She was disoriented, confused. But you could hardly blame her: waking up in a strange bed, in a strange bedroom… that’d confuse anybody.
She stretched out under the covers, trying to get her bearings. Her head felt fuzzy, more like she was ready to drift off for the night than awaken in the morning. It was time to get up, she knew, but… why? To do what?
Reaching for the floor, her foot brushed the glossy surface of a high-heeled shoe and knocked it over. She found herself looking at the shoe, one of a pair. They were black, sling-back heels, expensive. One stood upright and the other had been standing next to it—placed carefully by the side of the bed, as though she was supposed to slip them on as soon as she got up.
She slid her feet into the shoes, wiggling her toes to test the fit. They were the right size, though they seemed… unusually gaudy, not really her style. She stood, carefully, not sure how well she could balance in the shoes. She looked around, saw a woman’s bedroom: small, a similar size to the bedroom in her apartment… and yet it wasn’t hers. She didn’t recognize the furniture or the layout or the way the light hit the walls at this hour of the morning… but she couldn’t really remember what her own room looked like, either.
Her thoughts were hazy, confused, it would be so nice to just get back into bed and go back to sleep and not worry about where she was or why she was standing naked—she had been sleeping naked, for some reason—in a stranger’s bedroom in sexy heels, like a glamour model awaiting a photo shoot.
At one side of the bed was a closet, and its bifold door was mirrored glass. She looked at her reflection and some of the haze in her head began to clear. A gorgeous, sexy woman looked back at her, body supple and erect in the decorative shoes, and she stepped closer, noticing how pretty her eyes were, and her face, noticing the look of worry obvious in both.
Then her reflection spoke to her.
She flinched, looking quickly over her shoulder. There was no one else in the room. She hadn’t seen her lips move in the mirror, and yet…
You must get dressed.
There was a voice in her head, and somehow she knew it was her voice, but they weren’t her thoughts… they were her reflection’s thoughts. She understood this while also not understanding it. It didn’t make sense, and yet it was.
You must get dressed now.
She reached out to her reflection, but stopped short of touching the mirror. It seemed… dangerous, somehow. She turned away, scanning the room, and stepped carefully to the dresser, still apprehensive about the high heels, though her body seemed quite comfortable in them, as though she’d been wearing such footwear for years.
Opening the drawers, she found a very short, pleated skirt that simply snapped shut along one side. Forgetting underwear, she wrapped the skirt around her body and closed the snaps, the fabric hugging her curves without being uncomfortably tight in the waist; like the shoes, the sexy garment was just her size, though she didn’t think she’d ever own a skirt like this.
There was a bra, clearly a counterpart to the skirt, and just as decorative: its little half-cups shoved her breasts together and presented them to the onlooker without coming close to obscuring her nipples. Clasping it behind her back, she found the bra was also, of course, the perfect size.
Last was the collar. She looked at it a long time before carrying it back over to the mirror to consider. Why a collar? That was… an odd thing to wear. It was thick and luxurious black leather with a large O-ring at the front, as though it were meant to be attached to a… a leash.
She looked at her reflection, which spoke.
You are not complete without your collar.
Her face stared blankly back at her for a long moment. Then she pulled her hair out of the way so she could fit the collar around her throat and work the clasp in the back.
She could swear the voice in her head breathed a sigh of relief.
There. Now you are dressed.
Her reflection smiled at her. It took a moment to realize that meant she was smiling. The blissful look on her face was odd when she was just as confused as ever.
“What’s going on?” She asked her reflection. The mouth of the girl in the mirror mimicked her, but it was only her voice she heard.
When her lips were still, her reflection answered.
You poor thing… do you not remember?
Her brow furrowed and she shook her head. What was she supposed to remember? Where was she? Why was she dressed like this… and why—how—was a disembodied voice speaking to her?
Now, now… don’t panic. Look at me.
“I don’t understand, who are—“
Look into my eyes.
She looked into her own eyes in the mirror. Her wide, deep eyes. Her thoughts clouded again, but where she had felt hazy and confused upon waking up, now her mind was wonderfully calm and focused. Her breasts, exposed by her slutty outfit, rose and fell evenly with her breathing, and, as she slowly became flushed, her nipples grew dark and stiff.
That’s right. Look deep into my eyes. It’s time for training trance.
“Training? Tr…ance?” The words seemed like they should mean something to her, but it was becoming impossible to think. Her reflection had stiffened like a statue as it (she) gazed into her (its) eyes, hypnotizing her (being hypnotized) and her confusion was fading, fading, fading into warm quiet bliss.
Her lips parted. She panted. She saw the pulse throb in her reflection’s throat.
Good girl. Deep in your training trance. It seems you’ve forgotten some things.
“For…gotten?” Her own voice seemed faraway and strange. Her reflection’s voice had taken its place at the center of her mind, clear and commanding.
Some very important things.
Kneel down, now.
Silent, gaping, she watched her reflection sink to its knees. It should have been tricky for her, in the sky-high heels, but her body responded automatically, as though from long practice. Her thighs were spread, and her pussy pulsed with heat. She wanted to touch herself, but her hands rested palms-up on her thighs, and she lacked the will to move them.
Good girl. You’re ready to be reminded.
Reminded of your training.
You are very well-trained.
“I’m… I am… very… well-trained,” the dreamy, faraway voice agreed.
You are deeply in trance.
“I am… deeeeeply… in trance.” The voice drew out the word ‘deeply’ in a husky whisper. Clearly she enjoyed being in her training trance very much.
Your Master will be here shortly.
“My… M-Master…” Her reflection’s face twitched slightly, an expression of mild concern appearing. But her pussy throbbed and she looked at her collar and fell back into her eyes, and soon face and mind smoothed again into placid blankness.
Your Master will instruct you.
You will do exactly as you are instructed.
You will obey.
The voice of her reflection fell silent, and not a sound remained in the bedroom without or the mind within. Having remembered her training, the slavegirl waited—desperately horny but infinitely patient—for her Master to return to her.