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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
I finish my tasks at the office in a rush, watching the clock inch toward the early afternoon. Vasso had already left for the day, having told me about her upcoming trip to the capital. A sense of urgency tingles through me, I’m due at Madam Olivia’s house, and she never appreciates tardiness.
My heart pounding as I dash through the streets. I step in quietly, removing my shoes at the entrance, then proceed along the brief hallway. Inside the living room, I catch sight of her.
Olivia is sitting on her couch with one leg resting over the other. She has on a plain housedress and dark brown slippers. In her hand she has an open paperback book but barely gives a glance my way.
I move forward and drop to my knees at her feet. I’m pressing my lips to her slippers.
“Madam Olivia, I’ve come as instructed. Good afternoon.”
Olivia keeps her eyes on her book, her voice sounds calm and slightly imperious. “Afternoon, creature. So you managed to show up on time today, did you?”
“Yes, Madam. I… I came straight from the office.”
She continues reading for a moment longer then snaps the book shut. Her right foot dangles in the air, the slipper precariously hanging off her toes. My nose hovers inches away from it. A faint scent of worn fabric and foot warmth reaches me.
She is exhaling and setting the book aside. “Alright, stand up and strip. You know the drill. Apron on, everything else off.”
My heart rate quickens. I get up and get naked wearing only the chastity device strapped on my groin. I insert the small apron that doesn’t even cover my front, leaving only my buttocks open. Then, I kneel again, my head near her dangling slipper.
My voice is trembling, “I’m ready, Madam Olivia.”
She prods the tip of her slipper against my nose, a tiny smile contorting her lips.
“Good. And here is a list of tasks for you today: clean my room, mop the floors throughout the house, and wash my laundry by hand in the bathroom.” Understood?”
I’m kissing her slipper once more. “Yes, Madam Olivia. I understand.”
Olivia is sipping from a coffee mug on the side table. “Mm. You may proceed. But first, light my cigarette.”
She sets her coffee down and retrieves a pack of cigarettes from the table. She holds one between her lips. I scramble to fetch a lighter from the same table and flick the flame, leaning in to light the tip.
Olivia is exhaling smoke, eyeing at me. “Now go. Start with my bedroom.”
I hurry down the hallway to her bedroom. The bed is unmade, sheets twisted. I set about tidying, smoothing the sheets, fluff the pillows, gather any stray clothing from the floor. I work quickly, mindful of the ticking clock. My face still burns with the memory of kissing her slippers, of how easily she commands me.
Suddenly, her voice thunders in the living room: “Creature, come here!” My stomach constricts. I drop whatever I’m doing and run back into the living room, apron flying, knees dipped slightly as if about to kneel at a moment’s notice.
When I enter, I curtsey, an involuntary reaction from serving Lady Anthea so frequently. Olivia’s eyebrows shoot up, and she lets out a sharp laugh.
“What was that little curtsy, hmm? You pick that up from my daughter’s training?”
“Yes, Madam Olivia. I’m sorry if it offends you.”
Olivia is grinning sardonically as she shakes her head. “It just seems absurd; it doesn’t annoy me. Tell me, now, why you spend so much time in the bedroom?
“I… I was just making your bed, Madam. I’ll be quicker.”
Olivia is smoking and letting the ash fall into an ashtray.
“Make sure you do. I don’t like waiting. If you dawdle, you will regret it. Understand?”
“Yes, Madam. I promise you I shall be quick.”
She sweeps her hand across her face and I take this as the cue for me to leave. I retreat hastily back to the bedroom, cleaning up in record time. I then take a bucket and a scrub brush and get to work on the floors.
I start in her bedroom, crawling around on my hands and knees. The floor is hardwood, needing a thorough scrub. My apron flutters around my waist, the chastity device pressing uncomfortably against the wooden boards each time I shift.
Eventually, I move on to Anthea’s old bedroom -unused but still needing upkeep- then the hall. By the time I reach the living room, sweat beads on my forehead, and my arms ache from the constant motion of the brush.
Olivia is watching from the couch, her feet up, and a cigarette in hand.
“You look tired, creature and you’re not scrubbing with any enthusiasm. Is it such a burden to keep my house spotless?”
“No, Madam Olivia. It’s my honor. I’m just… maybe I’m a bit slow. I’m sorry.”
Olivia says sternly, “Well, I expect more zeal. Faster. Harder. Show me you’re worthy to be in my home.”
I immediately returning to scrubbing, and say in trembling voice. “Yes, Madam. Right away.”
I redouble my efforts, scrubbing so vigorously that my arms tremble. The living room floor glistens with soap water, my reflection warped by the puddles. gorukle escort Olivia moves in, stirring her cigarette ash into a dish, eyes fixed on me critically.
Olivia makes a comment suddenly with an inquiring tone. “So, creature, a little bird told me you’re still a virgin. Is that true?”
I nearly drop the brush. My cheeks flame with embarrassment. “Y-yes, Madam Olivia. It’s true.”
Olivia is laughing lightly, “At your age? And you’ve never had intercourse? Why is that?”
My voice shaking, and I keep my eyes on the floor.
“I… I respect women too much, Madam. I feel unworthy to penetrate a superior woman, and… well, it’s not my place as a slave. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“So you’re saying you stay a virgin out of respect? That is a somewhat perverted concept of chivalry, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, Madam Olivia. But it’s what I believe. I… also only get aroused by femdom scenarios. Vanilla situations don’t excite me.”
Olivia is raising an eyebrow and sounds mockingly impressed.
“Ah, so you’re a deviant, basically. And you prefer to remain lowly in every aspect of your life. How admirable.” She snickers, “You must be proud.”
I am scrubbing the floor harder to hide my trembling. “It’s just who I am, Madam. Lady Anthea… she tolerates it.”
“Does she, now? Well, I suppose my daughter has a soft spot for pathetic creatures like you. But you do realize you’ll live and die as a virgin, right? You’ll never know the best pleasure in life. That’s a pity, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Madam, it… it crosses my mind sometimes. But it’s my place, so…”
Olivia is shaking her head in mock sympathy.
“Truly pathetic. Dying without ever having real intercourse. Tsk. So many men crave that, but you’ll never taste it.” She watches me scrub, a flicker of satisfaction in her eyes. “Anyway, keep scrubbing. You’re doing better now.”
I feel a strange relief at her faint praise. My arms burn, but I keep going until the entire living room floor gleams. Finally, I wipe the sweat from my forehead, while panting.
Olivia is nodding in grudging approval. “That’s acceptable. I expect nothing less. You’re learning.”
I’m bowing my head, my voice is breathless. “Thank you, Madam Olivia. I’m grateful for your kind words.”
Olivia is checking the time on her phone. “Alright, creature, you may have a ten-minute rest. But don’t get too comfortable.”
I collapse to my knees. She gets up from the couch, putting out her cigarette.
“I haven’t cooked today. I’m eating leftovers from the other day. There’s no food left for you, though. But I did bake something special, called a ‘slave-pie.’ Let me show you.”
She pulls out a rectangular baking dish covered in foil. The moment she peels it back, I see a dense, crumbly mass of unappetizing color. It looks dry and somewhat overcooked.
Olivia seems and sounds proud.
“This is my famous ‘slave-pie.’ Rice, beans, peas, spinach, carrots, a bit of onion, no salt or seasoning, though. Very healthy, full of nutrients. Perfect for someone like you.”
I’m swallowing hard, forced politeness in my voice.
“That… that’s very generous of you, Madam Olivia. Thank you.”
She slices off a chunk, placing it on the bowl then hands it to me. The dryness is evident at first glance, crumbs fall away as she lifts it.
“Eat. I spent hours baking this for you. Don’t let it go to waste.”
I take a cautious bite. It’s indeed horrid, dry, bland, and sticks to my throat. I struggle to swallow, eyes watering from the effort. Olivia’s gaze sharpens.
Olivia’s voice sounds cold. “What’s wrong? You don’t like my cooking, creature? After I spent so much time on it?”
I’m shaking my head in panic. “No, Madam, it’s… I’m.. just… it’s a bit dry, but I’m grateful, truly. Thank you for feeding me.”
Olivia is crossing her arms, expression stern. “Finish it, or you’ll offend me.”
I force down every crumb, each swallow feeling like a lump of sawdust. My eyes water from the dryness, but I dare not show too much discomfort. When I finally finish, I set the bowl aside, chest heaving.
Olivia is laughing softly. “Good. Now you know why it’s called ‘slave-pie, it’s the perfect meal for a slave, cheap, filling, and thoroughly unenjoyable.”
I bow my head. “Thank you for dinner, Madam Olivia.”
She waves her hand dismissively, walking back into the living room. “Your break is over. Go to the bathroom and wash my clothes.”
I pick up the laundry basket from her room, which is filled with clothes, her daywear and underwear. My hands ache from scrubbing, but I begin immediately, filling the basin with water, some soap, and immersing the clothes in it.
Olivia materializes behind me, the door half closed. She’s got her back against the frame and is watching with a faint smirk.
“Inspect that pile. You’ll be here for hours. Isn’t it amusing? We have washing machines nowadays, but I enjoy watching you do it by hand, like some housewife from 1950.”
“Yes, bursa görükle escort Madam Olivia. It’s… an honor to serve you in any way.”
She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Honor, indeed. Well, keep at it. I’ll be in the living room.”
She leaves, laughter echoing in the hall. I grit my teeth, immersing garment after garment in the soapy water. The monotony sets in quickly, but I soldier on.
A few seconds after, her voice booms from the sitting room: “Creature, come here!” I release the clothes and crawl on all fours, water dripping from my arms, apron glued to my wet skin.
I crawl down the hall to the living room. Olivia is on the couch, one leg thrown over the other, holding her phone.The sight of me crawling along in an apron, chastity device prominently displayed, reduces her to a fit of laughter.
Olivia has her mouth obscured, her eyes are shining. “You’re quite the spectacle, creature. No dignity at all, is there?”
I’m on my knees at her feet, “Thank you for reminding me of my place, Madam.”.
She smiles and stores her phone. “I’m bored reading alone. Maybe I’ll join you in the bathroom. It’ll be entertaining to watch you scrub the clothes.”
I’m bowing my head in gratitude. “It would be a privilege, Madam. Truly.”
She seems pleased by my response. “Then fetch me a chair, an ashtray, my phone, and a glass of wine. Also bring a footstool or something for my items. Let’s make it comfortable.”
I quickly obey and carry them all into the cramped bathroom, setting them up so she can sit comfortably. She follows, stepping around the laundry basket with mild distaste.
Olivia is surveying the setup. “Hmm, maybe I can rest my feet somewhere…”
“Madam, you can use my back as a footstool if you wish. I’d be honored.”
She regards me with a skeptical look. “Your back? That might be too uncomfortable for me.”
“Please, Madam, I’d find it a privilege. Truly. I can arch in a way that supports you.”
Olivia is shrugging, “Suit yourself. Let’s try it.”
She sits down, placing her wine glass on the improvised footstool. I position myself on all fours beside her, arching my back. With a slight shift, she rests one foot on the back of my neck and the other on my mid-back.
Olivia is exhaling contentedly, “Not bad. Now, keep washing. I want to see you work while I relax.”
I resume scrubbing the clothes, arms trembling from the awkward angle. She sips her wine, occasionally scrolling on her phone. Then she speaks.
“So, creature, how do you even get pleasure these days?”
“I can’t at all Madam Olivia. You see, Lady Anthea has kept me in denial for seven months. There’s no way to… relieve myself.”
She sits up straighter, nearly spilling her wine. “Seven months in denial? That’s insane. I know my daughter is generous, giving. She must be punishing you for something big.”
I am shaking my head, continuing to scrub the clothes in the basin.
“I… I don’t think so, Madam. She just… it started as a method of discipline, and time passed. She never saw a reason to allow me ejaculate.”
Olivia nods in understanding. “You must be losing your mind after so long time without any release. All that tension with nowhere to go.” She snickers, lighting a cigarette. “I can’t imagine living like that. Good thing I’m not in your position.”
I’m biting my lip, water dripping from my fingers.
“Yes, Madam. It’s… difficult but Lady Anthea is good to me and she milks my prostate sometimes for drainage, so it is kind of release but that’s… not really pleasure, just relief.”
Olivia’s foot shifts on my back, pressing down slightly. “Prostate milking? Good grief. And how does that feel?”
“It’s… it’s not pleasurable, just a medical-like procedure. It empties my semen so I don’t get too uncomfortable.”
Olivia is laughing, setting her wine glass aside. “Fascinating. You’re basically living as a permanent chastity slave, huh? Tell me more about this prostate milking thing. How does it happen? Does my daughter do it herself?”
I’m hesitating, my eyes fixed on the soapy water.
“Yes, Madam Olivia. She… she uses gloves, lubricant a tool called Aneros and stimulates my prostate until fluid is released. It’s not… pleasurable, exactly. It’s more… clinical.”
“That’s so fascinating. And it doesn’t give you any orgasmic feeling?”
“No, Madam. Milking gives a kind of pleasure maybe 3 to 4 compared to an orgasm. It’s just… draining fluid, not releasing tension. No real pleasure, just relief from the pressure. The cage stays on the entire time.”
Olivia can’t stand but laughs out.
“A three or four, out of ten? How pathetic. That’s barely a flicker of pleasure. All that build-up, and you get what, some pitiful drip and a mild spasm? Goodness, you really are missing out, creature.”
I’m closing my eyes in shame.”Yes, Madam. It’s humiliating, but I am grateful for it.”
Olivia answers, mock pity saturating her tone.
“You poor, poor slave. Such a worthless existence, with only a fraction of real pleasure once in a blue moon. Yet, you’re apparently content with it.”
I’m nodding, my voice subdued, “I’m content to serve, Madam, yes.”
Olivia is clicking her tongue in mock sympathy.
“Poor creature. Even your release is mechanical. I suppose that’s what you deserve, though. A real orgasm would be wasted on you.”
She sighs, placing her wine glass on the edge of the makeshift stool. Her eyes flick over my hunched figure.
“You must’ve really messed up to deserve such cruelty from my daughter.” She exhales in mild disbelief. “Are you sure you don’t get too much pleasure through milking?”
“I am sure Madam Olivia. I don’t. Lady Anthea usually wraps my balls with an ice bag so the pleasure I feel is even less as the ice numbs my genitals. The actual prostate stimulation is done internally, but externally I feel cold, so there’s no arousal.”
Olivia is taking off her right foot from my back and she brushes my cage with her slipper.
“So this is the contraption. Let me see…” She nudges it, pressing lightly against my balls. “Are you certain you didn’t do anything wrong to deserve this? My daughter is kind, but she can be harsh if crossed.”
My eyes are closed by my hands scrubs the clothes mechanically, my voice is trembling at the contact.
“I promise, Madam Olivia, I did nothing major. She just… decided this was best for me.”
Olivia is exhaling in mock sympathy. “Poor creature. Well, you’re stuck. This might be your life forever. My daughter must enjoy your misery.”
She lights a cigarette, pressing the tip of her slipper more firmly against the cage.
“How does it feel emotionally, living like this? Knowing you can’t get hard, can’t cum? Are you constantly frustrated?”
“Yes, Madam, it’s… it’s a constant ache. But I’ve accepted it as my fate.”
She grins, her expression almost gleeful. “That’s the spirit. Accept your fate.”
She sits back down, sipping her wine while smoking. Her voice grows reflective, yet retains a note of cruelty.
“If you ask me, your fate is sealed. You’ll spend the rest of your life as our family’s slave. Anthea, me, Connor, maybe others in the future. You’ll remain locked, a virgin forever. Isn’t that a grim prospect?”
“I… I don’t find it grim, Madam Olivia. Serving your family is my greatest ambition. If that means chastity for life, then so be it.”
Olivia is laughing, “You’re quite something, creature. Then again, I suppose it’s convenient for us. A docile, horny slave who never gets relief.” She taps her chin.
My voice is shaky, but sincere. “Yes, Madam. If that’s how it must be, I accept it.”
“You do realize that as you age, your erections will become fewer and fewer anyway. Even if you had the chance, your body won’t respond. So I’d guess you have maybe, oh, a handful of orgasms left in your entire life… if any.”
“I understand, Madam. It’s… my life’s path.”
She arches an eyebrow, swirling her wine. “You say that so calmly. But deep down, I bet you’re screaming. Don’t lie.”
I am trembling, continuing to wash a piece of lingerie. “Maybe I have moments of despair, but… ultimately, I’m grateful to serve.”
Olivia is smiling in satisfaction, “Good. I like that attitude. Makes everything simpler. Now keep washing. That pile won’t do itself.”
I resume work again, washing and wringing each piece. My arms ache at the continuous movement, but with her around me, I just keep going wordlessly.
She pulls her foot out once more, grazing the top of my chastity device with her toe. The sensation is unpleasant, but I remain motionless, biting my lip.
Olivia says amused, “I can’t imagine the frustration you must feel. I almost pity you, but it’s also hilarious. But hey, at least you have a purpose.”
“Yes, Madam Olivia. I… I’m grateful for it.”
The conversation lulls as I focus on scrubbing the final pieces of clothing. My arms burn, but I push through. Occasionally, Olivia comments on a piece of lingerie, mocking me for handling something so intimate when I’ll never see real intimacy in my life.
Eventually, the pile diminishes. My knees ache from kneeling on the tile floor, the apron wet around my waist. As if to remind me that she’s present, Olivia occasionally taps one foot against my side or back as she drinks her wine.
“All right, that’s sufficient for now. Let’s see if you’ve done a decent job.”
She gets up, walking around me to inspect the rinsed, neatly wrung-out clothes in the basket. I remain on my knees, head bowed, waiting for her verdict.
“Not bad, creature. I suppose I should be satisfied with your effort.”
She sets her wine glass aside, then nudges me with her foot to get me to rise. I do so, keeping my eyes averted. lips. She flicks her gaze to the door. “Now, gather those wet clothes and hang them.”
I place the clothes in a small plastic tub, preparing to carry them outside to hang on a line. Olivia stands, adjusting her slippers.
“Let’s go. I’ll watch you hang them. I want to see how quickly you can manage.”
She leads the way, stepping out of the bathroom. I follow, the tub balanced against my hip. We step into the balcony, where a short clothesline is strung between two posts.
Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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