Week 1: Wednesday, 5th Dec 2029, Late Afternoon

The meal was a bland necessity, something cobbled together by a menial **** whose only virtue was efficiency. My eyes lingered instead on the old laptop glowing on the battered office table, the air thick with the staleness of borrowed space soon to be abandoned. The construction crew's had just gave me their confirmation, my new office is finally ready. I'd some interesting contraptions up, I can finally play around with them tomorrow.

For now, I turned to the work at hand. The laptop blinked patiently as I coaxed it to life, connecting one by one to the encrypted drives confiscated during operation when Yoko was 'retrieved'. With her keys I was able to decrypt the files. It was a hidden compendium of forbidden science, its authors the dead-eyed visionaries of the monarchs’ personal labs. I scrolled through the digital spoils with clinical detachment, papers on the splicing of animal and human forms, elegant diagrams for tail vertebrae and feline ear canal augmentations, memos about the difficulties of creating pleasure slaves with engineered elven cells, and, almost as an afterthought, serene, obsessive drafts on life extension, written as if the secret to immortality were a formula just out of reach. The Monarchs had earned their slow decay, bleeding their treasuries dry in pursuit of engineered pleasure while the masses beneath their thrones withered in hunger. They sacrificed their own future, gorging themselves on decadence as their people starved in silence.

I skimmed, already categorizing which theories might be actionable with my own stockpiles of tech, which needed human capital, which would demand risks no sane researcher would take. A hundred generations of decadence and hubris, reduced to PDFs and archived logs, all waiting for the right architect

Then I heard a knock that.

“Master, may I come in?” It was Lisa. I closed the laptop without haste, the room’s digital glow fading to the gold-and-grey of late afternoon.

“Enter,” I said.

The door opened on silent hinges, and Lisa entered exactly as instructed, naked and her posture faultless. She stood before me, waiting until I gestured to the chair set across my table.

“Sit,” I commanded, watching how she arranged herself, back straight, knees together, hands folded neatly in her lap.

“I assume you understand why you’re here,” I said, voice level as I uncapped my pen. “Have you ever been interviewed before, Lisa?”

She nodded, gaze forward. “Yes, Master.”

That caught me off guard, not expecting the assembly line structured **** school had interviews. “Is that so? Where?”

Her tone remained measured, untouched by shame or nostalgia. “My interview for the Free Cities Scholarship. I was presented naked, leashed to the chair. My trainer remained beside me the entire time. I did not speak. She answered on my behalf to the representative.”

“And what did they ask?” I pressed.

She answered without hesitation. “The expected: a summary of my lessons, an inventory of physical attributes, confirmation of my virginity. My trainer presented me as one might describe a well-maintained product, detailing my performance, utility, and purity. I was the product, Master. She was the salesman.”

“And what were you thinking, then? During the interview?” I pressed, watching her composure for any hint of hesitation.

Lisa inhaled slowly, her eyes never leaving the far wall. “It was a turning point. I was grateful to my trainer, she shaped me, advocated for me. Without her, I would not have been selected, and I would not be here, serving you now.”

“An acceptable answer,” I said, though I let a note of critique linger. “If a little rehearsed. Who would you be, Lisa, if you had never been enslaved?”

She met my gaze, unblinking. “Dead, most likely. Or worse, left to starve on the streets, **** or even dead.”

“So you value your enslavement?” I asked, my tone even, neither judgment nor approval.

She considered. “I won’t pretend slavery is easy, Master. But it’s preferable to the alternative. It offers safety, structure, and a future, however narrow.”

I studied her, reading the muscle tension in her thighs, the way she sat with deliberate stillness, rehearsed but honest. “What does it mean, then, to be a good ****?”

Lisa’s answer came quietly, as if reciting from an internal handbook. “A good **** obeys. She follows orders in every context, domestic, public, sexual. She exists to serve: to provide pleasure, to anticipate needs, to ask nothing. At least that is what I was taught.”

“And do you believe you are a good ****?”

She shook her head, subtly. “That is not for me to decide, Master. A **** does not evaluate herself, her value is defined by her owner’s standards alone. My task is to conform, not to judge.”

I let her words settle, then leaned forward, voice lowering. “So, what drives you to excel, if not some internal pride? Spare me the rote answers about devotion.”

Her lips pressed together, then parted as she drew a breath, this time, the response was all her own. “Self-preservation, Master. The system is clear: good slaves are noticed, chosen, protected. Bad slaves are discarded, sent to the arcades, gloryholes, whored out until they break. I learned quickly that obedience meant survival.”

Her confession hung in the air, stark and utilitarian, the slaving industry that I was a part of, the arithmetic of fear and reward, laid bare for my assessment. It was an industry built on monotony, grinding out obedience by rote, each **** stamped from the same template of compliance, their individuality methodically erased until nothing remained but blank-eyed efficiency. There was no artistry in it, no vision, just endless rows of bodies trained to serve, interchangeable, forgettable, as uninspired as the overseers who produced them.

“If you’d asked me a week ago,” I said, voice measured, “I’d have called you a good **** and left it at that. But today, I hesitate.”

Lisa’s eyes flickered, uncertainty leaking through her composure as she slipped instinctively from the chair, kneeling at my feet, forehead pressed to the floor. The tremor in her shoulders betrayed her fear, old programming reacting to any sign of possible rejection.

“Sit, Lisa.” My tone softened just enough to arrest her spiral. “You’re not being discarded. It’s the opposite, I believe there’s more in you than rote obedience, something waiting to be uncovered, something unique enough to rise above the factory-made rows of ‘good slaves.’”

She resumed her seat, hands braced on her knees, every muscle taut but listening.

“You’ve applied to be a point-to-point relationship manager. Good choice. You know this world, this arcology, far better than I, or any of the others under my roof. So let’s begin. Your first assignment: compile a dossier for me on that Covenant representative, Vivian. Everything you know, every network, every possible lever. And then, I want you to identify one other: someone in this building who poses a threat to me, someone you believe must be neutralized or suborned. Just one. Prioritize. We’ll work together from there, your training, your function, your evolution.”

I reached across the table, my hand finding her bare shoulder, steadying her as if sealing a contract. My thumb traced the tension in her muscle, then drifted lower, lingering on the curve of her thigh, and lower still, over the soft heat between her legs, damp with the residue of fear or hope, perhaps both, an honest answer her words could never give.

“You have a future here, Lisa. A real one. I see it. Don’t be afraid of standing out.”

Her breath came quicker, but her reply was clear, voice edged with new conviction. “I won’t let you down, Master.”

My hand lingered, fingers idly tracing the sensitive seam of her pussy. “Good. But don’t mistake professionalism for purity, Lisa. You are a sex **** too, when you satisfy me beyond this office, I’ll take you apart myself and test every hole you claim as yours.”

She shivered at my words, blush rising vivid across her pale cheeks, but she held my gaze, her submission touched now by a thin, eager fire. “I promise, Master, these holes will serve you just as well. However you want. Whenever you want.”

“Excellent. Have Yoko report to me tonight, I want to break in the new office with her.”