You get home from your trip to the UK. The suitcase thuds against the door as you pull it inside your apartment. The place smells like last week's coffee. Everything feels normal again. Your phone buzzes once - you pause for a moment- probably just a bank alert, so you ignore it, instead you unpack, shower, crash hard.
The week away was good. London sights, rainy walks, pub drinks. Although you know you had a great time, it felt like it flew by way to quickly and you can't wait to go back and do it again!
Next morning come and the coffee is brewing when your phone lights up.
Unknown number. Video thumbnail: your face, eyes blank, mouth parted, a hand fisted in your hair.
Your eyes grow wide, stomach flips and you begin to shake. You open it.
It's unmistakenly your hotel bathroom - that cheap white tile you complained about. The stain in the carpet. And on it is You. You're naked, on your knees. A familiar deep voice from off camera speaks unclearly "You want this Right, Toy?". You nod slowly. Your voice comes out soft, slurred: “Yes, Master… please…”
Your head gets pulled back. Thick cock slides into your mouth. You take it deep, smooth, eyes fluttering. Drool trails down your chin. Just as it the video starts to ramp up, it ends.
The screen goes black and a few moments later, a Text:
Morning, pet. Reminder of how perfectly you served. More tomorrow. Keep every one.
You think it's fake. AI crap. But the freckle pattern on your shoulder you don't show in any of your Instagram posts, the hotel mirror reflection matches the one you selfie'd on day one. That tiny hitch in your breath when you heard the word "Toy". You've felt it before, but where?
The rest of the day feels off. Notifications make you jump. You don't block the number though, instead you replay the clip twice before lunch.
The next morning, with a toothbrush in mouth, a new video arrives and you immediately watch it.
This one is longer. Your face-down on the hotel bed, ass up, wrists tied with the scarf you bought that day. Fresh red stripes across your cheeks. Your voice counts: “Nine…" then SMACK a whip lands sharply on both cheeks. You jolt forward with a cry then push back for more. “Thank you, Master…Eight… thank you…" SMACK "thank you, thank you, Seven, please more" SMACK...
By “one” you're shaking, cunt dripping. The mystery Man's three thick fingers shoved deep inside. You are sobbing happily just as its cuts before you tip over the edge.
The message below the video appears:
You came so hard your mind went blank for minutes. Tomorrow: what followed.
You don't know when but you dropped to the bathroom floor. Hand between legs. Soaked. Fingers pumping your needy hole fast. Shame heats your face, but you come hard and quick. The first of many uncounted orgasms you gave yourself watching it back again and again.
More messages and videos keep arriving daily.
Day three: blindfolded, arms bound overhead. Vibrator grinding your clit. You beg loud, desperate. Left on the edge for what seems like forever. Until the end of the video The Man's Permission hits - you scream “Master!”
Day four: quiet pub corner late at night. You're in an embarrassingly short skirt you don't remember owning and no panties. the Man's fingers deep inside under the table. Barman walks past. You bite your lip to stay quiet. Then the Man's hand comes up to your face as you start cumming, shaking in forced silent.
Day five: The Man fucking you slow, hand on your throat. Your lips chant: “I belong to Master… I forget who I was before him… My memory belongs to him.”
You loop it. Cumming while staring at your empty, happy eyes.
Each clip rewrites the week. Sightseeing? Trances in quiet parks, kneeling while he whispered commands. Late-night walks? His hand under your skirt, fingers in you, guiding you around, rain hiding the sounds of your moaning.
You spent the whole holiday with him - with MASTER. Waking up alone each morning thinking it was just a normal trip.
By day eight you grab the phone first thing. Craving the next message.
Latest video: You are in your own bedroom. Timestamped the night you landed back home.
You set it up. Naked, kneeling, camera straight on you.
Voice calm, dreamy: “Master told me to record this when I got home. To remind myself what I am. How much I forgot - on purpose - while I was away.”
You tilt your head. Throat exposed. Faint collar marks still pink.
“I don't remember the flight home. Or the taxi. Or walking through my door. But the second I stepped inside, I knelt. Good toys always kneel for Master.”
You spread your legs wider for the lens.
“Every video brings it back. Every watch pulls me deeper. I forget the normal life I tried to live this week. Soon nothing left except him.”
You lean in. Your eyes are clearly glassy, soft and void of all consciousness.
“Thank you, Master. For taking the memories. For giving me back only submission. Please send more. Please take everything.”
Clip ends.
Perfect, pet. You remembered exactly what I wanted. Tonight we rebuild the rest. 8 pm your time. Nothing on.
Your pulse hammers hard through you throat, wrists, cunt, your entire body.
You know there is no need to reply.
You'll be on your knees at 8 for Master
