The Family's Chaste Slave Ch. 03

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. 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, 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.

Olivia is folding her arms, "Hang them neatly. No wrinkles. If I see you messing up, I'll scold you in front of the neighbors."

I'm swallowing hard, "Yes, Madam Olivia."

I methodically drape each piece, securing them with clothespins. She occasionally points out a crooked seam or a drooping corner. The humiliating apron flutters in the light breeze, the chastity device pressing uncomfortably against me with each movement.

Once finished, we head back inside, Olivia sits on the couch, crossing her legs. She gestures for me to kneel.

"I'm curious about something. How do you deal with the constant need for release? You never try to cheat? Try to remove the cage or get yourself off?"

I am horrified by the suggestion. "No, Madam Olivia! That would be unthinkable. I'd never betray Lady Anthea's trust like that."

Olivia is smirking, taking a puff of the cigarette. "Good. Because if you did, I'm sure my daughter would come up with a punishment so severe you'd regret it for the rest of your days."

She leans back, crossing her legs, her slipper dangling precariously again.

"Well, that's enough talk of your pitiful predicament for now poor creature. But hey, at least you won't have to worry about the troubles of normal men, like dating, heartbreak, or child support." She snickers cruelly, "Small blessings, I suppose."

I'm bowing my head, "Yes, Madam Olivia, you're always correct."

She stands, arms extended above her head. Her gaze returns to the clock once more.

"Time's running on. Tomorrow your waking time is arranged at 5 am. The basement hasn't been cleaned and organized for ages, and you have a mountain of work awaiting you to clean and organize this place."

"Yes Madam Olivia," I respond without hesitation. "Have a good sleep and many pleasant dreams." I add as Olivia is stepping towards her bedroom to get rest and sleep.

Around midnight, when the house is cloaked in darkness, Lady Anthea arrives home and I have the honor of attending to her. With reverence, I undresses her slowly, I remove each article of clothing with careful, respectful hands.

Then my tongue, finds its way to her sensitive skin, coaxing an exquisite release from her built-up tension. Sleep well, my Lady," I breathe as her body shudders with pleasure, and she answers with a gentle, approving smile.

The alarm clock goes off at 5:00 AM this chilly Saturday morning, its sound cutting through the silence of my modest home. I dress in my plain working clothes, all fiber of my being already set for the responsibility left on my shoulders by Madam Olivia.

The basement air is stagnant, weighed down with neglect. Dust swirls in the faint light from the small window high above, and a chaotic jumble of useless old items, mementos of forgotten days, lies scattered around.

My task is grueling. I push boxes, lift heavy crates, and throw each item into the waiting garbage bin. The rhythmic sound of the broom against the dusty floor becomes my solitary companion. I sweep meticulously, the chill of the basement seeps into my bones.

With every sweep and every throw of useless items into the garbage, I feel a mixture of physical exhaustion and spiritual submission. I organize the scattered remnants, arranging them in neat piles. The task lasts relentlessly for six long hours. My body aches, my muscles protest, yet I continue, driven by the ever-present need to please Madam Olivia.

At last, with the basement finally transformed into a space of order, I wipe the sweat and dust from my face and ascend the creaking stairs to Olivia's house. The heavy door swings open and there stands Madam Olivia. I am a photograph of fatigue, sodden clothes clung to me, sweat on my brow, dirt and grime smudged on palms and face.

"Creature," she commands in a tone that brooks no refusal, "go directly to the bathroom and get undressed." Her voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

I obey instantly, shuffling into the bathroom like a well-trained servant. In the stark, cold light of the tiled room, I stand in the bathtub in an inspection posture, vulnerable and exposed.

Madam Olivia strides to the shower, her steps measured and deliberate. She turns the tap and, without further ado, lets the freezing water cascade over my body. I shiver uncontrollably. "This is for your cleansing, creature," she says coolly, her eyes never leaving me as the chill courses over my skin.

Before I can gather my thoughts, Madam Olivia picks up her phone and dials. "Anthea, it's time. You know it is your duty to take care of him." Her tone leaves no room for dissent.

Minutes later, the bathroom door opens and Lady Anthea enters. Clad in only her delicate underwear -a strategic choice to keep her clothes dry- she carries the sturdy brush I have long used to clean her car. The brush, with its hard bristles, is an instrument of both care and correction.

"Boy," Lady Anthea addresses me softly yet authoritatively as she approaches, "stand straight in the tub." I comply immediately, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and reverence. With precise motions, she pours a second jet of cold water onto my already shivering form. "Now, let's clean you properly," she instructs.

Her firm hands close around the brush as she starts scrubbing my back. The bristles rasp against my skin, a hurting but necessary sensation that reminds me of my position. Every hard stroke against my back brings both pain and a strangely pleasing release.

I gently gasp as bristles brush against genitals, a reminder that pain and pleasure are intertwined in this ritual of submission.

As she continues to speak, Lady Anthea's voice is a softer, but commanding tone."You have worked so hard to serve, to keep everything in perfect order for us," she remarks, her eyes never leaving mine.

I can only murmur my gratitude, voice trembling with both the cold and overwhelming humility. "Thank you, Lady," I manage, each word dripping with servile adoration.

When she has washed every inch of me, Lady Anthea stands back and gently runs her palms over my soaking wet skin. "A good cold bath invigorates body and mind, my boy," she remarks, inspecting the action of the cold water like it were some kind of medication. One more splash of cold water then she instructs me, "Dry yourself."

I step out of the bath, shivering dutifully, and tie the towel across my body. I am still shivering with cold as I make my way to the sitting room, where Lady Anthea stays with her mother, sipping soft talk over foamy cups of coffee.

"Creature," whispers Madam Olivia's voice as I enter through the living room doorway."Your work is not yet finished. You must now proceed to Connor's house to clean it up. Christmas is approaching, and every detail must be perfect."

I nod silently, my mind still fogged by the recent cold bath and physical exertion. Yet, before I can depart, Lady Anthea turns her attention to me with an unexpected announcement.

"Boy," she says with a cheerful yet authoritative tone, "I have news. My mother, Connor, and I have decided to embark on a Christmas trip. We are heading to Prague and Budapest."

Her words ring out clearly in the cozy living room. "And I intend to use your money for our trip, much money indeed. Do you have any problem with that?" Her tone is playful yet firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

I meet her gaze with unwavering submissiveness, replying softly, "No, my Lady. The money is yours to spend as you please. Every asset, every income, belongs to you."

Madam Olivia smiles approvingly at my response. "That is exactly the mindset we cherish in you, creature," she praises, her tone imbued with both authority and satisfaction.

Lady Anthea's eyes light up with delight. "I am extremely pleased with your answer, boy," she states, a genuine smile breaking her authoritative facade. "Your complete obedience is exactly why I am considering offering you a servitude contract for the next few years of your life, to serve my family as our slave."

Her statement makes my spine tingle, a mix of honor and terror. "Lady, pray... I beg of you," I reply, voice trembling in servitude and truth, "bond me for life. I submit myself wholly to your family."

She inclines forward, her voice soothing. "I will consider it, boy. After our journey I will present the contract in official form. For now, understand that your bondage is a pleasure to me and that your readiness to serve without question is a precious and unusual gift."

With her words, I am filled with purpose and gratitude. I kneel to the ground and, trembling lips, kiss her delicate feet. "Thank you, Lady," I whisper, and then approach Madam Olivia. I stand up again and also gently kiss her feet, each a silent affirmation of my complete submission and devotion.

With that, I sit for a moment to compose myself, dress in work attire once more, and prepare myself to go out to Connor's residence. Walking in the cold air, I recite Lady Anthea's reference to a long term slavery contract in my mind.

I ring the doorbell at Connor's place, this is my first time serving him in person. The huge door creaks open, and there he stands, tall, toned, his dark brown hair still looking tousled from sleep, and his piercing blue eyes reminding me of Lady Anthea's own.

"Good morning, Sir," I say softly, voice trembling slightly. "Madam Olivia instructed me to clean your home."

The mouth of Connor twists into a tiny, snide smile, and he mumbles in his low, slumberous voice, "Oh, yes. Come in, then. I'm sleeping now, so be quiet, I suppose. Expect you to get on in the quiet with me and my girlfriend sleeping."

I nod deferentially, stepping into the black entrance hall. My first task is to prepare a meal for them, an act of servility intended to remind them that I am here.

And then, suddenly, a piercing shriek shatters the still rhythm of my toil. I stand frozen, pounding heart, as a woman's voice -startled and frightened- demands, "Who are you, and why you are in our house?"

I rush toward the sound and find myself nose to nose with a gorgeous blonde female. Fit and tall, long hair and mesmerizing hazel eyes, she is standing in the doorway of a side room, her face a mix of surprise and alarm.

My mind goes blank for words, and I stutter, "I... I'm Richard, Lady Anthea's helper. I'm here to clean, as she asked me to come to Sir Connor's for."

She furrows her brow, her voice still tinged with fright. "And what's this 'helper' of which you speak?" she demands, advancing a step, clearly agitated but interested.

"I am here to serve," I reply obsequiously, "but for more information, refer to Sir Connor." My tone, low and obeisant, seems to have no choice but to elicit a harsh nod. "I am Fay," she utters briefly before returning to the bedroom.

I return to my work, but faint mutterings reach my ear from the bedroom. Fay's voice, now colored with a touch of horrified incredulity, comes in a whisper, "Why is he really here?"

Connor's response is composed, with a touch of humor under it. "From here on, Richard will be cleaning the entire house. "He's going to do all the dirty work around here."

Fay smiles as she interrupts, "So, I won't have to do any cleaning?" Her tone is light, yet her eyes have a hint of venom.

Connor chuckles a low, thrumming laugh. "Not only won't you have to clean sweetheart, you won't have to lift one finger. In fact, instead, you get to supervise him, assign him his tasks, and make him run any errands that require running."

Fay's face lights up with excitement as she puts her arms around Connor in a warm, approving hug. "Oh, Connor, that's wonderful!" she says. Then she adds smiling, "You are such a good boy. I think I've got a little treat for you."

Her lips are on their way to his penis; Fay's mouth covers his erection. Her talented tongue and soft lips are in complete harmony; she sucks and licks with a professional finesse that causes no one to question her skill.

Connor's gentle moans rapidly escalate into the deep, vibrating sounds of orgasm. "You really have a masterpiece touch, Fay," he gasps out between his pants, his voice heavy with pleasure. Her own laughter, which is light and teasing, fills the air as she continues on her blowjob.

"Oh, Connor, you feel so good," Fay breathes her voice low and husky. Her lips slide with practiced ease over him as she sucks him deeper, her mouth and tongue in a slow, measured rhythm. Each soft suck and gentle tongue-flick is followed by a soft, wet sound that fills the room.

Connor's response is equally expressive, a series of deep, resonant moans that ripple through the air, punctuating Fay's soft declarations. "Fay... you're incredible," he murmurs, his voice a blend of pleasure and a teasing undertone.

Fay's movements are soft and insistent. Alternating between slow, teasing licks and stronger, rhythmic strokes, she emits a soft gasp that synchronizes with Connor's low, approving moans. "Oh, Connor... I love the way you taste," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly with pleasure and desire.

Connor takes a deeper breath and laughs quietly, the laughter infused with both humor and indulgence. "Fay, you have no concept of the enjoyment you provide," he says back, his voice a combination of appreciation and joking derision.

Fay's head will shoot up every so often, her eyes locking with his for a fleeting moment of shared intimacy. "Relax, baby," she breathes softly, her tone a blend of comfort and allure."Let me take care of you."

Her other hand, for now, comes up to caress the side of his face, sweeping back a knot of hair as if to invite him further into this realm of unselfconscious joy.

Their shared sounds of bliss rouse an unwelcome arousal thrum within me, heightened still further by this constant reminder of chastity device constricting me.

The difference between my mundane job and the raw, sensual pleasure that fills the atmosphere is both exciting and deeply humbling.

"That's it, Fay... just like that," he gasps, his tone low and harsh, each word burning with the intensity of his desire.

Fay's rendition is seamless, her focus complete. "I want you to remember every minute of this, honey," she wheedles, her tone sweet yet commanding. Her lips work in a ceaseless, unvarying rhythm.

Connor's frame responds, a slight tuck of his spine, a tight grip of his fingers on the sheets, and the occasional rapid catch of breath that betrays his increasing enjoyment.

Fay hurries a step or so faster, her eyes flashing with hunger and cunning. "Connor, I'll make you experience things you never have before," she breathes, the vow a sensual touch that sends shivers coursing through him.

He answers in a low, husky sound that echoes in the air, affirming her skill and the uninhibited closeness of the moment.

As I labor, the noises of their ardor provide a rich soundtrack that I find myself internalizing. Every moan, every whispered phrase, and every gentle exhalation from Fay and Connor carves itself into my memory, reaffirming the lines that divide our worlds.

Their exchange continues, "Oh, Connor, you're so delicious," she coaxes, her tone playful yet earnest. The intensity of her actions, combined with her whispered affirmations, creates an atmosphere that is both arousing and deeply stirring.

Connor, his voice now edged with the urgency of climax, murmurs, "Fay... you're driving me wild. Every sound, every touch, it's indescribable." His words, laden with pleasure, make the air tremble with anticipation. Fay's response is a final, soft, almost reverent sigh as she brings him to the peak of ecstasy.

At that point, while I am washing the floor and listening to the soft symphony of their shared delight, I am leaking semen out through my cage into my briefs.

After a few minutes that seem like an eternity, Connor and Fay come into the living room. They erupt into laughter simultaneously, hands grasped as if they hold a secret which they are enjoying through laughter. Fay rests her head gently against Connor's wide chest, while he softly strokes her lovely hair.

As they plop down on the couch, Fay rummages into her pocket and gets out a cigarette. I obediently eager, rush to pull the lighter from the counter and light her cigarette.

A crafty glint in her eye, she taunts with a teasing, "You're always such a quickie, aren't you, Richard? Ever so keen to serve."

"Yes, Miss Fay," I say quietly, glancing up at her face for confirmation.

Fay continues, her tone firm with expectation, "Now, clean the living room perfectly. I expect nothing less than perfection, if it is not satisfactory, there will be consequences."

Before I can respond, Connor breaks in with a teasing laugh. "And you, Fay, are a little clumsy with a mop yourself, but that doesn't count now."

Fay laughs loudly at his remark, the tone warm and genuine. "Clumsy or not, having a willing houseboy to take care of the house makes all the difference," she says.

"Richard, I want you to demonstrate to me that you are truly dedicated to your duties. The house must shine, or else you'll be in for it."

Her words, both a threat and a promise of penalties, echo deeply within my ears. I nod in silent comprehension and continue my work. I dust and scrub the living room with meticulous care, each gesture spurred by the need to oblige my superiors.

After I finish with the living room, I hear Fay announce that she is off to shower in the bathroom. Connor's voice turns soft upon hearing this, and he comes towards me with a playful glint in his eye.

"Bro, all because of your labor and presence, I've enjoyed a fucking mind blowjob from Fay earlier. It's ironic, while you're there doing all the household chores, I get to have all the luxuries ha-ha."

I gulp hard, my cheeks flushing with shame and a strangeness of exhilaration. "Sir I hope you enjoyed that orgasm to the full" I stutter in shaking tones.

Connor laughs, the sound deep and mocking, and it fills the air. "Oh, dude," he mocks, his tone both teasing and mocking. "Let me remind you what an orgasm feels like. There was the way Fay's mouth had me on the edge, the sweet sensations of her skilled tongue, and then the wild, uninhibited pleasure in our making love."

I bow my head in respect. "Thank you for letting me know, Sir" I whisper, my voice weighed with submission as much as desire.

As I resume cleaning, my mind wanders to the bizarreness and yet inexorable allure of it all. The explicit manifestation of passion, the intertwining of duty and desire, and even the humiliating reminders of my own fallibility blend together in a powerful elixir of emotion.

Somewhere, as I am wiping the glass on the coffee table, Fay returns to the living room momentarily, this time dressed in a white blouse, light red leggings and black leather flip-flops. Her long slender toes get my locked cock pulsating in the cage.

She smiles faintly, folding her arms and looking at me intensely. "Richard," she instructs firmly, "make sure that you dust around the lamps and the picture frames on the walls. I must have this room perfect."

"Yes, Miss Fay," I respond automatically, working quietly and respectfully as I resume work with a new fervor.

"Now, off with you," Connor retorts with a sarcastic grin as he climbs back on the couch, "I just know the remainder of our day will be just as thrilling as this morning. And Richard, remember, only perfection is tolerable."

"Yes, Sir," I reply softly, as I take my cleaning supplies and head out of their residence, traveling back to Anthea's home.

It's a cold Tuesday afternoon and Anthea is doing some shopping for her excursion to Prague and Budapest over Christmas.

I do my night work as the soft gentle crackle of smoldering logs fills the quiet room. I'm dusting the mantle softly and tidying up some magazines when I hear the door open. My heart speeds up with excitement, my Owner Anthea has come back.

The door opens to reveal Lady Anthea, with her arms laden with some shopping bags. Her cheeks being flushed with the nipping cold, and a few tears of a runny nose betray the severity of the weather. Her eyes light up on entering the warm comfort of the room.

"Ah, finally, the warmth of the fire!" she exclaims in a firm, commanding tone, her voice ringing with relief and happiness. "I was nearly frozen to death out there."

At once, I fall to my knees before her, "Welcome home Lady," I whisper reverently, my voice trembling with excitement. I kiss her soft, brown boots, one that is filled with passion and respect, a kiss that speaks volumes about my devotion.

Anthea's eyes unfurl as she surveys me, indulgence and power blended in their depths. "Good boy," she whispers approvingly. "You do know your place."

With deliberate care, I stand and grasp her coat and slide it off her shoulders slowly, my fingers running along the fabric as I remove it. "You're likely frozen to the bone, Lady," I whisper, my voice with a note of concern as I hold the coat away from her.

Anthea's smile is cheeky and commanding as she removes her cap, hair spilling out in a cascade to rim her face with easy loveliness. "Yes, I am, boy. The weather has been cruel today," she confesses, a warmth of laughter and vulnerability carrying through in her voice.

I then move on to her scarf and gloves, slowly unbuttoning them one by one my fingertips gently removing each piece. "Let me help you warm up."

Anthea's eyes sparkle with approval, "You always take such care of me," she says. "I spent all day in the shop today. The bags are full of new shoes and clothes, each one chosen with love for my Christmas journey.".

I begin taking her article by article away in a light but quick motion. My hands reach for her green blouse once more, its material soft and delicate. I pull it off over her shoulders, revealing the smooth skin below. "You look so pretty, even when it's cold, Lady."

A glint of mischief and pride greets my eyes from Anthea. "Yes, boy, your touch is always so reassuring."

I move on to her boots. I get down on one knee again and slowly I pull both of the boots off. I slowly ease them off of her blue socks, which have red diamonds, one at a time, revealing her icy soles.

I notice how her slender feet take the chill, her toes seeming to shiver with cold. "Lady, your feet... they are cold," I say quietly, taking one long foot to inspect it.

Then I remove the buckle and unzip her jeans with precise care, the material gliding down over her legs to reveal a glimpse of smooth flesh beneath and her black lacy underpants and then I lead her into a pair of white satin nightgowns draped conveniently over the chair next to her.

Anthea settles back into the softness of the couch, I kneel before her and in a spontaneous act of reverence I set her feet across my chest. Her rigid soles, remaining cold from the winter, settle against the warmth of my chest in a tender, religious communion.

The chill of her frozen flesh against the heat of my body is a sweet tension that engages all of my senses. Even as my body reacts to cold, a certain undeniable flush of desire rises up within me. My locked penis stirs in its chastity cage, a silent, pulsing witness to my frustrated need.

I resolve to take the t-shirt I am wearing and spread it carefully over her feet. My fingers are deft with gentle precision as I begin to massage her toes, the insteps, and the ankles, working hard to restore warmth to her stiffened flesh.

"Good boy," Anthea says softly in approval, her voice a mixture of warmth and authority as she watches everything I do. "Your devotion and concern never cease to amaze me."

Her words caress me, calming the shiver that runs down me even as my excitement grows. "Thank you, Lady," I answer with genuine thanks, my voice hoarse with both relief and longing.

As I go on warming her feet, Lady Anthea's eyes become both loving and approving. "You are such a good slave, Richard," she tells me, her voice full of love. "Your care for me, even in these small things, speaks volumes about your true nature. You are loving, loyal, and ever so devoted. I am extremely happy, and proud of you, boy."

Her voice is more pleasant to me than the flames that crackle in the fire. "I exist to serve you, Lady," I whisper in gratitude, every word a promise of love and devotion. "Your comfort and pleasure is my aim."

She smiles, a gentle, approving curve of her lips. "Though I am not obligated to you, I believe your actions are worth of reward and praise."

My senses are racing from her speech and the intimacy of our chat, so I swallow hard. I mutter, "I am forever in your debt, Lady," feeling humbled and in awe of her blessing.

I keep rubbing her feet, feeling each curve and exquisite shape with a gentle and polite touch. Anthea's laughter is soft and commendatory, and it rings richly in the room. "Such sweet language, boy. You are quite a devoted servant, and your care for the smallest details is without equal."

Her eyes flutter closed for a second in bliss. "When you have me in your hands, I feel exposed in the best possible way. It is a trust that I am giving you, and you pay it back so beautifully."

My chest expands with pride at her words, even as the brush of her divine feet against my chest makes electric shocks of arousal course through me. "Thank you, Lady," I tell her, my voice trembling with real gratitude and desire. "Your pleasure is the guiding light that informs every step I take."

Anthea's eyes ease, and she goes on, "Remember, boy, your service and your devotion set a fire within me that no winter can ever put out."

Her voice hangs in the air between us, a vow and a balm intertwined. "I am forever grateful, Lady," I breathe, my passion echoing each word. "Your praise and love are treasures I hold dearest to my heart."

The room is electrified with the sense of holiness of our relationship.

"Today, in the cold weather, I went shopping," Anthea recalls, her voice brimming with laughter "I thought of you, boy. And now, here you are, caring for every inch of me with such passion. You make me feel loved, even at my most vulnerable."

I nod, not capable of conveying the depth of my emotions, and merely press my lips once more to her feet, an act of deference and simple, unvoiced need.

Her eyes glint with delight as she relaxes, the firelight dancing over her smiling, peaceful face. "You know, boy, you've done your duty today a lot better than I could have hoped," she says softly."It shows not just obedience, but the fervor that's behind. I am pleased with you, my good slaveboy."

I retort my tone earnest, "Your satisfaction is my highest return, and your happiness is my objective."

Anthea relaxes on the living room sofa, she speaks in a calm, controlled tone, and her eyes sparkle with authority.

"Boy, bring me my mobile phone," she orders, her voice cold and precise.

I obey promptly, my heart pounding with anticipation as I take up the sleek device from the side table and place it firmly in her hand. Even as I am doing this, I can feel the weight of her control in every inch of me.

Anthea gazes down at me and smiles slyly. "I'm going to call Vasso," she tells me, touching the screen with elegant fingers. "While I allow you the intimacy of worshipping my feet."

Her words excite a shiver of thrill in me. I lower my eyes, my lips parting in silent worship. I stoop immediately, my lips graze the soft skin of her left foot with wet, respectful kisses. Every sound seems like an oath of my captivity.

I gradually lift my head, and with careful precision, my tongue darts out. I begin to lick and suck each of the divine toes on her right foot, one by one. It is a sacred, intimate moment, my eyes clenched shut as I savor every second of my submissiveness.

When I finally get up the nerve to open my eyes, they are irresistibly drawn to the key to my chastity device. It hangs tentatively from a thin chain on her ankle, a reminder of both my captivity and my desire.

My head seethes with conflicting emotions -humiliation, desire, and a desperate need to be released- as I steal glances at that key with unbridled passion.

With passionate ardor, I propel her toes deeper into my mouth, inserting them one at a time. And then, with avidity and adoration mingled, I turn to her big, lovely toe. I suck it passionately, my tongue behaving as if it is a lifeline, as lambs suck instinctively to survive.

I can't take my eyes off that alluring key, the object of my deepest, forbidden desire, the representation of my imprisonment and my yearning for ultimate escape.

Anthea's mouth opens in an indulgent, satisfied smile. She begins to speak, her voice still light and chatty. "Hello, Vasso," she says calmly and confidently. "Sweetheart, I'm going to Prague and Budapest for Christmas tomorrow. I have a great trip organized."

There is a silence on the other end of the line, and I can feel Vasso's reaction. "That sounds absolutely lovely, Anthea." I must say, I'm rather jealous," Vasso says, her voice full of admiration and teasing envy.

Anthea laughs deep in her throat as she shifts on the sofa, "Oh, Vasso, I have something to attend to," she continues, her voice becoming more professional. "I'm arranging for you to take our dear pet out on Saturday morning. He needs to go shopping for supplies and bread for the days that I'll be away traveling."

There is a tone of surprise in Vasso's voice as she cuts in, "Wait, Anthea, why would he need supervision? I thought he was more than competent during work hours."

Anthea laughs gently but firmly. "No, dear Vasso, he cannot go out without an escort except for his working hours. I simply don't believe he is old enough to handle the outside world on his own. A pet, you see, cannot be left alone."

Vaso's laughter rings out over the line, light and amused. She admits, "Well, that does make sense. A pet is a pet, after all."

"Exactly," Anthea responds with a lighthearted tone. "Can you take over his supervision on Saturday?"

"Of course, Anthea," Vasso responds with a smile. "It is always my pleasure to help you, especially after everything you have done for me and when it comes to keeping our little pet out of trouble."

Anthea's voice softens as she shifts topics, discussing personal matters for a moment before wrapping up the conversation with warmth and a sense of satisfaction. "I'm glad we're on the same page, dear Vasso. Enjoy your day, and give my regards to everyone."

The call is done, I sit among the feelings of my desire and the remnants of the conversation, my mind still pulled sporadically back to that key, that symbol of my ongoing imprisonment and the burning desire for final satisfaction.

I still kneel upon the ice-cooled reflective floor, with splayed legs and each of my muscles contracted awaiting the act of Anthea. I am fully available both in body and heart to the desires of Lady Anthea.

The sparkle of fun creeps into the eyes of Lady Anthea as she smiles. "Boy, your bodily warmth in contact with mine has gained for you a most exclusive right. You will receive special compensation."

I nod enthusiastically, my eyes glued to her little feet as she begins the teasing game. She keeps her foot raised slowly and intentionally and brings it teasingly close to my imprisoned genitals. Her toes tease the cold metal of my chastity belt.

Every light touch pricks at my senses. My body shivers with a mixture of pain and pleasure as her toes caress the cold metal.

Anthea's foot hovers above my tender skin, and she taunts on with a mischievous smile.

Her toes outline the shape of the cage as she lifts it with light pressure, allowing it to drop back again and again. Each movement brings a jolt of pain interwoven with pleasure.

"Do you feel it, boy?" Lady Anthea's voice is thick with teasing dominance. "Does my touch push you to the brink of madness?"

"Yes, Lady," I gasp, trying to keep gratitude and longing out of my voice. "Each second of your touch drives me mad and my body hungry for more."

Her toes dance across my swollen balls, gentle deliberate touches adding texture to my tormented pleasure. She toys with them with a gentle prod, and my body convulses in spasms, suspended between pain and bliss as sensation builds relentlessly.

Lady Anthea's eyes get a little bit soft with an added pretense of sympathy when she speaks, "Look at these puffed-up jewels, boy. So neglected for three whole months without a noble release. How does it feel to have my toes tantalizing what you so passionately crave?"

Her words, heavy with disdain and gentleness I had not expected, ring true in my heart. "It feels divine, Lady," I respond in a rasping whisper, "Your touch, even in this pain, is a gift that I have beyond description."

Her teasing does not stop there. With a teasing, authoritative tone, she halts and pulls her foot away from my needy flesh. The sudden withdrawal of her touch leaves me exposed with desire. The air is heavier now, and my body aches with a hunger that is nearly desperate.

My cock, its flesh stretched tight between the rigid bars of the chastity cage, hungers for her continued attentions.

"Now, now, Richard," she reproaches gently, her own voice falling to a gentler, more indulgent cadence, "I know you yearn for my touch. But suspense is half the excitement. Would you care to tell me how much you long to have my toes on you?"

I have a tight, but sincere, reaction, "Please, Lady," I beg, my throat tight with need and fury, "don't take away your touch yet. I beg of you, let me bask in this feeling for just a bit longer."

Her gaze sparkles with wicked delight as she weighs her decision. Slow, deliberate politeness brings her foot back onto its teasing path, continuing the gentle stroking along the cage.

"Very well, boy," she says to me, her tone firm but soft, "I will grant you one more minute of this supreme ecstasy. Enjoy it, for soon it will be nothing more than a memory to drive your hunger all the more."

She continues her tormenting caresses, her feet gliding along the metal and my skin, producing a concerto of wretched pleasure.

"Richard boy remember, every moment is a present from me, a reminder your joy is not your entitlement, but a gift given to you by your dedication."

Time creeps by as every second stretches out into forever. Her toes curl and uncurl with almost hypnotic grace, caressing the chill of the chastity cage and the plump, pillow-like skin of my balls. Every small lift and fall is a precisely designed motion, intended to torture and tease in balanced measure.

As the final moments of the given minute trickle away, Anthea's goading is more deliberate, every gesture extended to enjoy the luscious play of release and refusal.

"Boy," she whispers harshly, "see how these moments trickle away, an illusory glimpse of the paradise of surrender to which you are so blessed. Value them, for they serve to remind you of your station, and the blessing of obeying me."

"Yes, Lady," I tell her, my voice trembling with amazement and longing, "I adore every second of your touch."

Her smile widens as she drinks in my response, her eyes flashing a sophisticated blend of pleasure and further devilry. She slowly lifts her foot again, keeping it near my face so that I can enjoy the beauty of its full shape and kiss her toe.

"Remember, Richard," she says, her tone low but unyielding, "this is only a sample of what you may be rewarded with if you serve so well in the future.". Let this memory sustain you through the days of longing and remind you of your station."

As our last few seconds tick away, I utter another whispered thank you.

"Thank you, Lady, for this pleasant moment."

She smiles slightly, "All good things must come to an end, boy," in a tone full of pretended loving concern. "I can see that you're upset and frustrated but bear in mind, you've been a very good boy today."

"Thank you, Lady," I gasp.

She leans forward, her face growing softer as she continues, "After I come back, I may just give you a milking, a time when I suck you dry, and leave you with a few days of nothing but empty balls and relief. Wait patiently in this craving until then."

And as I stay on my knees, still at her feet, I raise a trembling hand to my chest in silent thanks. I allow my eyes to return to the key to chastity.

All my mind about it is a mix of desperation and longing, as if the little piece of metal can unlock not only my chastity but the secrets of my soul.

Anthea, still seated graciously with legs crossed, still looks at me with that mix of amusement and affection. "You appear so pitifully excited, boy," she whispers, with a playful undertone to her voice as she looks again at the key.

Soon, she sits up a little as if to stretch, and then she turns to look at the television again. The flashing images on the screen create a jarring contrast to the strained tension between us.

And Anthea at last shifts her gaze, relaxing her face into insincere sympathy. "I know it's hard for you, Richard," she goes on, her voice soothing. "But you must learn to accept that pleasure, in my presence, is always qualified. Just as you did teach me to bear you as a partner. Do you remember?"

I bow my head in shame as the recollections run through my head. "Yes Lady Anthea, I remember and once again apologize." I whisper.

She smiles gently as she lifts my chin with her finger and look at me. "It's ancient history and I promise you, that when I return, I might drain you to the last drop, a milking that will leave you as empty as you are faithful, Richard."

Her words, a blend of comfort and teasing promise, send another rush of warmth through me. I bring my forehead down upon the floor, thankfully thanking her for this little favor of temporary indulgence and for promise of things to follow. Any reward whatsoever is a lifeline of hope in the expanse of time of my longing.

Slowly, in a measured movement, she sweeps her toes beneath my chin. The gentle pressure pulls me up until our eyes meet her beautiful, perceptive face.

"Good boy," she whispers, her voice throaty, "Your worship has roused something within me today. I am wet and you will have to service my needs now."

As she says this, she raises her hand and slaps the crotch with the heel of her palm, a clear, wordless message of what is to follow.

My heart is racing and my body acts on its own. I get up from where I had been kneeling before her and go to the guest room. There, I take the blindfold, and return to our area. I blindfold myself around my eyes slowly, leaving me blind.

In the comforting obscurity of my blindness, I begin the ritual of stripping her. I start with the loose fabric of her satin pajamas; my fingers graze reverently as I guide the fabric down her legs, revealing her silk skin.

I slowly remove her pajamas, setting them aside. I then reach for her delicate panties, tugging them apart easily. The fabric parts at my touch as I slide them down, exposing her to my mind's soft light.

My devotion starts anew as I lower my head to her inner thighs. I place gentle, wet kisses on the delicate flesh. I am slow, almost reluctant, as I trace a path to her most inner core.

Every kiss is measured, a humble act of surrender to her beauty and power. I draw near the silky curve of her inner thigh and hesitate, breathing heavily as the whiff of her need blends with her own scent.

"Lick, boy," I'm instructed, whispering, in the dark, her voice heavy with lust and authority. I comply, my tongue ascending to her flesh. I begin by licking slowly, gently along the rim of her labia, savoring the taste and feel with each tentative stroke.

My tongue glides along at a sensual speed, tracing the tiny wrinkles and folds that make up her holy womanhood.

I feel her response immediately, a gentle, contented sigh that resonates in the space between us, heightening my own passion. Emboldened by her own pleasure, I circle my tongue in her receptive, wet vagina. It's bliss to taste, with each turn of tongue eliciting new, and shaking breaths from her.

I focus on her swollen clitoris, its over-sensitivity drawing me in like a forbidden jewel. I tease and caress it with brief, throbbing strokes of my tongue, sometimes gentle licks and sometimes deeper, more forceful ones.

"Good boy..." she groans in a purring tone, her words trembling with ecstasy. "You know just how to worship me." She says it softly, but the full weight of her command is behind the words, and I feel a whirling mix of pride and raw lust that surges through me.

I resume my ritual, each lick and suck a movement of deep, personal reverence. I focus on her clitoris, drawing it into my mouth and sucking it with intense ardor. I let my tongue dance elaborate designs across her most sensitive spots, drawing out every nuance of her pleasure with gentle precision.

Anthea's moans increase in volume, her gasps of panting air, her cestatic gasps as her body is alight with divine contact. "Yes, that's it," she gasps, her voice reaching higher on a wave of pleasure. "Keep going, my good boy... let me feel the pleasure I deserve."

Time becomes elastic and distorts as I am lost in the worship of her body. The taste of her arousal, the texture of her breathed commands, and the rhythm of her ecstasy create a sensory tapestry that thrills and humiliates me.

I can feel her body tense, the anticipation of the orgasm that I can feel is imminent. The air is charged with anticipation, and my entire being is centered on the singular task of bringing her to that height of pleasure.

With a final, guttural, shaking moan, Anthea is at her height. "Oh, yes.... Fuck. YES!" she shouts, her scream building to a splintering climax as her body shudders in the force of her orgasm.

Her climax is not a quiet surrender but a living proclamation of her lust, ringing through the air.

As her body finally unwinds and the intensity of her orgasm subsides, she speaks with a calming but taunting voice. "That was exquisite, my devoted lover," she tells him in a voice full of sugary mock-sympathy. "I can see how completely you gave yourself over to the worship of my flesh. Your devotion is commendable, and. intoxicating."

I remain mute for a moment, the shudders of our intimacy thudding within me. Although I do not see her, I feel it all, her soft sighs, the heavy, pulsing breathing that signals her return to calm.

My own universe is a whirlpool of appreciation and desire, each spinning thought a prayer of gratitude for the honor of being at her total beck and call.

"You have pleased me greatly," Anthea continues, her tone laced with a touch of indulgence. "Your devotion has reminded me why I adore every moment of this game of power. I vow to you, that when I come back, there will be even more moments where your faithfulness will be rewarded beyond your imagination."

Her words, uttered with the inner certainty of one who has all the power, give me a bittersweet yearning.

In the silence that follows, she provides me with soft, comforting words that somehow blend both tenderness and authority. "Rest now, my boy," she says, her voice a little even in its commanding tone. "Let the pleasure settle within you. Be sure that your worship has not gone unheeded, and that your service will always be appreciated."

Her orgasm sentences are slow to emerge, as if she savoring each syllable's weight. "You have been a good servant," she breathes, voice now soft with satisfaction.

I let out a wholehearted, genuine grumble of thankfulness. "Thank you, my Lady," I whisper, each word willing away my soul. "Your pleasure is all reward I can ask."

Anthea stretches again, a languid, stretching motion that promises a return to normalcy, but leaving behind a reminder of the closeness we shared. "You have pleased me today. Let the memory of my adoration fill your sleep, and know that every moment of your service serves only to deepen the joy we share."

In all that sacred ground between need and control, I find a strange, lovely peace, in the knowledge that my function is determined by the adoration of her beauty. And when I close my eyes, I am filled full of a sense of pure gratitude for every moment she allows me to attend her heavenly presence.

The sunlight streams softly through the window as I awaken to a day of work and servitude. My chore for the day is to pack Lady Anthea's luggage for her travels to Prague and Budapest.

I begin in the quiet of the room, softly spreading the travel items out. My trembling hands gather the bulky suitcases and other travel items, while my head buzzes with what will take place during the course of the day.

Lady Anthea stands in the doorway with an air of regal bearing and playful allure. "Boy, attend to me carefully," she says gently, her voice mixed with humor and expectation.

I carefully assist her into a cream-colored silk and lace bra that is both supportive and yet provides a hint of enticement. Underneath, she glides into a pair of matching panties that are made of the same soft, diaphanous material which clings gently to her flesh.

She puts on a close-fitting cashmere sweater in pale charcoal that shows off her slender figure to full advantage.

Then I focus on her legs. I help her into a pair of black trousers then pull onto her feet softly ribbed socks, a rich, plush black that looks lovely against her pale skin. These are tight and warm socks, finished with a pair of sleek blue leather boots.

I drape over her shoulders a close-fitting, long woolen coat of deep midnight blue, a stately-hugging mantle that clings to her contours.

Lady Anthea smiles and approaches me before she departs. "Boy, there is something I would like to give you."

She gives me a small satin-lined box. Inside it is a pair of her dirty panties. Filmy and softened by wear, their lace is still perfumed with her faint, intoxicating scent.

Her eyes glitter with playful command as she continues, "Keep these close while I am gone, so you may remember your place and the pleasure of my presence. And, if it delights your heart, indulge yourself the pleasure of smelling them, and even tasting a whisper of my presence."

My heart palpitates as I take the panties in trembling hands. I am conscious of their history, of the gentle impression of her flesh stamped in the fabric. I lift them experimentally, breathing in their faint, flowered fragrance, and dare to let my tongue briefly brush the rim.

The action is both degraded and strangely transcendent, a reassurance that in spite of my basest state, I am loved because of my loyalty.

"Thank you, Lady," I whisper, my voice low enough not to disturb the silence as I press the panties to my chest, folding them into a hidden pocket that is only for memories of her touch.

With her apparel perfectly intact and her precious token securely in my keeping, I carefully lift the cumbersome suitcase and follow Lady Anthea out of the room. With graceful, purposeful strides, she leads me down the marble corridor to her mother's residence.

Inside her mother's home, I am told to attend to the rest of my day's duties.

In the sitting room, Lady Anthea and Madam Olivia are talking gaily as they plan their Christmas visit.

Their laughter, light and bantering, is a counterpoint to the strict discipline that usually governs my world. As their words weave through the room like silken strands, I am busy packing Madam Olivia's suitcase.

Soon, the moment arrives to prepare Madam Olivia for the journey. And now, for the first time ever, she's standing in front of me wearing only her lace underwear, and the moment leans in toward vulnerability and flirtatious possibility.

Her undergarments are seductive, a collection of burning intimate lingerie in a soft, earthy brown hue that seem almost extraterrestrial next to her smooth, porcelain skin. The briefs are modest and yet sensuous, bordered with intricate lace trim that whispers hidden allure. My heart, as I gaze at her, is rent between wonder and the forbidden thrill of desire.

Madam Olivia's eyes glint with amusement as she teases, "Is it not an honor to see me thus, creature? My body is a rare indulgence for the likes of you."

I am able to speak, my voice a mix of wonder and repressed yearning, "Madam Olivia, your beauty and grace transcend all manner of time and temptation. Your allure is as irresistible as it is timeless."

Her laughter rings out, a soft, musical rhythm that fills the room and is edged with scornful amusement. "Oh, creature," she taunts with mocking playfulness, "you are excited by my appearance, and yet you are rendered harmless by that perpetual chastity device you wear. It is for this very reason that you are granted such temporary privileges."

Her amusement ripples the air as I turn my attention to the next phase of my assignment, clothing for her feet. I carefully retrieve a pair of stylish black tights, smooth and stiff, from the wardrobe. "May I, Madam Olivia?" I ask respectfully, my voice deferential.

"Continue, creature," she says, her voice commanding yet playful. I slowly coax the tight material over her feet, ensuring a flawless, crease-free fit. Her ankles and toes disappear into the glossy, black fabric, a softly intimate attire that speaks of both warmth and understated elegance.

As I work, she gazes down at my hands, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Your skills are remarkable, creature," she praises in a tone that's equal parts genuine admiration and teasing disdain. "I never knew a man could dress my feet so well."

Flushed with pride and shame, I reply solemnly, "Thank you, Madam Olivia. I live only to serve you."

She laughs again, going on, "Oh, creature, I almost forget, you are not a man, really. You are a bit more like a maid, with chores that no real man could or would tolerate ha-ha."

Undeterred by her banter, I continue with my mission. I retrieve a pair of soft, closely knit socks in a calming dove gray, designed especially to warm her feet from the chill. I gently pull them over her tights, ensuring they are properly positioned to wrap her feet in warmth and comfort.

Next, I fetch a pair of furry lace-up boots in a bold ice gray color. I do up the laces meticulously, the boots hug her feet with a firm hold, and as I plant a respectful kiss on the smooth leather, I am struck by the solemnity of my mission.

Before I go on leave, I perform a final act of submission. I kneel before both Lady Anthea and Madam Olivia and press my lips against the smooth surface of their boots, a gesture of respect, of devotion, and of intimate belonging. Each kiss is a silent prayer, a wordless affirmation of the structure that holds us.

Preparations being complete, I take up the suitcases once more and carry them to Lady Anthea's waiting car. The car--a dark, sleek sedan--stands ready to whisk them away on their journey. I open the back door carefully and put the suitcases in gently but firmly.

"Thank you, boy," Lady Anthea says, her voice soft but authoritative as she gets into the back seat, Madam Olivia climbing in after her. Their gracious dismissal of my presence is a constant reminder of my place in this carefully calibrated world.

I step outside to see Sir Connor standing patiently, his face calm and relaxed. I open the passenger door for him, addressing him with the title he is owed, "Please, Sir, get in." He nods to me as I place one of the larger suitcases in the trunk.

With all aboard, I drive the car through the chilly streets. Conversation is effortless in the car, Anthea and Olivia chatter excitedly about the Christmas trip, talking about the festive beauty of Prague's markets and the timeless attraction of Budapest's winter nights. Their voices, full of excitement and humor, leave little room for my reticent, obedient presence.

At the airport, the ritual is continued with muted efficiency. I follow them, conscientiously wheeling their luggage as they proceed through the check-in counters with assured ease.

I watch them say friendly goodbyes to the staff, their laughter and banter a reminder of the world that exists outside of my station.

Before they part ways, Lady Anthea gazes at me with an amusing grin, her eyes glinting with mischief as well as finality. "Boy, while you remain behind for the Christmas season, your task is not yet finished. Before you see us away, I have one more chore for you."

I lean forward, my heart pounding with a mix of terror and anticipation, "Yes, Lady. I await your command."

"You will hand write the following sentence exactly one thousand times,

'Depth of my soul, I recognize that my life is given over wholly to the exalted service and endless adoration of Lady Anthea, Madam Olivia, and Sir Connor.'

Her eyes glint with playfulness as she speaks each word with the cadence of utter authority.

To this, Madam Olivia lifts a refined eyebrow and gives a gentle, mocking laugh.

"Oh, creature, how fitting that your every waking hour should be filled with such passion," she mocks, her voice dripping with teasing condescension. "Poor thing, do you really have to write so many words? How boring it must be!"

Connor joins in with a wry smile, "Yes, boy. I bet you'll be writing over Christmas when we're out having fun!" His tone is commiserating but teasing.

Lady Anthea goes on, with a hint of satisfaction, for their benefit:

"This exercise is not idle drudgery, but a reminder, always present, that your mind, your own soul, is inextricably bound to our pleasure and to our command. As you write each line, you are inscribing upon your being the reality of your slavery."

I nod my head in silent acceptance, already looking forward to the hours that will stretch out before me as I labor at these one thousand repetitions.

At the final boarding call echoing through the terminal, the three of them gather their belongings. Anthea places a hand on my shoulder, her eyes softening for a moment.

"Remember, boy, every line you write is a reminder of who you are and whose will you bear. We will remember you fondly as we engage in our delight, knowing that you are performing your duty."

Madam Olivia leans forward, a teasing glint in her smile, voice husky and teasing as she addresses me.

"Indeed, creature, may you be comforted by your constant writing. For while you labor here in silent wretchedness, we will be gone in glorious warmth and joy, celebrating Christmas with light and unfettered hearts."

Their words, as scornful and mocking as they are, carry a certain unquestionable authority that strikes me with its truth.

I bow my head in defeat as I watch them blend into the throng of travelers, their laughter ringing out into the distance. The finality of their departure is underscored by the rumble of suitcases being rolled and the call to board.

I drive back to empty house, without losing time and delay I open my notebook to a fresh page. My hand trembles as I write the first word of the first phrase.

With each stroke, I know the countless hours that will pass in solitude, my only companion the steady scritch of pen on paper.

It is in that gloomy, solitary room that I accept my fate. I know that my Christmas will be spent not in the glow of festive cheer but in the quiet, constant hum of words.