His for the taking, hers for the pleasing
This is purely a work of fiction. I welcome any feedback you may have. Please note this is in the BDSM category for a reason. If it's not your scene, no need to read any further.
Staring at the gleaming marble floor before me, Eloise found herself lost in thought as to how she ended up here. Chained to the wall like a dog. Dressed up like a high class hooker. A skin tight maid's uniform, which barely covered anything. Complete with black lace stockings, six inch heels and a steel collar around her neck. She'd been on the floor for hours. The stone dug into her knees and she was sure there'd be bruises when she got up. If he ever let her up that is. Henry liked to remind her of her place often. Below him. Always.
Sometimes he'd have her kneel out of the blue wherever she was, just to prove he had that power over her. To remind her that she was his property and his to control. He always wanted her to work. It served as another reminder that she was here for him as his slave. She'd been scrubbing the same white marble tiles for so many hours her back began to ache. She couldn't tell how long she'd been cleaning because there were no clocks in the house. He wanted her to serve him without question and controlling time had a good effect on her obedience. He was also a perfectionist and despite months of servitude, her work had never lived up to his standards.
He loved to hear her chains rattle away as she worked. Sometimes he'd stand next to her, chatting away while drinking his favourite whiskey, swirling the ice around. As if it was normal to speak to a girl chained up in his house. But Eloise had agreed to this. She'd found herself in debt after a drug deal she made went wrong. She didn't mean to do it. Her girlfriend at the time had lured her in. A tattooed goddess named Olivia. Eloise would've followed her to the ends of the Earth if she'd asked her to. Olivia knew that and pushed Eloise to her limits anyway, pulling her deeper and deeper into the darkness. With an arts degree and a minimum wage newspaper job, 24-year-old Eloise wanted a taste of the good life and selling high quality cocaine her ticket there. To French champagne, VIP entrances and private planes. But drug-dealing came with challenges. Never knowing who to trust. Now, given her current position, clearly she'd trusted the wrong person.
She snapped out of her thoughts and squeezed out the sponge into the large bucket of dirty water. Suddenly the large wooden door slammed and Eloise began to panic. She wasn't at the top of the hallway. He'd come up with this game where he'd chain her to a small horizontal pole that ran up the length of the house whenever he went out. When he returned the whole floor had to be spotless. If his inspection revealed a speck of dust he'd drag her chain back to the end of the hallway and she'd have to start over. He did a lot of things like this. Mental mind-fuckery he called it. Designed to break her. But no matter what he tried, she'd fight him every step of the way. Just because she'd agreed to this temporary life of sexual servitude didn't mean she'd make it easy for him. She wanted him to know that even if he made up the game, he'd have to play too. Eloise got off the floor, grabbed the bucket, slipped her heels off, put them in her hands and raced to the other side of the hallway. She was quietly confident. She'd been cleaning for hours, there's no way he'd find any dirt this time. She had just enough time to throw her shoes on and get back on her knees with the sponge in her hand before she heard him again. His footsteps sent shivers down her spine, making her wet with anticipation. As much as she hated how he treated her, she absolutely loved how he fucked her. And it kept her prisoner. Prisoner to his touch. Prisoner to his every demand. And she was the one building her jail cell. His footsteps got closer and she bent down to clean the floor again, throwing her all into it, just like he conditioned her to do. When she first moved in, if he thought she wasn't giving 100% into her duties she'd be punished.
"Laziness will not be tolerated in this house slave. Scrub harder! Work faster! That's it slave, keep going. I said harder. Keep going."
And heaven help her if she did stop. She'd feel the sting of his belt. At first it would just kiss her thighs and her ass, but then it would bite and rip into her flesh, over and over. She'd cry and beg him to stop. Sometimes he did, but not always. She feared today would be no different.
Eloise could hear him on the phone. She prayed he wouldn't notice her and keep walking. She'd had enough of his belt. But how she begged for his touch. He on the other hand saw her as nothing more than his personal fucktoy. Always collared. Always at his service, at his beck and call 24 hours a day. He even had her wear a remote control vibrators, to ensure she was "always ready." She had no control over when it would buzz to life, only to stop without warning again. Sometimes he'd play with it for hours and she'd be left wet and frustrated, begging to come over and over again. He loved to keep her on edge.
Today was no different. She'd been on the verge of cumming for hours without release. He knew that keeping her like this kept her open to anything. Then she heard it. Another large door slammed close. His footsteps got louder. They were quick, angry and determined. She shuddered at the thought of what she'd done to elicit these footsteps.
He stormed into the room, growling at her like a wild animal.
"What the fuck is this slave?!"
She spun around on her knees, put her hands behind her and arched her back, pushing her chest out absurdly far. It was one of the 'positions' they agreed on when she first entered the house, three months ago.
"If you have tits I want them on display always." he'd told her.
It was in his list of demands and back then she wasn't really in a position to negotiate anything, let alone some kind of aesthetic feature of her temporary indentured servitude. It seemed once again she'd failed to meet his demands
"Have I done something to displease you Sir? "
She asked with a coquettish smile, hoping he'd show her some kind of mercy.
"What do you think, bitch. Look at my fucking shoes"
She lowered her eyes and glanced at them. A scuff mark on the left side.
"M-M-Master I'm so sorry, please let me get something and clean it off for you."
"Oh no slave. You're already on the floor anyway like a good little cumrag. You might as well do the only thing you're good for. Open your mouth and stick out your tongue for me."
"Good, now clean it off."
She looked back at him stunned. She'd done some pretty demeaning things, but he was taking this to a new level.
"Don't look at me with those doe eyes slave! Push your breasts to the floor while you do it. Get lower. Lower. Yes I want your head on the floor while you lick the mark off my loafers. Good that's better. I can't walk around with dirt on my shoes, can I?"
"No sir. You can't."
Her tongue grazed against the leather, tasting the shoe polish she'd used the night before on the dozens of pairs he had. Losing herself in licking his shoes, She wondered how she ended up like this. A slave to this man's every whim, every desire.
Suddenly a shred of her old self sprung back up and she put her tongue away defiantly. She slowly sat up, crossed her arms and glared at him.
