"Make coffee, boy," said Mistress Fiona.
"Yes, Mistress!" said Bitch 449, loooking up from where he had been kneeling at her feet with his forehead pressed to the ground. He crawled as fast as he could out of his mistress' sitting room and towards the kitchen, his naked knees rubbing against the carpet.
He was smiling. She had called him "boy". Usually it was "bitch", or sometimes "slave" or "object". It was almost as though she were starting to feel some affection for him. Not that he had any right to expect that, he reminded himself. He was only an insignificant male, here to serve the Superior Gender in the female-led settlement run by Princess Georgina.
Standing up in the kitchen, he tried to make the coffee as well and as quickly as he could. It was hard to do both. The first time he had made Mistress Fiona's coffee, it had too much milk, too little sugar and was not quite hot enough. The welts on his backside that resulted from the consequent punishment had not fully faded for weeks. Even now he commonly received a swift caning for an imperfectly made drink.
It occurred to him that perhaps Mistress Fiona merely pretended that the coffee was imperfect when she was in the mood to hurt him. He quickly pushed the thought from his mind. He would not be disloyal. He reminded himself that women were much wiser and cleverer than him.
Bitch 449 crawled back into the sitting room as fast as he could while holding the cup of coffee in one hand. He felt his cock jerk in his chastity cage as he pushed himself forward. It had been weeks since he had spilled any, he reflected proudly. He placed it on the side table next to the chair at which Mistress Fiona was sitting. She was leaning forward, her brown eyes concentrated on a pile of paperwork. Her long dark ponytail had fallen forward over her shoulder and was brushing against the bare skin of her leg, just past the hem of her skirt.
She ignored her naked slave and continued to read. Eventually she took a sip of the coffee. Bitch 449 held his breath, but she said nothing. She had still not looked at him, but then she often barely gave him a glance all day.
It was six months now since Jamie - has he had then been called - had moved into the Princess Georgina's female-led settlement. After three months of hard physical labour on the building of the princess' new palace, he had become Mistress Fiona's personal slave. She repeateldy told him that she would throw him out on a whim when she got bored of him, and send him to work in the quarry. Every day he hoped that it would never happen, and every day he felt guilty for having a preference instead of submitting joyfully to whatever role he was given by women.
"Clean the bathroom," said Mistress Fiona quietly but firmly, taking another sip of coffee but not looking up from her the papers she was reading. "I have guests coming and it must look perfect. You will have a very painful day if there are any errors."
"Yes, Mistress Fiona. Of course. It will be an honour to - "
"And then clean the bedroom and this sitting room. I will be out by then. Then do today's laundry and ironing. And before you do any of that, clean my knee-high boots with your tongue."
"Yes, Mistress Fiona - " said Bitch 449. He risked a question. "Which pair of knee-high boots should I clean, Mistress?"
"All five of them, you stupid slave," replied his mistress, her dark eyes flashing as she looked at him for the first time that day. "If I had meant only one of them, I would have said so, wouldn't I? You should know by now that if an instruction is not specific, you should obey it in all possible ways. How many times have I told you that, bitch?"
