Man I Love Being A Slave

My name is Katrina. I was washing dishes; my hands were soaked to the bone. I'd been on my feet for five hours at this point. I was wearing a simple apron over a long, simple, grey dress. The apron was cloth, and so I was soaked to the bone with dirty dishwater. This was my twelfth straight day working, because I was a slave.

I was ecstatically happy. The grime over my body and the wrinkles in my hands filled me with joy. I was pleased by my aching feet. Exhaustion washed over me like the sun coming out. I love being a slave.

I wasn't the only slave in the kitchen. There was a woman peeling the potatoes, another cutting vegetables, and a third to take out the food. The chef was not a slave. He ordered us about, though usually I wasn't spoken to or noticed. This was fair. This was part of the deal.

A short brunette woman walked in -- the Master's daughter, Amelia. She wore her morning wrapper -- a light purple gown with big brown buttons, a light brown sash that combined at the front, and a purple belt tied around everything. The gown ended in feather-like brown cloth. Amelia herself had a very round face and very round, slightly upturned nose. I thought she was beautiful -- a soft face. Though she always seemed to have a hard expression. She had one right then.

"Hello, slaves," she said with a sneer. It was very unusual to see her back here. I had never even heard her talk.

"Mistress Amelia," said the chef, smiling. "It's an honour to--"

"Shut it," snapped Amelia. "Why don't the slaves talk?"

"They are commanded not to speak, my lady."

"Well, I command them to speak."

"What would you have them speak, my lady?"

"I command you not to speak." She huffed and walked over to me. "You. Redhead. Stop washing dishes." I obeyed. I was delighted. I love taking orders. "Turn around." I turned around, staring forward. She looked at me suspiciously. "Do you like being a slave?"

"Very much, Mistress," I said.

She seemed annoyed. "That's stupid. You're stupid. How could anyone like being a slave? You have to work all the time."

"That's what I like about it, Mistress. I like working hard. Generating all this work. It makes me feel real." I smiled as I spoke.

She scoffed. "That's stupid. You'll just do anything you're told?"

"That's right."

"You're like a pack animal. Look at me." I looked at her. Obedience felt good. "You're like a pack animal."

"That's exactly right."

She sneered again. "Animals don't wear clothes. Take them off."

I immediately slipped the cloth apron over my head. I folded it -- as soggy as it was -- and laid it on the ground. I then grabbed the bottom of my dress and pulled it up over my head. My small breasts were now on display. I folded the (also soggy) dress and sat it on my apron. I then pulled my underwear down, stepped out of it, folded that too, laid it on everything else, and stood before Amelia, naked as the day I was born.

"Look at you," she said with contempt. "Shameful, to be naked like this just because someone told you to be."

"If you say so, Mistress. I'm your tool to use how you see fit."

That seemed to make her angrier. "I'm not happy with your work!" She looked over to my dishes. "You're not cleaning these properly. I see gunk on the plates. You'll have to be punished for this. Turn around and bend over so I can spank you."

"Yes, Mistress."

****

It was three months later. I was in a deep, dark cave, lit by lanterns. I was holding a pick-axe that I was using to break stone. My wrists were connected by chains; my ankles were likewise. The chains were uncomfortable, scratching up against them. I was covered in dirt and sweat. I was connected on a coffle to a dozen other women, all picking away in the dirt as orc slavemasters watched over us. And we were all, naturally, naked.

I was overjoyed. This was the classic slave experience that I never thought I would get to experience.

"I hate this!" said Amelia, crying. She was next to me in the coffle. I thought she was quite interesting naked. She had great fat tits that she had modestly hidden under her clothes; it was interesting seeing them pop out when the orc invaders rushed the manor. Her body was round -- very different from my own lithe frame -- and her belly hung down over her mound. She had a thick bush of pubic hair.

"You're a slave now, Amelia," I said as I swung my pick-axe. "You might as well enjoy it."

"Enjoy it?!?!?!" she shrieked. "I've been awake since six in the morning! I've been working on this stupid fucking rock since six in the morning! I'll be getting a bowl of gruel for dinner at the end of the day! I'm cold! I'm dirty! I'm na-a-a-a-aked! I'm tired! I wanna go hooooome! Arrgh!" She cried out in pain when the orc slavemaster cracked his whip on her back.

"Get back to work, fatty hooman!" he growled.

Amelia sobbed as she brought her pick-axe down on the rock wall.

"It's not a bad thing at all, Amelia," I said as I worked. "Being a slave is wonderful. Feel your body doing things." I hit the rock wall. "Enjoy getting to be a productive worker." I hit the rock wall. "And above all, enjoy that you never have to make a decision ever again. You just do what you're told and get on with things."

"Fuck you! Fuck your bullshit!" she wailed.

I sighed. Maybe she'll get it someday.