Untitled

Sir has made you into something so much better than the girl you were before. A new girl in a lot of ways. A different girl. But you still have to pretend sometimes, and it gets harder all the time. Having to act like you can think for yourself, that you're not stupid. It's not you.

You have to play along. You find yourself standing with a few of the people you work with. Around a water cooler, in fact. Just standing, talking. None of it means anything, and most of it isn't going in for you anyway. Just giggling and nodding and agreeing, all a reflex.

And then they ask you what you did over the weekend.

You could tell them a lie. You usually do. You usually tell them something bland and generic, the sort of thing they'd expect to hear. It's not a question anyone expects a proper answer to anyway.

But that feels wrong now, somehow. Now, you feel a need to be honest. It sits in your head, stopping your normal answer in its tracks. He probably put it there, that feeling. He probably made it so you'd want to be honest and tell them everything. Knowing that just makes it stronger.

Harder to fight.

Impossible to fight. You need to be honest.

"Sir is making me better."

It slips out before you even think to stop it.

Everyone heard it. Everyone's looking at you. Too late now.

So you just keep going. You need to be honest.

"Sir is fixing me. He goes into my head and takes out everything bad and only lets me keep the good bits, the bits he wants. I only think what Sir thinks now. I'm only allowed to think what Sir wants me to think. I'm happy. I'm safe."

It's good to be honest. You shouldn't hide what a good girl Sir has made you. People should know. They asked. You need to tell them.

Sir is inside your thoughts and you have no choice.

You bite your lip and you keep going.

"I sucked Sir's cock and he stroked my hair and told me what a good girl I was. Nothing else mattered. Sir was my whole world. Sir is my whole world. When he came I didn't spill a drop, that's how he's trained me. I'm Sir's perfect cocksucker, it's what my mouth is really for. It's not meant for talking, it's meant for sucking cock."

There was a time before when saying anything like this would have been unthinkable for you, but it's not a time you can really remember now. There's a lot you can't remember now. So much he's got rid of, so much you didn't know you didn't need. You don't know how much he's taken away. You don't need to know.

They're all staring at you. You're too dumb to know what the look on their faces means. One girl has her mouth hanging open. It doesn't matter.

You're panting a little now. The memory of the weekend is too much. The thoughts of Sir are too much. He's your whole world.

"Sir had me play for him, too. I was porn for Sir. I dressed up and showed off for him. I spread my legs and played and moaned so he could watch and listen. Sir had me hump his leg like a needy slut. I was blank and totally his. I didn't cum. I never cum. It isn't for me. Sir cums. He took them away to make me better."

You've never cum. You know that for a fact. They're not for you, so you never have. It's simple. It's a fact. Sir told you and Sir knows best.

"Sir is making me better," you say again. The words are reflex. They sit so perfectly in your head and slip out so easily and with so little effort that you know for sure he put them there. That makes them so much better to say. It's another bit of him inside you forever.

After that you're not sure what else to say. You're so wet you can't really think straight, not that you're usually able to think that straight anyway. The urge to start playing is strong but you haven't got your collar on or special permission from Sir so you know you're not allowed. So you just stand and feel all fuzzy.

Eventually, as the silence just goes on, you look at the girl closest to you, the one whose mouth is still hanging open.

"What did you do?" You ask her.

The girl blinks. She's flushed.