A Slave's Doubts

As Melissa tried to scoop up the sheets again, she found herself hesitate, her hand shaking inches from the bed's surface. She needed to complete her task. She needed to obey her orders. She needed to be a good, happy slut. She knew this, but her body...just wouldn't do what she wanted.

Taking a deep breath, Melissa tore all the sheets free in one pull, almost tripping over herself as she dashed for the exit. Her pace didn't slow until she reached the laundry room, though by then she was so frazzled and distraught, she threw open the door and chucked the sheets away, almost hitting Brooke in the process.

"Whoa!" the surprised slut exclaimed. "Jesus. Don't tell me there was a spider on those."

"S-sorry!" Melissa cried, still catching her breath. "There's nothing wrong with the sheets, I was just..." she stopped herself, but realized her mistake too late. Brooke was already staring, eyes narrow and dark beneath her long lashes.

"Dammit, are you seriously still thinking about him?" She let out an exasperated growl.

"I-it's not just him!" Melissa exclaimed. "It's...all kinds of stuff."

"Stuff like what?"

"I'm...not sure how to explain." It was the truth: nothing like this had ever happened to Melissa before, at least as far as she knew. Normally when she thought about her life before Alpha Rho, the memories were hazy and disconnected, scattered specifics with little to no narrative, outside of a growing embrace of her slutty nature. But the memories that had been cropping up since the grocery store...they were different somehow. Sharp. Urgent. Trying to tell her something.

"It's like..." She fidgeted, toying with her hair again. "You know that feeling when you're in a dream, and you realize that nothing around you is real, but you also don't know how to wake up?"

Brooke blinked. "Are you saying none of this is real?"

"I...I don't know."

The washer buzzed and rumbled to a stop, an awkward silence descending on the tiny room. Brooke moved the sheets to the dryer, her expression distant as she set the next cycle. Melissa had never seen her so quiet and concerned. Yet rather than feeling guilty for causing so much trouble, the agitated slut felt increasingly wary, as though the longer Brooke went without speaking, the more dangerous her eventual reply would be.

The dryer hummed to life. Brooke sighed, wiping her hands on her skirt. "You know what? Why don't we get a start on the tutors early?"

Melissa stiffened. "Are you sure? Shouldn't we...wait until the laundry is done?"

"Why are you arguing?" Brooke laughed, but it sounded harsher than usual. "Don't worry—we'll be back before the cycle is over. Besides, don't tell me you're gonna pass up the opportunity for some free cock before the party."

"Cock..." Melissa murmured, her tongue sliding across her lips. It was true: tutor duty did sound really appealing all of a sudden. Maybe a good face-fucking would make her a happy slut again. At the very least, it would stop the racing thoughts—her head had a way of going empty whenever a nice, warm dick went inside.

Before Melissa could finish forming an answer, Brooke clasped her hand, practically dragging her out of the room and into the hall. The two slaves made their way deeper into the house, to an expansive lounge lined with wooden desks and bookshelves. It was here that the "tutors" were at work. Some were simply pledges looking to earn their membership; others were outside help the Masters hired. Either way, their mission was the same: to complete the schoolwork the slaves shirked in favor of their daily duties. This way, every slut could focus on doing what she did best, without having to worry about grades or expulsion.

Melissa knew it was hard work—just looking at the stacks of papers and books surrounding each tutor made her stomach flip with anxiety. She was so glad she had left her academics up to her Masters, so grateful she only had to attend the occasional lecture or quiz, and could spend the rest of her energy on more...pleasurable pursuits. How the other students survived without Masters was a mystery to her.

But then...she had once too...hadn't she?

"Hey there." Brooke purred, approaching the closest tutor and gently massaging his shoulders. "That looks really hard. Care to take a little break with me?"

"Please," the young man groaned. "If I have to do one more statistics test, I'm gonna go insane."

"Let's see what I can do about that," Brooke winked, slipping under the desk. "By the way, Mel, I think I saw Keith down that way if you want to...ohhhh..." the rest of her sentence faded as she fished the tutor's cock free, its insistent red head stealing all her attention at once. Melissa noticed her own mouth watering as she saw her friend go to work, but managed to pull her attention away and towards where Brooke had been indicating.

Sure enough, he was there: Keith, Melissa's favorite tutor. He was a tall, skinny boy, a sophomore if Melissa recalled correctly, with a mop of fluffy blonde hair and a cute, abashed smile. Certainly not the handsomest boy she had ever tasted but...he was different. The other tutors generally fell into two camps: either they enjoyed her service as a matter of course, or otherwise grabbed the back of her head and used her like the owned bitch she was. And while both interactions had their charms, sucking Keith off was something else entirely—something Melissa was very much looking forward to.

Despite clearly wrestling with some difficult assignment, Keith's expression brightened the moment Melissa drew near. "Oh, h-hey! What's, um, what's up?" he asked, his face already reddening.

"Just the usual, sir," Melissa giggled. He had come in her mouth at least five times now, but always tried to make conversation whenever they met. "Ready for your break?" she asked.

"S-sure," Keith nodded, already moving to unbuckle his pants. Melissa rested a hand on his, stopping him with a gentle smile. It was her job to see to his needs, and she adored every moment of it. As she knelt underneath the desk, she relished the tension she felt in his body, the way he shivered slightly as her fingers traveled up his jeans. A small gasp escaped him as she drew his cock into her hand. She skimmed her grip along its veiny surface, delighting in the way it stiffened and twitched.

"F-fuck," Keith whispered. "You never go easy on me, do you?"

"Sorry sir," Melissa murmured, kissing her way from the base to the tip. "I just...love it so much." She meant it, too: to feel this hardness, this heat, pressed against her face...it was what sluts like her dreamed of. At last, she could hold back no longer—with happy moan, she slipped the object of her worship into her mouth, pushing it deep inside her throat, and then sliding her tongue over every inch as she pulled it back out again. Keith parted her hair as she repeated the process, and she hummed in blissful gratitude, glowing with delight at every joyous utterance she drew from his lips. This was why she was always drawn to his station, why Brooke had suggested she service him before anyone else. No matter how often she got him off, he never treated it as routine. It was as though each encounter were a fresh surprise, each orgasm a miracle only she could create with him.

Of course, it never took long. Melissa had hardly increased her pace when she felt his hands on her shoulders—not forcing her onwards, but to pleading her not to stop.

"I...I'm going to..." he grunted, unable to finish the sentence. "It's...it's gonna..."

Melissa doubled her efforts, bobbing her head up and down in eager supplication. She always assured him that such a warning was unnecessary, but that never seemed to stop him from trying. He was so sweet. So delicate. So...much...like...

"Are you...sure about this?" Chris asked, his voice shaking. It was strange: she was the one kneeling by his bedside, and yet it was he who was acting like cornered prey. Maybe, in a way, he was: after all, she was the one who had confessed her desires, trapping them both in this precarious position. But there was an urge inside her she couldn't control, a voice she couldn't stifle with mere kisses and petting any longer.

"I'm sure," Melissa lied. "I've...seen videos and stuff, so it should be..."

"You have?" he exclaimed. "When? Why didn't you tell...hh!" He stiffened, his entire body going rigid as she slid her hand over his boxers, smoothing the contours of his erection.

"It's okay," she murmured, as much to herself as to him. "This doesn't...it won't go against our promise. We're still being true to each other, right?"

"I...I..." he swallowed, but didn't stop her as her fingers tugged his waistband. "I'm...not sure..."

"Th-this isn't wrong," she whispered, her heart racing. "I...I just want to make you feel good. I just...want..."

Melissa sputtered as Keith came, caught completely off-guard. His cock popped free from her lips, spilling thick strands of seed as she doubled over, coughing.

"Oh shit, oh fuck," Keith yelped, fumbling to look under the desk. "Are you okay?" he extended a hand to help her, only to jerk back as his own juices dripped from the desk onto his wrist.

"I-it's alright..." Melissa muttered, wiping her chin. "S-sorry..." The usual cum-high had still hit her brain, but it was muddled somehow, the traces of the intrusive memory still tainting her bliss. She crawled into the open, only find Brooke standing before her, the shining splatter on the slender slut's chest proof that at least she had managed to meet her tutor's wishes without incident.

"Seriously, Mel?" Brooke grimaced, absently wiping a trickle from her tits before licking her fingers clean. "What is going on with you today?"

Melissa opened her mouth, but no answer came out. She looked at the floor, burning under the stares of the other tutors and sluts. How could she explain herself to them? How could she describe the horrible ball of shame, confusion, and dread that had lodged itself in her gut? She wasn't supposed to feel this way. She was a good, happy slut.

Wasn't she?

______________________________________________

A cool breeze raced across Melissa's thighs and up her mini-skirt, causing her to shiver. Several passing students stopped to stare, prompting her to wink and extend the flyers clutched in her right hand. One man was brave enough to approach. Melissa made sure to bend over as she passed the leaflet along, letting her tits sway in her skimpy Alpha Rho crop-top. She said she was looking forward to seeing the man at the party. He stammered something noncommittal and quickly rejoined his friends. She doubted he would actually show—guys like him rarely had the guts.

Not that it mattered. The point of flyer duty had never been to attract new patrons, not really anyway. No, the real reason Melissa and Brooke were standing in the middle of campus, freezing their scantily-clad butts off for everyone to see, was because Master N. had heard about Melissa's tutor incident, but had been too busy to punish her properly. Instead, he'd placed the two of them on the worst task a slave could receive, a tedious chore far from excitement and safety of the house, in a world that didn't exactly welcome their slutty ways. It was torture. Their bodies were made for touching and pleasing—not distant gawking and fleeting chit-chat. By the time the two girls had rotated to their second spot, Brooke was practically throwing herself at anyone who passed too closely, an accidental boob graze enough to make her flush and sigh with relief.

At least she had stopped trying to cheer Melissa up. From the moment the two of them had stepped outside, Brooke had become a nonstop stream of assurances and rationalizations, all trying to convince Melissa that her upsetting memories were nothing more than fleeting fantasies. But the words that had once radiated warmth and comfort now sounded strained and forced. A part of Melissa desperately wanted to believe Brooke, to stop thinking so much and start enjoying her life as a slut again. Yet every time she tried to slip away into that pleasant fog, something else would trigger another rush of unsettling recollections. And the voice that had been growing louder inside her would say:

Something was very, very wrong here.

It just didn't make any sense. How did someone who had gotten nervous wearing a swimsuit end up sucking off strangers in a frat house? How could she have spent years condemning campus promiscuity, and still salivate at the thought of passersby feeling her up? When she grinned at a cute guy and promised to show him a good time at the party, she really meant it. And when that guy's eyes lingered for just a beat too long on her cleavage...the embarrassment and disgust she felt was undeniable.

But...which feelings should she trust? Which were the real her?

"Melissa?" a voice from behind her asked.

Oops. Some guy had apparently snuck up without her noticing. She quickly turned, beaming and pushing the intrusive thoughts away with a smile.

"Hey cutie," she giggled. "Sorry, didn't see you..." She stopped, the oxygen vanishing from her lungs as she realized:

It was Chris. He had found her again.

"It is you." His voice was hushed, yet heavy with longing as he approached. "Thank God. Can we talk? Please?"

Melissa's head spun, competing impulses chasing each other in dizzying spirals. "I don't...I'm not allowed to leave," she mumbled.

"That's okay," Chris replied, undeterred. "I just wanted to apologize. For everything."

"Um...okay?" Melissa took a step back, looking to Brooke for direction. But the other slut was too busy chasing a gaggle of passing students to notice Melissa's predicament. That was...a relief. Or was it bad? Melissa didn't know anymore.

"You don't have to forgive me right away," Chris insisted, his hot breath fogging the air in front of him. "What I said to you...what I did to you...it can't just be swept away. Especially if it pushed you to become like this."

Melissa blinked. "Um, I-I'm not sure what you're talking about," she muttered. But it was a lie: even if she couldn't put it to words, she knew what his earnest eyes were saying. Yet a part of her still wanted to look away, to shove him aside and maintain that no, she was the reason she had ended up "like this." It was her decision. Her desire. It was for her own good, and she loved every second of it.

Or at least, she had.

Unable to hold her former beau's gaze, Melissa glanced back to see Brooke bid farewell to the passing crowd. Chris seemed to notice too, and quickly snatched a flyer from Melissa's hands, before placing something there in return. Somehow, she recognized the object in an instant, knew its smooth surface and surprising heft before even looking. She still couldn't stifle the gasp when her eyes fell on her palm, and beheld the purity ring glimmering on its surface.

"I'll come by tonight," Chris said, backing away into the flow of foot traffic. "If you change your mind just...come outside. I'll be waiting in my car. We can just...drive and talk. Like we used to."

Melissa was too dizzy to reply. She could only watch as the specter of her past vanished, leaving her feeling even more lost than before. The ring weighed heavily in her hand, and for a moment she considered letting it fall, releasing the anchor that threatened to pull her deeper into her doubts.

Instead, her fist closed around it, hiding it from view as Brooke's footsteps approached.

"Phew," the flushed slut breathed. "Think I actually managed to hook a few patrons there."

"R-really?" Melissa asked, forcing a laugh as she returned her flyers to her bag, stowing the ring among them. "You can never tell for sure though, right?"

"Maybe," Brooke admitted, though her confident grin didn't waver. "I've got a good feeling about it though. Don't hate me if I end up coming out on top tonight."

"I won't," Melissa replied. "Just...promise me the same, alright?"

"Of course." Brooke laughed. "I could never hate you, Mel."

Melissa nodded.

She dearly hoped that was true.

_____________________________________________

Something felt wrong. And it was getting worse.

Melissa lingered in the kitchen, pouring the champagne as slowly as she could. Other sluts around her bustled in an out, eager to refill their trays and get back out on the floor where the fun was. But not Melissa. She kept her gaze pinned to the glasses, seeking refuge in the tiny bubbles dancing in their depths. Yet even they were no longer completely safe—looking at them now, she couldn't help remembering...

...Snatching a glass as she stumbled down the hall, not even bothering to thank the lingerie-attired serving woman. Melissa wasn't sure which party she was crashing, and she didn't really care—she just knew that it was away from him. Away from the judgmental stares and whispers. Away from everyone and everything she knew. A place she could drink, dance, and be forgotten. A place where...

"Hey, do you guys have any mineral water?" A man in a grey blazer and dark jeans entered the kitchen, unbuttoning his collar and wiping his brow. "It's like a goddamn furnace out there."

Melissa looked up, and quickly realized she was the only slave still left in the kitchen. "O-of course sir," she replied, smiling through her swirling thoughts. Fortunately, her training kicked in automatically, prompting her to prance over to the fridge and retrieve a bottle of water from the bottom drawer. She shot an inviting look over her shoulder, and was rewarded by a tiny surge of arousal when she caught the man's gaze roaming her exposed skin. She moved slowly as she straightened and turned, ensuring he got a chance to read all the prices scrawled across her body before she handed the water over.

"O-oh, thanks," the man stammered, as though he had forgotten his original request.

"Is there...anything else I can do for you?" Melissa asked, biting her lip and sliding closer. What was wrong with her? A moment ago she was trying to avoid this kind of situation. But now that a man was here...now that she could see the fascination in his eyes and hear the hunger in his breath...all she wanted was to obey her slut instincts and take anything he was willing to give her. It was what she was made for, what her aching insides longed for. Even if it hadn't always been that way...that didn't mean it was wrong, right?

The man was clearly making a similar calculation, his eyes darting between Melissa and the door. It must've been his first party—repeat visitors rarely worried about getting caught. All the more reason for Melissa to move in now, and take this adorable new patron as her own.

"Please?" she cooed, lifting his trembling hand to her chest. "It gets so boring just serving drinks all night...and you seem like a lot of fun." Her heart fluttered as he grasped her breast, his thick fingers kneading and squishing her sensitive, needy softness. He wanted her—she could tell. All she had to do was yield to his touch, to let him pull her closer and...

...A man pulled her to him as she danced, pressing his erection against her swaying ass. It was a bestial, perverted move, but one she couldn't bring herself to resist. So what if some stranger wanted to grind against her? Hadn't Chris called her a whore? Hadn't he told her this was where she belonged? Maybe if he could see her now, he would be sorry. The thought sent a tickle of perverse pleasure through Melissa's alcohol-soaked brain, only for a surge of nausea to erupt soon after. She suddenly felt sick, and fought free from her gyrating partner. He shouted something in protest, but his words were lost in the roaring of her own blood in her ears. This wasn't helping. It wasn't making her forget. It wasn't filling the hole in her heart. It was only making it worse. She had to run, had to get out of there, had to...