Day of Deprivation

They were reading on the couch. Her head was in his lap, and his book rested against it. Sometimes he stroked her hair, or played with the ring of her collar. She was dressed, wearing a button down shirt opened enough for him to play with her breasts if he wished, and her fleece sweatpants with the crotch open and re-hemmed from front to back. When she needed to shift position she would put one leg up on the back of the couch or raise one knee or the other, always ensuring her legs were open as required. As usual, she wore no underwear at home.

They'd had a nice dinner, sitting together at the table, her ankle restraints secured to the legs of the chair, and a short chain attaching the ring on the back of her leather belt to the chair. She sat with back straight and legs open, wearing clothes for modesty and warmth, because it was a cool night and her Master wanted the windows open. To the casual observer walking by they'd look like an ordinary couple. Her long hair mostly covered the back of her collar and the ring to which was attached the other end of the chain keeping her back straight. The thick leather bracelets on her wrists might get a second glance, as might a glimpse of the chains leading from each to her collar, long enough for her to reach her plate, but not any lower than that. The sound of them clinking against themselves, or against the table, might seem odd.

A lingering observer might be surprised to see that as dinner ended, she remained seated in the same position, her back to the window, while the man across from her rose. It would be easy to think that he walked behind her and leaned over in order to kiss her, which he did, but it would be less obvious that he had unchained her wrists from her collar and clipped them both to the ring on the front of her belt.

Seeing her continue to sit still after the man left the room carrying the plates, the observer would probably move on, thinking it was nice to see the woman sitting with her hands folded while the man did the work. The observer would have no idea that she was a slave who was frequently kept waiting; that her owner sometimes enjoyed doing practical things while she remained shackled and restrained; that if her owner ordered it, she would clear the table, clean the plates with her tongue, and bend over to load the dishwasher, being sure not to drop anything when her owner fondled or smacked her exposed bare ass. The observer would not know that her presence at the table was a privilege, and that there was a towel on the chair, for her wet and naked cunt.

On some other nights, the observer would have seen a man seemingly eating alone, with his slave out of view under the table, eating at her owner's feet, perhaps allowed utensils, perhaps allowed the use of her hands, or perhaps with her hands shackled behind her, food all over her face, drinking water through the straw her master had put in her bowl.

But on any night, coming across this scene, the observer would have no more idea than she of what would be done to her next. Walking away, the observer might choose to go straight home, or perhaps stop at the corner bar, but she would choose nothing. She would remain restrained, with no decisions to make, just orders to follow. That evening, the only thing she was sure of that the ache in her cunt would remain unsatisfied.

After dinner, her owner had opted for a relaxed evening reading on the couch. Her ankle restraints were free and her wrists were shackled to her collar with a chain long enough for her to hold her tablet with one hand or the other. She could not hold it with both hands, however, because the chain was at a length that prevented her from touching herself. One hand could hold the book on her abdomen, with the chain pulled tight, while the other hand rested against her neck. Or she could fold it back and rest it on her chest, holding her hands together. But she was feeling happily spoiled tonight, sitting on the couch instead of the floor, reading or using her phone or just thinking, able to position herself as she liked as long as she kept her legs open, no spreader bar hindering her leg movements. She'd have to ask permission if she wanted to get up, but otherwise, she could enjoy her book unless her Master wanted to play with her in a way that distracted from reading.

They sat in comfort, music playing, her wrist chain sometimes rattling as she turned pages. He laughed at his book; she found something surprising in her book and read it aloud to her owner and they discussed it for a while. The incongruity of discussing musical theory with her wrists chained and her shaved cunt visible through her open pants was part of their delicious lives together. Part of how her slavery was part of everything they did together.

At one point she dropped her tablet and it fell to the carpeted floor, too far away for her to reach with her wrists restrained. Her owner noticed it, but kept reading. She waited patiently, knowing that she wasn't allowed off the couch. These kinds of moments had been surprisingly difficult during her earlier training and she still had to remind herself not to react quickly, but instead to wait for permission as a slave should. Finishing the section he was reading, he leaned over and handing it back to her. "Thank you, Master," she said. He kissed her forehead. She knew he appreciated the significance of her sitting quietly and waiting, rather than taking action as the aggressive problem-solver she was in the rest of her life.

He was free with his use of her, as he always was with his property. Sometimes he stroked her nipples, making them very hard, and she'd moan and cringe at the same time, never knowing when the stroking would turn to pinching or pulling. Her left breast still throbbed from where he'd twisted her nipple earlier, using two hands, until she cried out in pain. But she was proud that she hadn't safeworded and was rewarded with a kiss.

Other times, he'd reach between her legs, pushing her book aside, and stroke her wet cunt lips, almost but never quite touching her clit, except perhaps to brush the pendant attached to her piercing there. She'd moan and raise her hips, and he'd withdraw his hand until she relaxed again. She did not have permission to beg, so she restrained herself from crying out for satisfaction. She had not been allowed to touch herself all day except when using the bathroom, which she did with the door open, knowing her Master would punish her if he suspected she was pleasuring herself even slightly.

Her cunt had not been penetrated since early yesterday morning when he'd fucked her after her morning service. Last night he'd fucked her ass, and allowed her a clit orgasm, but did not allow her to put her fingers into herself no matter how much she begged. Today her morning service had continued until he came in her mouth. She was not allowed to swallow it; instead he smeared his come on her cunt, teasing her and leaving her smelling it on herself. She got only what she could lick off his hand, and he was kind enough to clean some of it from her lips where it had dribbled when she emptied her mouth into his hand, and let her lick that too.

When he'd held her afterwards, he'd firmly moved her leg away when she threw it over him and pressed her cunt against his leg. When she'd whined and pressed against his side, he'd said, "Time to get up." She got out of bed and knelt to accept his cock in her mouth, and his collar around her neck. He restrained her hands immediately afterward, clipping them to her collar. He had bathed her, washing between her legs, using only the soft cloth, and not lingering. His fingers manipulating her lips as he shaved her cunt made her cry out and beg for more. That was when he told her that her need would not be relieved until bedtime, and that she'd be punished if she begged any further. Given that the punishment would undoubtedly include even more deprivation, she worked to keep still and quiet as he drew the razor over her desperate cunt.

All day, her hands were shackled out of reach. The restraints when she sat at table not only kept her upright but also prevented her from rubbing or rocking her cunt against the cloth on the chair. She didn't even have a plug in her ass to squeeze for some sensation. She was wet and distracted, and grateful that after lunch, she'd been left alone to read and do some work, her Master refraining from playing with or teasing her, allowing her to concentrate and put her need aside for a few hours. She worked at her desk, her wrists chained through a ring mounted above her keyboard, allowing her to type and work on her desk but not to reach her cunt.

He checked on her periodically, to see if she needed to use the bathroom and check that she was drinking enough water. She also had her phone and her watch if she needed him in a hurry. When she was done, she messaged him. "Master, I've completed what I needed to do today. I sent it to Charles but he won't look at it until Monday." If her boss called or Slacked her over the weekend, she'd see it on her watch and could ask her Master for permission to respond.

She closed down her computer and waited quietly until he came into the office. She kept her eyes down as he unchained her wrists and asked if she needed the bathroom. "Yes, please," she said, and he told her to go ahead. She walked to the bathroom, peed with the door open, wiped herself quickly despite her need, and washed her hands. She fetched her cushion and went into the library where her owner was reading. She knelt by his chair, her eyes lowered. He stroked her hair. "Good girl. Would you like a snack?" She said "Yes, please," not having eaten since lunch. He fastened her wrists to the ring in the back of her belt, and left the room.

He came back holding a frozen yogurt pop. He sat down, unwrapped it and held it to her lips. "Lick," he said. She lapped it with her tongue, and stopped when she felt his tug on her leash. Sh waited with her mouth open, her head raised, until he used her leash to guide her mouth to it. She licked and bit at it hungrily. He withdrew it again after a few bites and pulled her leash back, and she cried out. "Use your words," he said. She lowered her eyes and said, "Master, may I please have the rest of my treat? Your slave is hungry. Please, Master?" He stroked her hair and ran the pop around her lips a few times, smearing her face but pulling her leash sharply if she reached for it with her mouth. Finally he let her finish it, gave her the stick to lick, and then had her lick the drips off his hand where it had melted.

He pushed her head down to the floor, stood up, and left the room. She waited, prostrated, keeping her legs well spread, feeling the air on her wet cunt. She heard him return, then felt her hands between her legs, touching her cunt lips, assessing her wetness, spreading them and closing them until she moaned. He took his hand away and came around to sit down in the chair again.

He gave her his hand and she licked her juices off his fingers. He placed the water bottle on the floor in front of her. "Drink all of it," he said. Her bottle had a built-in straw, and she leaned forward to drink, her arms still restrained behind her back. Her muscles were used to supporting herself in this position without the use of her hands. When she finished, he praised her, wiped her face, and led her by her leash to the couch. He clipped her wrist restraints directly to her collar, and put a pillow under her head. "Lie down, pet, and rest." He placed the remote near her chained hands. "You can watch Netflix if you like."

A quick learner, she had progressed rapidly in her career due to her ability to learn new skills and improvise. This was a use of that ability that would shock her co-workers -- using a television remote with her hands chained under her chin. She grasped it in her hands, feeling like a dinosaur with little arms, working carefully, knowing that if she dropped it she'd have to wait for him to come back. The power button was easy to locate, so she turned on the television, then felt for the arrow buttons to navigate to Netflix and choose a film. But, annoyingly, the center button went back to the main menu instead of starting the film, so she put the remote down on the couch and lifted her head to look at it and find the play button. She picked it up again, felt her way to the button, and pressed it. Then she put the remote back down right under her hands where she could use the volume and pause buttons without looking. She lay curled up in a fetal position, her leash coiled above her head, her legs together because her Master had placed her like this, giving her implicit permission to close them as she watched or napped. If he wanted them kept spread even when he wasn't present, he'd tell her so, or attach the spreader bar, and it would be much harder to find a comfortable position. She squeezed her legs together to apply some pressure to herself, but did not attempt to rub herself against the couch or one of the pillows. She wasn't permitted to use his property that way.

As it got closer to dinner time he came back, holding her slave journal. She raised one knee to spread her legs without being told, and lifted her head. He sat on the couch, put the notebook next to her, and began stroking her cunt lips and putting just the tip of his finger at her opening. He licked his finger and then spread her lips with both hands. She could feel drips and see the satisfaction on his face. He pushed them together and opened them again, pulling up and out hard enough to hurt. Then he leaned forward and kissed her cunt lips, and she cried out "Please!" He sat up. "You were told not to beg, weren't you?" he asked. "Yes, Master, I'm sorry, I need it so much." He nodded and pushed her legs further open. He held her leg back with one hand, raised the other, and slapped her hard, right on her cunt, with his open hand. She screamed. "I expect you to control yourself, slut." He slapped her again, bringing tears to her eyes, but also making her wetter. Continuing to hold her open, he stroked her, and she tensed, waiting for a third slap, but it didn't come.

"I was about to give you an assignment to write about controlling your need, but it seems you need to write an apology for failing to do so instead. I want three pages: an apology for what you just did, a thank-you for your punishment, and a restatement of what it means to be a slave." She bowed her head. "Yes, Master." He raised her head by the ring on her collar. "I told you this morning you'd not be satisfied until bedtime. I want you to write an acknowledgement and acceptance that you will not be satisfied tonight, but instead, punished further. You will sleep restrained with the spreader bar tonight, with your hands chained to your collar."

She moaned. He gave her a warning look, so she dropped her eyes in obedience. He helped her to sit up, her hands still locked to her collar. "Spread your legs and wait," he said, and left the room. Her cunt throbbed with pain and with need and she almost cried thinking that she'd have to endure another night without even being able to squeeze her legs together or stroke herself a little bit.

He came back, holding her lap desk and the spreader bar. He attached the bar between her legs, and put the desk in her lap, placing the pen and notebook on it. He freed her wrists and rechained them to her collar with enough length for one hand to reach the notebook. He placed a book weight on it, to keep it open. "Three pages, and I will be strict about language, form and content."

After a half hour, he came back. She was still writing. "Master," she said. "May I use the bathroom?" He took her journal and glanced at what she'd written. Just over two pages. "No, you may not," he said. "Finish your work." She obeyed, writing quickly with her bladder urging her on, hoping he'd let her pee before he read it over. She closed her book and held it out to him.

He took it, and put it on the table next to his chair. He detached the spreader bar, then pulled her leash upward, and she stood up. He removed the chain from her wrists and attached them behind her back again. He took her leash and led her towards the bathroom. She followed, understanding that she'd lost permission to relieve herself on her own, and suspecting that the only reason she wasn't being made to crawl was that he didn't want to free her hands or allow that friction between her legs.

At the toilet he turned her around and steadied her as she sat. Leaning forward, her hands against the raised seat lid, she breathed deeply and let her water flow. It had taken her a while to be able to do this in front of him; there were times she'd had to safeword in tears so he would leave the room and let her finish. But she was his property and she had learned that everything she was, and everything she did, belonged to him, even her most private moments. She sighed in relief as her bladder emptied, and finished up. He ran the bidet and patted her dry with a tissue, again touching her briskly and offering her no satisfaction. She was soaking wet and almost shaking from need.

After that he'd brought her to the kitchen and sat her down on the bench by the window, with her water bottle nearby. He reattached the spreader bar, released her wrists from behind her back and fastened them directly to her collar, and then blindfolded her. He held the bottle to her lips to drink, and then left the room. When he came back, he walked right up to her and she heard his zipper open. She opened her mouth obediently and waited for the tug on her leash to bring her lips to his cock, but it never came. Instead she felt the bench take his weight as he drove his cock into her mouth hard enough to bang her head against the wall. She choked and he withdrew, then drove into her mouth again. He did this several times, deliberately being hard on her, ignoring her cries, until her eyes were watering and her spit ran from her lips. He wiped his cock on her face, and then opened her mouth again to insert the smaller penis gag. This one was shaped like a cock, and filled her mouth, but was not long enough to trigger her gag reflex.

He walked away and she could hear him starting to make dinner. She sat quietly, feeling her spit drying on her face, drooling around the gag onto her shirt. Her spread legs exposed her cunt to his view, and to his hands as he occasionally stroked her lips and then wiped his wet fingers on her face. When it sounded, and smelled, like dinner was nearing completion, she heard plates and glasses clinking as he walked back and forth to the table. Then she felt his hands unbuckling the gag. It came out dripping; her shirt was damp with drool. He released her wrists, unbuttoned her shirt, and took it off, then replaced it with a clean one from the closet. He took off her blindfold and wiped her face with a warm cloth, and she leaned her head against him in thanks. He held her water bottle to her lips and she drank deeply.

He raised her to her feet by the collar, detached her leash, and led her to the sink. Her hands, free for the first time in hours, remained at her sides "Wash your hands," he said. She obeyed, and he handed her a towel. She handed it back and, without being asked, held out her hands. He attached the chains that would restrain her at dinner and told her to take her seat at the table.

Dinner was already served. He attached a chain to the ring in the back of her collar, brought it around the back of the chair, pulled it until he head was almost completely erect, and secured it tightly to her belt. He used very short chains to shackle each leg to her chair. Then he took the covers off the plates and sat down. When he gave her permission, she picked up her fork, and they ate dinner. She could just barely reach her mouth with her food, and the napkin he'd placed in her lap held evidence of her failures that he'd probably rub her face in later. So far there was nothing on the floor for her to lick up.