Week 2: Wednesday, 13th Dec 2029, Afternoon

After dismissing the bodyguards, I couldn't help but laugh at how completely fucked up they were. And I'd thought they were supposed to be the normal batch.

Jennifer left the room to fetch the four influencers while I turned to Seraphina, who remained perfectly poised despite everything she'd witnessed.

"You've got a lot of work cut out for you," I said, gesturing toward where the bodyguards had just been.

"Indeed, Master. Shall I draft up a training plan for them?"

"Nah, let's do that after tonight. I normally plan those after an initial tasting, so to speak."

Her lips curved into the slightest smile of understanding. "Of course, Master."

Jennifer returned with the influencers, and this time they came properly restrained. Each **** had their hands cuffed behind their back, chain cuffs around their ankles that prevented them from taking anything more than shuffling steps. They were connected by a chain linking their collars together like some fucked-up paper doll chain.

Let's just hope this batch was merely resistant. Breaking defiant slaves I could handle, exploring complex emotional trauma? Not so much.

"Nice chains," I joked, admiring Jennifer's handiwork.

"They made a lot of noise last night," Jennifer explained matter-of-factly. "I had them locked in the dungeon. Had Mikhail hanged and whipped for their viewing, standard processing for new acquisitions."

I raised an eyebrow. "That's strange. Catalina mentioned she watched Mikhail walking on a treadmill in heels."

Jennifer shrugged. "Well, I guess for them," she nodded toward where we'd dismissed the bodyguards, "seeing a man whipped is commonplace. But watching one stumble around on a treadmill in stilettos? That's more memorable."

"Clearly they'd never met a proper sissy before."

Jennifer gave me another shrug, but I could see the amusement in her eyes.

Our casual conversation had clearly spooked the influencers, all four of them were trying futilely to cover their naked bodies with their restrained hands, eyes wide with the dawning realization of exactly what kind of establishment they'd found themselves in.

"Tiffany Huang?" I said, grasping her collar and pulling her forward from the chain of trembling flesh.

"Yes, that's me," she replied automatically, that practiced influencer smile flickering across her face even in chains, muscle memory from years of performing confidence.

Jennifer's frown deepened before her hand cracked across Tiffany's cheek with sharp precision. "It's 'Yes Master.' I don't want to repeat myself, slut. Learn some fucking manners."

The slap shattered Tiffany's composure instantly, her calculated poise crumbling as her cheek flamed red. "Yes Master!" she corrected quickly, that survival instinct kicking in hard. "I'm sorry Master, Mistress Jennifer. I, I'm still learning the protocols."

"This one learns fast," I observed to Jennifer. "How did you figure out her name so quickly?"

"The male **** she whipped last night, Mikhail. He was counting each lash and ended with 'Thank you Mistress Jennifer' after every single one." Tiffany replied.

I gave Jennifer an appreciative nod. That was some impressively fast progress on breaking Mikhail.

"I break sissies efficiently, Master," Jennifer said proudly, clearly pleased with the acknowledgment.

"So, a financial guru," I returned my attention to Tiffany, letting my gaze rake over her naked form appraisingly. "You know how much I spent on her yesterday?" I pointed toward Seraphina. "One point five million. I don't know how many times you'd have to whore yourself out to match that kind of investment."

A visible shiver ran down Tiffany's spine as she struggled to formulate something, anything, that might change my apparent decision to whore her out. Her mind was clearly racing, calculating odds and outcomes like the fraudulent financial advisor she'd always been.

Of course, I had no intention of sharing my slaves with anyone, but she didn't need to know that yet.

"Shh, relax," I said, enjoying the way her breathing quickened with fear. "I don't share my property. But if you're not up to my standards, I'll just sell you to someone else. And them? I'm not so sure about their policies. I met another arcology owner last night, she mentioned the neighborhood isn't very kind to dumb bitches like yourself. So tell me, Tiffany, why should I keep you?"

Her eyes darted frantically as she processed this information, that influencer brain trying to pivot and find the right angle. "I... I have financial skills, Master. I can manage your finances, help optimize your investments—"

"And run my operation into a debt-riddled shithole like your own?" I cut her off sharply. "Not very convincing, considering how your own 'financial independence' worked out."

The barb hit home, I could see it in how her shoulders tensed, how that practiced smile faltered completely. Her whole identity had been built on preaching financial freedom while drowning in debt.

"You can fuck me, Master," she said desperately, playing what she thought was her strongest card.

"Yes, I could," I agreed casually. "But I already have that privilege with higher-quality assets. Right, Seraphina?"

"Yes Master, come fuck my one point five million dollar pussy anytime," Seraphina laughed, the cruel humor making Tiffany flinch.

The comparison was brutal and deliberate. Tiffany was learning exactly where she ranked in this new hierarchy, somewhere well below premium.

"You don't have to answer me right now, Tiffany," I continued, releasing her collar only to grasp her throat instead. "But understand this, don't give me any of that girl boss bullshit or financial independence crap you used to peddle. You're property now, slut. I own you. You are completely dependent on me. Say it."

My hand around her throat wasn't tight enough to restrict breathing, but the pressure was unmistakable, a reminder of just how powerless she'd become. I could feel her pulse racing beneath my palm.

"You own me, Master," she whispered.

"Not good enough," I said, increasing the pressure just slightly.

"I'm your slut, Master. You own my holes," Tiffany replied, her voice shaking with humiliation. The words came out in a rush, **** to please, to avoid whatever punishment might follow defiance.

"Good. That's a good start," I said, loosening my grip but not releasing her entirely. "You'll learn to be an excellent ****. I can recognize potential when I see it. Can't I?"

"Yes Master, I'm a good ****," she agreed quickly, eager to seize on any positive reinforcement. Even in submission, she was trying to position herself favorably, calculating compliance as her best strategy.

I could already see how this would play out. Tiffany would throw herself into being the perfect **** with the same manic energy she'd once put into her fraudulent influencer career. She'd study what pleased me, optimize her responses, treat obedience like a business strategy. And gradually, that strategic submission would become genuine surrender, especially as she came to understand the authentic power she was now serving.

The former financial independence guru was about to get a very thorough education in exactly what real dependency looked like.

"You, slut?" I turned to Madison, grasping her collar firmly. "Madison Lux?"

"Yes Master, I'll be good Master, I don't need the whip to learn obedience," she replied with that nervous laugh that still carried traces of her old influencer persona, that practiced, camera-ready giggle she'd perfected for countless wellness videos.

Even chained and naked, she was performing, trying to charm her way out of punishment like she'd once charmed followers into buying overpriced supplements.

"Wellness guru? Same question, why should I keep you?"

"Because I'm a good ****, Master. I'll do whatever you want," her reply came quick and breathless, that **** eagerness to please practically radiating from her trembling form. The woman who'd once preached about "setting boundaries" was now promising to have none at all.

"I'm a good **** too, Master," Tiffany cut in desperately, not wanting to be forgotten in the competition for my attention.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP WHEN I'M NOT TALKING TO YOU, ****!" I roared, my hand cracking across Tiffany's unmarked cheek, the one Jennifer hadn't already reddened. Perfect symmetry at last.

"Sorry Master," Tiffany sobbed, pressing her lips together and falling silent, tears streaming down both her bruised cheeks.

"Sorry, you were saying?" I returned my attention to Madison, who was staring wide-eyed at Tiffany's punishment, clearly calculating how to avoid the same fate.

"I... this **** is a good ****, Master. She'll obey and serve you," Madison corrected herself.

"How will you serve me? With this cunt?" I asked, sliding my hand between her legs to cup her pussy roughly, feeling how she tensed but didn't dare pull away.

"This **** will serve your huge cock with her cunt, Master," she gasped out, trying to sound eager despite the fear in her voice.

"Have you seen me naked? How do you know I have a huge cock?" I laughed at her transparent attempt at flattery.

"This... this **** assumed. This **** is sorry. This **** will try better," she stammered.

"The attitude is there, and it will serve you well in your training," I acknowledged. "Now apologize to Tiffany. If not for your eagerness to suck up to me, she wouldn't have gotten slapped."

"Sorry Tiffany," Madison said quickly, turning toward the other chained woman.

"Don't make me slap you too," I warned, enjoying how her eyes widened in panic.

"Sorry Tiffany, this **** was being a bootlicker and it caused you to be slapped," she corrected herself immediately, the words tumbling out in her haste to avoid punishment.

I could see the wheels turning in Madison's head, she was already learning the rules, figuring out how to navigate this new reality where her old tricks of positivity and flattery could backfire spectacularly. The woman who'd built an empire on telling people to "love themselves first" was now desperately trying to love me more than herself just to survive.

"Catherine Bailey?" I turned to the next ****, noting how she held herself differently from the others, chin up, shoulders back despite the restraints. "Traveling vlogger?"

"Yes Master," she replied with her refined British accent. Even naked and chained, she somehow managed to sound like she was addressing staff at a five-star hotel. "If I may, Master, I promise my family will ransom me. Name your price. In the meantime, all my holes are available to you. Use this **** as you please."

The offer was delivered with such practiced poise it almost sounded like she was negotiating a business transaction rather than offering her body for use. Classic entitled rich girl, even her submission came with terms and conditions.

"It would be pretty bloody amazing if your family could give me a sum enticing enough," I replied, gesturing toward Seraphina. "Don't forget our one point five million **** right here. And that's pocket change."

Seraphina made an exaggerated show of wiping away imaginary tears, as if deeply wounded by the suggestion that she'd been purchased with mere pocket change. The theatrical display drew a barely perceptible eye roll from Catherine, even chained up, she couldn't resist judging the performance of others.

"And you don't want to be my ****, little slut?" I asked directly, curious to see how her breeding would handle such blunt confrontation.

"I... I would prefer to be free, Master," she admitted, bracing herself for punishment but unable to lie outright. That stubborn honesty was going to be both her greatest weakness and her most admirable quality.

"Relax. All unbroken slaves think they've got some way out, that there's still light at the end of the tunnel. I've trained many like you. But trust me, at the end of your training, you'll beg me to stay even if I want to throw you out."

Her response was a nervous laugh that somehow still managed to sound slightly condescending, as if she was humoring a quaint local custom during one of her travel vlogs.

"I would ask why I should keep you, but apparently you don't really want to stay with me," I continued, enjoying how her composed mask flickered slightly. "But you should know the control I have over you. I could sell you back to Mexico, I'm sure the cartel wouldn't mind a new slut in their brothels. And I highly doubt they'll change their previous decision and accept ransom this time. So entertain me, why should I keep you?"

Catherine's sharp blue eyes flashed with something between calculation and defiance. "You're mistaken, Master. I am your ****. It's just that, as you've said, at this stage of my training I still cling to the prospect of freedom. You should keep me because I'm not like the others."

She cast a dismissive glance at her fellow slaves, that ingrained sense of superiority bleeding through even in chains. "I didn't accumulate debt or face lawsuits like some people. I was kidnapped by the cartel while creating content, a victim of circumstances, not poor judgment. I can be your tour guide, Master. I've been to places these... others could never afford to visit. You can fuck me during our tours as well."

"I've heard enough," I said, hardly able to believe her performance. The audacity of trying to pitch herself like a luxury travel package while naked and chained was almost impressive. "I'll have that flicker of hope for freedom extinguished completely, trust me. Or don't, I don't fucking care."

But I could see it in her eyes, that stubborn spark that refused to accept this was permanent. Catherine Bailey was going to be a delightful challenge to break, precisely because she'd never truly believe she belonged here until the very moment she begged me not to let her go.

"Ah, Karen Keller. Perfect name for a feminist," I turned to the last ****, noting how she held herself with that rigid academic posture even in chains. "Like your hair. Green? Blue?"

"Cyan... Master," Karen replied through gritted teeth, the title clearly scraping against her throat like broken glass. Her green eyes flickered with barely contained loathing before she **** herself to continue. "I just believe in gender equality. There are mistresses in the new world too, and you own a male ****."

Even now, she couldn't help herself, trying to intellectualize her way out of the reality of her situation, **** to maintain some shred of her feminist worldview.

"No, no, no, you've got me wrong. I'm something of a feminist too, you know," I laughed at my own movie reference, enjoying how her jaw tightened at the mockery. "Look at Mikhail, he's training to be a sissy. His only masculine trait left at the end will be his caged penis, about a third its original size, no less."

I reached out to grasp her breasts, and she jolted backward instinctively, her eyes darting away to avoid contact. The revulsion was written across her face.

"I won't ask you why I should keep you, because breaking a feminist is always enjoyable. And you have some nice tits, right?" I asked casually, watching her internal war play out in real time.

Silence stretched between us, her brilliant mind clearly racing to find some way to maintain dignity while trapped in this nightmare scenario where everything she'd built her identity on was being systematically destroyed.

"I asked you a question, and I don't have the habit of asking twice," I said, grabbing her chin and forcing her to meet my gaze.

"Yes Master, I have nice tits," she **** out, each word a betrayal of everything she'd ever claimed to believe. The woman who'd spent years railing against the objectification of women now reduced to describing her own body for male approval.

"Well, they're not yours anymore, but you get the gist," I smiled, releasing her chin and watching her quickly look away again. "I heard you had a mug called 'Male Tears', you must be sad to see it go. But no worries, I'll get a new cup for you called 'Master's Cum.' Sure to keep you hydrated, slut."

Another silence, her intellectual mind probably screaming at the degradation while her survival instincts calculated the cost of defiance.

I placed my hand lightly on her throat, feeling her pulse racing beneath the skin. "I'm waiting."

"Thank you, Master," she whispered, the words barely audible as if saying them any louder might shatter what remained of her sense of self.

"For the cup or my cum?" I laughed, enjoying her visible flinch. "Don't answer that. Plus, you won't need a cup for my cum, you can drink directly from the source once you perfect your blowjobs. The previous batch had a Korean spy who apparently gave killer head. Maybe you can learn a few things from her."

The color drained from Karen's face as the full implications hit her. The woman who'd built a career on anti-male sentiment now faced the prospect of serving male pleasure in the most intimate way possible. Her entire worldview wasn't just being challenged, it was being systematically demolished through **** compliance.

"Well sluts, you lot have a long way to go, but I see potential," I said, letting my gaze sweep across the four chained influencers. "Trust me when I say this, you will experience pain, you will experience humiliation. But you will grow to endure it, enjoy it, and eventually you won't be able to live without it."

The promise hung in the air like a threat wrapped in certainty.

"But know this. I'm not a cruel master. I'm a fair master. Well, at least I see myself as one." I paused, enjoying the flicker of hope that sparked in their eyes before continuing. "I'm not going to tell you the plans I have for you. I'm busy with other slaves, so you lot don't get all my attention right now."

"But trust me, this isn't something to be relieved about. Because every second I'm not training you personally, you'll spend listening to whips cracking, slaves moaning in the dungeon. And your minds will wander to all the depraved and humiliating things I'm going to do to you."

I let the silence stretch, watching their imaginations run wild with possibilities. Fear was such a useful tool, it did half the work of breaking them before I even laid a hand on them.

"And understand this. When I do finally pay my full attention to you," I continued with a smile that promised nothing good, "you'll wish that everything you imagined was all you'd ever have to experience. Now fuck off."

I signaled to Jennifer, who immediately stepped forward to lead the chain of trembling flesh out of my office. The sight of four former influencers shuffling away in chains, their carefully crafted personas already beginning to crumble, was deeply satisfying.

"Promising batch," Seraphina observed once the door closed behind them. "I assume you'll want a first session before drafting their training plans?"

"Absolutely. This is familiar territory for me, breaking entitled cunts who think they're special." I settled back in my chair, already mentally cataloging each ****'s weaknesses. "Fuck, I'm so busy though. I've got two batches to train now, Mikhail's sissification program to oversee, and Vivian's training sessions to manage."

"Vivian... Vivian Holt," Seraphina said, her voice carrying a note of surprise. "Master, you want to enslave a member of the Holt family?"

"No, Seraphina," I corrected with a grin that showed all my teeth. "I don't want to enslave just Vivian. I want to enslave the entire fucking Holt family, both Vivian and her mother."

So many slaves, so little time. But that was a good problem to have. I could hardly wait to get started.