kid! Those guys used to basically drool over me. I seriously need to get it together before I'm replaced by another woman...

Suddenly, I find a strange feeling inside of me. Am I... am I horny? Well, I guess that's not too unusual for me, generally speaking, but something about this feels different. For a second, it almost seemed like it was caused by the thought of me getting replaced...

There it is again! The second the image popped into my head, I could feel my pussy pulse slightly. But... the image that appeared in my head... It wasn't of someone replacing me. No, it felt like I was still there. Almost like I was... being cheated on...

"Oh fuck..." I can't help but moan. Seriously, what is going on with me right now?

"H-honey...?" I hear a voice call from the other side of the door. "Are you alright in there?"

"Y-yes, dear. I'm fine. Hey, I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a little frisky. What do you say we try again? I really think I can make you feel good this time!" I say in what I hope is a sure tone.

"Um... I'm sorry, but I'm not really feeling it right now. Maybe tomorrow?" Ouch. I think that may have been the first time in my life someone turned down sex with me...

"Oh... okay. Yeah, that sounds good. Tomorrow it is."

I pause to see if I get any kind of response, but after a moment, I hear what sounds like footsteps walking away from the door. Well, shit. But it's okay, because I have another chance tomorrow! I'm going to polish up all my skills and when the time comes, I'll be back to the fucking champ I've always been! Hell yeah! I can do it all on my own! There's no way I would ever ask to be cheated on...

...right?

Daisy Williams

I hate the fact that I have to do this. I wish I could just deal with it on my own, but for some unknown reason, I just can't. And so here I am with a phone pressed against my ear, waiting for a response as I try to take my mind off the uncomfortable feeling in my chest. Normally when I get like this, I like to pace around the room a little just to keep my body moving, but I know that would only make the soreness worse. So for now, I'm **** to sit on my bed and wait.

"I have to say, Daisy, I'm a little disappointed in you," the voice on the phone scolds me.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sanders. It just slipped mmmmmmmy mind," I manage to respond.

God, why does my head feel so weird? I know I used to get migraines when I was younger, but I haven't had one in such a long time, and also this doesn't really feel like a migraine. I mean, migraines are kinda like headaches, right? I wouldn't exactly say my head is "aching" right now, more like-

"I thought I made myself very clear the last time you were in my office," Ms. Sanders voice cuts through my thoughts. "I told you that your next milking session was Friday. I spent quite a lot of time today waiting for you, only for you to never show up. That is unacceptable. For this relationship to work, you need to follow my instructions. I take my scheduling very seriously."

Why does she have to throw that word around so casually? Matt does it too. And Violet. "Milking." Just the thought of it makes my hair stand on end. And they just throw it around like it's nothing. I can't believe one word can both terrify and thrill me so much at the same time.

"I know. It won't happen again, I prommmmmise. But... uh... do mmmmooooou think there's someway we could reschedule? I don't think I can last until next week," I beg her.

I wait on bated breath, hoping Ms. Sanders will take mercy on me. As much as I hate to say it, I need to feel someone's hands on me again. I can barely think about anything else. The longer I go without being... you know... the more all other thoughts start to drift away. It's like my brain is working in slow motion. Recently, I've even found myself trailing off in the middle of speaking to someone, and that never happens. After a moment of waiting, Ms. Sanders sighs.

"Alright, Daisy. I'll tell you what: send me your address and I'll come over personally and see that you get a proper milking," she says. Again with that word...

"Address? B-but..." I squeak out.

"Do you want my help or not?" Ms. Sanders asks in a commanding tone.

Without thinking, I reach up and squeeze one of my udd- I mean breasts with my free hand. I've been doing that a lot lately. Basically anytime I'm alone and not paying attention, I find my hands reaching up for a quick grab. Each time I catch myself doing it, I secretly hope that I'll finally be able to do it on my own. That the creamy substance will shoot out and I'll once again feel the pleasure that goes along with it. But it never happens. And as far as I know, it never will. Not without Matt or Ms. Sanders or someone with their permission.

"Y-yes, I dooooooo. I'mmmmm sorry I questioned mmmmooooou..." I say in submission.

"Hmm... it certainly does seem like you're getting worse. Fascinating. Perhaps I'll take the opportunity to monitor your behavior a bit when I come over and see what I can learn. Anyway, make sure to send your address as soon as possible, before you forget. I'll be over sometime early tomorrow," Ms. Sanders instructs before I hear the sound of the call ending.

Getting worse? Monitor my behavior? What is she talking about? Can she tell I was having some weird brain thing? I didn't trail off again, did I? I don't remember doing anything that would make her think I'm acting differently, but honestly, I don't know if I would even be able to tell anymore. I should probably go ahead and send her my address now before I forget like she said.

Once I do that I... uh... I do... something else... right? God, there it is again. I feel so tired. Looking around, I suddenly realize that I'm laying face down on the ground of the kitchen of my apartment. When did I get here? I thought I was laying on mmmmmy bed. Feeling the weigh of my body on top of my breasts only makes it mmmoooore apparent just how full they're starting to get. I really hope Mmmms. Sanders gets here sooooooon tommmooooorrow. For now though, I should probably just try to get back to bed and get a little sleep...

Mmmoooooooooo...

Helen Sanders

"Anyway, make sure to send your address as soon as possible, before you forget. I'll be over sometime early tomorrow," I say before hanging up the phone.

I swear, some of these girls can be quite the handful. I don't like having to be so tough with them, especially with how attracted to all of them I am, but it's a necessary evil. I can't really blame them for being difficult, though. That remote Matt has can really scramble a person's brain. I guess that's why he needs me to help sort it all out. Luckily, I thrive on sorting things out. It also helps that I love making his life easier in any way that I can.

You know, speaking of that remote, I guess it also presumably scrambled my brain in some way too. I do occasionally wonder what exactly it did to me and who I used to be before, but really it's more out of scientific curiosity than anything else. It's not as if I'm actually concerned about what kind of changes I've gone through. I certainly can't detect any notable difference in my behavior. Although given my experience with Matt's other woman, including the interaction I just had with Daisy, it doesn't seem like I would be able to notice a difference if there was one. Each girl (with the obvious exception of Violet) seems completely oblivious to their own transformation, yet they're still able to notice odd behavior in others. Fascinating indeed...

I hear a notification go off on my phone. Checking it, I find a text from Daisy with her address. Thank goodness. I was a bit unsure if she was going to be able to concentrate long enough to actually send it. I suppose now that I have that out of the way, I can shift my focus back to what I was doing before...

I place my phone down on the table beside me and grab my laptop. I take a moment to adjust my position on my couch before placing my computer onto my lap. Then, to make myself even more comfortable, I prop my sore feet up on the footstool in front of me. And by footstool, I of course mean the pathetic little sex **** that was once my coworker.

"How do you feel knowing you've gone from a promising graduate student to a worthless piece of furniture for me to put my feet on?" I ask the slut.

"It doesn't matter how I feel, Ma'am. My feelings aren't important," she responds immediately. "And I was never a promising anything. The strong independent woman I used to be was all a lie. I was meant to be nothing more than a tool for my owners for use."

I do love to hear her ridicule herself. I know that's because of the remote too, but who cares? If I'm being honest, I never cared much for "Dr. Powell." She was too arrogant for her own good. We get it, you have a doctorate. Can you please give it a rest? I finished school with two master's degrees, but you never hear me shoving that fact down people's throats. No, I definitely prefer the humble nobody on all fours below me to the pompous queen I used to know. It also doesn't hurt that I find her extremely attractive as well.

As I rest my feet on the whore's back, I can feel the subtle vibration of the toys I've plugged into both of her holes. I've found that I really enjoy driving her to the edge, only to cut her pleasure short just before she reaches her climax. You'd think that doing that every night would upset her, but actually, it's quite the opposite. According to her, she "doesn't deserve to cum," and thus greatly prefers not to orgasm. I can't say I understand her logic, but hey, we both seem happy with the result, so who can argue with that? I suppose we both have Violet to thank for the idea, as she was the one who suggested it to me.

Alright, enough of that. That's already more attention than that thing deserves. I open up my laptop and resume my search. I pull up a few different realty sites and begin scrolling through properties. I've already bookmarked a couple places with some decent square footage in the area, but you can never have too many options. I have to admit, I've never done much house hunting, or I guess in this case mansion hunting, but it's rather enjoyable. I see why some people do this even when not looking for a place to live. I almost feel like a newly wed looking for the home of her future family. A rather amusing thought given the kind of family I may end up having soon.

Some people may tell me not to spend so much of my time off doing work, to just relax for a moment and watch some television or something. Well jokes on the them, because I do have the television turned on right now. Granted, it is turned to a house hunting show, but still...

Make fun of me if you want. I'm having a good time, so I see no issues. And with any luck, I should have a decent list of mansions for Matt to choose from in the coming days. Who knows? Maybe we'll even start touring places soon! That sounds fun! The only question is, do I hope to be able to tour them just the two of us, or would I rather him bring some of his other women along too?

Ooh! This one looks interesting! It has an extra large master bedroom with it's own balcony!

Christina Cunningham

No. No way. Absolutely not.

I can't seem to stop myself from tossing and turning in my bed as I keep wrestling with my own thoughts. Why the hell am I even still debating this? That loser came into MY room, insulted ME, and then had the nerve to tell me to give HIM something in order to get him to leave. I mean, what the fuck?! Who does that? And to ME of all people! Doesn't he know who I am?! I'm a Delta Sigma Gamma!

And that remind me: why have the other girls been getting on my case so much lately? So I leave a few of my things around the house. And maybe I occasionally forget to shower or brush my hair. Who cares? It's not like they're perfect either! Actually... did I shower today?

I sit up and turn on the light on my nightstand. When I do, I'm immediately greeted by the sight of my room. Okay, I'll admit it doesn't look great right now, but it's not that big of a deal. I can always clean up a little tomorrow. It's also at this point that I notice that I'm still wearing the dress I put on this morning. Huh... eh, whatever. That doesn't mean anything. It's not like any of that stuff that guy said was true. I don't need anyone to take care of me. And I most certainly don't secretly like being a loser.

...

WAIT A SECOND, I'M NOT A FUCKING LOSER! If anyone's a loser, it's him! He doesn't deserve anything from me. Not even that dumb coin I gave him...

Fuck! Not again! Why do I keep thinking about that stupid quarter? Wait... shit... that's not right, it was nickel, I think. I would never give him a whole quarter.

Suddenly, I'm briefly distracted as I notice a wet sensation against my legs. No... please don't tell me... I glance down and see that my panties once again have a small stain on them. Goddammit! How many times is that now? And ever time I notice it, it's always right after thinking about giving that jerk my money. Surely that's not why it's happening though. That would be ridiculous.

Although, thinking back to that moment... the moment I handed him that coin... I felt... something. It was weird. It almost felt good to give it to him. Like I got off on-

NO! How many times do I have to say it! That guy was a loser and that's final! I never want to see him again! I try to take deep breaths to calm myself down. I just need to take a second to relax. But unfortunately, that idea is quickly shut down when I spot something our of the corner of my eye: a small green paper poking out of a pair of jeans laying on the ground beside my bed.

All of a sudden, it's like I can't control my body. No matter how scared I am, I feel a need fill every inch of me. I have to check. I get off of my bed, walk over to the jeans, and reach into the pocket. A second later, I pull it out: a single dollar bill.

Please, Christina... don't do this. You don't want this. You're better than this. You're better than everyone, especially a guy like him. And yet, I can't stop myself anymore. I lay back on my bed, gripping the dollar tightly in my hand. Once I'm on my back, I take my other hand and slip it into my now soaking wet panties. I just can't stop myself. I need to masturbate. And the entire time I do, all I can think about is handing this dollar to that guy.

But it's still okay. I'm not secretly a loser. No way. It's just... a fantasy. Yeah. That's it. Just a dumb fantasy that means nothing. I would never actually do it. Though... I really do hope I never see him again. You know... just in case. Especially considering that I have a feeling I'm going to start carrying this dollar around with me everywhere I go.