Week 1: Saturday, 8th Dec 2029, Night

I spent the remainder of the day in the **** dormitory with Yoko. The room is a cramped, utilitarian space that barely aspired to comfort, the whole place more a holding pen than a home. Fitting for products on sale, but not at all what I envisioned for my personal house slaves. But that would come in time, once my master bedroom was finished.

Yoko lounged on her cot, knees drawn up, her attention divided between monitoring Mikhail and the game flickering on her handheld. Some bizarre simulation, all pixelated dirt and digital shovels, her avatar digging and building as if the world depended on it. I watched, bemused. Digital slavery, I thought, and she’s already a ****. The irony was almost poetic. Her fingers danced over the controls, her head bobbing from one screen to the next with a rhythm that suggested years of practice. Maybe those neck stretches were the secret to her infamous cocksucking prowess, a thought that made me smirk, watching the elegant line of her throat as she glanced between her tasks.

My gaze swept the dormitory's bare walls and utilitarian bunks. My mind, however, was fixed on my office, where Jennifer, collared yet effortlessly commanding, was alone with Vivian. Vivian’s tastes, shaped by a domineering mother, always leaned toward mature women with authority, and Jennifer’s poised dominance was precisely the lure I had intended. I had left them together deliberately, trusting Jennifer to draw out Vivian’s curiosity, to let her feel the thrill of yielding to a strong feminine hand, and to gently usher her toward the intoxicating world of power and submission I was preparing to reveal. Until I'm needed to toe the line between fantasy and reality.

My phone buzzed, a message from Jennifer lighting up the screen, my cue to enter the scene. I moved quickly, anticipation thrumming beneath my skin, not for the spectacle itself, but for the rare opportunity to observe and shape Vivian’s journey. In my experience, new products were always delivered to me already enslaved. But to guide a free woman to surrender her autonomy willingly? Now that will be an interesting challenge and perhaps a blueprint for future conquests.

I entered the training room adjoining my office and was immediately greeted by a tableau that would have been absurd if it weren’t so perfectly orchestrated. Jennifer stood naked, her posture regal, one hand gripping a riding crop, the other holding a leash that led to Vivian, also nude, a fresh collar around her throat, her limbs bound so she could only shuffle on elbows and knees. A bright red ball gag muffled any protest, her cheeks flushed with the humiliation of her predicament.

“Good evening, Master. Look at the new puppy I found,” Jennifer quipped, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Remove Ms. Vivian’s gag, Jennifer. I’m here for a wellness check, not a circus act. I don't want her mother to blame me for mistreating her dearest daughter.” I replied, my tone light but edged with authority.

Jennifer smiled and complied, unbuckling the gag and letting it drop. Vivian, still on all fours, blinked up at me, her blush deepening as she realized she was fully exposed, unable to shield herself from my gaze. Vulnerability suited her, a **** debutante at the altar of submission.

“Ms. Vivian, I trust you’re finding this arrangement…enlightening? My apologies if Jennifer’s enthusiasm got ahead of itself. After all, you’re only indentured for twelve hours,” I said, crouching beside her, my hand settling gently on her fiery hair.

Vivian’s composure returned with impressive speed. “Mistress Jennifer has been…lovely, Moxie,” she managed, her voice low but steady.

A sharp crack echoed as Jennifer flicked the crop across Vivian’s rear, making her jump. “Vivian, you know better. Tonight, you don’t get to call him ‘Moxie.’ What should you say?”

Vivian’s blush returned, her eyes darting to the floor. “Sorry, Master. Please forgive my slip.”

“Don’t be too harsh, Jennifer. You’re a **** for life, but Vivian’s just here for a night,” I said, stroking Vivian’s hair, my fingers threading through the copper strands. “Hard to imagine the illustrious Holt heiress will ever be a ****, isn't it.”

Vivian trembled beneath my touch, her breath coming faster. The idea of her own enslavement clearly thrilled and terrified her in equal measure. The fall from grace perhaps excite her, but that's not enough for her to take the plunge, not for now at least.

“Miss Vivian, would you be so kind as to tell me what Jennifer’s been up to with you?” I asked, my tone light but edged with curiosity. “I trust she isn’t using this as an excuse for a little personal payback.”

Vivian shook her head, her voice muffled by lingering nerves. “Of course not, Master. Mistress Jennifer has been… gracious. She’s just showing me the standard **** positions, and how to move when I’m bound.”

“And how does that feel?” I pressed, watching her carefully.

Vivian hesitated, then gave a small, self-conscious smile. “It’s… interesting, seeing things from down here. A different perspective”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean the physical perspective from your crawling position, or the emotional perspective from your ... bounded predicament?"

She glanced away, her blush deepening. “A bit of both, I suppose.”

“Carry on, Jennifer. Pretend I’m not here,” I said, moving over to the bed, settling in as a silent observer, content to let the stage belong to them.

“Thank you, Master.” Jennifer gave a respectful nod, then turned her attention back to Vivian, deftly unfastening the restraints from her limbs.

“Kneel, Vivian,” she commanded, her voice crisp.

“Yes, Mistress Jennifer.” Vivian obeyed instantly, shifting to her knees, thighs parted, hands resting demurely on her lap, palms down. Perhaps she told herself it was just an act of humility, a temporary role, yet I wondered if she could already sense the thrill hidden beneath her obedience, if she was surprised by how naturally she yielded.

Jennifer circled her, the riding crop tapping thoughtfully against her palm. “Tell me, Vivian, how do you get yourself off?”

Vivian’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. “I… I take long baths and read, Mistress Jennifer.”

Was she feigning innocence, or genuinely misunderstanding the question? Either way, Jennifer wasn’t having it.

“I meant sexually, slut. How do you get yourself off?” Jennifer’s tone sharpened.

Vivian’s cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry, Mistress Jennifer. I… I masturbate.”

Jennifer’s lips curled into a knowing, slightly cruel smile. “I didn’t ask if you did, I asked how. Or do you just wander the slums and let strangers use you like a whore? Be specific.”

Vivian swallowed, her head bowing, as if she could hide from my gaze. “I’m sorry, Mistress Jennifer. I… I rub my pussy while watching porn.”

Jennifer pressed on, relentless. “What kind of porn, Vivian?”

Vivian hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “Just… vanilla sex, Mistress Jennifer.”

She was lying, of course. But that was fine, for tonight.

Jennifer’s eyes flicked from Vivian’s blushing, uncertain face to where I reclined, her lips curling in that sly, feline smile she wore so well. “Master, perhaps you could help me give Vivian a little incentive. Her descriptions are so… clinical. I’d like to see her show us, not just tell.”

I nodded my assent. I wasn't ready to debut as a porn star, but I don't find any issue performing for our little redhead tonight.

Jennifer wasted no time. She moved with that slow, deliberate grace as she climbed onto the bed. She turned her head, locking eyes with Vivian as she unfastened my pants, making a show of her surprise when my cock sprang free, her lips parting in a breathy, theatrical gasp. She let her fingers linger, teasing, before mounting me, her thighs straddling my hips, her skin flushed and trembling with anticipation. She eased herself down, guiding me into her with a soft, shuddering moan, her breath catching as she settled, savoring the stretch, the fullness. Her hips began to move, slow, rolling, almost taunting. Her back arching, breasts thrust forward, every line of her body a tableau of pleasure meant for Vivian’s hungry eyes. Even as she rode me, Jennifer kept her head turned, her expression open and raw, letting Vivian see every flicker of ecstasy, every gasp and shiver.

Vivian knelt at the foot of the bed, eyes wide and shining, lips parted in awe and something deeper. Her hand hovered between her thighs, fingers trembling with the weight of her own shame. The blush on her cheeks was vivid, but as Jennifer’s pleasure intensified, Vivian’s hesitation began to erode. She watched, spellbound, as Jennifer’s body bounced and writhed, the room filling with the wet slap of skin on skin, the sharp, needy sounds of Jennifer’s mounting arousal. Vivian’s hand slipped lower, her fingers tentative at first, tracing slow, uncertain circles over her slick folds, unconsciously matching the rhythm of Jennifer’s hips.

Jennifer’s moans crescendoed, thick and urgent, her voice laced with command. “That’s it, Vivian. Watch me. It feels so good to be fucked. Don’t be shy, slut, show us how much you want it.” Her tone was both invitation and order, and Vivian responded, her movements growing bolder, fingers already deep in her pussy, her hips rocking in time with the spectacle before her. Her breathing quickened, her chest heaving, the flush on her skin blooming down her neck and across her breasts as she surrendered to the heat, the need, the exhibition of it all.

I caught Vivian’s gaze, pinning her with my eyes, my voice low and commanding. “Don’t hold back, Vivian. Let us see you. Show us how much you want this. ”

Vivian’s composure began to unravel, her moans rising, **** and raw. Her body trembled, every muscle taut with longing as she edged herself closer and closer to the precipice. The shame that had colored her cheeks was gone now, replaced by something fierce and hungry, her eyes glazed, mouth open, every inch of her straining for permission, for release. She looked up at me, pleading, her voice breaking with need. “Please, Master… please, may I come? ”

My gaze lingered on Vivian, her body trembling, every breath a plea. I let the silence stretch, savoring her desperation, before I spoke. “Not yet, Vivian. You will hold until Jennifer and I are finished. You’ll watch. Prove to me that you're not a spoiled brat and a worthless slut that can't even control your orgasm!”

A whimper slipped from her lips, her fingers slowing, the effort of restraint etched across her face. Jennifer, sensing the shift, pressed her advantage, her hips grinding down harder, her movements deliberate, calculated. She clenched around me, milking every inch, but always pulling back just before the edge, drawing out the pleasure, keeping us both suspended in exquisite tension.

Jennifer’s eyes never left Vivian’s. “You see, Vivian? This is what it means to serve. To give and to wait, to be denied and then rewarded. Hold yourself on the brink, feel it build, but do not let go until you’re told.” Her voice was thick with lust.

Vivian’s whole body shook, sweat beading on her brow, her hand a blur between her thighs as she fought to obey. But Jennifer and I, practiced in this dance, drew out our own pleasure, savoring every gasp and shiver, every **** sound from the kneeling girl. We lingered on the edge, prolonging the moment, letting the anticipation coil tighter and tighter.

Vivian’s resolve began to crack. Her breathing grew ragged, her moans rising in pitch, her hips bucking helplessly. “Please… please, Master, I can’t… I can’t hold it…”

Jennifer’s lips curled in a wicked smile. “You will hold, Vivian. Or you’ll learn what happens to disobedient sluts.”

But the torment was too much. With a strangled cry, Vivian’s body convulsed, her fingers working frantically as she tumbled over the edge, climax tearing through her in helpless, shuddering waves. She sobbed out her release, her shame and pleasure mingling, utterly undone.

Jennifer and I exchanged a glance, the satisfaction of of conquest, mingling with our own mounting need. Jennifer’s movements grew frantic, her body tightening around me, and I let myself go at last, thrusting up into her as we both tumbled into climax. Her cries mingled with mine, raw and triumphant, the bed shaking beneath us.

But the pleasure was more than physical. It was the knowledge that we’d pulled Vivian into our orbit, that she’d tasted submission and found herself helpless to resist. As Jennifer collapsed against me, breathless and glowing, I looked down at Vivian, spent, trembling, her eyes glazed with wonder and confusion.

“Come, join us and rest. Jennifer and I have no interest in punishing disobedient girls tonight,” I said, my voice gentle now, inviting. “We’ll discuss the future of our partnership tomorrow, when you’re back to being a free woman.” But as I watched Vivian, flushed and trembling, her body still humming from the aftershocks, I wondered if she could ever truly reclaim her freedom after this. I hoped not. I wanted her hooked, unable to forget the taste of surrender, longing to give herself up again, until one day, she’d beg to belong, not just for a night, but forever.