#financial slavery

Recently spent a week being spoiled rotten with wine and cake vodka in a cabin in the woods. I went hiking and tubing, had a ton of fun…and always came home to a clean cabin and excellent meal. When my pet for the week was “bad” (which was several times as I am infamously hard to please) I made her go pull a switch from a tree outside and stand in the corner while I whipped her with it, like a little girl. She was dripping at the pain and humiliation and I relished the unique sound and feel of her ass softening below the switch. 

I also took joy in having her pack my bag for the day full of goodies and fun things for a boat some friends rented, while she stayed home to clean up my mess from the night before, and throwing a great party that she cleaned up before and after, cooked for, and spent naked, gagged, & tied up in a closet with a vibrating butt plug in her ass while my friends and I tore the place apart.

This is a closeted sub, married, told her loser hubby she was going on a work vacation and used a bonus she didn’t tell him about to pay for the cabin and stock it full of my favorite things. I met her in camp when I was in high school-we used to stay up late spooning and whispering. Eventually, as most of my relationships do-it progressed. It wasn’t long before instead of spooning I was getting my pussy licked and taking the best stuff out of her care packages. We still keep in touch, occasional cyber sessions and wallet raping. Once in a GREAT while we get away for things like this past week. I love a willing slave, from any walk of life.

I made this waitress slut I play with come here straight from work, strip, put on heels, gagged her with some dirty socks of mine, and do my dishes. Made her lick each one clean then scrub it by hand, then get down and scrub my toilet with her personal toothbrush. While she did that I took the tip money out of her wallet, then made her lick my asshole while I used a vibrator to come. Hahaha. Sluts are pathetic.

on my list of requirements for women to fulfill. You should work hard so I don’t have too.

As I quietly was the dishes and straighten everything up for work (including signing over birthday checks to Mistress-I don’t even have a bank account, everything goes right to her) and getting my bus pass ready (Mistress claimed my car LONG ago. I used to have to walk to work, heels and all but she decided it was wasting time that she needed me home cleaning, cooking, and being humiliated). I hated walking to work, but I hate the bus too. I told Mistress how many creepy men ogle me in my skirt suit and knee high nylons, and she slapped me across the face, reminded me that I’m a whore…and now, as a permanent punishment for whining, whenever a man hits on me, I have to say “I’m already owned, but you can touch my tit if you’d like”. I’ve been groped by countless men on the bus, on the street, and even by several colleagues. I close my eyes and pretend it’s Mistress’ hand, but that doesn’t always work.

On the bus, I try to sit by myself, unassuming. It’s hard though-a lot of the girls occupy themselves by reading books or listening to music on the bus, but I am only allowed to carry lipstick, an extra hair tie, my butt plug, a dildo, my ID, and my cell phone that only has a few people I’m allowed to contact via it, and anything necessary for work. Mistress does like to ensure that I’m succeeding at work; it’s her money on the line and she gets a kick out of knowing I pretend I’m normal even though there’s clearly a tattoo on my rib cage that says “Worthless Slave, Property of Divine Mistress Kat”. Today no one bothers me, but I do run into one of Mistress’ friends, Lindsay.

“Kylie!” she exclaims sitting next to me. “How are you?” This always feels so awkward. I have to pretend we’re mutual friends, that I’m ecstatic to be running into them, pretend I have a life and a personality, but make it clear that Mistress is the more important person in our relationship. Plus I’m terrified of letting something slip. I manage to smile brightly and tell her I’m good. “Good, you look great!” She continued to prattle on about “mutual” friends and her job, occasionally engaging me in questions. Finally she says “Thanks so much for agreeing to host my birthday party! Your apartment is the sweetest ever.” This is, obviously, the first time I am hearing about this party and I am a little peeved. Hosting parties mean I spend 2 all-nighters in a row. One cooking, rearranging, and decorating, while Mistress and her roommate are either not home or just sit around watching t.v. and another cleaning, putting things back, etc. but quite enough so they can sleep. I always get so mad and exhausted but would never even dream of complaining. Plus Mistress is always so radiant during a party. Her smile lights up the room & she moves so effortlessly from group to group. Her hosting skills are top-notch and I envy how good she is with people. I eventually tell Lindsay she’s welcome, and luckily this is my stop. As I stand up to scoot past her, I am stricken with the irrational fear that she can smell my cunt. I hurry past and rush into work, where I head for the bathroom to masturbate as demanded me. I am really shaken up so I don’t come close to needing to get off; I take a deep breathe. This is unacceptable. I am Mistress’ PROPERTY, her SLAVE, and if she chooses to host a party, it is my job to smile as I hand out hor d'eovres and laugh at jokes I fear may be at my expense. I remind myself of her divinity as I finally get my juices going…literally, and head to my office.

My office is what you’d expect of a big executive-a big window overlooking downtown, plush carpeting. There are a few “off” things. The picture of my Mistress of course, on my desk…and the fact that my chair itself is designed to give me posture that is flattering (tits out, back gently arched, etc.) while I work. You’d never know it by looking at it, but there are hooks and chains and everything in case Mistress decides to come abuse me on my lunch hour. Even here, when I am gone 8 hours a day, I am solely hers.

Work is pretty easy; I am a dumb, worthless cunt when it comes to keeping Mistress happy but I’m a beast at keeping a Fortune 500 company running. Plus my assistants are great; a couple of young up-and-comers with 22 inch waists and DD breasts that Mistress demanded I hire-artist friends of hers that she owed a favor…and liked to ogle. The most annoying part is having to touch myself every so often. I get excited when my cell phone buzzes with a text. Even when she’s ordering me around and being a total asshole, hearing from Mistress thrills me. 

“Something to jerk off too” it said, with a picture of her ass filling my screen. It’s round and bubbly and perflectly creamy white. I practically cum looking at it. 

“It’s so perfect, Mistress.” I type back, “Thank you for this generous gift, Goddess. I worship you even from afar and wish I was with you now.” I mean every bit of it too. She always knows when I need some encouragement. 

“Do work, slut.” I shiver-because I am sick and turned on by the name-calling, because I love hearing from Mistress…and a little out of fear. I DO need to be focused on work. Mistress has threatened to send me to strip clubs to work if bonuses and the like are not what she wants. I know she’ll do it too, and the thought of gyrating for slimy men who’d like to steal me away from Mistress is enough to throw me back into the tasks at hand. Meetings, memos, etc. Finally it’s lunch time. I pull out the naked wilted salad, and get another text.

“Decided you can have some dressing on your salad. And by ‘dressing’, I mean you can rub your cunt until your juice is covering your hands, and then eat your salad with your hands. If that doesn’t work you will touch the forkfuls of salad against your cunt. Got it”

“Yes Mistress” I type back, mortified. But I do it. I throw my plastic fork to the side, and I rub my cunt. I eat a finger pinch full of lettuce, spinach, & a slivered almond or two. It is salty, and even more withered. And I have to keep doing it to keep the flow of juice going.

“Send a pic, slut.”

I sigh. I have ten minutes of lunch time left. But I do it. She was so generous to take time to think of me, sending me pictures AND orders, so I obey. Of course I obey. Was there any doubt? I send her pictures with my phone of me touching myself, the lettuce, and of rubbing a lettuce leaf against my cunt. She didn’t respond…probably bored. I finished my now disgusting, slimy salad gagging on the taste of my own juice. I am way backed up on projects so I hustle through the rest of my day. Around four my boss strolls into my office. I panic. Can he smell my cunt? Have I done something wrong? I know I have to succeed a this job. Mistress deserves only the best.

“Kylie! How are you doll?” Mr. Napa is a very nice man, and adores my work-I actually enjoy chatting with him about work so long as it’s not distracting me from my REAL job. I respond that I am well, and wait for some sort of praise or criticism or something, but he appears to just be bored. The clock is ticking away and I have to rush out at five, so I start getting nervous. I start woolgathering (a fatal flaw that Mistress has tried to beat out of me several times) until he says “So do you think you’d be able to head the Paris trip? It’ll be in June.” I stammer-I know Mistress is dying to go to Paris, but I don’t know if she’ll be allowed to go. I know I am expected to say yes and I am freaking out a little. 

“Um…how long would it be?”

“Three weeks! And there’d be plenty of time to sightsee and whatever you want. It’s a great opportunity and we really need you. No one else does what your do.” Ha, sightsee. If Mistress doesn’t go, or even if she does, chances are good I’ll spend my 'free time’ kneeling on the bathroom floor begging her for forgiveness.

“Um, Could Kat go, maybe? That’s kind of a long time…” I try to explain why this isn’t just me being needy, but luckily he cuts in.

“Of course, of course! I’ll be bringing Barb, so why shouldn’t you bring Kat?”

“Great! Okay, yes!” I blurt out without thinking. Fuck. I can get in so much trouble.

Fuck. Mr. Napa seems so happy, and I know I’m trapped. 

“WONDERFUL” he booms. “Wonderful! I’ll let the board know right away. Why don’t you head out early? Go tell Kat the great news?”

“Yes sir, okay. Thank you.” FUCK. I decide to text Mistress on my way out the door. “Mistress, need to talk. Big news from work. Home Early.”

“I’m busy slut. Quit bugging me. Isn’t it enough you get to keep me company over dinner?” Ugh, I am so fucked. Either way. Might as well suck up now.

“Yes Mistress, Sorry Mistress. I’m just so excited to see you.”

“Whatever, the house is a mess. Go clean it. I’m out enjoying my life. Meet me at Lara’s at 7. Red dress, crotchless panties, highest heels. No bra.”

“Yes Mistress." 

"7 Sharp, cunt. Eat first. Too expensive to let you eat there.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

The bus ride home is turtous. I want my Mistress’ attention, am sad to be so low on her scale of important things. It’s my own doing though, my own idiocy that has left me this way. I’m tired, and uncomfortable, and nervous about tonight. I’m also thrilled. Ecstatic to see my Mistress and it’s making me so hot and so wet. Men are ogling me, but luckily no one hits on me today. I run into the apartment as fast as my submissively high-heeled legs can carry me. 

5:05. I have an hour and a half before I have to run to Lara’s. I gasp looking around. Dirty dishes are on both end table, the kitchen counters, & even the floor. Apparently Mistress went shopping because there are bags and wrappers and tissue paper everywhere. Napkins, etc. Pop and juice has been knocked over & left. The cat eyes me lazily as I scamper & shuffle around, biting the inside of my cheek trying not to cry.

I am trying so hard not to inadvertently break any rules. I must always bend at the waist. I must keep my back straight when on all fours, I must always be standing, bending, kneeling, or on all fours. Never sitting or anything that implies laziness or that I am human. I am not human and this is reminded to me constantly as I struggle to remember all the rules. Wash the dishes quickly and in a circular motion. Make sure my tits and ass are always jiggling. Recycling vs. trash. New clothes get organized in with old clothes but at the front of their section. New DVD’s get put up alphabetically. New wine gets organized by type and year. Quickly, but thoroughly. Jiggle my tits. Masturbate every few minutes. 6:05. Fuck. Everything is done, but I need to wash my face (cold water only) and reapply my slut make-up (even sluttier when she lets me out at night). I pour my fat body into my red mini-dress, pull on the crotchless panties that say “Owned” right above my slit-Mistress’ favorite. My highest heels are just above six inches and I can only talk small steps-I feel like a bimbo. I am obviously Mistress’ 'trophy slut’ tonight. I fix my hair into pigtails-kind of jarring with the rest but it’s what Mistress likes the most. I am just about to head to the bus stop when she texts.

“Lara’s is on my way home. Just wait outside. Bring your bible. BE WAITING.”

I take a deep breathe. I figure I have a few extra minutes to straighten up, so I do a walk through fluffing pillows and making things extra nice. I grab my bible, which is my rule book-pages and pages of how to clean, how to cook, how to sexually please Mistress, how to pour which beverages and wine. I wait outside awkwardly, but as she would like me. Standing tall, chest out, ass out. I feel ridiculous. No one stands like this. Except me. And now I wait.

I awoke with a start, my alarm going off. Mistress never even hears it, which is good. She needs her beauty sleep. I am exhausted, but know it’s Day 1 of my exercise plan.  Mistress remarked last night about how unappealing my body had become to her, and I would’ve wanted to make myself better for her even if she hadn’t commanded it. I pull myself off of the floor, and I am almost bitter for the 5:30 wake up call until I glance over and see my perfect, beautiful Mistress resting peacefully. I grin in spite of myself and dig out my workout clothes. They are, appropriately, designed to humiliate me. I have tiny work out shorts that are so tight they crawl into my cunt, and a sports bra. THAT’S IT. I know I’m running low on time, so I pull them on quickly, they are even tighter against my flabby, expanded ass and chest and I flush with embarassment and shame at becoming this, knowing my Mistress deserves much better. A slave should be appealing to her owner at all times, this was disgraceful. I pull on my tennis shoes (the one expensive thing I own; Mistress does care about my safety. Or at least doesn’t want me to rack up Doctor bills). Then…I head out. 30 minutes of outside jogging in this outfit regardless of the temperature. Today the cold air blasts me as I open the door and I shiver. Still, it wouldn’t seem so bad if I hadn’t gotten so fat to begin with. 

My jog is fairly uneventful. I am, of course, somehow wet as the fabric of my shorts rubs my naked clit, and I am of course, completely woeful at how much I’ve let my Mistress down. I imagine my thighs are thundering, I am horrified someone might see my pale, cellulite-driven stomach, but no one does. I make sure to get home in time to stay on my normal schedule. My Mistress’ roommate should already be at his job, and my Mistress is, of course sound asleep. I turn on the cold shower (hot water is a privilege) and jump in, and do my first masturbation of the day. I am to do it for four minutes this time, and not get off. The heat of my cunt and the ice cold water and the constant reminders that I am O-W-N-E-D are almost too much for me and I fall to my knees, partially exhausted and partially overcome with desire. I finish showering quickly and begin to make myself appealing to my Mistress. I am a nervous wreck-I know now that I am a fat cow, and hope to at least make my face pleasing. I pile on the eyeliner, put my hair up so Mistress has a handle to jerk me around with, and put on my shortest skirt and highest heels for work. I check the time, masturbate again, and then get to work in the kitchen. Mistress wants pancakes, vegan sausage, a banana, a bowl of granola, & coffee for breakfast. I am to have a bowl of granola half the size of hers and a handful of grapes. While her pancakes are on the gridle, I put the rest on her tray and scarf my food down. Everything is finally ready, so I take the tray in. I set it down on her nightstand table, and I lean over and kiss her on the forehead and rub in between her shoulder blades.

“Mistress” I whisper. “My beautiful Goddess. I’ve made your breakfast and would love for you to abuse me while you eat it.” She stirs, and looks at my steely-eyed. My blood runs cold. Her mood upon waking so often makes or breaks the rest of my day. She pulls herself up, wordlessly, I know to hurry and pull and fluff up the pillows around her so she can rest comfortably and eat.

“Stand in the middle of the room. Take your shirt off.” she commands and I scamper over to do so. She eats breakfast like that, me standing there with my chest naked and pushed towards her. She turns on her flat screen t.v. and pays me no mind. Without looking at me she commands me to jump up & down and make my tits bounce. She doesn’t look at me, but I’m sure by the sick grin on her face that she sees me obeying out of the corner of her eye. “Coffee refill. Now." 

"Yes Mistress” I say and start to walk over there. She whips her head around and I stop dead in my tracks. 

“Did I tell you to stop jumping, cow?” Oh my god. I’m so stupid. I start jumping towards her. “Nope. Back to where you started. Start over.” I walk back those couple of steps and then jump until I can reach my Mistress’ coffee mug, which I gently take. Once in the kitchen I realize my conundrum: if the coffee ends up being too low, I will be punished for insolence. If I fill it to the brim, I will end up burning my tits and possibly staining my skirt if I’m to jump the whole way back. It’s not even 7 AM and I am too stupid to start my Mistress’ day off right. I end up overfilling it, my skin and clothes be damned, and I jump back in there. I know better than to stop every time the hot liquid scalds my skin, and I still manage to smile at my Mistress as I hand over her coffee. “Good slut” she begins and I turn crimson with elation. “Now, be honest. Did you spill any on the floor?” I hang my head and nod. “That’s fine. Crawl back and lick it all up.” I nod agreeable, and sink to my knees. Why am I already so sore? 

I crawl out, shaking my ass for my Mistress’ pleasure on my way, licking up any drops of coffee I see. I keep the floors spotless, so I know it’s fine. I crawl back and wait for my next orders, but Mistress is watching t.v. I’m getting a little nervous, I have to leave in about 45 minutes and haven’t cleaned up breakfast or gotten Mistress’ preparations for the day made. She eventually snaps her fingers, and I crawl over there. She holds her palm open and lets it drop by the side of the bed. I put my tit in it, and she just sits there, her perfect petite hand holding my fat, undisciplined tit. 

“For lunch, I want veggie fajitas ready to be heated up. I also want veggies nice and chopped up for a green smoothie. And a side of strawberries & blueberries. For lunch you make take that salad I didn’t eat yesterday. No dressing, because let’s face it, you’re a fatass. And not worth the money dressing costs. Now, go get that ready and clean up from breakfast. I’m sure a piggy like you made a fine mess. Pull out my purple dress and black flats. I have no plans for the day. OH, but I am taking you out later. There was an extra $2,000 in my account this morning, so obviously you managed to do something right at work. Or blew a guy. Either way I want to go celebrate. Oh, also, your mom sent you a check for your birthday. I guess that was last week? Anyway, sign it over to me. Did you get any other birthday presents?”

“Yes Mistress, I gave you the gift cards my grandmother sent already & my Father gave me the Blu-Ray player I set up for you in the living room.”

“Oh yeah. Those piddly trinkets. HA. Man, you are worthless. You should ask for a Wii for Christmas." 

"Yes Mistress." 

"Go clean” she said, pulling her warm hand away and smacking my tit on my way out. “Oh, don’t forget your shirt you big whore. Man, I am going to have so much fun with you in public tonight. Until then, nap time.” she said, rolling over, knocking her tray and dishes all over the floor for me to pick up, as I quivered in anticipation and fear.

as having to pour my own beer after a late night work shift, that I shouldn’t even be working because bitches should be paying my bills and buying me pretty things. Ugh. Lonely, cranky, tired.