I wake the next morning to a locked cage. Mistress was here. I force a smile behind the gag as I wait patiently for Mistress. Our upcoming separation leaves me anxious. I want to be with her. I want to protect her. I want to be of use to her. Time passes.
I hear the dungeon gate open. Mistress’s boots click across the floor. She comes into view, fully dressed and in her robe. Disappointment lingers within me. I enjoy helping her dress and her robe ritual. This event is special to me and it has been denied. She approaches and unlocks my cage. I crawl out, bow, and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left. I kneel at attention, my hands together in the muff.
“Prepare my breakfast, slave. No food for you today. While I am eating you will wash yourself and shave. Present yourself when you have finished.”
I wait for her to exit before I rise. I follow her at a distance, up the stairs, and continue to the kitchen. I prepare Mistress bacon, eggs, toast, juice, and coffee. My stomach growls. I forgot to eat dinner last night. I feel my brain tipping into slavespace. I have not earned the privilege to eat yet today. I place her food on the table and head to the living room.
I bow. She waves me over and I approach her. Mistress removes the padlocks from my uniform one by one. She turns forward the cuffs, unbuckles them, and turns them back. She unlocks my collar. The locks clink together in a bowl on the table. She releases my nipple harness. My head harness and gag. The belted muff. The locking plug. I lie on my back and present my feet. She removes the locks, buckles, and ankle chain. I return to my knees, bow, and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left. She departs without a word. She feels miles away.
I quickly retreat to the basement and start the cold shower. I wash and shave. My teeth chatter as I brush them with care. I return to her and stand at attention in the kitchen, naked except for my chastity belt. She finishes eating, leaving half a piece of toast and some scrambled eggs on her plate. I clear her place and under her watchful eye, I dump the remaining food into the trash. It pains me to watch the lid close. I’m so hungry. I bring her dishes to the sink.
“Leave the dirty dishes, slave. Report to my room for inspection.” I bow and rinse her dishes in the sink. I follow a few steps behind her as she departs. In her room I stand with my legs spread and my hands behind my head. My eyes stay on the floor. She drags her fingers over me as she inspects me.
“slave, you will be serving my colleague in uniform. You will not wear the gag, plug, or nipple harness. They will be included if she deems them necessary. She will have the keys to your locks. You will bring an additional bag that will be locked and a change of uniform. Get dressed, warm up my car, and carry my suitcases to it.”
I quickly don my uniform that sits on the table. I buckle myself in. I finish quickly and present myself to Mistress and she applies the locks. My feelings spiral out of control and I furrow my brow. Smack. Her hand slaps me across the cheek. My lip quivers.
“Don’t you dare present that attitude in front of her, slave.” I feel instant remorse. It lingers.
I go poker-faced as she finishes securing the locks. I kneel, bow, and kiss her feet. First the right foot, then the left. I rise and tend to Mistress’s luggage. The bags are heavy and require multiple trips. I load them into her vehicle and start it, turning up the heat so that it will be warm for her.
I stand at attention near the coat closet. Mistress appears shortly. I unfasten her robe and gently slide it off her body. I hang it in the closet and stand before her.
“3/4 length black fur with headband and gloves.”
I return from the closet. She turns and holds out her arm. I slide her arm into the coat sleeve. I wrap it around her body. I do up the fasteners. Her perfume fills my nose. My sex strains against the belt. I place the headband gently over her head and adjust it into place. I slide the gloves onto her hands. I want to look at her. My Goddess. My Venus in Furs. My face shows my disappointment.
Smack. Her hand strikes my cheek hard. Tears well up in my eyes due to the physical pain and her disapproval.
“Attitude, slave. Show that face to my colleague and you will regret being born.”
I lower my face in shame. I’m sorry Mistress. I escort her to the car, opening every door for her. She climbs in and pops the rear gate. I crawl in the back into the pet carrier and the gate slowly closes behind me. The vehicle moves. We drive for a while and I lose track of time.
The vehicle slows to a stop. I hear Mistress’s door open and the suspension bounces. I wait in anticipation. Several minutes pass. Her door opens and she gets back in. The back gate opens.
“slave, don’t dawdle. She is expecting you.”
I climb out of the vehicle and the gate closes behind me. I take a step towards her door, hoping to wish her farewell. The SUV pulls away and leaves me without a parting glance. My heart aches. I love you, Mistress. Please be safe.
I turn and look at the medium-sized house before me. I quickly realize that I am in my uniform on a sidewalk of a city street. My face burns red. A burst of self-consciousness clears my mind of my longing. I hastily make my way up the stairs and enter the front door. I slowly walk down the hall.
“In here.” A voice calls out to me. I follow its trail to the living room.
I present myself on my knees before her. My eyes quickly take in her form. I dare not look her in the face. She is a petite woman. She lies on the couch, her left leg elevated by pillows. I have never seen her before in my life. My nerves race. I know she judges me.
Her voice breaks the silence.
“So this is Cassandra’s slave boy.” I swallow.
“How would you like me to address you, ma’am?”
“The boy will call me Madam. Get on all fours.”
I lower my upper body and hold it upright with my arms. The hairs on my neck tingle.
“I see Cassandra never completed your training. This weekend will have to suffice. Move forward a little. Just like when she was my student, leaving things unfinished.”
My stomach turns. She frightens me.
“The boy will answer my questions.” I hear small rattle as she picks up a leather belt that was hidden on the far side of her body on the couch.
“Why is the boy dressed like that?”
“This is my uniform provided for me by Mistress Cassandra, Madam.”
Smack. The belt slaps down hard on my rear. I wince and let out a small grunt.
“Unsatisfactory, slave. Why is the boy dressed like that?”
“This is my uniform, Madam.”
Smack. The belt lands again, harder. My body recoils and I whimper. Anxiety builds. I do not understand.
“It appears Cassandra’s slave still thinks it is a person. This amuses me. ‘I,’ ‘me,’ and ‘my’ are terms used by people to describe themselves. The boy here is chattel. Property. An object. If the slave makes this mistake again, it will be beaten. Why is the boy dressed like that?”
My spirit falls. The brief sink is quickly interrupted by fear and desperation.
“The slave wears the uniform provided by Mistress Cassandra, Madam.” She lightly taps the belt against her hand.
“It makes the boy look like a cock-sucker. Does the boy suck cock?”
“I don’t suck cock, Madam.”
Smack. I cry out and wobble.
“The slave doesn’t suck cock, Madam.”
Smack. Harder. I squeal. Tears fill my eyes.
“I don’t know how Cassandra can deal with such an insolent and ill-mannered servant.” She laughs.
“A slave telling me what it won’t do. How preposterous.” She clicks her tongue and shakes her head.
“Why does Cassandra dress the boy like that?”
“Madam, Mistress Cassandra dresses the slave this way for discomfort and humiliation.”
“Does the boy feel humiliated right now?” I pause to think. Her words guide me.
“No, Madam. A slave’s emotions are useless beyond its ability to provide service.”
“The boy learns quickly. I should have the slave serve me naked but the uniform does amuse me, so it will stay.”
She makes me readily aware of my outfit and how it must appear to a stranger. I blush but bury my feelings deep. Being on all fours exaggerates my vulnerability and exposure.
“Tell me about the boy’s Mistress.”
“Yes, Madam. Mistress Cassandra is the love of my life.”
Smack. The belt bites into my skin. I made another mistake. The mental adjustment is difficult.
“The slave loves Mistress Cassandra with all of its heart. She is wonderful. Mistress Cassandra is beautiful and intelligent, caring and compassionate. She is thoughtful. Mistress Cassandra is strict but she is fair. The slave worships and serves her. She is the slave’s Goddess.”
“The boy answers adequately. Why does the boy suppose that Cassandra would lend its services out so easily, to someone she hadn’t seen or spoken to in years?”
My body tenses. She leans forward on the couch. Her words expose the fears within my heart. I cannot answer.
“Maybe the boy fails to understand Cassandra’s feelings. Maybe the boy is just an object to her. Maybe she loves the boy as she loves her favorite coat, but nothing more.”
My body trembles. I cannot tell if I feel fear or anger. My heart screams.
“That’s not true, Madam. Mistress Cassandra loves the slave. She has to love the slave. The slave would do anything for her. Mistress respects you. She entrusts you with the slave’s care. The slave serves you under her direction.”
Tears flow from my eyes.
“The boy certainly has a lot of faith in its Mistress. So if I were to beat the boy without mercy, what would it do?”
“The slave would suffer at your hands, Madam.”
“If I were to violate the boy, would it resist?”
“The slave would suffer at your hands, Madam.”
“If I were to spread my legs and order the boy to pleasure me, would it comply?”
“The slave would pleasure you to the best of its abilities, Madam.”
She pauses. The words flow so easily from my mouth, my mind takes time to process what I said.
“I think the boy should think about this. Is the boy faithful to its Mistress if it so eagerly agrees to the demands of another?”
I sob. I don’t understand what I feel. Am I unfaithful if I do something unfaithful in order to obey Mistress? I weep.
She places her hand on my back.
“Little Cassie really did find an interesting one. I almost feel bad toying with the boy. The boy should know that Cassandra forbade me from using its lips and tongue in that way.”
She pats my back and rubs her hand back and forth. My tears slowly subside as her hand comforts me.
“Kneel in front of me, slave.”
I shift positions and kneel in front of her.
“Cassandra told me I would have to give the boy instructions. Here are the rules. First, the boy may look at me. The boy will not speak unless spoken to. If the boy must speak, it should raise its hand and wait to be acknowledged. The boy will never refer to itself as ‘me’ or ‘I’ or anything of that nature while here in my presence. The boy will kneel while not in use. Failure to follow these rules will be punished. Does the boy understand?”
“Yes, Madam, the slave understands the rules.”
“Good. Does the boy know who I am?”
“No, Madam. Mistress told the slave nothing about you.”
She extends her hand and lifts my chin. Our eyes meet. She smiles. Her face radiates warmth. I smile back at her. She is a pretty lady and looks to be a bit older than Mistress.
“My name is Amanda. I was Cassandra’s professor and faculty advisor during her undergrad days. I helped steer her into abnormal psychology that eventually led to her practice. We reconnected through social media last year and I was surprised to find out details about her current life. It made me quite curious, especially when I found out she was married. Pass me my drink, boy.”
I nod and lift her glass from the coffee table. I present it to her. She takes it in her hands, takes a drink, and returns it to me. I continue holding it within her reach.
“I am not a Femdom, or whatever it’s called, but I do know some of the basics. Cassandra and I really got back in touch with each other a while ago when she reached out about some problems she was having involving the boy and Tristan. Since then she has kept me updated with the changes and progression in the relationship. I find it quite fascinating.”
She takes the glass from my hand, drinks again, and replaces it.
“Now that I’ve seen the boy, I understand a little bit more. This isn’t just some kind of game. The boy honestly sees Cassandra as its Goddess, doesn’t it?”
“And the boy would do anything she asks of it?”
She smiles and shakes her head. Her blonde hair dances across her shoulders.
“I have a hard time absorbing this, boy. Cassandra told me that you were once a fairly smart man with lots of interests. What I see before me is a fairly smart slave with only one interest. Cassandra told me she keeps the boy’s penis locked up in chastity. Are you okay with that?”
“Yes, Madam, the slave’s penis can get the slave in trouble. The slave is happy that Mistress holds the key.”
She smiles again and sighs.
“If only my ex-husband was smart enough to know that. Why is the boy so comfortable talking about this with a stranger?”
“Madam, the slave has spoken about this before with others. The slave is transparent and Mistress Cassandra grants it no privacy from the curiosity of others.”
“Well, the boy piques my interest. I have not known many people who could keep their sanity in this environment, but it seems to make Cassandra and the boy happy. I will warn the boy of this, I was able to condition it to depersonalize itself in 20 minutes. The boy’s ability to adapt may actually be a danger.”
Her words haunt me. We do not speak of these matters beyond this. I attend to her needs. I cook for her, assist her in bathing, dressing, fetching her medication, changing her leg’s wrap, ice, and other matters. She keeps me close even though I feel I would be of better use performing household duties. I can tell that she enjoys the company.
We small talk to pass the time. I make her laugh. The pronoun game affects me deeply, my mind slips deeper and deeper away from myself. Amanda keeps me distracted enough to avoid thinking about Mistress. I believe she sees what is happening inside of me and this is her favor to me.
The days pass quickly. By the third day Amanda is able to walk with crutches. This is our last day together. I help Amanda bathe and dress. I prepare her breakfast and we eat together. She provides me a small stool to sit on next to her. It is a kind gesture that makes me feel warm inside.
Mistress arrives in the early afternoon. I greet her at the door with a bow and kiss her feet. She wears her silver fox jacket and matching hat. I inhale her perfume and my sex strains against the belt. I love her, my Mistress. My Queen. My Goddess. I escort her to the living room where she sits opposite Amanda. I kneel next to her chair, facing Amanda. Mistress’s hand pets my head. I close my eyes and smile.
“You really are all grown up, Cassie.”
They both laugh. I guess that Mistress is blushing.
“Your slave was delightful. It served me quite well these past few days. I’m rather impressed.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Amanda. I’m sure his ass is happy to hear that as well or he would have had quite the beating coming. Make sure you don’t say too many positive things about him in his presence or that little ego just might sprout up. It would be a waste after I worked so hard to crush it.”
“You really haven’t changed that much, Cassandra. You’re still so stubborn and confident. I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of breaking your slave a little farther. It shouldn’t be able to put up any more mental resistance”
“Interesting, I’ll have to ask ‘it’ what happened later.”
“I have one more question for you, Cassandra. I have a couple of graduate students working on their thesis project. I’m sure they could use your assistance. Would you be willing to meet with them?”
“You aren’t going to tell me more about it, are you Amanda? I should know better than to even ask. I’m free on Thursday, would 7pm work?”
“That should be fine. I will let them know and contact you if there are any problems.”
They exchange small talk for a while. As we depart Mistress orders me to kiss Amanda’s feet for the privilege of serving her. I kneel and bow; my lips find their mark. First the right foot, then the left. I raise my head and she places her hand on it. I look up. She smiles down at me.
On the ride home Mistress has me sit in the back seat. My hands are locked inside the muff and she straps me in with a seat belt. She asks me about the pronoun game and I explain it to her. She processes her thoughts in silence.
I smile. I am simply happy to be near her. My Mistress. I love her. She breaks the silence.
“slave, when permitted to speak it will continue as instructed by Amanda. Does it understand?”
“Yes, Mistress. The slave understands.”
“Speech privileges removed.”