Next week

A week later, the mood was somber. Sara stood by the door, her suitcase packed, a work trip looming.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she murmured, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“It’s just a week,” he soothed, though his own chest felt tight at the thought of her absence.

She pulled back slightly, a playful, pouty look on her face as she cupped her magnificent breasts, lifting them in her hands. “But how will you ever survive without these for seven whole days?” she giggled, the sound a mix of her old sweetness and her new, seductive confidence.

He laughed, leaning down to kiss her, a deep, lingering kiss that spoke of more than just lust. “I love you more than that, Sara. Way more. I’ll be fine. I’ll just count the seconds until you’re back.”

With one last kiss, she was gone.

For two days, Dejan kept himself busy, but the silence of the apartment was a constant reminder of her absence. And with the silence came the itch. The memory of Clara, mindless and willing, was a siren song in his head. On the third night, alone in the quiet living room, he picked up his phone. His fingers moved with a deliberate, unhurried certainty. He found Clara’s contact and typed the five digits 80085.

Send.

Twenty minutes later, there was a soft, almost hesitant knock at the door. He opened it to find Clara standing in the hallway, wearing a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her expression a perfect blank slate.

“Master,” she breathed, her voice a monotone whisper.

He didn’t waste a second. He grabbed her arm and pulled her inside, kicking the door shut. “In the bedroom. Now.”

She obeyed without a word. This time, there was no pretense of a session, no gentle build-up. This was pure, raw, primal need. He wanted to fuck her brains out, to use her with a roughness he’d never dared with Sara, because she wasn’t a person to him now. She was an object. A vessel.

He tore her clothes from her body, the fabric ripping in his haste. He threw her onto the bed, and she landed with a soft thud, her limbs sprawling. He was on her in an instant, his hands digging into the soft flesh of her hips, flipping her onto her stomach.

“Repeat your words,” he commanded, his voice a harsh growl as he positioned himself behind her.

“I am a mindless ****,” she chanted into the pillow, her voice muffled and rhythmic. “I exist to serve my master. My body is his to use. I am dumb and happy to please.”

He drove into her with a brutal ****, each thrust a punctuation mark to her chant. The bedframe slammed against the wall, a frantic, violent beat. He wasn’t making love; he was claiming. He was marking his territory, staking his ownership on the very soul of the woman beneath him. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back, her chanting breaking off into a series of guttural, mindless moans. He was rougher than he’d ever been, harder, faster, channeling every ounce of his god complex into her pliant, welcoming body. He used her in every way he could imagine, flipping her over, pushing her to her knees, her mouth, her pussy, her ass—all of it his for the taking. She was a perfect, unthinking machine, her body responding, her programmed words occasionally surfacing between gasps and whimpers. “My master… please my master…”

When he was finally spent, he collapsed beside her, his chest heaving, the room smelling of sweat and sex. Clara lay still, her eyes open and vacant, waiting for her next command. He looked at her, a wave of satisfaction washing over him, but it was tinged with a new thought. He could make this better. More permanent.

He sat up, his voice once again calm and hypnotic, speaking directly to her blank consciousness. “Clara, listen to me. This is your new conditioning. You love being my ****. You crave it. In your normal life, you will feel a constant, low-level anxiety, a sense of purposelessness that you can’t explain. The only time you will feel true peace and happiness is when you are serving me. You will find yourself unconsciously dressing to please me, thinking of me often. You will work to improve your body, to make it more pleasing for your master. And when you receive the code 80085, it will not be a compulsion; it will be a relief. The moment you see it, all your anxiety will vanish, replaced by pure joy at the chance to serve me again. You will come to me more eagerly each time, and you will remember these sessions as perfect, blissful dreams that you long to return to. You will love me with all your soul, even if you don’t know why.”

He let the words sink in, then gave the final command. “Get dressed. Go home. You will wake up when you are inside your own apartment. You will remember nothing, only that you feel a deep sense of calm and a growing affection for me.”

She dressed mechanically, her movements fluid but empty. At the door, she turned to him, her face still a beautiful, blank mask. “Goodbye, Master,” she whispered, before walking out into the night.

Dejan stood in the silent apartment, the thrill of his power humming in his veins. He hadn’t just used her; he had reshaped her. He had planted seeds of devotion that would grow in the fertile ground of her subconscious, ensuring she would always be his, body and soul.