Team Slut Ch. 03

Kari sighed as she hefted the laundry out of the washer, pausing to absently scoop her breast back into its tiny holster. Her uniform was a tricky one today: a fuzzy, cow-print mico-bikini, its scant, soft fabric far more revealing and impractical than anything she'd ever worn before. Just walking across the room without exposing herself was a challenge—she had to be constantly aware of how she was moving, compensating for every jiggle and bounce of her body as she swayed barefoot down the compound's corridors, fighting between the urge to cover herself and the need to finish her chores on time. It was excruciating. Humiliating.

And...though she hated to admit it...more than a little thrilling.

The cowbell collar that came with outfit was an especially sadistic touch. It was heavy enough to not clang constantly, but it still reliably tolled out whenever she bent over. Every time she heard it, she was freshly reminded of how shameless she must look: her thong-strapped ass in the air, her tits hanging heavily in their spotted restraints, her face burning as she both feared Leurre finding her in such a state, and wished desperately for it to happen.

If he saw her like this what would she do?

Part of her believed that she would curse him and flee; that it would be the last straw before she quit the team; that she still had enough dignity to be mortified by her own degradation.

But another part of her felt otherwise.

After all, what self-respecting woman would even end up in this position in the first place? Wasn't it just as likely that she would succumb yet again? That rather than running from her tormenter, she would simply raise her hips higher, begging him to grasp them, peel her panties off, and use her like the animal in heat she was?

The washer lid slipped from Kari's fingers, slamming closed with a clang that jolted her from her reverie. She exhaled, resting a hand on her chest, willing her racing heart to slow. This was bad. The fantasies were becoming more frequent, more vivid, more tempting every day. Every time she let her thoughts wander, they were captured by the same devilish daydreams: Leurre taming her, claiming her, putting her on her knees where she belonged. When and why he'd become her erotic ideal was a question Kari often asked herself. She'd never really been into older men before meeting Leurre, and certainly hadn't felt attracted to him at first. But in trying to retrace her attraction, Kari always somehow ended up with the same result:

It all made perfect sense. Her coach was a handsome man, and an authority figure who held a great deal of power over her. It was only natural for a submissive slut like her to crave him, to yearn for his guidance and control, to offer herself for his pleasure and—

No! Kari shook her head. She was a professional Strikeforce player, dammit, no matter what her fantasies or fetishes. This was a temporary setback, nothing more. Her feelings for Leurre were just loneliness and lust looking for an outlet. They wouldn't last long. She would come to her senses soon enough.

And yet...didn't it seem like she was getting worse? When was the last time she'd even played Strikeforce?

Kari frowned as she moved the damp laundry into the dryer, struggling to remember when she'd last even logged on. Time had become increasingly blurry lately. She could recall the first time she'd masturbated in-game, but could no longer say for sure whether that had been days or weeks ago. All she knew was that, contrary to Leurre's theory, being forced to rub herself stupid in front of her teammates hadn't shocked her out of her bad habits; it had lit a fire that she couldn't seem to put out.

It'd happened exactly as her coach had feared.

Ever since her first mid-game masturbation session, it was like a demon had awoken inside her, an incubus that invaded her thoughts whenever she missed a shot or messed up a play. It would tempt her with jeers of her teammates, some real, some imagined, all urging her to give up, to admit she was a hopeless slut, and fuck herself on-mic for the entertainment of her tormentors.

For a while, she was able to resist the siren song of self-ruin. But it wasn't long before she gave in. Once. Twice. Then every other game. Eventually, it got to the point where her fingers spent more time inside her than on the keyboard. She would play late into the night, not aiming to win but to debase herself, losing sleep and leaking juices all over her chair, giving herself over to the guilty, giddy high, over and over and over again.

Until her account was permanently banned. Apparently, moaning into the microphone while throwing her matches had earned Kari quite a few player conduct reports. The following morning, Leurre forced Kari to uninstall Strikeforce from her machine, barring her from downloading it again until she learned to control herself. She could still use the aim-training program of course, a privilege she was deeply grateful for. But beyond that, her gaming privileges were indefinitely revoked.

That didn't mean Kari's training was over though—instead, Leurre devised a new system for her to follow. Every morning she awoke to find a new, humiliating outfit hanging on her bedroom door, along with a list of tasks for her to complete around the compound. If she could finish them all and make it to the following morning without masturbating, she would be permitted to play Strikeforce once again. This was, her coach admitted, a rather extreme measure. But it was the only way he saw to heal her fractured psyche. She needed to tame her bestial nature at any cost, and prove once and for all that she was the master of her destiny, not her pussy.

So far, it was a fight she was losing. Badly.

The arousal that had once been an occasional hindrance was now a constant companion, a warm mist that clung to her skin and fogged her brain. She'd become keenly aware of the compound's many security cameras, their lenses always staring as she flounced from room to room. In such a state, even the most banal tasks became erotic, to say nothing of those clearly intended to tease her. One memorable morning had her doing jumping jacks on the upstairs balcony, her lewd performance in full view of the neighboring houses. Such "chores" never failed to crumble her resolve. Even on the rare occasions she managed to go the whole day without touching herself, by nightfall her resistance would always be wavering, her panties soaked and her thighs quivering, her legs spreading and her hands stroking the moment she collapsed into bed.

The dryer started up with a beep. Kari sighed, pulling her thoughts back into the present. She turned and leaned against the machine, waiting patiently for the cycle to complete. The cold metal rumbled and whirred against her ass, sending tingles rippling through her sensitive body.

That gave her an idea. An awful, terrible, irresistible idea.

Licking her lips, Kari hefted herself onto the appliance, straddling a corner as the machine shuddered beneath her. This wasn't breaking any rules, was it? Even if she spread her legs apart, even if she leaned back and pressed her crotch against the buzzing, vibrating surface...that didn't count as playing with herself, did it? She was just sitting here. Closing her eyes. Biting her lip. Letting a soft moan leak from inside her.

Uh-oh, it seemed one of her breasts had slipped from her top again. And wouldn't you know it, the other just bounced free as well. She couldn't be seen like this, could she? It was only right that she should correct herself; that she should grasp her flushed, needy tits; that she should squeeze and massage their tender softness, teasing her fingers around the quivering tips. She was just trying to get them back into place—that was all. So what if she was taking her time? So what if the heat inside her was rising? So what if her hips were wriggling with anticipation? So what if she no longer cared about winning? So what if she wanted to lose?

So what if...if...

It was happening again. She never remembered when it was over, but always recognized when it came. As the first orgasm shook her body and blanked her mind, Kari felt her eyes roll back, her vision blurring as an explosion of colors filled her mind. It was a familiar cascade, one that she felt she could place, if only she could think long enough to do so. But she couldn't. Her thoughts were now barely a whisper, drowned out by another voice, warm and commanding, saying words her sluggish brain couldn't follow, even as her lips quietly repeated them.

"I am an obedient slut..."

"My pussy controls my body..."

"My owner controls my mind..."

The dryer continued to rumble. Kari's hands continued to play. But it wasn't her moving them anymore. Something else had taken control. The pleasure. The colors. The words reshaping her world.

"Nothing is more important than pleasing my owner..."

"I am always eager to serve..."

"I am always ready to be used..."

The machine buzzed. Kari blinked.

Oh—it seemed the drying cycle was complete.

How long had she been sitting there? Had she just been saying something? Why couldn't she remember?

And why were there spots of drool on her tits?

After a moment of puzzled staring, Kari shrugged, wiped her lips and chest, and hopped off the dryer to continue her chores. There was no point in asking so many questions—her head felt too floaty and bubbly to come up with the answers anyway. She must've just spaced out again, as she'd done plenty of times before. If it was something she should worry about, Leurre would tell her. She could trust him, after all. He had only her best interests at heart.

Speaking of which....as she folded the laundry, Kari couldn't help but notice the security camera overhead, light shining against its polished black casing. No doubt it'd caught her in her latest shameless act. No doubt Leurre would count this as another failure. No doubt Kari the Pro Gamer had once again lost to Kari the Silly Slut. Vaguely, she wondered if Leurre would soon reach another breaking point, and come up with yet another way to punish her for her uselessness.

A part of her dreaded the thought. Another couldn't wait to find out.

_____________________________________________

Leurre smiled at his monitor as he watched Kari remove the laundry from the dryer, her naked skin still flushed from her little episode atop the appliance. It seemed like only yesterday that she'd shown up at the compound as a no-nonsense professional, with the wardrobe and attitude to match. Now, she was practically his plaything, an obedient slut that didn't even question his commands anymore, much less the fact that it'd been over a week since she'd worn pants.

But her training wasn't complete. That was evident from the data readouts scrolling across his screen. While Kari's mind was reshaping itself nicely, it still held a strong ego-drive at its core, a belief that there was more to life than submitting to her superiors. That needed to change. Leurre's client wasn't paying for a promiscuous employee—he was paying for a sex slave, a devoted and insatiable thrall, eager to be controlled and used for the rest of her life. It was a transformation that would only stick if the subject chose it, using the last of her free will to surrender completely.

Until that day, a certain degree of caution was warranted. Which was why the recent security reports were so concerning.

Leurre's phone began to rattle against his desk, indicating a call from Nora, his right-hand woman. He sighed, forcing himself to turn away from the camera feeds as he answered.

"Yes?" he uttered, not bothering to hide his impatience. Nora was one of his earliest subjects, a former student who'd been the first to demonstrate the power of his reprogramming method. He'd since grown bored of her as a sexual conquest, but her sharp mind and unquestioning loyalty made her quite the capable assistant.

"Good morning, Master," Nora replied. "I'm calling to update you on our mystery driver."

"Do we have an ID?" Leurre asked. Recently, his cameras had picked up a sedan with tinted windows circling the neighborhood, often slowing as it passed the Team Salt compound. Clearly, the driver was searching for something. Or someone, as Leurre feared.

"I have a lead," Nora answered. "One I suspect has a 98% chance of confirmation."

"Go on."

"Are you familiar with Sean Fairfield?"

Leurre rubbed his forehead. "He's a Strikeforce player, isn't he?"

"Yes. A member of 500 Voltz, actually. The car is registered in his name."

"What does he want with us? Is he trying to spy on a rival team's bootcamp?"

"Possible, but unlikely." The clack of a keyboard. "I would bet on a more...personal motivation."

"Elaborate."

"I did a little digging, and I think it's safe to say he's rather infatuated with our latest subject. He's watched nearly all of her streams, and rewatched those wherein her clothing could be construed as revealing or flirtatious. He also stalks her socials, plus those of any other male she follows."

Leurre grimaced, the pieces falling into place before him. "I see. A man with that kind of mindset would undoubtedly notice her abnormal behavior. And he'd have a strong desire to uncover the reason."

"Yes Master, that was my thinking as well." Nora paused. "Shall I...dissuade him?"

Leurre tapped a finger on his desk, thinking through his options. If Kari did come into contact with an old friend of hers—or worse, someone she'd once had feelings for—that would pose the greatest threat to the stability of her conditioning. Then again, if Leurre could manipulate the scenario just right...there was a chance such an encounter could prove useful. But was it worth the risk?

The professor smiled. What kind of question was that? If all he wanted were safe results, he would've remained on university campuses, quietly enslaving student bodies until the end of his days. But experiments were only exciting under the threat of failure. It made his inevitable success all the more thrilling.

"Actually," Leurre purred. "Why don't you let me handle this one, Nora? I have just the plan in mind."

"...As you wish."

"Oh come now, there's no need to sound disappointed. You've done very well, my pet."

Nora's breath hitched, followed by a soft whimper. "Thank you, Master. I live only to please you."

"I know," Leurre ended the call with a chuckle. It wouldn't be long before Kari echoed his assistant's devotion. But first, he needed to give her a little push.

____________________________________________

The following morning, Kari felt a rare rush of relief as she scanned the task list pinned to her bedroom door. There were no purposefully humiliating exercises for her to complete, no chores that would bring her into close contact with Leurre or any other sources of temptation.

Instead, it seemed the dining hall would be her domain for the day, an area of the compound she rarely saw her coach enter. All she had to do was clean the space, organize the kitchen, and then practice the recipe Leurre had left her until it was perfect and ready to serve as his dinner. There was nothing even remotely erotic about that, was there? Surely, today would be the day she halted her runaway fetishes, and became a Strikeforce player once again.

Not that it would be a complete walk in the park. While the task list was uncharacteristically merciful, her uniform for the day was downright devious.

A gingham apron with dainty frills. And absolutely nothing else.

It was the most revealing, demeaning outfit yet, and the realization that she'd be completely uncovered below made her naked sex quiver, a drip of arousal already streaking down her thigh. Her hand slid down to smear the drop away, only for her fingers to drift up towards its source, pulled by a deep, instinctual need. It would be so easy—just a quick touch, a couple strokes around the lips...it was a test, really, only a test, to see how wet she was getting and...

No! Yanking her traitorous hand back, Kari hastily tied the apron in place, its cloth surface just big enough to keep her tits from spilling free. Avoiding her reflection in the mirror, she slapped both sides of her face, willing herself to focus on the chores and recipe she had to complete. No matter how she looked or what she felt, she was not going to act like a slut today. Leurre was counting on her to be better. And pleasing him was very, very important.

The dining hall was as sleek and spacious as the rest of the compound, its soft blue tiles glittering under the sunny skylights. At the far end stood the kitchen: a shining fortress of cutting-edge appliances, the countertops covered in bags of utensils and ingredients, waiting to be unloaded and organized in the nearby cabinets and drawers.

First though, the space needed a wall-to-wall cleaning session, at least according to the task sheet. Why Leurre wanted Kari to scrub floors and tables that were already spotless, she couldn't possibly fathom. Then again, it wasn't her place to question orders. It was very important to do as she was told. It was very important for her to be obedient.

With a determined smile, Kari adjusted her uniform and got to work, beginning with a quick wipe-down of all the countertops. Her nipples still felt a bit sensitive as they shifted and swayed behind the apron, but the slut inside her remained mostly subdued, her arousal little more than an ambient buzz across her skin.

She could do this. As long as Leurre didn't make any surprise visits and break her composure, she could finally complete her entire chore list without masturbating. Salvation from servitude was just hours away.

Several of those hours later, when Kari caught herself straddling and grinding against a mop handle, she realized she was in more trouble than she'd thought.

Gritting her teeth, she carefully peeled herself off the hard wood surface, a faint stain on her apron where it'd clung to her increasingly needy sex.

It seemed she'd miscalculated: ever since her new training had begun, Kari had assumed that the humiliating chores were to blame for her constant masturbation, that if she'd been left alone and unstimulated, the yearning between her legs would finally fade. But her time in the dining hall was forcing her to consider an alternate, much more disturbing conclusion.

Her uncontrollable desires weren't a result of external factors: they were coming from inside her.

It was maddening. Left to its own devices, her bored mind kept wandering deeper into lurid fantasies, as though it'd forgotten how to think about anything else. She kept fearing—no, wishing—that Leurre would appear. She dreamt of his piercing, commanding eyes watching her crawl across the floor, her bare ass wiggling as she polished every tile. She pictured him lifting her onto a table, one strong hand clasping her neck as the other ripped the apron aside, her legs opening eagerly for him as he unbuttoned his pants and revealed his...

Cooking. Kari had to focus on cooking. That was the final chore she had to accomplish, and one that should keep her spiraling thoughts occupied. The recipe wasn't especially complex—a simple beef and bell pepper stir fry, as far as she could tell—but the culinary arts had never been her strong suit, and the task list specified that the meal had to be perfect. If she couldn't keep it together long enough to accomplish that then...

Then...that would be considered a failure, right? And if the day was a failure anyway, it wouldn't matter if she let herself relieve some of this awful, desperate tension. Kari put a finger to her lips, another tracing lazy circles across her apron, absently coaxing her nipples to attention. In fact, now that she thought about it, maybe she should just give in now. Maybe it would be best if she resolved to try harder another day and—