Erin's Morning

Preface

= = = = = =

Let's get this point out of the way right off the top. This is my first story where the main character's role is non-consensual. She does not want to be a sex slave.

We also have time travel, murder, body modifications, mind control, and perhaps another bits of this and that.

Let's get into it

= = = = = = = = = =

There is a deep silence around me as I awake. My alarm didn't go off. Though there would be no noise even if it had. One of the things these people got right was a more sophisticated way to wake you up. No insane noises. No sudden ripping you from your dreams. Just some gentle impulses to the correct parts of your brain to move you gently from restful sleep to complete awareness.

I'm nude. But there's nothing unusual about that. Even before I was harvested I usually slept in the nude. The different now is that I'll very likely remain nude, or nearly so, all day. I've been nude for most of the last three years.

I sit up, stretch, and look around the room, dimly illuminated by the night light. I'm in my nest. And aptly named two foot deep by eight foot across padded depression in the floor. Filled to overflowing with large firm pillows.

Saying "my nest," or really "my" anything, is mostly because they tiny word "my" is so much easier than trying to describe the reality over and over again. I use this nest and these pillows and this room. No one else uses them. So, in that sense, they're "mine." But, in fact, I own nothing. Not even my own body. A fact made painfully clear to me during my initial indoctrination after being harvested.

I'm trying to find my tablet. The only advanced device I'm allowed to use. It has my schedule and I use it keep up to date on both local and world news. Being intelligently conversational is one of the few requirement placed upon me.

The arch way to the adjacent bedroom is dark. It could be any time of day. I find the tablet under a pillow and flick to the main screen. The press of an icon depolarizes the window. Sunlight streams in. From the angle I judge it to be early morning. The clock on the tablet confirms it to be about seven.

Flicking to my schedule I find I'm to appear in the throne room no later than eleven. There are no other instructions. I don't need them. Marcie, my body servant, knows how I'm to be prepared. I don't even bother to consider why I must be there at eleven. It may be to provide sexual service. Or conversation. Or just to sit there and look attractive. I do wonder if I'll be wearing anything, but it's quite unlikely. It's been a couple of months. And many months before that.

I don't have to summon Marcie. My room is under constant surveillance with motion detecting cameras. She's already been alerted that I'm awake. I can expect her in a few minutes. I stand and stretch some more, wondering if exercise will be on the program for this morning. I put my tablet in the charging stand on the table and sit in the chair to read the news. There is no other furniture in the room.

I reflect, as I sit reading, that this is the craziest slavery I've ever heard of. When I used to read stories or watch movies about being a sex slave they were never like this. I chuckle slightly at the idea that I used to fantasize about being taken. And wonder, once more, if I wasn't picked because I played with myself while I read those stories and watched those videos.

I'm thoroughly cared for. Even in training I'd never been struck and never been in bondage. Well, both have happened during "play times," but never to control or teach me. That's not to say I've never been in pain. They just have better methods. Far, far better. Ways that teach lessons without damaging bodies.

And my body is of paramount importance. In the weeks after my capture I had plastic surgery to remove several minor childhood scars. I glance at my wrist. The three inch white scar an upset cat awarded me is no longer there. My nose was straightened where I'd broken it falling off a bike when I was ten. And so on.

But no changes. Just the repair of damage. The changes came later and, again, they had better ways. Those other changes had me wondering. I used to read a lot of science fiction. And still do when there's time. The things I'd seen made me wonder if I wasn't on another planet or in the future of my own.

Once I was given my tablet and allowed to explore, it became obvious I was in my own future. Some three hundred and twenty four years later than the last day I remembered. I looked up my disappearance. News articles from the time say I was killed when my apartment building burned down. I'd asked about the body that was found. The woman they'd captured before me didn't work out. She wouldn't "gentle," as they called it. So when they grabbed me they just left her behind. To be found and identified as me.

I could never be sure if that was the truth, but it did fit all the facts. And it scared me more than the pain from training. It didn't make me instantly obedient, but it did give me pause when I considered being difficult.

Marcie strides in wearing what can only be described as a "Little French Maid" costume. But I kind of envy it. She has panties and a bra and shoes.

She tosses a "Good morning, Erin." at me as she goes into the bathroom. I call it that out of habit. It's about three times the size of the room I sleep in and has everything you could imagine for preparing a woman to face the day.

Except, of course, clothes. There are clothes somewhere in the building that I wear when Marcie is told to dress me. She didn't bring any today, but she does have a pair of high heel slippers in highly polished clear acrylic. Something special is happening, then. I'm usually kept barefoot.

I stand to follow her and am mildly surprised to see her running water in the bathtub. Usually she just strips down and joins me in the shower. Oh, I didn't explain. I do not shower or bathe myself. She does it for me. And does my hair. And my makeup, when I wear any. She even brushes my teeth and cleans me when I use the toilet.

"Come, Erin. Let's get started." I smile at that. My name isn't "Erin," but it's the one my owner specified in the contract with the slavers. It was used all through my training. I just about remember that my name used to be "Alexandria."

The trainers often capture and break women on speculation. They also give them basic training before selling them. Or sell them at a higher price and finish their training to their new owners desires. In my case, they'd been acting as contractors right from the start. My owner had picked me specifically. Or, to be more exact, a woman who could be adjusted to look as she wanted.

I get into the tub. The water has been scented something similar to lilacs. That would explain the bath. A particular scent is desired for today. I expect perfume will not be used. My owner prefers subtle scents, when she want's any at all. I'm cleaned efficiently, thoroughly, and intimately.

I stand dripping while she dries me and examines every inch of my body for any errant hairs. All my body hair was permanently suppressed within days of my capture. But hair is persistent. Even after three years an occasional one will sprout. A miniature version of the device used originally appears from one of her pockets and removes these stubborn hairs as they're found.

When I say all my hair, I mean everything, except some of my eyebrows and the hair on my head.. Even that near invisible fuzz that people have on their bodies, I don't. I'm amazingly smooth.

Them I'm seated at the vanity where she does my hair and makeup, the latter unusual, but not unexpected having seen the shoes. Both are relaxed in style and very natural. I'm injected with something which has never been explained to me. I suspect it's hormones since I have not had my period since being harvested, as they call it. I'd call it "kidnapped."

The other changes I mentioned earlier I think must have come from these injections as well. My derriere is subtly more pronounced. Not "big butt," but more full. My skin softer. And my breasts, oh God my breasts. I've gone from a nice handy C cup to an amazing H cup. I wouldn't know exactly how big but on one rare occasion where I wore a bra, that was the size on it's tag. And it fit perfectly after Marcie spent a half hour adjusting the straps and the chest band.

The treatment also causes them to stand up proudly. No sag. They fall gracefully from my chest looking almost perky, considering how huge they are. My areola have expanded and my nipples are now nearly the size of my thumb tips. Looking at myself in the mirror while my makeup is applied I'm idly playing with them. They do feel good.

Another detail missing in real life that was in almost all those stories... I'm not forbidden, in general, to play with myself. Or even orgasm. When I'm in my room. I'm aware that I'm always on camera, and it used to put me off. But I've been required to jill myself in public so often that I can't see that it matters any more. I think at times that this alone is probably the most obvious sign that I've resigned myself to being Winifred's slave.

Another weird thing. I'm the only one allowed to call her by her first name. But it must be her full first name. I spent an hour writhing in agony before her throne the first, and only, time I forgot and called her "Winnie."

Marcie brings me back to the present with a quick pinch of my right nipple. This is what she always does when she's finished preparing me. I don't know if she's straight or not. She's never tried to do anything sexual to me, even when she's cleaning my sex. Totally efficient and just slightly affectionate.

She kneels in front of me and puts the heels on my feet, fussing with the straps for a few seconds to be certain they fit properly.

"Stand and walk around, please."

I do as she says. I could give her a hard time, but what would be the point? I'd get punished. And if she didn't take control of me to Winifred's satisfaction, she's get punished too. And I'd still have to do whatever had told me to do.

I walk around the room randomly as Marcie closely observes me.

She says, "You are ready, Erin."

I reply, "Thank you, Marcie."

Most times that is all I say to her. When she first took over my care I tried to talk with her more, but met with little success. She would only tell me things I could find out other ways. For instance, I'm wearing heels today. This means that something unusual will be happening. If I were meant to know what it is, she'd have told me without my asking. If I'm not meant to know, asking is just a waste of time.

"You may go to Her Grace now, Erin."

Everyone, but me, refers to her as "Her Grace," or call her "Your Grace," if actually speaking to her.

I walk from the bathroom into my room and pick up my tablet. Then look to Marcie. She nods "yes." I should take it. I'm usually supposed to have it with me, but it's always best to check.

Just as I leave, simply walking, Marcie reminds me, "Stride, Erin."

Right. Winifred prefers me to stride when wearing heels.

"Thank you, Marcie."

I pass quickly through Winifred's bedroom, the door to the hallway is opened for me by her bedchamber slave, and I stride out into the hall. Taking the longest steps I can without risking falling down. I'm going to be over two hours early, but if that were a problem, Marcie would not have told me to go.

I consider, as I stride along, that I rarely know what's going on at any given time. And when I do, it's usually only vague ideas and only for short periods.

Doors are opened for me by various servant's and guards as I move through the palace. There are numerous slaves and servants, but I'm the only one nude. The stride causes my breasts to bounce in what even I have to admit is a delightful way. I can't see my behind, but I know my butt is making what people used to call "figure eights" as my hips rise and fall.

My labia rub together as my legs move past them. In what I assume is another effect from my morning injections, I arouse quite easily. And I am getting turned on just walking to the throne room. Since I'm so far ahead of schedule, I'm permitted to stop and recover my composure. I select a bench near a small flower arrangement and gracefully seat myself on it. Spreading my legs slightly to reduce the pressure.

I look down to see what I'd expected. My labia are swollen, my inner protruding slightly, and my clitoral hood exposed. Well, at least my clit hasn't actually popped out. Yet. I look away and resist the temptation to touch myself. Out of my room I'm only allowed to do that when I have specific permission. Or am ordered to, which actually happens fairly often.

And anyway, although most of my humiliation has been burned out of me, it would still be embarrassing to be rubbing one out when someone walked by. Which people do fairly often. I sit for about ten minutes, reading the news and watching the time on my tablet. When I feel sufficiently relaxed, I stand and continue my quick trip to the throne room.

I'm also one of only three people permitted to enter the throne room unannounced, though I do enter from behind the throne. The door is opened for me by the guard there. I continue my stride, enter, then go directly to the left side of the throne. Stopping with my right thigh precisely six inches from the arm rest, with my body exactly lined up with her left shoulder.

The discussion which had been going on stops as I appear. People know the rituals which take place on my entry.

She says, "Good morning, Erin."

My reply, "Good morning, Winifred."

I lean down and give her a quick kiss on the lips, then stand again. Legs slightly apart, arms at my sides, hands on my outer thighs, but with the tablet gripped in my right hand. Eyes ahead. I feel her fingers touch me at the base of my spine, trace down my ass cleavage, and go under me to finger my outer labia. One finger enters me then withdraws. Were I permitted to look, I would see her licking my moisture off her finger.

She says, "Relax, Erin." And with that the ritual for my entrance is ended. I look and see that the pillow I normally kneel on while waiting her pleasure is in it's usual place, just in front of where I'm now standing. When I kneel on it I am within her reach. I lower myself to it gracefully, then sit back on my heels, as I've been taught, and return to reading the local news on my tablet.

There's a good chance I'll spend the entire day right where I am now, with short breaks permitted to stretch my legs. Or short interludes when I service her. Or others, if that is her pleasure. Since I was supposed to be there by eleven, I guess what she wanted the heels for doesn't happen until then.

I hear her say, "You my continue." And the discussion goes on. I listened somewhat abstractly, since they were discussing matters which would never matter to me. But, to my surprise, it was about something I'd been reading. My head pops up and I looked at them. And they stopped talking again looking at me looking at them.

I felt Winifred's fingers touch my right shoulder then slide sensuously across then up my neck where they gently tickle me behind my right ear. I say "tickle," and it should be, but it is not truly ticklish. As with a few of my other changed responses, this is quite arousing. "What is is, Erin?"

"Uh, I apologize Mistress." She likes "Mistress" too. "I was just reading about this."

"And what do you think?"

I turned to look at her. "Mistress?"

"I asked your opinion."

"Uh. I haven't thought about it."

"Do."

She means this literally. I'm to take a little time, while everyone waits, to think about it.

I looked back at the delegation, then back at her.

"I..."

I stopped, first, because nobody had asked my opinion about anything in three years. But second because I saw in her other hand my remote control.

"Yes, Mistress."

And so I thought about it. While she smiled at me and waited. She has patience, I've learned. She would make them wait all day if it pleased her to do so.

One of them said, "Excuse me, Your Grace?"

She didn't look at them, but she says, "You my speak."

He asks, "Will this matter be decided by your pleasure slave?"

I saw her expression darken slightly, still looking at me, she said, "I asked for her opinion, I did not say she would decide." Then she looked at him, "Perhaps you'd like it if I did let her decide?" At which point she pressed a button on the control. I felt a gentle stimulation of my clit. Subtly pleasant.

I let out an involuntary "Mmmmm."

She looked back at me and smiled, "Silence, child. Your opinion?"

I found that I did have an opinion. "I think the western province has not proved their claim."

She turns to them. "I agree. This matter is suspended for one week, at which time you will bring forth convincing proof or the matter will be dismissed."

The filed out. She continued to stroke me. Pet me really. "Very good, Erin. Back to your reading." she withdrew her hand, I turned to face forward. The gentle current through my clitoris faded out over the next few minutes.

There were other appeals, entreaties, requests and so on. I kept my head down. Being involved like that had frightened me. I not only had not made any decision more complicated that what book to read next in three years, but I'd just influenced the lives of a million people.

Winifred stroked my hair from time to time, but otherwise left me to my reading. I moved on from local news to world news. While I expressed some doubt about where I was earlier in this missive, since being given the tablet I'd clearly established where and when I was.

Winifred ruled what had been New England, New York and Pennsylvania in my time. Most of the place names remained and even the state names were used, but only for organizational purposes.

I noticed it was approaching eleven when she said, "Erin."

I turned to face her, "Winifred?"

"I want you to go out in the hall, wait until exactly eleven thirty, then enter as usual. But when I tell you to relax, this time I want you to assume a parade rest pose rather than kneel. Get one of the guards to show you what parade rest is."

I immediately rose to my feet. "Yes, Mistress."

"Take your pillow with you and leave it and your tablet in the hall."

I bent down to retrieve the pillow. "Yes mistress."

I went out behind her throne. The guards quickly showed me parade rest. We practiced it several times until they agreed I had it down. Having no other instructions, I put my pillow down beside the door, knelt on it, and continued my reading, first having set an alarm to give me five minutes warning to prepare myself to enter.

Time went by quickly and nervously. I didn't really need the alarm. I kept checking the time anyway. When it finally did go off, I was relieved. I got to my feet and waited, watching the clock. At precisely eleven-thirty I dropped the tablet on the pillow and walked towards the door. The guards opened it and I strode into the throne room.

The first thing I noticed was that it was almost silent as I entered. Normally people continued talking until I appeared, then fell silent. The second thing was that the lights were dimmed in the hall with the only brightness illuminating Winifred's throne and the area around it.

I came around the throne and halted in my usual position. I found that I was also in the bright circle of light trained on the throne.

We went through our usual greeting ritual then I assumed the pose. Feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind my back, chest out, shoulders back. My breasts felt huge. Well, they are huge, but this position really emphasized them.

Down on the main floor were at least two hundred people standing in loose groups around all three walls. None on this side, where the stairs from the dais descended to the floor. Nobody to potentially obscure Winifred's view. Out in the middle of the floor were two large nude men with long knives, almost daggers, in their hands. They faced Winifred, apparently waiting.