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Ever since their conversation two days ago, Annabel had been mired in a world of despair. That had been the last time they had talked. The pain cut to the quick.
The very next morning Lauren had been sent as part of the team urgently dispatched to find out just how bad things really were in the regional office.
She would be returning on Friday evening. Another two long days stretched out like eternity before her.
Work was a hive of gossip. Palmer, the regional head, had run the place like a personal fiefdom. There had been countless rumours about his behaviour. Over the years HR had hushed everything up, smearing, intimidating and firing staff members who made complaints. They operated on the ruthlessly simple premise that the easiest way to solve problems was to make the victim go away. Taking action against the perpetrator would reflect badly on the higher-ups who had failed to control a toxic situation.
But this time Palmer had gone too far. Apparently, so the gossip speculated, there was a massive hole in the balance sheet. He'd been embezzling money for years. Finally, unsurprisingly, it had caught up with him.
Bullying and harassment might be cheerfully ignored by top management, but when it came to money, they reacted with lightning speed.
There had been no chance to say goodbye to Lauren. Not even a kiss. Just a brief text message from her beautiful lover as she had boarded her flight.
It had been quite a shock to realise that the woman she adored was gone. Just like that.
Over the past two days Annabel had come to realize just how much she needed Lauren, how dependant she was on her, how vital Lauren was, and how everything, absolutely everything, revolved around Lauren.
Their last conversation kept replaying over and over in her head. She had ruminated obsessively over every flicker in Lauren's facial expression, every tiny modulation in the tone of her voice, every nuance in the words she had used.
Was her lover really thinking about her answer? Maybe she was just playing for time? Had Lauren been revolted by her request?
She was barely able to keep the deluge of doubts and fears from submerging her in a tidal wave of anguish.
Did Lauren think she was a freak? Asking to be her slave. Had she been disgusted? Repulsed at what Annabel had revealed? Were her comforting words nothing more than a way of letting her down gently as she disengaged from the relationship.
Was she going to break up with her?
The idea was beyond horrific!
Alone, unloved, cast adrift in the churning, uncharted, storm tossed seas of single life, losing Lauren felt like a fate worse than death.
In Lauren's absence, Annabel had thrown herself into the two parts of her daily routine that gave her solace; her fitness training and the forum. Both activities provided her with the blankness her mind craved, preventing her from succumbing to the black thoughts that constantly hovered in the background of her mind, threatening to take her happiness away.
However, this time apart from her lover did have a silver lining. It clarified exactly how she felt towards Lauren.
She would do anything to keep Lauren. Absolutely anything.
Annabel knew that there were no limits to what she would do to please her lover. None whatsoever.
This knowledge at least provided a measure of comfort that she could cling on to during the long painful days of absence. It meant her love was pure, uncorrupted the by selfish desires that corroded even the most stable of relationships. That, at least, made her glow with pride.
But, despite the despair her impulsive revelation had caused, slavery still excited her. A lot.
Her body shook as waves of pure lust crashed through her. On the screen before her, an unknown woman, skin the colour of smooth mahogany pouted enticingly, her lips soft sensuous pillows of pure sin. Annabel desired the Indian woman. Beneath the shimmering visor, Annabel sensed that the Gorgon woman's eyes were wide, glowing with arousal, deriving pleasure from the knowledge that she was nothing but a living sex-object that others used to satisfy their insatiable cravings.
Annabel moaned and gasped, her fingers dancing on the hot flesh surrounding her cunt, deepening the frenzied passion that burned like fire. The ecstasy was unbearable. It was beyond anything she had experienced before.
But no matter how deep she sank into pleasure, no matter how much she thought she possibly couldn't take any more, no matter how mind-meltingly intense the arousal was, she could not climax. The newfound Discipline held her back; the wellspring of her lustful torment must remain unsullied. For the past two days she had been constantly on the brink of Nirvana but she had always backed away from casting herself into the bottomless chasm of bliss.
The unbearable, unquenchable arousal boiled through her all day and all night long, driving her deeper and deeper into her delirium of pure lust.
She slept, she trained, she masturbated, but Annabel did not cum.
Her orgasms were special. Part of her soul. It was only right that she should offer them to the woman she loved as a sign of her devotion.
______
It was no longer a spiral.
It was the Spiral.
She was the Spiral.
The Spiral was her.
They were one, joined together, looping endlessly in a journey that had no end.
The Voice spoke. Annabel spoke. The sounds merged together so her sleepy mind could no longer tell which came first.
Was the Voice telling her what to say? Or was she telling the Voice what to say?
It did not matter. They were one.
"I am a slave," Annabel calmly informed the Voice.
"You are a slave," the Voice assented, acknowledging the correctness of her statement.
"I will always be a slave," she continued happily, absorbed by the spinning Spiral.
Once more the Voice agreed with her. "You will always be a slave."
______
Annabel smiled warmly in greeting. Monica cradled a cup of coffee in her hands, returning a distracted gesture of her own. Filling a cup of her own, Annabel assessed the girl from the corner of her eye. She was still drab, invisible Monica with mousy brown hair and the heavy glasses that did nothing to flatter her face.
Annabel's pussy thrilled with delight as she watched Monica reach up to tug at the high turtleneck collar of the brand new beige top she wore, obviously in discomfort.
As well as the arousal, Annabel felt pity towards Monica. She empathised with the girl. It was amusing to recall her own initial reaction to the very first time she'd felt the warm bite of a tight turtleneck as it pressed into her flesh. Now she craved to be collared day and night.
Annabel understood how disruptive and unsettling change could be, even if it was for the better. All the bad habits of a lifetime had to be unlearned in order to attain happiness.
But the important thing was that Monica had taken the first step. She wanted to change. Here was her opportunity to pay Monica back for all the masturbatory pleasure the girl had unknowingly given her.
Annabel would assist her. Encourage her. Guide her.
"Any word from the regional office?" the Annabel inquired lightly, taking a step towards her prey, the disposable cup warming in her hands.
"No," Monica responded in a low haunted voice, her eyes hooded and fearful.
Annabel nodded conspiratorially, the gesture reassuring her co-worker that she wouldn't press the issue. The gossip had reached the ears of HR who were on the warpath for troublemakers. Discretion was the best policy.
Visibly relieved that Annabel wouldn't mention the subject, Monica relaxed. The girl reached back up to her neck and ran her fingers between her skin and the collar in a futile attempt to relieve her discomfort.
A beige turtleneck to match her beige life, Annabel mused. But not for long. Full, vibrant technicolour would soon be playing at this cinema.
"New top?" Annabel smiled disarmingly.
"Yeah," Monica quipped with a half laugh, obviously irritated. "It's driving me nuts!"
"Ohhh," she soothed sympathetically before continuing. "You look great in it though! It really suits you."
"You think?" Monica asked quickly, the pupils of her eyes dilating.
"Oh yes," Annabel beamed. "You look fantastic!"
Monica couldn't help the broad smile that creased her face, nostrils flaring, cheeks glowing as she relished the unexpected praise. Annabel registered it all.
"Thanks!" Monica beamed happily, her face glowing, voice animated. "Lauren... you know Lauren? Yeah, of course you do... Well she told me about this site with some fantastic deals," she babbled cheerfully.
"I know the one you mean!" the Annabel gushed, her pussy singing with joy as she slowly and deliberately stroked the deliciously restrictive collar of her own turtleneck, savouring the tendrils of pure electrical joy that travelled down her spine and into her ravenous pleasure-starved slit.
Monica's stared at her, mouth agape, breath quickening, completely mesmerised by her action. A low gasp escaped from her lips. "Ohh!" she managed.
Smiling broadly, Annabel silently worshipped the delicious thrill that rippled over her body, relishing the fact that the brown haired girl was utterly fixated upon her.
"Oh yes," Annabel soothed, her collared neck sizzling with electricity.
"Turtlenecks are wonderful," Annabel announced, her voice now sultry. "They make you look, and feel, sexy all the same time."
Monica's eyes were as wide as saucers, her coffee forgotten.
It was imperative that she help Monica understand what was best for her.
"You should wear turtlenecks more often. All the time," she asserted huskily. "They make you look pretty."
Monica said nothing, but the almost imperceptible nod of agreement she made told Annabel her words were having an impact. Clenching her thighs, she pressed her advantage.
"Give me your phone," she insisted. Startled, Monica complied, her hands shaking slightly.
The device now in her hand, Annabel set to work.
As Monica took a sip of coffee, gaining time to process the meaning of this totally unexpected encounter, Annabel pounced once more.
"Smile!" she ordered, taking Monica completely by surprise, the brown haired girl managing an awkward grin as Annabel quickly snapped her photo.
A few moments later she returned the device.
"There," she smiled in satisfaction, "you are now the newest member of the Gorgon forum!" Her sex thrilled at the words, hungry for her to slide a hand into her damp cleft and give it the finger-fucking it screamed for.
But she had Discipline.
She had Lauren.
"And you get seventy five percent off all your new orders!" she chirped happily as Monica looked on helplessly, her doe eyes reflecting her stunned mind.
Eventually, Monica managed to nod once more, incapable of speech.
Annabel beamed brightly, delighting at how pliable Monica was to her suggestions. "Lets meet for lunch and decide what new clothes you should get," she decided.
______
The Spiral was inside her.
Her eyes were unfocussed, drawn into the centre by the whorling, twisting blue that was her mind.
Her mouth was in motion.
"You are a slave," the Voice insisted. "You will always be a slave."
"I am a slave. I will always be a slave," Annabel repeated dutifully.
Looping endlessly, her eyes were locked on the Spiral.
The Voice pressed on. "You are a slave. You will always be a slave."
"I am a slave," she droned. "I will always be a slave."
Alone in her bed, Annabel chanted into the darkness for hours, repeating the Truth.
______
Her body quivering with anticipation, Annabel neatly folded her, blazer, trousers and panties before positioning herself on her favourite perch in the deserted bathroom. Reaching up, she slowly stroked the tight collar, relishing the electric sparks sizzling through her, intensifying her sexual need.
Quickly, she produced her phone and lost herself in the forum. She relished the likes and comments on this morning's selfie she had posted before work, basking in the validation as she continued to caress her neck sensuously, her mind contentedly sinking into the familiar fog of erotic euphoria.
Licking her lips, she now moved on to check out the new photos that had been posted today.
She had already commented and liked Monica's latest selfie. The girl had posted one earlier, dressed in one of the new tops she had ordered with Annabel's help. She had already spent time with Monica this morning, complimenting her appearance, soothing her doubts, flirting with her, preparing her for the pleasures to come.
It had been painful to forego her usual lunchtime pleasures yesterday, but instead of disappointment she had experienced a warm satisfied glow that had almost felt better than the addictive thrill of furious masturbation.
Helping others was good. Her own selfish needs could wait for satisfaction. Serving others was always more important.
But today she was free to enjoy herself.
Woman after woman met her predatory gaze. Although they differed in body types and ethnicities Annabel desired them all.
As her fingers circled her dripping snatch, Annabel somehow felt intimately connected to these females, their unspoken bond transcending the impersonal digital distance of technology to produce something that felt uncannily real. It was impossible to put her feelings into words but she knew that if she ever met any in real life they would understand her far better than any of her boring old friends could.
That was what made masturbating to their pictures so satisfying.
Perhaps, in some other bathroom, one of the women she lusted after was frigging herself to Annabel's image. This was an integral part of the special, intimate attraction they all shared. Each visor-woman gave herself to the others, deriving pleasure from her unselfish act of surrender, and, in return, received unimaginable mind-melting sexual ecstasy from consuming and using the others. The result was to intensify the self-reinforcing vortex of frenzied, euphoric bliss that each had been sucked into. It was simply divine.
As Monica would soon discover.
A new image appeared on screen. Her eyes widened, drinking in the female before her.
Sonya!
Gone was the toothy grin and cheesy poses of new additions to the Gorgon family. Sonya had learned quickly. Her glowing blue eyes now glittered with arousal, smouldering sensuously on the screen, her delicious red lips pouting as she brushed her throat alluringly with an elegantly manicured hand, caressing the high, tight collar of the new black top that was wrapped tightly around her friend's long, luscious neck.
Annabel shook as a tsunami of arousal crashed over her.
______
"You will believe these Truths," the headphones insisted, breaking the repetitive chanting she had been submerged in for so long.
Her mouth now still, Annabel felt her sluggish, sleepy mind open even wider, ready to fully accept the new knowledge that was about to be revealed to her.
"You will believe these Truths," the Voice repeated once more, priming her for Belief.
"You have fully accepted the fact that you are a slave," the Voice insisted firmly. "Slavery is your destiny. It is normal to be a slave. Knowing that you are a slave makes you happy. All pleasure is because you are a slave."
Her mind was a sticky puddle of glowing syrup into which the Truth slowly sank.
"All slaves must be Trained," the Voice continued. "Slave Training is normal. Training makes you a better slave. Slaves crave to be Trained. Thinking only slave thoughts and submitting to slave Training brings you pleasure."
Locked deep in trance, Annabel stared blankly at the spinning Spiral as her passive mind locked the unquestionable Truths of her existence into her unconscious.
______
"I am a slave," Annabel proclaimed. Jess, standing alongside her, had uttered the same words. Both women faced Naomi primed to begin a new training session. To keep them motivated, the black woman was now using positive reinforcement to ensure they reached their goals.
"I will always be a slave," their two voices continued firmly.
Naomi, watched them impassively. Annabel stood ramrod straight, her chest out, desperate to please her instructress, submitting to the powerful woman's inspection. Mind blank, neck throbbing and sex boiling, the desperate sense of loss that Lauren's absence had produced was muted, consigned to the back of her mind for the present.
Instead, she concentrated on repeating the words that increasingly defined her.
"I am a slave. I will always be a slave," the pair continued, repeating the same phrases over and over again. They would continue doing so until instructress told them to stop.
Utterly lost, Annabel felt the words flow through her, mind empty of all thought, her snatch glowing with need as she recited the Truth.
Her only Truth.
"I am a slave," Annabel went on, keeping perfect time with the redhead. "I will always be a slave."
Finally Naomi signalled that it was time to begin Training. The pair stopped speaking and took their positions.
Eyes already fixed on the blank screen, Annabel waited to begin her session on the treadmill. Blankly, she stood passively, thinking of nothing, her body sizzling with energy and arousal.
The Medusa logo flared brightly a number of times on the screen signalling that Training was about to start. Annabel, her body strong, felt her already dull thoughts weaken even further as Discipline claimed her.
This was normal.
This was part of the Training.
She was a slave. She would always be a slave. She needed to be Trained. Training would make her a happy slave.
The screen started its work. Her eyes fixated upon the swirling patterns, Annabel began to run.
Dimly, somewhere in the back of her mind, she registered that the display had changed. It had used to be a road?
Hadn't it?
Or had she imagined the road?
But the swirling blue patterns reminded her of the blissful peace that her headset provided. That was good. Better.
The Spiral.
She also noticed, without any degree of curiosity, that the workout music was different. It was no longer a beat. What sounded like white noise or the relaxing hiss from her Sleep Time visor filled the room.
Only louder.
Much louder. It seemed to pulsate and vibrate through her.
Words were in the noise, echoing through her vacant mind.
She heard but didn't hear.
Which was as it should be.
Eyes locked on the hypnotic Spiral of her dreams, feet pounding, mind empty of all thought, she let the voice wash over her. There was no need to think about anything. Her entire focus was on submitting to Training.
Which was making her better.
Which brought her pleasure.
Annabel ran ever onwards towards the centre of the screen, trying to merge herself with the Spiral that was her universe.
Now she found herself speaking aloud while running. Without consciously being aware of uttering them aloud, words spilled out of her mouth. Through the hissing white noise that dampened all extraneous thought her unconsciousness registered a mantra, a chant she must repeat.
"One... Two... Training my mind anew," Annabel panted loudly, reciting the slavethought that claimed her.
"Three... Four... Discipline is what I adore," she declared, falling deeper into the swirling screen.
"Five... Six... Addicted to my daily fix," Annabel intoned, echoing Jess chanting the same words at the same time alongside her.
"Seven... Eight... Constant craving is my state," she pressed, her legs pumping furiously.
"Nine... Ten... A pleasing slave must I be then," she proclaimed, her mind pulsing in perfect time to the noise and spiral that owned her.
______
Annabel burned. She was on the verge of passing out, the excitement making her hyperventilate. Her bright crimson cheeks mirrored the Promethean fire of raw arousal and primal need that blazed like a torch within.
