Subclasses Ch. 17

Literotic asexstories – Subclasses Ch. 17 by Sarah_Delphino,Sarah_Delphino
Author’s note:

This is another chapter where the appendix was less than the required 750 words for a separate Literotica story, so the appendix has been placed at the end of this chapter. If you want to know what’s about to happen to Sarah before it happens, scroll down when you get to the appendix reference, then scroll back up.

Chapter Seventeen

After quickly donning clothing, we head downstairs. The three of us take seats at Gabi’s dining room table. Rita places a wok in the center of the table, and sits to join us. A second later, Bex enters with, to my astonishment, five glasses of water held between her body and her arms and a glass of red wine in each hand. She sets them all down before the proper place settings without spilling a drop, and finally sits down with the other four of us.

“This smells wonderful!” Beatrix says.

“Please! Serve yourselves,” Bex says, gesturing at the food. Gabi digs in first, preparing a bed of rice for her stir fry. I, the pickiest of all eaters and not a fan of most starches including rice, go straight for the stir fry, dodging as many mushrooms as I can with the plastic serving spoon. One of the two starches I do enjoy is bread and I grab two dinner rolls from the basket, slice them in half, and give them each generous dabs of butter and strawberry jam.

We each dig in as soon as our individual plates are ready. No civilized waiting until everyone has their plates filled for us! The food tastes as wonderful as it smells. It has been ages since I’ve had stir fry, and even longer since I’ve had stir fry I liked.

“I hope this isn’t a weird thing to say, Sarah, but your boobs are looking much bigger. HRT must be really helping.”

“That’s not weird at all!” I say. “Trans girls love to hear things like that.” We beam at each other.

“So, Sarah,” Rita says, “what do you like to do for fun?”

I bite back the idea that springs to mind first–‘cunnalingus’–and shoot a furtive glance at Bea who swallows a laugh, then respond with, “The three of us play a lot of Nintendo. Gabi’s best at Mario Kart 8 Deluxe, Bea wrecks us at Super Mario Party, and I’m best at Super Smash Bros. Ultimate by a small margin.”

Bex gives Rita a look, one I don’t understand until Rita says, “Oh, I guess I have a new Smash challenger. Maybe we can play after dinner.”

Well, that was not what I was expecting. “I’m game! Who do you main?” I ask. I stifle a wince as Sarah Prime gives me a dirty eye for my accidental half-rhyme. Rhyming in prose and conversation, especially by accident, is a pet peeve of mine. Of ours? Where Prime is involved, I tend to think in the first person plural.

“Mostly Dark Samus, some Wolf.” I nod. “Little Mac, when the mood strikes,” she says with a playful sparkle in her eye, naming a lowest-tier character with the worst recovery in the game.

“How about you, Beatrix?” Bex asks with a Southern accent stronger than Gabi’s. “Tell us something none of us know about you.”

Bea scrunches her face as she tries to think of something on the spot. “In primary school, I won the school-wide hula-hoop contest three years in a row. I was finally bested in year six by a year three student of all things.”

“That is … definitely something we didn’t know about you,” Rita says with a laugh as the rest of us bear expressions of various mixtures of amusement, befuddlement, and surprise.

“Your turn, Gabi,” Beatrix says.

She jumps slightly in surprise, and unbidden, I briefly sense the impression of a startled rabbit. “Uhh. One time, when I was little and sent to bed to take a nap I didn’t want, I stayed awake and counted to twelve hundred.” Before any of us can respond, she points at me and says, “Sarah’s turn!”

I’d been expecting this and had already begun lining up a story. “My family, growing up, was religious, and none of the three of us children were good at keeping our rooms clean. One time, my mom got so fed up with us, that she came upstairs with garbage bags and said that in fifteen minutes, she’d bag anything that was still on the floor and give it to GoodWill. Of course, as distractible as we were, fifteen minutes was not nearly enough time. Out of spite, when my mom wasn’t looking, I took my Bible from the bookshelf and put it on the floor to see what she’d do.

“She warned me when she saw it, saying she’d hate to have to take it from me. I didn’t have the tits to call her bluff.”

This anecdote earns me three impressed looks and a dismayed one from Rita. “What about you, Bex?”

“Oh, gosh. I hadn’t expected this to be turned around on me.” She thinks for a moment. “During navy training, I had a girlfriend, and of course this was way before 2011, so Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was still the official policy. One time, my CO and I were in the same bar. My girlfriend, who was of Chinese descent, placed her hand on mine. My CO, whom I hadn’t noticed until now, walked over to say hello, and obviously saw our hands. I panicked and told him she was my sister. He gave us a look, and I quickly said, ‘She’s adopted.’ He nodded, clearly unconvinced.

“Either I was wrong, and he was convinced, or he was more progressive than I had thought; either way, nothing came of it,” she finishes.

“Wow,” I say. “I … don’t know what I would have done. That must have been terrifying.”

Bex nods. “It was, if I’m honest. I know we still have a way to go as a society with regard to tolerance, acceptance, and inclusion, but I’m glad you girls don’t live in a world–or at least a country–where you could be arrested for being yourselves.”

Gabi looks sad. “I didn’t know that about you,” she mumbles.

“Aww, everything turned out alright, Sweetie.”

“No, I mean– I didn’t– didn’t know– You’re gay??”

The other four of us burst out laughing and Gabi pastes on a satisfied smirk.

The conversation continues from there. I don’t notice until afterward that Rita was never put in the hot seat, which is a pity. I’d have liked to hear one of her stories.

Chapter 17 Appendix Entry 17.1 ⭐

* * *

“Goodnight, girls!” Rita says as we head upstairs to Gabi’s room. “It was fun playing you, Sarah!” ‘Playing’ is generous word choice; Rita had thwomped me harder than any flogging Beatrix could give me.

We pile into Gabi’s room and Gabi shuts the door behind us. “Silence this room. Be girly, Sarah,” I hear from behind me. I turn toward her as my body transforms. “This just wasn’t your night at Smash Bros. was it?” she says.

I shake my head despondently.

“It was almost like 75% of your finishing moves attacked away from Rita,” she says.

My mind shifts, and I know that is exactly what had happened. “Yeah, it’s almost like that,” I say evenly. Bea gives me a wicked grin.

Gabi looks back and forth between us. “I know that look. What did you do to her?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bea Speaks. Gabi turns away, apparently unaware she had even asked the question.

“New function?” I whisper to Beatrix.

“Oh, hmm. I will need to edit that, apparently,” she whispers back. “Yes, I made it last night. It makes the person forget what they had just asked as well as forget that I had spoken the command.”

“What needs editing about it?”

“When you asked, ‘New function?’ the first time, I used the command on you, and you forgot and then immediately asked it again. I need to make you forget you even wanted to ask, not just that you did ask.”

“The first time”? I think. I feel my panties wet against my lower lips at the thought that, at her command, I had forgotten I’d asked a question so entirely that I asked it again. How long has Beatrix had this trigger? How many things has she made me forget? Some part of me knows that that should be troubling, but I’m not worried. I trust Bea to keep me safe and I know that if I need to remember something or if it’s something I absolutely do not want to forget, the command won’t affect me or will lose its effect.

“I love you,” I tell her with a warm smile.

“Turned you on with that, did I?” I nod eagerly. “Slave,” she Speaks under her breath and snaps her fingers.

Nothing, no thoughts. “How may I serve you, Mistress?” The words are at the same whispered volume she used.

“Throw Gabi to the bed, climb atop her, and do what you must to make her kiss your lips,” she whispers.

“Yes, Mistress Beatrix.”

My body feels warm as I begin to act, elated in fact, but I do not. I feel almost horrified that I’m about to do this. Yes, Gabi will probably be okay with this, but I won’t ask her. I know I will not ask her because I am not in control of my body. I–it–will just act.

Gabi is facing away from me at the moment, fiddling with something I can’t see. I grab her, pinning her arms to her sides and she shrieks, one part fun, one part fear, two parts startlement. I lift her from the ground, walk the couple feet to her bed, and toss her unceremoniously to the mattress. She lands on her side, so I roll her onto her back, then climb atop to straddle her.

Gabi wears a look of genuine anxiety at the treatment. When she sees my empty, thoughtless expression, she glances at Mistress. I’m focused on Gabi, so I don’t see what some part of me knows must be Mistress’s lusty expression, her eyes hungry. Gabi looks back at me, now understanding at least part of what is going on, but no more comfortable with it.

She’s wiggly, so I grab her shoulders and press them firmly to the bed. Then I go in for a kiss. She squirms, shaking her head back and forth to avoid the kiss and to my vast relief, I recognize the gesture as playful. She’s playing the part of the unwilling kissee–I am not, in fact, assaulting her. Part of me knows that Bea’s ability would not let me assault her, but this confirmation sets me at peace.

Unable to get a lock on her lips, I kiss up her neck to her jaw and then to her ear. With my forehead, I pin her head to the mattress, her eyes turned toward Mistress. I lick her ear and she shudders. “Give into it, Bunny Girl,” I whisper more seductively than I knew I was capable of. “Kiss me and I’ll stop.”

“I’m not a bunny girl!” she yells with a giggle, and tries to resist with a futile, half-hearted attempt to push me off her.

“You can admit that you’re a bunny girl and kiss me, or I can … convince you to.” What am I saying?

“No! I’m not a bunny girl,” she squeals. Her voice carries a hint of my same anxious curiosity: What will I do next?

I pull my head away so she can move hers freely. My left hand slowly travels down the length of her, a caress but harder–she shudders–until it reaches the top edge of her pants. I look a question into her eyes. She gives an infinitesimal nod while maintaining her look of shocked desperation. Her acting in the bedroom, I think vacantly, is a marked improvement over that outside of it.

My hand slides inside her pants, beneath her panties, and begins to toy with her lips. She lets out a quiet, squirming moan at the treatment. “No!” she shouts. “I’m not a bunny girl. You can’t make me kiss you!” My fingering increases in speed, strength, and skill. She continues to say “no, no, no” in place of her customary “yes, yes, yes” while her face makes her customary euphoric yet excited expression.

“Give in, Bunny Girl, and kiss me. This can all be over,” I whisper seductively. By now, my horror at my treatment of her has diminished to the point that I can enjoy watching it all unfold. She gets to the edge of a climax, and I stop. I pull my hand out of her pants. She moans in disbelief and agony. “Give in, Bunny Girl,” I repeat.

She shakes her head. In one swift movement, I pull us both upright and jerk her shirt off over her shoulders. Then I deftly unclasp her bra, and it follows the shirt into the forgotten realm that is everywhere outside the four corners of her bed. From this upright angle, my peripheral vision catches Mistress; she has pulled off her skirt and panties and is pleasuring herself with wanton fingers. The glaze of her eyes above her reddening freckled cheeks reveals she’s only half aware of her surroundings.

I shove Gabi back down with my right hand, and flick her nipple hard with my left, slick with her lube. She lets out a pained scream. I force eye contact and threaten to do it again. “No, I won’t!” she shouts. I flick her other nipple and she screams again. I go in for another kiss at her neck and after it, apply a nibble. She moans at the sharp sensation. Sensing that her orgasm has slipped away, I return my left hand to her clothed pussy. I quickly bring her to the edge once more, and, once more, pull my hand away just before she gets there.

She whimpers. “Babs,” I say. She whimpers some more. “Babs, all you need to do is admit that you’re a bunny girl and give me a kiss, and then I will let you cum.”

She gives it some thought this time, her id doing battle with her ego. Her id wins. “I am a bunny girl,” she whispers shyly, a blush forming on her cheeks. “Kiss me,” she orders, begs. I do.

Mistress’s command fulfilled, I stop and wait for another. Gabi looks betrayed. She looks to Mistress.

“Sarah,” Mistress says, “You made a promise. You’d best keep it.”

“Yes, Mistress Beatrix.”

I scoot back, robotically unbutton Gabi’s jeans, and, with her help, pull them and her black-laced Ferrari red satin cheekies off her. With mindless, blissful abandon, I dive my face into her. She arches her back at the contact. I lick and lick and lick, finger and finger and finger, until she cannot resist the oncoming climax. She lets out an ecstatic scream of pleasure. To my side, I hear Beatrix bring herself to her own climax. As I have completed another command, I still. My face stays where it is, hovering between her legs.

“What is she doing?” Gabi asks once she’s caught her breath.

“I imagine, she’s having a lot of fun,” Beatrix says, a smirk in her voice. She’s not wrong.

“Why is she just sitting there, though? It’s kind of eerie how still she is.”

“She hasn’t been given another command, so there is nothing for her to do.”

Gabi pulls away from me, climbs off the bed, and puts her clothes back on. I stay exactly where I am, bent over on knees and elbows, head four inches from the mattress. Even this stillness, this idle stasis, increases my already overwhelming arousal. Somehow I don’t cum, and something in the back of my head tells me that I cannot, no matter how much build up there is.

“What do you want to do now?” Mistress asks.

Gabi snorts. “You want to just leave her there?”

“She won’t mind, will you Pet?”

“No, Mistress Beatrix.”

“See?” Bea says.

“Even so, it seems unfair that she did all the work and we got all the fun, sex slave or not,” Gabi says.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Want to double team her?”

“Sounds good to me. Pet, take off all your clothes and then lie on your back.”

“Yes, Mistress Beatrix.” I hear myself say as my body complies automatically.

Gabi bends down between my legs. Mistress, still naked but for her blouse and stilettos, claims a spot above my face, facing Gabi. She lowers her pussy to my lips. “Lick,” she commands. And I do. Gabi starts eating me out a moment later.

The buildup to an orgasm is incredible, unbearable; I hate that I cannot finish. I love that I can’t but will soon. I am owned.

Mistress shifts forward and leans back so that I’m licking her butthole instead of her slit. Her legs tremble against my head at my wet touch, mechanical though it be. That may, in fact, be why it’s so arousing to her, the conscious but impotent part of my mind thinks.

Snap. “Release.”

Immediately all my body’s pent up pleasure shreds through me. Wave after orgasmic wave rolls over me, and I moan and pant and shudder. When it’s done, my mind is quite nearly as blank and empty as it was before the release. Both women detach themselves from me. I stay where I am, lying back-to-bed, a blissed out puddle of a girl.

“I think we broke her,” Gabi says, gleefully.

“Well, she was a good toy while she lasted,” Bea says. “It’s really a shame; she gave excellent head.”

“She most certainly did,” Gabi says with an approving Southern twang.

They giggle as my circulatory system does what it can to drag the abundance of hormones away from my brain. I swear it takes ten to fifteen minutes for my lucidity to return. In the meantime, Babs and Bea sit on the bed, chatting as if nothing is the matter. Beatrix, sitting back against the wall, strings her legs over my chest as if I’m a pillow.

I can’t say I mind.

Snap. “Slave,” I hear Beatrix say, but not to me.

“What?” Gabi asks, confused.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Appendix: Chapter Seventeen

Entry 17.1

I excuse myself from the dinner table to head to the loo. I do need to wee, but after Rita said she wanted to play Sarah at Smash Bros. I thought I’d have a little fun with Pet, myself.

“For the rest of the day, in Smash Bros., Sarah can only perform a finishing move against Rita when Rita’s character has an odd number of damage and Sarah’s has an even number. If she tries to perform a finishing move when these conditions aren’t met, she will aim the opposite direction. Sarah will not notice anything odd about her gameplay, even if someone points it out. If I point it out, then she will know what happened.”

Time to watch Sarah run Smash Bros. BDSM%.

I consider, then, what we might do before bed back in Gabi’s room. It might be time to prepare another of Sarah’s fantasies. “New command: Whenever I snap my fingers and Speak ‘slave’ to someone, optionally specifying ‘frozen brain’,

“That person’s mind will immediately go completely empty.”That person will say, ‘How may I serve you, Mistress?'”That person will do anything and everything I tell them without question. They will reply to each command with ‘Yes, Mistress Beatrix.’ If I have given control of them to someone else, the target will use the appropriate equivalent phrase.”Following commands will make them feel fulfilled, happy, and loved. This feeling will linger past the point that they exit slave mode.”Any physical sensations they feel when carrying out a command will cause them to become increasingly aroused, but they will not cum.”So long as they are a slave, they cannot get bored. They will not have the mind capacity to be bored. To them, boredom simply isn’t a thing.”If I specify ‘frozen brain’, they will be completely unaware of their time as a slave. They will also not remember that they were put into slave mode. It will seem to them, from the point in time that they enter slave mode to the point where they exit, that no time has passed at all. If they have moved in that time, it will seem to them that they had teleported.”If I don’t specify ‘frozen brain’, they will be completely aware of everything they are doing. Their body will feel fulfilled, happy, and loved, but their inner self will be able to feel everything they feel naturally at being helpless in their own body. They will very much feel like they are doing as commanded–they feel like they have an active role–but there is nothing they can do to stop themselves or resist any commands I give them. They can, however, choose to feel the artificial sensations of fulfillment, happiness, and love that they’re body is feeling.”This effect will last until I snap my fingers and Speak ‘release’.”

I don’t think this will work on Gabi; yes, some things don’t require consent for reasons I don’t understand yet, but this one really seems like it would. Regardless, maybe I will get her consent someday, so it’s better I make it a general command rather than one tied specifically to Sarah.

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Then again, I think, remembering a function I created last night after our date, if I can make her forget….