Indoctrinate, Educate, Delegate

Special thanks to kenjisato, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author. The comma conflict continues.

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Sometimes I play Scrabble with Brigitte. Sometimes, she even wins. What can you do? There's an element of randomness to the game, after all, and Brigitte isn't stupid. She's transformed. There's a difference.

Brigitte's been with me for about eight years now. She'll be thirty in August. She hardly ever receives my cum anymore, but I'll readily admit she's still a gorgeous woman. She takes excellent care of herself, the house, and me. She's become quite the cook and baker. She does a little bit of cleaning every day, prioritizing it whenever I'm out of the house. I like my peace and quiet. I also enjoy cuddling with her, sucking on her breasts, and having her lick my asshole. Why, we're practically an old married couple.

It's Tuesday afternoon. I'm relaxing in my special chair in the living room. Brigitte is below me, massaging my ass and worshiping my rear hole. She's moaning in pleasure as she does so. The television is on, but I'm not really watching or listening. I'm halfway between sleeping and waking. I love sex -- straight-up fucking and cumming -- but I've also learned to savor a multitude of subtler sensual pleasures. Two of my favorites are falling asleep to, and waking up to, the feeling of someone lovingly kissing and licking my asshole. The between state I'm in right now is uniquely delightful. It's a lazy river ride upon yet another lazy river ride. The blood to my cock gently ebbs and flows. Nearly every one of my breaths is a contented sigh.

Even though I can't see Brigitte, knowing that she's beautiful enhances my own experience. The faint odor of her arousal makes my fleeting, scattered dreams that much sweeter. They're not even dreams, really. They're just flashes. If dreams are sex, then they're a tease. They can be torture if you're trying to get a good night's sleep. As an afternoon diversion, they're lovely.

Brigitte is a treasure, but most of my cum goes to Jillian. Jillian is twenty-one, a sophomore at a local university, and simply a vision. She's a creamy-skinned bottle-blonde who keeps her eyebrows dark. Ordinarily, that would be a recipe for 'crazy eyes,' but everything about Jillian is sweet and cute, including her pathology. Her dyed hair communicates an eagerness to please, and a need for validation. So, too, does her perfectly smooth and hairless body -- her pussy, especially. Her hugs are powerful, bordering on desperate. Her smile spurs inner conflict: protect, or defile?

Put side-by-side with Brigitte, she's also a bittersweet reminder that there's really no substitute for youth. I still make sure Jillian sticks to her regimen, though. The beauty of youth can yet be enhanced and accentuated.

Well, there is one substitute for youth, at least as far as beauty goes. If you have the mutation, then your cum -- or your juices, or your milk - can convince just about anyone that you're the most attractive person on the planet. It can do much more than that, obviously. Consider the beautiful, naked woman below me. Consider her arousal; consider her bliss.

I'm not going to tell you what I look like, or even how old I am. That would ruin the fun. Brigitte believes I'm a living Greek god -- and no, not Hephaestus, you cheeky bitch. So does Jillian. So do the unsuspecting university girls that Jillian secretly feeds my cum. They believe it before they've even seen me. They're mine before I ever speak to them or touch them. Even better, they fall under my other girls' lesser spells, too. I haven't had to hunt my own prey in years.

I hear the front door open. Though I'm two rooms away, I can already sense that Jillian's brought a friend home. I rouse to full wakefulness, and ease myself up off the chair.

"Brigitte," I say simply, and she deftly removes herself from the custom-built queening bed. She follows. There's no need for collars or leashes. I don't judge those who enjoy them, but I prefer my girls unencumbered.

Speaking of nakedness, Jillian almost is by the time Brigitte and I get to the front door. She only has her thin string bikini panties left on, and they'll be on the floor in a flash. Her friend is staring a bit, which is slowing down her own progress. I don't mind; I can hardly blame her. Jillian is beautiful. Our new friend has only removed her blouse, revealing that she isn't wearing a bra. Her short skirt, white thigh-high socks, shoes, and -- I suspect -- her panties are all still on.

The girl catches sight of Brigitte's gorgeous, naked body and gawks some more. Then she sees mine. I can't help but smile. I see the change in her hazel eyes. She knows: I'm the one. I let her stare. We have plenty of time.

"Jillian," I say, "who's our new friend?"

"This is Sarah Masters," she replies. "She's in my research methodologies course."

"Welcome to my home, Sarah," I say to the gawking girl. "My name is Warren. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Sarah wants me. Her face -- her entire body -- is an open book. She isn't shy, either. She doesn't blush; she makes no move to hide her full, dewdrop breasts. She's just unsure of the situation. I give her a warm, friendly smile. She smiles back.

"Jillian," I say, "I'll let you do the inspection, but say hello to Brigitte first."

Jillian doesn't respond; she simply walks over to Brigitte and begins 'saying hello' as a lover would. To some, "Yes, Master," never gets old. To others, it becomes background noise after a few years and a few different thralls. To me, it became a constant source of irritation. I've come to regard it as just another collar or leash. It's a prop. Arguably, it's a sign of insecurity. My thralls love me, want me, and obey me. If I want them to say something, I'll tell them to say it.

The two of them come together slowly. They communicate love and attraction with their eyes, then with their hands, and then with their mouths. They take their time. I can't help but to glance over; it's a beautiful sight. Each of them fondle a breast, tease a nipple, and gently caress a pussy while they make out with each other. As far as I'm concerned, it's how all attractive women should greet each other. When I look back at Sarah, I can see that her attention is divided. It is as it should be. In my home, there's love and desire enough to go around.

I move in close to Sarah. Her attention snaps back to me, fully. I caress her bared arms. She feels the delightful paradox of her master's first touch: relaxation and excitement, pleasure and arousal, satisfaction and yearning. I lean down; she tilts her head up. She's easily eight inches shorter than I am. I move my lips next to hers. I let her initiate. Once our lips are joined, her soft hands move towards my cock and balls. They caress them, just as she saw Jillian's and Brigitte's hands caressing each other's pussies. I give Sarah a murmur of approval while our lips are still joined. I feel her relax even more. So few words truly need to be spoken. I like being the one to break the silence, if I so choose.

Our lips drift apart, but our faces stay close together. "You're beautiful, Sarah," I tell her, and she is.

She's a short, pale, dark-haired beauty -- a wondrous blend of Irish and Jewish, if I had to guess. Her petite frame makes her C cup breasts seem massive. Her voluminous, wavy locks are mid-length; when Jillian first met her, they were short. Jillian persuaded her to grow them out. They're not quite where they need to be for a braid or a ponytail, but they'll get there. There's plenty of time.

"God, you are too," she sighs.

"Go ahead and take the rest of your clothes off," I say. I don't need to change my tone. I don't need to petulantly assert my dominance. I simply am dominant. Sarah is simply submissive to me. It's natural. It's easy. It's quiet.

I brace her while she removes her shoes. She unhooks the skirt and lets it fall. She slides down her panties next. She reveals her smooth, hairless pussy, confirming that Jillian prepared her well for our first encounter. I like all my girls bare, scalp and eyebrows aside. It gives me a special thrill to know that Sarah denuded herself because Jillian told her to. She did a great job, too -- or someone did for her. There isn't a hint of stubble. She probably went to my girl. It makes all the sense in the world to have a few in the beauty industry.

Before Sarah can finish, I lightly touch her arm. That's enough to stop her.

"Jillian," I ask, "should Sarah keep the socks on, or take them off?"

"Hmm," Jillian replies, breaking off her makeout session with Brigitte. "That's a tough one. I think thigh-highs work best with just one more piece of... well, anything. By themselves, I don't know."

I consider it for a moment. I think Jillian's right.

"Brigitte," I say, "fetch a white choker for Sarah. Sarah, keep the socks on. Jillian, you may proceed with the inspection and review."

Brigitte gives a huff of approval and heads to the bedroom; apparently she agrees with Jillian's assessment too. I step away from Sarah, giving Jillian room to approach. She does, and I give Sarah a nod -- permission to focus her attention on her naked girlfriend.

Jillian runs her hands all over Sarah's body. She takes a position slightly behind her lover, emphasizing her dominance. Sarah accepts the dynamic without hesitation. Jillian begins with the obvious.

"Nice and smooth," she says, continuing to stroke Sarah's body. "I like that. Warren likes it too. How does it feel, Sarah?"

"Mmmm," she replies, "your hands, or my skin?"

Jillian smiles and gives Sarah a kiss on the neck. "Your skin, baby," she says.

"I love how it feels," she says. "I love how it looks. I look so much better -- and the feeling of fresh sheets, or cotton, or silk..." she finishes the thought with a smile and a shiver.

"And you're growing your hair out, too," Jillian notes, running her fingers through it. "How does that make you feel?"

"More feminine," Sarah answers. "I like that." Her hands drift up towards her breasts. Jillian sees, and intercepts them. She coaxes them back down to Sarah's sides.

"Let me," she whispers in Sarah's ear. Sarah shifts around a bit. She likes that idea just fine.

Jillian is true to her word. She releases Sarah's wrists and slides her hands up to the two large dewdrops. Sarah responds immediately with sighs and moans. Her breathing gets a little heavier. Her eyelids droop. Her faces relaxes. I know the look; she's getting hornier, but the attention to her breasts is giving her genuine sexual pleasure as well. It's not just foreplay. It's something in between. It could tip either way.

"Do you like having your breasts played with, Sarah?" Jillian asks. Her voice is gentle, but confident. She already knows the answer. She likes that she can make Sarah say it out loud anyway. I'm years past caring about such simple games, but I'll never tire of hearing beautiful young women articulate their love and pleasure -- especially to each other. I love these inspections. I love watching my girls play.

"God, I do," Sarah sighs. "I never cared much before, but ever since I met you... it's like they're attached to my clit, and to my pussy, and... to everything. It's so good. I feel so connected to you when you suck on them. I love you more, every single time."

"And what about my breasts?" Jillian asks coyly. "Do you like playing with them? Do you like sucking on them?"

Sarah turns her head, trying to find Jillian's blue eyes. She can't quite make it, but it's the thought that counts.

"I want them all the time, Jill," she says. "I feel so peaceful when I'm suckling you. I feel safe. I feel loved. Sometimes I feel like I could suck on them all day."

Jillian smiles, and teases Sarah's face with her lips. She keeps working on her girlfriend's larger breasts too.

"Mmmm," she responds, pretending to pout, "but that would mean your mouth would never go anywhere else."

Sarah looks genuinely pained for a brief moment.

"I know, baby," she replies, "and that's why I don't always feel that way. Sometimes I need to kiss you. Sometimes I need to lick your pussy. Sometimes I need to lick your asshole, or suck on your fingers or toes. God, I just need you."

Jillian seeks my validation above all others, but she loves compliments from my other girls. I see her press her body into Sarah from behind. One hand leaves a breast, slides down, and spreads out on the paler girl's flat tummy and pelvis. It's not a proper hug, but Sarah gets the idea. Jillian beams behind her. She kisses Sarah's cheek, as near to her lips as she can get. She lifts her other hand up and places a finger next to Sarah's mouth. Sarah welcomes it inside, closes her eyes, and starts sucking.

The arousal and pleasure on both of their faces is a beautiful sight to behold. My cock is half hard. I ignore it for now. It's not a planner. It's not a thinker. It'll have plenty to do later.

Brigitte quietly pads behind me, looping around to Jillian from the left. She tickles Jillian's arm with the white choker. Jillian removes her finger from Sarah's mouth, then frees up both hands. She takes the choker.

"Thank you, Brigitte," she says. "It's perfect."

Brigitte smiles, and returns to my side. I give her a quick peck on the cheek. Sarah's missing Jillian's hands, but she makes no moves of her own. She senses the dynamic with Jillian is still at play.

"This is going to make you look even sexier, baby," Jillian whispers in her ear. "It's not a collar. It's just a choker. It's just to complement those white socks of yours. That's what we care about in this house. We care about looking good and feeling good."

Despite Jillian's truthful account, there's really no better word for it: she collars Sarah with the white choker. The three of us take a moment to assess Sarah's look. Sarah herself opens her eyes expectantly. She finds my gaze first.

I raise my eyebrows and give the nod. Jillian was absolutely right. The white socks and white choker are a killer combination, and Sarah's dark hair and hazel eyes offset them beautifully. Sarah is over the moon that I approve. Her eyes briefly flick to her left, and Brigitte's smile is icing.

"Oh, that is wonderful, baby," Jillian whispers to her. That's the cherry on top.

The mutation doesn't give me enhanced senses, but I'm certain I'm smelling a combination of Sarah's, Jillian's, and Brigitte's arousal, here in the foyer. I take a few deep breaths through my nose. My cock swells. Brigitte's hand finds my balls and slowly teases them with her fingertips. I find one of her sculpted ass cheeks and give it a rhythmic massage.

"Okay, baby," Jillian whispers to Sarah, "it's time. Turn around and bend over. Make sure Warren can see."

Jillian moves off to the side. Sarah turns in place, spreads her legs a bit, then bends at the waist. I can already see the base of the anal plug. I find the base of Brigitte's and playfully tap it before returning to the ass massage. Jillian flashes me a smile. She's wearing one too. Hers and Brigitte's are custom jobs; they've earned them. Sarah's is a placeholder. It's still an incredibly sexy sight.

Jillian crouches down so that she's close to Sarah's ear again. She talks louder, though, to make sure I can hear.

"Sarah," she asks, "before we met, had you ever explored your ass? How did you feel about anal sex?"

Sarah sighs. It speaks volumes. I already know what she's going to say, more or less. She's flummoxed by her former self.

"I liked getting spanked a little," she says, "but I didn't want anything up there. I thought it was too gross."

Jillian teases her right ass cheek with her fingers. "What about now, baby?" she asks. She's coy again. She knows the answer. We all do.

"Well, I still haven't been, you know..." Sarah begins.

"You can say it, baby," Jillian encourages her. "It's sexy to say it out loud."

"Butt fucked," Sarah blurts out. She moans a little right afterwards. It isn't shame. It's arousal -- and, I suppose, surprise that she's aroused instead of ashamed. Jillian told her so, though: she told Sarah it would be sexy to say it out loud. How could Sarah's body or mind disagree?

"I've never been butt fucked -- by a strap-on, or a cock," Sarah says. "But you and I have been practicing. We've been playing back there... I mean, with my ass. Up my ass. You've been training my asshole. You've been preparing it to get butt fucked. I've loved it -- all of it."

"And what did we do earlier today, to get you ready?" Jillian asks.

"You gave me an enema," Sarah answers. "I'd never had one before. It was intense. It made me feel so vulnerable. You took such good care of me. God, Jillian, I love you."

Jillian beams again, then looks to me. I give her the nod.

"You can stand up straight again, Sarah," she says. Sarah complies, and Jillian stands to join her. Sarah's back is still towards me. I release Brigitte's ass cheek; she releases my balls. I have a brief part to play in a few moments.

Jillian takes a few steps back and to her right so that she's facing Sarah dead-on. She starts teasing her pale girlfriend's breast and pussy. She feints kisses. Sarah passively accepts all of it. She immediately understood the idea of an inspection and review. She's a smart girl. I like smart girls.

Warren Buffet had the right idea, though he probably wasn't thinking about sex slavery. If you know someone is loyal, why wouldn't you want them to be smart, strong, healthy, well-educated, and proactive -- in a phrase, the best they could possibly be? I try not to judge my accidental, coincidental kin. The mutation doesn't prevent wires from getting crossed. It doesn't impose its own template of kinks and fetishes. Some of us like stupid slaves. Some of us like loudly, slavishly-obsequious ones. Some of us like causing pain; those who don't have had more than a few conversations about whether those sadistic masters and mistresses can be allowed to continue on.

I suppose some of my kin probably talk about me behind my back. I imagine they call me lazy and unambitious. I don't necessarily disagree.

I'm watching two beautiful, nubile young women work themselves into a sexual frenzy right in front of me. My gorgeous live-in maidservant is beside me, at my beck and call. I'm not thinking about taking over the world -- not quickly, anyway.

Jillian smiles at me over Sarah's shoulder. She then returns her gaze to her girlfriend, and asks the question. It's the best one yet. The inspection is almost over.

"Who do you want to butt fuck you, Sarah?" she asks. "Who do you want to be your first, all the way inside your hot little ass?"

Sarah whimpers and moans. She's genuinely conflicted. Jillian savors it for a moment, but then lets her off the hook. She lifts her hand off of Sarah's breast and caresses her face.

"Shhhhh," she says, "it's okay, baby. Be honest. I love you so much. I could never be mad at you."

Sarah relents. "I want Warren to butt fuck me," she whines.

Jillian rewards her girlfriend. She slides a finger -- maybe even two -- into Sarah's sopping-wet pussy. I can tell from the sudden cry: surprise, then joy. Jillian buries her other hand into those dark, silky, wavy locks up top, and presses Sarah's face against hers. They kiss passionately. Jillian moves in as close as she can. She loves bodily contact. Sarah lifts her arms up as if in a trance. She completes the embrace. Jillian moans into her mouth.

I finally move in. I take one of Sarah's small, tight ass cheeks in each of my hands. I begin massaging them. I lean down and forward, and kiss her where her neck meets her collarbone. Jillian breaks their kiss, but doesn't let Sarah go. Sarah keeps holding on. Her hips are rocking back and forth. I can hear the faint sound of Jillian's fingers working inside of her pussy. The smell of arousal has redoubled. The tip of my cock brushes against Sarah's smooth, pale skin. That makes her gasp a little, all on its own.