The Maid Fucklips

by lexi

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© Copyright 2024 - lexi - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; MF/f; F+/f; fpov; tg; slave; bond; maid; gag; hood; collar; cuffs; susp; punish; cane; drug; straitjacket; enclosed; sendep; enema; buttplug; depilate; oral; sex; anal; reluct; nc; XX

Continues from

Part 2

I FIND MYSELF crying over my rotten luck for the first time in months. This is why I usually try to avoid thinking of anything beyond my present concerns.

I take a moment to compose myself. Then I turn around and realize Galasso is leaning against the doorframe of the suite I’ve been cleaning and I jump about a foot. How long has he been there?

There’s a girl lurking behind him, too - it’s Candy. She’s allowed to give me orders, but right now she’s just standing behind Galasso with a neutral expression. She’s a short, small woman, her strawberry blonde hair in a long braid. She has nothing on but high heels and a pair of gauzy pink panties wet with cum, and her arms are in a box tie behind her back, which thrusts her B-cups front and center. Given Galasso is shirtless it’s safe to assume the two were fucking just a few minutes ago.

He’s smirking at me in a pretty unpleasant way. “How did it go with Jolie?” he asks, meaning Mistress.

“Her task for me, sir?” I ask, disconcerted. I’m not sure what the situation is with the new girl is, exactly. “I’m not sure I should say. It might be better if you asked her.”

“Not that. You were pretty slow getting over there, right? I hope she wasn’t too annoyed.”

He’s goading me. I stand there awkwardly, holding the handheld vacuum I was using in both hands. “She wasn’t pleased. Did you want something, sir?”

“Oh, don’t mind me. But can you blame me for being concerned? She’s got quite a temper.” When I don’t reply, he adds, “So how did she react?”

“She - she wasn’t pleased.”

Galasso frowns. “Let me be more clear, slave. She punished you, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me about it. In detail.”


“What, you want me to beat it out of you?”

“No, sir. Um. Mistress put me over a bench and beat my ass. She - she used her hand, and then a big paddle. And then she fucked my ass too. Sir.”

“I see. But I’m sure you deserved it for being a lazy reprobate, or something, right?”


He comes toward me. “Let me see your ass, Fucklips.” I restrain myself as he reaches behind me and pulls up the bottom of my leotard, wedging it between my cheeks and exposing them. “Hm. Red, certainly, but hardly bruised at all. What do you think, Candy?” He grabs my shoulder, spins me around, and bends me over to give her a look. It’s only thanks to my grueling training that I don’t punch him in the teeth.

Candy approaches without much enthusiasm. “Yep, that’s red,” she says.

“Obviously Jolie is too busy to punish her slaves properly. Come on, Fucklips, let’s go down to the dungeon and I’ll show her how it’s done. Candy will help.”

This is really bad. I clutch at the only excuse I have. “Have you checked with Mistress, sir? I believe she’s already in the dungeon, and I’m not sure she’d like to be disturbed.”

“Don’t worry your stupid little head about it. I asked her already. Now come on, slaves!”

I follow Galasso to the basement dungeon, my heart full of anger and apprehension. Candy walks just behind us. I consider pushing him down the stairs and running, but it can only make things worse. So I walk unresisting to my doom.

When I re-enter the dungeon barely an hour after I left, I see that Tittymeat is still locked in the pillory. Mistress is gone, but she’s tied the new girl to one of the dozen bondage frames that are usually stored around the edges of the chamber. Her wrists are cuffed behind her back, lifted over her head in a strappado by a cable. She’s stretched over a set of rungs that, from the side, are shaped like a numeral “4” - her torso is fixed to the diagonal, her thighs to the underside of the horizontal part, spread wide for easy access to her holes. It looks like Mistress left a couple interestingly-shaped vibrators in her. Her head is covered in a black leather hood, with her dark hair in a ponytail coming out the top and a panel over her mouth presumably holding in some kind of gag.

Galasso takes no notice of the other two. “All right, Fucklips,” he says, “get naked and we’ll get started.” I nod, stone-faced, drop my little apron, and once again unlace my black leotard. This time I strip off my collar and sleeves as well as my shoes and stockings, assuming from his wording that he wants me fully nude.

Meanwhile Galasso gives instructions to Candy, who wheels out another of the wood-and-metal frames. When I’ve finished stripping, Galasso holds up a huge curved dildo gag. “Open wide,” he chirps. I grudgingly oblige. He looks me in the eyes as he gently but firmly pushes the thing into my mouth. Despite my painstaking training, even I have a gag reflex when the dildo pushes into the back of my throat. He secures it in place with a black leather hood that covers my entire head, except for two air-tubes that he inserts deep into my nostrils. My reddish hair is threaded through the top, and there’s a stiff collar incorporated into it - not a true posture collar, but in that direction. Candy helps him secure leather cuffs to my ankles and wrists, too.

I realize as they continue to set things up that the dildo has a bitter taste. I’m pretty sure that Galasso applied a dose of his favored stimulant before putting it in my mouth, which really doesn’t bode well for what he plans to do to me - both because it will make my skin more sensitive for the next couple of hours, and because I’ll be virtually unable to pass out. I hope he doesn’t intend to take advantage of the latter effect, but I’m not optimistic.

Galasso links my wrists to the back of my collar with a couple inches of chain, so my hands are held behind my head, my underarms exposed. Candy, meanwhile, clips cables to my ankle cuffs. She turns a large crank on the side of the frame, dragging me across the concrete floor before I’m hoisted into the air upside-down, legs spread wide. I can feel myself trembling, knowing I’m not going to like what comes next.

They leave me alone for five or ten minutes, enough time that the blood has thoroughly rushed to my head, and for the stimulant to begin setting in. Once it takes effect I know I can trust my perception of time even less than would normally be the case with sensory deprivation.

Suddenly, Candy and Galasso begin to run their hands across my skin. They’re gentle at first, petting me in an almost comforting way. As it goes on, though, they get rougher, sometimes scratching me with their nails or pinching me, and they focus more on my sensitive areas: breasts, ass, crotch, yes, but also the backs of my knees, my feet, my upper thighs, and my armpits.

Soon they start to kiss me, too, and then to bite, gentle at first but working up to come just short of breaking the skin. Galasso puts one finger inside me, then two, as he simultaneously kneads my breast in his hand, and bites my butt, hard. Candy is busy sucking on my other tit and pinching me near my belly. That’s the moment I finally lose control from all the stimulation, bucking from the pain and pleasure and setting myself swinging back and forth, to the limited extent that all the hands on me let me.

My reaction is met instantly with a hard, bare-handed slap to my tit. Then Galasso, still probing inside me with the fingers of one hand, begins to strike me with a flexible, quarter-inch thick cane. He starts off lightly, moving from my belly down to my breasts.

Candy changes tactics, too. She starts working on me with an urticant wheel. This is one of Mistress’ custom-designed toys - a little metal wheel that spun on the end of a short wand, only an inch and a half in diameter and rimmed with tiny needles. They barely break skin, but they inject an irritant from a reservoir at the center of the wheel. It’s similar to getting a continuous line of tiny mosquito bites - itchier than that, but it only lasts for two days or so. Still, that can feel like a very, very long time, especially when you don’t have the freedom to scratch at them. Candy is forming slow, concentric circles with it on my lower back. They aren’t very neat, because I’m jerking around too much.

My tormentors continue like this for a while. Candy moves on to the backs of my knees, and then, horribly, to my underarms. Galasso, meanwhile, gives me a light tanning with his cane across the tits, stomach, ass, and thighs. None of it is unbearably painful in itself, but all of it together has me practically insensate.

Now that I’m thrashing desperately against my bonds, the two of them break off their attack for a few moments. Then Galasso pushes a dildo at the entrance of my asshole. I know resistance won’t do me any good, so I let it in as best I can. It’s really thick and long, stretching me terribly. Not only that, but it’s textured with rows of large, dull plastic spikes that scrape and dig into my insides. He switches it on, and it vibrates slowly, making it impossible to ignore.

Candy returns and goes back to kissing and biting, focusing on my front side. Galasso, on the other hand, has procured a nasty three-tailed whip. The first stroke across my ass takes me by surprise and I scream uselessly, choking on the huge gag. Although the whip’s not heavy enough to cut skin, mine is already stinging from their previous treatment, not to mention the sensitivity caused by the stimulant I’d been administered. The three tails feel like burning brands against my back. (Not something I have first-hand experience with, happily.)

Candy keeps teasing me with her mouth, ranging from my tits to belly to clit and back again. The whip cracks over and over against my ass and back. Now and then it flicks around my side, lashing not only my flank but Candy’s as well, judging by the winces I can feel through her hands, lips and teeth against my skin. Sometimes it even flicks over my ass and catches my pubis, causing me to thrash even more violently. A couple times it hits right on my clit and I’d probably pass out if not for the stimulant.

At some point they switch positions. Candy teases me from behind, running her tongue and teeth up my back and ass. But the most sensitive parts of my body are now at the mercy of Galasso’s whip. At the first lash against my poor, abused nipple, I start screaming uncontrollably.

I’m sure my tormentors can hear me even given my gag. Choking on it is the only thing that puts a stop to my throat-ripping screech, but another well-placed stroke sets me off again. I can’t get enough air. My head is spinning. I’m sure I would be unconscious if I wasn’t drugged, but instead I enter an indistinguishable fog of agony, unable to distinguish a kiss of the lips from a kiss of the lash against my skin. Every sensation is painful. I can’t force enough air into my lungs to scream even half as much as I feel like screaming.

I don’t know how long it goes on, but by the time they leave off, my throat is hoarse, the entire surface of my skin and every muscle in my body is burning, and my asshole is sore as hell from the huge vibrator still inserted in it. I hang limp, reacting to the abuse only with an occasional twitch. They leave me hanging there until the drugs wear off and I slip mercifully into unconsciousness.


FOR SEVERAL MINUTES after Candy and Trixie put me in that little box, wearing only a hood and straitjacket, I was worried they meant to suffocate me - how much air could be in an enclosure of this size? But no, I could breathe, so there was some kind of vent, even if I couldn’t feel the slightest movement of air.

I found the small rubber-coated metal tube near the top of the box and sucked at it, tentative. It was water, with a slightly sweet taste that reminded me of sports drinks. Presumably I would not lack for electrolytes while sealed in here - how generous of my captors.

The most comfortable position I could find in the single cubic yard of space was on my knees, hunched over with my forehead resting on the floor. But after twenty or forty minutes the compression and lack of movement was sending twinges of pain through my back. I tried lying on my side, but it was a tight fit - too short to keep my knees straight, but barely wide enough to get in a curled-up position. When I wanted to sit up again I found I was somewhat wedged in. It was difficult enough to turn over again that I gave up on it for many minutes.

I took sips of water every few minutes, out of boredom if not thirst. But of course that meant I soon had to piss. I held it as long as I could but that couldn’t have been very long. It got all over the floor, but at least it was mostly just water. I wasn’t sure at first if there was even a drain in here, but there must have been some small holes in the corners.

Worst of all was the total isolation. I couldn’t hear a single sound except for my own heartbeat, which after minutes or hours was ringing in my ears. The touch of the walls or the straitjacket or my hair on my skin started feeling prickly. I kept thinking about everything that had happened to me, my kidnapping replaying over and over in my head. I could almost see the bridge where the Bergens had nabbed me. That had only been a couple hours before I’d been sealed in this horrible box, but it already felt like a lifetime ago.

I hummed to myself, the timber oddly flat in this space. Still, the vibration in my body kept me entertained for a while. I worked my way up to a scream and then stopped when it began to hurt. Then I kept screaming, because what else was I going to do? Soon my voice was hoarse and I had to give up.

By the time I felt the case move, I was in agony from the cramped postures I was forced into. The lurch of the heavy plastic box startled me, and I was excited for a few seconds, thinking I was being released. But instead it was just lifted onto a handcart with me in it, and I was rolled some distance through the house before it was put down again.

I would later learn that my case had been placed in the dining room, using me as entertainment for the Friday night dinner. I didn’t even realize at the time that its plastic was transparent, but I was on full display as I gently writhed in a thin puddle of my own piss. It wouldn’t have been the full-on formal dinner with all Mistress’ friends and their own slaves in attendance, as it would have been on a Sunday. Two or three of them were probably here, though, in addition to all four of Mistress’ own slaves.

I didn’t actually know any of this, naturally, and after that initial stimulation of being moved I was once again left with nothing to do but sip at my water, piss it out, and cramp up. Eventually they moved me back to the basement where I did more of the same. I hadn’t eaten since the yogurt cup I’d had before my morning run - hadn’t eaten a real meal since the night before. I probably slept some, but mostly I was just suffering.

In the morning, Candy and Trixie finally removed the lid and unceremoniously dumped me out of the box. I sprawled on the concrete, cramps shooting through me anew as I straightened my spine.

Their touch as they peeled off my hood and straitjacket was warm and human after what felt like ages in complete isolation; it had me fairly melting despite myself. I laid there panting, my hair crusted with dried piss and plastered to my face. I would have killed for a stack of pancakes and a few sausages. My eyes slowly adjusted to the light.

They bound my wrists with a cord and helped me stand as they hooked it overhead. For whatever reason, standing triggered a wave of nausea. I threw up all over myself, but it was mostly water.

“Let me go, please,” I begged, my throat hoarse.

“Shut up or you get gagged,” Candy said. She pulled the plug out of my ass and replaced it with an enema nozzle. Tears welled up in my eyes. As the cool water pumped into me, I shuddered and would have shrieked if my vocal cords were in any shape for it. The nozzle vibrated slightly with the flow.

As my bowels slowly filled up, the shower spray came on overhead, ice cold. I tried to scream again, coughing.

Trixie stripped out of her gauzy negligee dress, pulled off her heels, stepped out of her panties, and shut off the flow of the enema. Then she waited for the water to warm up. She was a big woman, an inch higher than me even, and a good deal heavier. She did carry some of it at the belly, but her breasts and hips were shapely and sizable, and she had some muscle too. Her straight black hair was bound in two braids that fell past her shoulders. I know she was half Samoan; I’m not sure what the other half was.

Naked as me, she joined me in the spray of water. “Hold it in or I’ll beat the shit out of you, okay?” She pulled out the nozzle and inserted the butt plug again. I groaned despairingly. My guts were full enough they were signaling to my brain an absolutely urgent need to shit, and now I couldn’t do it.

Taking no notice, Trixie began to shampoo my hair. I flinched from her at first, but she handled me gently, and a large part of me welcomed her touch even when she was one of my captors. Methodically, she worked her way down my body, first using a grainy scrub to exfoliate my skin, then rinsing me off.

Once she’d scrubbed me thoroughly down, she turned the water off and grabbed a handheld device from the nearby wire shelves. “This will sting a little,” she said, “but I’m sure a big girl like you can handle it. And without trying to kick me, or I’m going to leave that water in you for hours, not minutes.” She turned it on with a loud whirring and began to run it over my skin. “Eventually you’ll get it all removed with electrolysis, but until then...”

It was an epilator, I realized, built to pluck out my body hair at the root. It was actually quite painful, but for fear of injury I tried not to squirm too much. Methodical, she ran it over every inch of my skin, even using a special attachment to remove my armpit hair. It took at least one miserable half hour, dealing with the twin agonies of skin and bowels.

Finally, she was done, leaving me totally bare except for head and eyebrows. She put away the epilator and grabbed my butt plug. “Now hold it for just one more second,” she ordered, and pulled it out. As soon as she stepped away I vented the water in an explosive burst. It got all over my legs, but I practically passed out from the relief.

A moment later I jumped as the shower came on again, cold water spraying over me. It warmed up quickly, and once all the watery shit had been washed down the drain Trixie returned to me. Now she washed me with soap, then with some kind of oil. It was a little impersonal, but I still had to suppress a pleasured moan or two as she rubbed my sensitive parts. The heady feeling of finally emptying my guts didn’t help on that front. I could have kicked at her as she cleaned my legs and feet - but just this once, I decided I could stand not to fight back.

After rinsing me off, she shut the water off and dried me off with a soft towel. She applied some kind of lotion to my skin, and then another oil. With that she stepped back and nodded, seeming satisfied. She put her panties, shoes, and dress back on, and left the dungeon. “Wait!” I cried after her, but the door closed behind her a moment later.

I was left standing there, exhausted, starving, and in despair, with my wrists held over my head. I tried getting the cord off, but met with zero success.

Only a few minutes later, Trixie returned with Candy in tow. Efficiently, they set to plaiting my still slightly-damp hair in two short braids down the sides of my face. Simple pink bands at the ends held them together.

They released my wrists from the ceiling, and I flailed at Trixie, trying to knock her over. Instead she grabbed one of my braids and toppled me with a painful yank. I landed on my knees and she pushed me to the ground, placing a foot between my shoulder blades. “That’s it, you little monster. Candy, get the enema pump - she didn’t like that much.”

“No, no! Let go of me! You, you lunatics,” I cried. “Let me go, let me go!”

“Shut up or you get gagged,” Trixie sighed. I started sobbing, but I obeyed.

Candy shoved the enema nozzle roughly into my ass and turned it on. I bucked against Trixie’s weight as water flowed into me again, ice cold this time. They filled me up and plugged me once again.

Candy squatted in front of me, looking me in the eye. “The less you fight us, the quicker we take that plug out, okay?” It wasn’t a rhetorical question.

“Okay,” I hiccuped.

They picked me up and started to dress me in hot-pink latex, using an ample amount of latex lube. The base garment covered my legs from ankle to mid-thigh and my entire flanks up to my underarms. So from the side, I might almost have looked fully dressed. However, my front was only covered at my lower ribcage, leaving my breasts exposed, as well as my belly from navel to crotch. At the back I was covered from tailbone to just under my shoulder blades.

Black leather straps were incorporated into the garment, about an inch in width: Two belts around my ribs, just under my breasts; two belts around each thigh and two belts around each ankle to help hold the leg section in place. Another pair of straps connected one of the belts around my ribcage to the lower one on each thigh; standing up straight put tension on the straps that cinched the chest belt uncomfortably tight. I was forced to bend slightly at the waist. Another strap ran up from my ribs, between my breasts, to fork at my sternum and pass over my shoulders, connecting at the back. Another pair of straps ran from my underarms to connect to the center of the black leather collar they buckled on me. This made for a black “X” above each of my naked breasts.

Long pink gloves went on next, covering my entire arms but not much of my hands, apart from a stirrup that sat between my thumb and fingers to keep them from riding up. Further belts were cinched around my upper arms to support them.

I was distracted from the girls’ attention by the icy water churning in my bowels, but when they brought out a pair of black, fingerless mittens, I cried out in protest. Candy twisted my nipple cruelly. “Please shut up,” she said. “You want to take a shit, don’t you? Behave.” The mittens kept my hands in useless fists, and had thick padding at the ends.

Finally they marched me over to the toilet, sat me down, and took out the plug. The humiliation was nothing compared to the relief I felt as the cold water sprayed into the bowl. Candy sprayed me with the bidet and then pushed me none too gently to the floor.

With Candy’s hand on my upper back keeping me from getting off my hands and knees, Trixie clipped the belts around my ankles to those on my thighs, keeping my knees from bending more than ninety degrees. Lifting up one knee at a time, they strapped thick padding onto my knees. I was starting to recognize where this was going, but it didn’t really hit me until Trixie held up a small bundle of straps - a black leather head harness complete with pink triangular dog ears.

“You’re fucking insane!” I wailed as she held it to my head and started doing up the straps. “You can’t -” I was cut off by a swift kick to the ribs from Trixie.

“Gag her already,” said Candy.

“As soon as I get her harness on,” Trixie sighed as she worked. The thin straps wrapped around the back of my head, passing underneath my braids, as well as under my chin, over the top of my head, and across the bridge of my nose, all linking the pair of steel rings that sat at either side of my mouth. A thicker strap passed over the center of my forehead, connected to the center of those at the back, top, and face.

A simple enough arrangement, but there were a few embellishments. First, of course, the ridiculous pink ears that perked up from the sides of the strap over my head. There was also a sort of blindfold, thicker and more rigid than the rest of the leather components, that sat under the forehead strap. It wasn’t flush with my face except at the edges, with more of a flat shape. The three slots over each eye meant my vision wasn’t entirely blocked, but it was significantly reduced. And then there was the slot for the gag, which was just a rubber-coated metal piece that sat behind my lips and held my teeth open, with a hole between them in the middle. True to her word, as soon as she had all the straps fastened, Trixie slipped a reasonably slender yet punishingly long dildo gag in and secured it with the built-in clips. I choked on it, but I could still easily breathe through its wiffle-esque holes.

Candy added a few final touches to the ridiculous getup. She applied a bit of rouge to my nipples, reaching in from the sides, the pink color a close match for that of the latex. Then she put clamps on them - not the tightest in the toolbox, but still quite painful, and with a thin chain that sat nearly taut between them. She rouged my clit too, then clamped a tiny bell to it. Lastly, she closed a metal ring around each of my big toes, linking the two with a thin chain several inches long.

Between my blindfold and the tears welling up in my eyes, I could hardly see a thing. I wasn’t sure where the duo went, but after a minute Trixie returned and attached a leash to my collar. When she tugged on it, I remained stubbornly in place - but when she pulled harder, a cord embedded within the collar tightened. Not only was I lightly choked, but it pulled on the chain attached to my nipples as well.

I had little choice but to follow Trixie upstairs to the parlor in the front wing. Mistress was there, sitting across from a slim, attractive man with jet-black hair that fell to his shoulders. They were sharing a bottle of wine and a small charcuterie board. Trixie pulled me over to “stand,” if you could call it that, before Mistress.

She looked me over, pleased. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Frank. A perfect fit, and even more fetching than the last one.” I wasn’t sure if the pun was intentional at the time, though I now suspect it was.

“You like the ears?” Frank asked. He was the one responsible for designing and fashioning the stupid outfit I was wearing.”

“They’re fine,” Mistress said. “How would you like her first blowjob as a pet, to express my thanks?”

“I’d appreciate that,” he said evenly.

Trixie took this as a prompt to bring me over to Frank and pull the phallic gag out of my mouth. He whipped out his dick and presented it, still sitting in the armchair.

“What are you waiting for, Fucklips? You need plenty of practice before you can live up to your name,” Mistress said.

When I refused to make a move, Trixie took hold of the chain between my toes and used it to hold my feet down out of the way, the straps linking my ankles and thighs pulled taut. She swatted my bare ass, hard, thrice. My flinch caused the leash to tug on my nipples, too, but I still remained stubbornly stationary. At a glare from Mistress, Trixie hurried to grab a slender cane. She gave me seven or eight lashes across the buttocks until I finally resigned myself to inevitability and lurched into action.

I had to fumble my elbows up onto the armchair, wincing as my weight pushed against my clamped nipples. I pushed my head into the guy’s crotch, sliding his sizable dick between my immobile jaws. I did my best to use my tongue and lips to stimulate the clit. It wasn’t enough for him; he signaled to Trixie and she gave me another two strokes of the cane. I howled through the mouthful, writhing.

“Enough foreplay, slave,” he said, “give me your throat now.” I took a deep breath and slid my gag down the shaft of his dick until it hit the back of my throat. I choked, but it wasn’t all that much bigger than the gag that had been in my mouth just now. I managed to get a rhythm going and it wasn’t long before he came hard down my throat. I tried to pull out, spit it out, but he held my head to his crotch so I couldn’t spill a drop.

For a month, I was the go-to for anyone in the house who wanted a convenient mouth to fuck. I was kept as a dog and spent most of my day being led around by Mistress or one of her friends. I can’t say it was pleasant, but I certainly developed the skills Mistress desired of me. After I got good enough at being a dog I graduated to my position as a maid, which was also around the time Mistress got Sweetiepuss, removing my status as the newest slave.

 There were many restrictions and rules imposed on me even now that I was no longer the house dog, but slowly I earned a few privileges. Eventually I worked my way up to the standing I hold now...


THE FIRST SENSATION that hits me when I regain awareness is a throbbing headache. It takes me a minute before I have the wherewithal to open my eyes. I sit up, my muscles groaning in protest, but I desperately need to cycle water.

I’m in the “nice cell,” a corner of the basement dungeon enclosed by walls of tough, clear plastic. The bed is small and institutional but not uncomfortable, and there’s an actual toilet with an incorporated sink. I can’t see anyone else in the dungeon, but a good amount of it is out of my range of vision so I can’t be sure whether I’m alone.

I stand to use it and realize I’m not fully nude, but fitted with a chastity belt, a hard rubber panel held on tight by slender chains. Unusual, but I suppose someone thought the temptation would be too great with me unsupervised for an indeterminate amount of time. It has a cluster of small holes that allow me to piss with it on. With a sigh of relief, I use the toilet, washing the belt afterward with the incorporated bidet. I take a long drink from the sink as well. An apple and a couple protein bars have been placed on the ground. A treat for me – I hardly ever get to eat anything with sugar in it. I devour them and then lie down again to rest, running my hands idly over the welts and bruises left by Galasso’s treatment. At least the urticant wheel’s touch seems to have mostly worn off by now.

I sleep again for a while. I feel better when I wake up and have another drink of water. No food this time. Bored, I decide to run through some of my barre exercises. Although I only started doing barre at Mistress’ behest, I learned to enjoy it. Besides, if I fell out of practice she’d be annoyed at me. I don’t have my ballet shoes or the skimpy leotard she likes to dress me in for it, nor do I have an actual bar to grab or as much space as I’d like, but I can still run through some of the basics.

I’m doing leg lifts when I hear Tiffany clear her throat behind me, through the round vent holes in the plastic cell wall. I whirl around, aware of how stupid I probably looked just now. Tiffany is as staggeringly beautiful as ever. I was always a little dumbfounded by her looks. She’s haughty and aloof with me, as befits a superior slave, but I don’t think she actually dislikes me. She’s wearing a skimpy, slinky dress that matches the pink of her hair.

“I see you’re finally awake. You slept for about a day and a half before you ate that apple,” she says, “and another half day after that.”

I nod, standing at attention. She slides the cardboard bowl she’s holding through the slot at the bottom of the cell door.

“Mistress will be pleased,” she adds. “She’ll want to see you shortly, so eat quickly and I’ll get you cleaned up.” The intimation sends a thrill of excitement and dread through me. What does Mistress know about the situation Galasso manufactured as an excuse to fuck me up?

The bowl contains my typical fare: a mix of different vegetables, grains, and legumes mashed together into a slurry. It’s nutritious, high-fiber, with zero consideration for taste. I still wolf it down, as I realize I’m fairly ravenous.

Once I finish, Tiffany brings me out to the shower area, her touch sending a thrill down my spine. Sweetiepuss and I usually take turns washing each other, since Mistress considers us the same rank, or else it’s Trixie or Candy doing it. I’ve never gotten over what I suppose is a good-size crush on Tiffany, so to have her handle me is quite a treat.

I take hold of the rubber handles overhead and stand with my legs spread, giving her unrestricted access to my body. First she removes the chastity belt. Then she goes through the usual routine, administering an enema and then washing my hair and scrubbing my skin from head to toe, followed with lotions and oils. She combs out my hair and braids it efficiently into the tight pigtails I’m now accustomed to.

When Tiffany’s finished washing me, she points to where an outfit is laid out for me. “Put it on, and hurry up,” she tells me, glancing at the clock.

I oblige, picking up a sheer teddy in a deep burgundy color. I struggle into it - it’s very tight, but at least the material is delicate and soft rather than scratchy like some sheer lingerie. It’s got spaghetti straps and exposes plenty of cleavage; it’s cut high on the hips and the strip of cloth passing through my legs is so narrow it’s obvious I’m completely waxed (that area being too sensitive for epilation). The only accessories provided are a velvet choker and slender-heeled mules, both in a matching red.

Tiffany appraises me and nods. “It’ll do. Let’s go.” She leads the way from the dungeon and up the stairs - we aren’t allowed to use the elevator for everyday affairs. I hurry after her, careful. I’m not that accustomed to backless shoes. Mistress’ rooms are on the highest floor, and I’m panting with exertion by the time we reach the top.

When we reach the door, Tiffany knocks. “Enter!” calls Mistress from within. Tiffany opens the door for me, and I hesitate only a moment before I step inside. Tiffany follows me, standing at attention just inside the door.

The lounge of Mistress’ suite is filled with light. The large south- and west-facing windows are draped with white curtains; the furniture is of birch and steel; the high ceiling is hung with a slender chandelier. Mistress herself lounges on one of the plush cream-colored armchairs, a bottle of liquor on the glass-top table by her side and a small glass in her hand. Rather than her usual business attire, she wears a black silk nightdress that drapes tantalizingly over her ample curves. She beckons me over.

“So you’re finally awake,” she says as I come to stand in front of her. She casts a long look over me. I can’t tell her disposition, but I think she’s looking at the marks across my skin that are left over from my evening with Galasso. “Sit,” she says, patting her lap. I oblige hastily, eager to please. I can feel her semi-erect dick against my ass through her slip as I place my hands demurely in my own lap. She reaches her arm around me to run her fingers along my hip at the hem of the deep red teddy.

“I’m pleased to have you on your feet again, Fucklips,” she tells me, her dulcet voice right in my ear. I can’t help but stiffen in surprise. She notices and moves her hand upward, holding one of my pigtails to bring my throat to her lips and kissing me with teeth to make me gasp. “Would you like a drink?”

If she’s asking, she wants me to have a drink. “Yes, Mistress, please.”

She gestures to Tiffany, who comes over to pour the brandy into a second glass. Mistress takes it and holds it to my lips. Obedient, I take a long sip.

“Never let it be said that I’m soft on my slaves, nor that I’m ungenerous in letting my friends and colleagues make use of them,” she whispers in my ear. “I even offered Mr. Galasso a chance to purchase you after his little stunt the other night.” My breath hitches, and she kisses my neck again, hard.

“Perhaps my price was a little high. He declined, so I had no choice but to ban him from the premises. He always was presumptive, but I was surprised by his lack of respect for me.” A thrill runs through me at the news. “Candy gave me a full report. Claiming he had my blessing, then going so far as to leave scars on my property? I had little choice.”

“Scars, Mistress?” I blurt, alarmed.

“On your back,” she says. “Long, but faint. They’ll fade in a year or two, I think. Only a slight blemish on your beauty, but still not one I can tolerate.”

She holds the glass to my lips again and makes me down the rest, my throat burning. I can feel my head grow fuzzy. She takes a sip from her own glass and goes as if to kiss me again. Instead she bites down hard on my collarbone. I yelp and jerk upright.

Her dick is hard against me now. She feels me up good, her hands sliding between my thighs and slipping into my teddy to cup my breast and tweak my nipple. One grabs the back of my head and forces my mouth against hers; I submit to the kiss. She doesn’t like me to take an active role when it comes to kissing, preferring me to simply allow her to probe every inch of my lips and teeth and my tongue with her own. She tests my gag reflex, sticking her tongue deep into my mouth, but I can take it. Then she bites my lower lip hard, the whole thing down at the gum line, and I shudder in pain but still manage not to flinch.

“You know,” she says softly, “you won’t be on the lowest rung of the ladder anymore, now that Tittymeat and Useless are with us.” I assume Useless must be what she named the new girl. “Tittymeat will be taking care of some of your cleaning duties, too. So I’m thinking in turn you’ll take over for Mercedes one or two days a week as my personal companion.”

The proposal takes me aback. “Not Candy or Trixie, Mistress?”

“To be honest with you, Fucklips, you’re quite simply hotter than they are. Since you have seniority over Sweetiepuss, you’ll share a rank with the two of them. I’m sure they won’t mind you filling in for Mercedes.”

It’s a lie, of course; Candy and Trixie will hate me like anything, and this won’t endear me to Sweetiepuss either. But it’ll mean less drudge work, and it’s not like I have any choice in the matter even if I wanted to turn it down. I can’t sort out my emotions in the moment, but I manage a “Yes, Mistress.”

She regards me for a moment, and I can almost imagine that the lust in her eyes is mixed with genuine fondness. Then she shoves me to the thick carpet and presses her black two-inch pump into my belly. I groan, taken off-guard. “It so turns me on when you suffer,” she breathes, and steps on me harder. “I’m glad that lickspittle Galasso didn’t call my bluff and buy you from me, you know. Although a quarter of a million dollars does heal many wounds.”

I know she must have inflated the figure substantially as a jab at Galasso, but it’s far more than I ever could have ever made in a lifetime of cleaning people’s teeth. The thought I might be worth so much to Mistress is enough to send a hot thrill of pride through me. Am I really so far gone after a mere year and a half that I’m taking pride in being nothing but a valued asset, prized livestock?

But I hardly have a moment to consider this before Mistress pushes me over with her foot and kneels on my back. Her sharp knee sits between my shoulders, and the toe of her pump digs between my legs. She slides her hands between my breasts and the carpet, pulling them out of my teddy, kneading my flesh and teasing my nipples. Her hands grasp and pinch, exploring my every sensitive area, as I lie flinching and gasping on the floor.

She rolls me over again and moves to kneel on my face. I oblige the tacit order and open my mouth for her cock. She’s not as rough about it as she is sometimes, but it’s decidedly her fucking my throat rather than me sucking her off. Even with my well-trained gag reflex, I find myself choking and struggling to breathe. Still, I do my best to live up to my name and make it as pleasurable for her as I can.

She shoots her load into my throat and I choke on it even as she pulls out. “Fetch dinner,” I hear her tell Tiffany, “and have it laid out for me here when I’m finished.”

I’m still gasping for air when she grabs me, twisting my pigtails around her hand. She drags me to the bedroom, me scrambling to get to my hands and feet so my weight isn’t entirely on my hair.

Where the lounge is full of light, Mistress’ bedroom is outfitted rich and dark. The large windows face west, where I can see the sun passing behind the mountains, but even so the deep reds, purples, and grays of the room drink the light up.

Mistress fairly throws me across the dark sheets and undoes the snaps that hold the crotch of my teddy closed. Hungry, she mounts me from behind, her dick already hard again. Again, she’s more gentle with me than is her habit, but that’s not to say she’s gentle, period. Her size never makes it easy, either.

Within minutes I can feel she’s about to cum, but then she slows down. Holding herself back, she runs her nails down my back, feeling me shiver. Then she slaps my ass - lightly, but I’m sore enough from my ordeal the other day that I cry out.

My suffering excites her. She takes hold of my hair again, her favorite handle on me, and pulls me into her as she thrusts, harder this time, over and over til she finishes with a hot and sticky burst into my guts.

I realize I’m crying, overwhelmed. It takes me a minute to compose myself. Drying my eyes, I sit up on the bed. Mistress is at the window, cigar in hand, watching the sunset I suppose. I button up my teddy and pick up my mules from where they fell, slipping them back on my feet before sitting back down.

Mistress has her dinner in the lounge, using me as a footrest. She fucks me once more, then sends me away. For now, my status remains the same, and I go back to my maid duties tomorrow. I strip off my lingerie and clean Mistress’ cum off my face and inner thighs before retiring to the closet-sized room where I sleep.


To be continued...

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