Mental Retraining
The guild's female members are called female slaves. Its male members are called trainers. And trainer is no hollow honorific.
On ordinary commissions the female slaves tend to have the edge in raw field experience, and clients lean on them for it — whether they notice or not. That quiet dependence, in turn, lets the female slaves accumulate an emotional and technical advantage over the men. A model female slave would never abuse that advantage. But female slaves are empty-headed animals who, the instant the situation tilts their way, cannot resist clambering up over a man's head.
Drumming the proper order of male superiority into creatures like that — that is a trainer's first reason for existing. Today, the trainers meant to demonstrate that purpose beyond any possible doubt.
"Move it! Faster!"
Enraged by the female slaves' misconduct, the trainers herded every last one of them gathered in the guild lobby straight into the grand training hall. Packed shoulder to shoulder among the other cunt-sluts, the first thing the trainers issued was none other than a masturbation ban.
"We're starting the mental reconditioning of you insolent bitches right now. Until we give permission, if even a single one of you dares to touch herself, the whole lot of you takes collective punishment. Understood!?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
Under that razor-edged bellow the female slaves let out a gasp that was equal parts terror and excitement. The irony was that the trainers' pressure alone sent a thick, sticky broth spilling from every cunt-slut's hole. For bitches who existed, at the root of things, to be toyed with as men's playthings, discipline this close to abuse was a reward.
"Hmph. At least you answer well. Now spread your crotches into an O and lock your hands behind your heads! Spread them wide enough that not one of you can grind her thighs together and get herself off. Commence!"
"C-commencing!"
The order had barely left the trainer's mouth before the female slaves snapped, every last one of them, into the open-cunt stance, offering up with their bodies the vow that they would not touch themselves without a man's leave. Of course, simply being put in a situation like this was already enough to work a female slave into a lather, and a rich, viscous liquid was already leaking in threads from every hole. Cunt-juice running down a girl's thighs was hardly news, though. We could endure that much — or so we thought, until other trainers stepped forward carrying familiar glass bottles.
The female slaves who'd been around enough to know recognized the liquid inside at a glance.
"A masturbation ban by itself isn't going to temper your minds. From here on we're painting Lavina's special aphrodisiac onto you bitches' cunts. Any of you with even a scrap of usable brain will have already figured it out — a ban on touching yourselves is also a ban on climaxing. If you come on the brush, it counts as disobeying an order, so bite down and take it!"
I remembered the drug side-job Lavina had talked me into last time, and a wave of gooseflesh rolled up my spine. That pain, all over again? But I clenched my molars and steeled myself.
If that's what the men want, then of course that's what we do.
Instead of the pain itself, I pictured the men's faces as they had watched me suffer it — smiling, enjoying themselves. A warm flush spread through my chest, and my heart settled. For a cunt-slut, a man's pleasure is the greatest reward there is.
"Heh heh heh. Playing with them one at a time is fun, sure — but messing with the whole herd at once has a flavor all its own."
"We ought to make this a regular thing."
The men came toward us wearing the unspoiled grins of children about to start a favorite game. A cunt-slut in the front row became the aphrodisiac's first meal.
"Hyaaaaah!! Nngh, hgoooh! Hih! Hih! Hih! Hih!"
The angle hid exactly how the trainer was toying with that woman's cunt. But the brainless noises pouring out of her were more than enough to paint the picture — how freely the aphrodisiac-soaked brush was ravaging her hole and her clit.
"Pfft. That moan is ridiculous. Hold it in properly. I already told you — no climaxing. You blow it here and the whole group pays."
"These bitches are all ruined masochists anyway. Wouldn't put it past them to break the order on purpose just so they can get punished."
Nngh. That trainer had just put his finger on a point of serious pride. Yes, we female slaves were masochists who adored being abused — but we still kept a female slave's line. Breaking a man's order just because your own cunt felt good? That kind of garbage was a disgrace to the entire sisterhood. We had to show them we could do this properly. That wasn't only my thought. It was the thought of every female slave in the room.
Until they said it was enough, I would not climax. I would not touch myself. This was the moment to show a female slave's grit.
"Hwoooooh, ho, hoooh... ogh, oooooooh♥"
I could no longer tell whether the moan in my ears was mine or some other bitch's. Maybe it was my own voice, echoing back. All that garbage about showing a female slave's grit had, a mere five minutes after the aphrodisiac hit my cunt, burned down to ash and blown away. The problem had started the moment a toy built to make cocks feel good started spouting off about resolve and determination in the first place. With a drug designed to wake a female's instincts painted onto us, the only thing any of us needed was the order that would set this throbbing cunt free.
I was still among the luckier ones.
"Hnh. This one's teats are unusually plump. Be a waste to walk past them — think I'll paint the nipples too~"
"This one's asshole looks downright delicious. The cunt's a given, but I'll take my time on the ass as well..."
Compared to the bitches who, on a trainer's sudden whim, were getting the aphrodisiac smeared over more than just their cunts, I could at least still breathe. Then again, those girls had just been certified as bodies the men found worth eating. In the long run, maybe they were the lucky ones.
"What's this? Someone's trying to close her legs? You start grinding that cunt between your thighs like you're getting yourself off and I will not let it slide!"
I jumped at the warning and checked my own legs. A cunt-slut's body is wired to put pleasure first; take your eyes off it for a second and the flesh goes hunting for sensation all on its own, without the head ever issuing an order. That was precisely why we needed such careful handling.
"From this moment, we will drive a female slave's proper mindset into those empty little skulls of yours by having you recite the Female Slave Code of Conduct! A representative will lead from the front. The rest of you will repeat after her!"
A representative?
I lifted my head, figuring it would be the bitch who'd first run her mouth about demanding our rights — and standing beside the trainer was a cunt-slut I had never met, and yet was certain I had seen before. That woman was unmistakably the Guildmaster...!
Right. Of course. This guild had a Guildmaster. In the original story it wasn't the Manager at all — she was the one at the center of the guild, the protagonist's rock-solid ally, the one who pulled the plot forward. Was it different here? What was she to the Manager? How was the story even supposed to go?
...Not that it mattered. Come to think of it, she wasn't even a man. There was no reason for me to waste a single thought on some random cunt-hole.
"I am Lazia, the Manager's exclusive Organic Masturbation Sleeve. By rights I am a toy reserved for the Manager alone, but at the trainers' request for a collective disciplinary session, I will now recite the Cunt Oath before you. Listen carefully to the oath I speak, and follow it."
The Manager's exclusive Organic Masturbation Sleeve. That magnificent title was more than enough to become the object of every female slave's longing. Ranking the men was a sacrilege for a female slave — but a single absolute exception existed, and that exception was the Manager of the guild. To be the exclusive sleeve used by him and him alone was the highest peak a female slave could reach. How tightly did you have to squeeze a cock to climb that far? For an ordinary female slave, it was the stuff of dreams.
Lazia assumed the same pose as the rest of us, then launched into the Cunt Oath with full-throated force.
"One! Cock takes absolute precedence over cunt, and a cunt must serve her cock!"
As Lazia led and rolled her hips forward and back, the female slaves — without anyone telling them to — voluntarily mirrored her motion and chanted after her.
"One! Cock takes absolute precedence over cunt, and a cunt must serve her cock!"
"One! A cunt's value is decided by a man's mood!"
"One! A cunt's value is decided by a man's mood!"
"One! A cunt's joy is in becoming a hole for men to drain their loads!"
"One! A cunt's joy is in becoming a hole for men to drain their loads!"
Every article was something I had believed I already understood. But reciting them out loud, here, as an oath, stirred up a hard self-examination: had I actually been living these golden rules? They say knowledge without practice is not knowledge at all. Had I truly known?
"One! A cunt— nnghyoooooh♥♥♥?!!? Nnh♥ ooooh?!♥♥"
In the middle of a sacred oath, the sudden mating-screech of a bitch in heat. My head turned before I could stop it, and I saw one of the trainers toying with a cunt-slut's teats.
"Th-the oath! W-we're in the middle of the oath♥ I-if you do that I can't recit— hyahhhh♥♥♥♥!!"
"Can't? Don't make me laugh! I'll play with you bitches' bodies however I damn well please — you just carry out the order we gave you! You already know what happens if even one of you slips, right?"
It was unreasonable. This made no sense. That thought had only just started to surface when Lazia's next article came down, firm and final, against my ear.
"One! No matter how unreasonable a man's conduct, a cunt accepts it as only proper!"
My half-departed wits snapped back into place.
"One! No matter how unreasonable a man's conduct, a cunt accepts it as only proper!"
We carried the oath on. The trainers toyed with us through it as if they were playing a game. Several cunt-sluts had already climaxed on a man's fingers. Collective punishment was now a certainty. And yet I was not afraid. They say the one who is prepared is happy, don't they? I had just reaffirmed, by oath, that being toyed with at a man's whim — however unreasonable — was a female slave's destiny. After that, there was nothing left to be afraid of.
"One! A cunt surrenders her body and her heart entirely to men!"
"One! A cunt surrenders her body and her heart entirely to men!"