28
The housework was exhausting. The house seemed so large when it had to be cleaned all at once, and having to do it all in high heels while hobbled by heavy chains didn't help. The corset squeezed me, limiting me to relatively shallow breaths, and the fake breasts seemed to be always getting in my way of throwing me off balance. I could still taste his cum in my mouth, but the high of actively serving him sexually seemed to fade somewhat when up against the reality of all the work I had to do. Whenever I passed a mirror or any semi-reflective surface, I was reminded of my predicament. I was collared and chained, and there was no getting out of this without getting the job done.
Ian, though he seemed to be doing some work on a laptop at the kitchen table, frequently got up to walk about and check on my progress. I'd been working for a couple hours or so when he entered the room I was dusting -- he'd actually provided a feather duster -- and announced that it was time for lunch. It was after I followed him to the kitchen that I realized he meant lunch for him.
"I'm not picky, so you can just make me a sandwich. Turkey and cheese and lettuce and tomato. Light on the mayo," he instructed. "And a cold beer in a glass."
It was simple to make, but having me sit there and watch me was humiliating. I wondered if he could hear the faint buzz of the vibe inside me. He'd made no mention at all of me eating, so I didn't even ask about making more than one sandwich. I got it all prepared, just as he had instructed and placed the plate and glass on the dining table for him.
"Good little fucktoy," he offered.
Rather than tuck right in to start eating, he pulled his chair back.
"Under the table, on your knees. I want you to suck my cock while I eat and if you make me feel good enough, I'll feed you your lunch."
I got down onto my knees once more and shuffled under the table. I lifted my hands to help him expose his cock and then I leaned and got my mouth full of him. He didn't want to stroke or actively pleasure him, instructing me instead to just let his member rest in the wet warmth of my mouth. I was allowed to move my tongue over him at least, which started to get him at least semi-hard. He took his time eating, leaning back, moaning softly. Soon I was drooling around him, my mouth full of the taste of the beginnings of his precum.
I found myself wanting to pleasure him so badly. I wanted to reach up and feel how hard I could make him. I wanted to push forward and feel his stuff my throat full. I wanted to taste the full power of his hunger and arousal. I knelt there and just squirmed instead, taking what he was choosing to offer me. When he finished eating, he just pulled back, leaving me staring up at him open-mouthed.
"It's a nice mouth, slut, but I think we'll save your reward for later," he said. "Back to work."
As I stood, I could feel the disappointment. I had really wanted to taste him, to feel that warm, gooey gift of his cum swirling around in my mouth and slipping down the back of my throat, but I had to wait and hope, denied for now. I poured all that frustration into my chores. I could feel my trapped cock leaking precum, teased by the plug and by the image of myself. I couldn't explain what had happened to me, even to myself, but I could feel my addiction to pleasing so powerfully. Being truly caged by another had acted to amplify those feelings so powerfully. I'd never really been owned like this, as the longest I'd been able to wear a cage in secret had been time usually measured in hours, not days. As far as my read on Jane was so far, it could end up being weeks, or perhaps even longer.
The hours went by, and I made steady headway. Every time I finished a room I found myself looking back over it with pride. I was happy to help him out this way, and I could imagine him appreciating this hard work for days to come. It could have been weeks since some of them had been properly cared for. From all appearances, he was a single man, so of course the washrooms were the worst, but I held my nose and used a lot of cleanser and effort, so that by the time I was finished they gleamed and shone.
Perhaps subconsciously, I'd saved his master bedroom for last. I finished cleaning his en suite bathroom and then set to work in the bedroom proper. I dusted the room from top to bottom, straightened up the few pieces of art hanging on the walls, tidied up the tops of his dresser and shelves, and I was vacuuming the carpet when he appeared in the doorway behind me.
"Funny that I should find you here, fucktoy," he said.
"I'm almost finished, Sir, if you need the room."
"Oh, I need the room, but I'll need you in it. Tell me, is this yours?" he asked, holding up a phone.
I could see that it was mine, which meant he must have fished it out of the pocket of my overcoat.
"Yes, Sir. It seems to be."
"Is this what you use to make your little shows online?"
"Yes, Sir. It is."
"Set it up on the dresser. Aim it at the bed."
"Yes, Sir," I answered.
I'd turned off the vacuum when he entered, so I pushed it out of the way and stepped to him, taking my phone from his outstretched hand. I unlocked in, started the live-streaming app, and found a little glass sculpture to prop it up against so that it was aimed at the bed. His dresser was on the wall across from the foot of the king sized bed, so the camera was capturing a pretty direct view of it. He stepped over to the padded bench at the foot of the bed and tapped its surface.
"Kneel right here, my slutty little maid, facing the headboard," he instructed.
"Yes, Sir," I answered and I moved towards him and got into place.
"Lean forward."
