Sleep Well 1

It's been a few years now since I left my job and set out for an uncertain future as a mattress slave for hire.

What does it mean to be a mattress slave? Well, literally speaking, it means I lie, face up, all night, while someone sleeps on top of me. My comfort is totally irrelevant; all that matters is that I'm provided a warm, cosy space for a person to sleep on (usually a woman, but not always). I'm not permitted to move or shift an inch, lest it disturb their slumber. It doesn't matter how aroused I get. My feelings about it don't matter. No, wait. That's not quite it; it's more that from their perspective, I don't even have feelings. I'm just a thing to be used by them. That's the heart of being a mattress slave; it's about being objectified, in the most literal and visceral sense. It's about dedicating your body and your time wholly to the comfort of another person, putting them above you psychologically and physically.

I get the impression it's somewhat niche to be a dedicated mattress slave. Of course, there are willing slaves for all kinds of things; house-slaves, pain-slaves, pet-slaves - and even slaves for darker desires, though who knows how long practices like that will continue, now that all that legislation is passing through parliament. But anyway, whatever you need, there will usually be a man or woman to fill the role, either for money, satisfaction, or, most commonly, both. Even so, such a specialised role as this is fairly rare. What draws me to it?

For me, the motivation is pure satisfaction. In fact, I never ask for monetary compension for my services beyond food and board, though with my glowing recommendations, I could definitely command the premium. No, this peculiar career is something of a spiritual calling. I could make better money elsewhere. I didn't choose this life through lack of options. I was something of a high flyer in the corporate world before this, but quitting the rat race for slavery was the best decision I ever made, even if there was some risk of financial precarity at the start. Now though, I never fear not being able to make ends meet; I don't have any committed outgoings and there is constant demand for an established mattress like me.

I'm thinking of giving up my life as a mattress slave for hire, though. Not because I don't enjoy it, quite the opposite. It's because I want to go permanent, and devote myself to my current owners. For the past year, I have been in the most fulfilling example of this dynamic I have experienced to date. Perhaps if I explain how this came about, it will make sense.

My princess, as she likes me to address her, is a lady slightly older than me; a housewife in her late thirties called Aisha. She was having troubles with her sleep and her doctor mentioned that many other women had had luck trying out a mattress slave. Her husband had hired me for her; there had been some trepidation, not least because they are both Muslim, from the British Pakistani community, and most slave volunteers are white and obviously non-Muslim. It's still somewhat taboo in their community to be as openly masochistic as it takes to become a mattress slave, so they were not really familiar with the practice, and understandably a little unsure. Aisha's husband got a special dispensation from his imam though; it was for medicinal purposes after all, and sex wouldn't be part of the deal. At least, not for me!

I had to provide references and have an in-person interview to ensure I wasn't going to try anything funny or inappropriate. I had already served as a completely denied slave for other women in my life, and two of them wrote glowing references as to the selfless, obedient and respectful nature of my servitude to them. I got to meet Aisha just once, in her husband's presence, before he purchased my services and the three of us signed the contract. It was made clear in it that Aisha's sleep and comfort was of absolute priority. I was not to touch her sexually. It was even stipulated that I was not permitted to orgasm or masturbate at all, even when not serving. In my head, I objected - surely it would be easier to avoid temptation with regular release? - but didn't say anything. After all, that's what being a slave is all about - total deference to the will of another. If they didn't want me to cum, I wouldn't.

Apart from masturbation, though, I would allowed two hours per day to do whatever I wanted. In that time, I could exercise and write (like I am now) but otherwise, I would be used as a mattress every night, and for whatever domestic chores my owners commanded during the daylight hours.

Aisha and her husband, Dani, had a sweet relationship, albeit one that seemed to me a little distant. I got the impression that they didn't have much in common. I later found out the marriage had been an arranged one. Dani seemed to struggle to relate to his wife and sometimes appeared at a loss for how to make her happy. He was frequently out at work - he seemed to always have at least two jobs at any one time - and Aisha was a rather reserved type who didn't push herself on him when he was home. The result was that their home was a harmonious if slightly loveless one, where each partner kept rigidly to their own sphere.

I understood that Aisha and Dani had been sleeping apart for some time. Again, this was not due to any antipathy. It was just that he sometimes worked nights, and she really struggled to sleep. She was on a variety of drugs that had never seemed to have much of an effect and she was also suffering from a series of painful back problems. The doctor had suggested that perhaps the stress of sleeping in a bed that might be disturbed at any time by a nocturnal shift-worker might be playing a part, so Dani had decamped to the spare room. I gathered that they still had regular, enjoyable sex, but Dani had not been sleeping regularly in his marital bed for over a year by the time I arrived on the scene.

I was installed into that bed in the master bedroom. I already had my own custom-made mattress in storage, which had a depression in exactly the shape of my body. This meant that though I wasn't totally flush with the surface, I wouldn't be raised up too far from the surface of the bed, providing the perfect balance of firm support and warm body for my owner. I had spent thousands on it, but this unorthodox setup had been well worth the money, and every single person I had been owned by had commented on the supreme quality of her night's sleep on me. And that's the thing, you see. It's not just about being uncomfortable and denied - though there's certainly some appeal in that - but I get to provide such a wonderful service to the owner who sleeps on me. The benefit to him or her is genuine.

That first night, both Aisha and Dani seemed a little nervous. I had dinner with them, a delicious saag gosht. Dani was pleasant, conversational, but perhaps slightly awkward and formal. I did my best to put those nerves to bed; I laughed and joked easily, naturally. I focused on Dani rather than Aisha, sensing that it was him who needed the reassurance most of all. He warmed greatly over the course of the evening and soon we were talking like old friends. Over the course of the conversation, I broached the topic of my slavery. I spoke of my previous experiences, how common these arrangements were in this day and age, how I had served women from all walks of life, many of them married. I made sure to emphasise my objectified status: the will of Aisha and Dani would be total. The arrangement would be completely bespoke and based entirely on their desires; mine were unimportant and, indeed, non-existent. The talk and my obvious professionalism seemed to be having a positive effect on Dani. I could tell that any worry he had had about the arrangement was slipping away.

Aisha, on the other hand, remained a taciturn mystery. She seemed very reserved and I could feel her eyes upon me a lot, though when I glanced at her, she quickly and shyly averted her gaze. What was it she felt when she looked at me? Hope, perhaps? Trepidation? Even a little lust?

I took advantage of the extended time I was spending with them, and appraised her a little more deeply. I hadn't really had much of an opportunity to do so until now. I had seen photos, of course, and we had had our brief meeting in the slave agency's office, but it was now that I was able to really look at her properly.

She was not unattractive; pretty in fact, and her face was framed with cascading waves of hair that were dark brown, almost black. Her skin was smooth and light brown and she wore minimal makeup. She was a petite woman and slightly plump - which suited her frame perfectly - with a cute round face and delicate hands. When I looked at her, the first impression was of someone rather sweet and shy; the second was that there was something of a mischievous spark behind her eyes. I estimated she was about 5 foot tall. Her husband towered over her, a big, muscular man, who had an air of nervous gentility about him. It was as though he was always trying to make up to his wife for something that was out of his power.

The time came to retire, and I was summoned upstairs. I was strapped into the mattress I had supplied (nude, as being surrounded by the mattress material and the heat of another body could get rather oppressive otherwise). My wrists and ankles were secured tightly, so I couldn't move an inch. The keys remained with Dani, which I acquiesced to with a smile. Aisha and Dani bade each other goodnight, and I heard them have a whispered conversation in Urdu. Then Aisha entered, already in her nightdress, but looking a little shy as she climbed on top of me.

The smell of her filled the space as she settled down on top of my body, nestling herself into my spread form. Her head rested in the crook of my neck, her hair in my face, smelling like coconut-scented shampoo, and the weight of her on my body was warm and intoxicating. She wriggled around on top of me for a moment, getting herself settled in. and then sighed. She snuggled into me almost like a giant teddy bear. No words were exchanged between us. It felt natural and normal, like this was the hundredth night of sleeping together, and not the first. Inwardly, I marvelled at her self-confidence and found myself suddenly wanting to know much more about her.

Soon, her breathing deepened, and I knew that my new princess had already fallen asleep. It seems strange that even then, even before she insisted on me calling her that title, that I thought of her as my "princess." But that word was the one on my mind as she settled her body onto me, that first night... She was so delicate, so small in comparison to me, but with such a refined and assured air. She really did have something regal about her.

After only fifteen or so minutes, I felt the urge to shift around, to redistribute her weight a little on my chest, to stretch my muscles. My body was not my own, however, and I forced myself to lie as still and immobile as I could, focussing instead on the gentle breathing of my sleeping owner. The smell of her, the weight of her, her proximity to me, and of course the fact I was naked, all conspired to make me feel a deep arousal that I was forced to ignore and endure.

That lack of comfort was part of the appeal for me; that I had to suffer a little for the pleasure and comfort of another, but that she got to feel relaxed, cosy and warm. She got the relaxation, the pleasure. I got nothing. It was deeply gratifying in way that's hard to explain to someone outside this line of work, to a "real person", not a natural slave.

At first it seemed the night would last forever. It was always so difficult to get used to the feeling of a new woman using me. I was ironically having the inverse experience to Aisha - you often can't sleep on an unfamiliar mattress until you get used to it, but in this case I, a mattress, couldn't sleep with an unfamiliar owner. It was the way she lay, how heavy she seemed. The little noises she made, the tiny movements of her body, her scent, all these things. It felt alien to me. But at the same time, this new-but-familiar feeling was incredibly exciting and stimulating. And so, even as Aisha slumbered on my body, I lay, aroused and immobile.

My erection pressed into her body as she slept, and occasionally I could have sworn she pressed herself into it a little harder. I lay there for what seemed like hours, just listening to the rhythm of her breathing. Eventually, I, too fell asleep.

My sleep was fitful, and I woke at regular intervals, but thankfully, due to my restraints, I was unable to fidget and disturb her. She shifted position quite a few times. Her thick hair often fell into my face, tickling me, but I didn't mind - I just breathed deeply, desperate to drink in as much of her scent as I could. Her feet rubbed against my calves, and she scrunched her toes against me, which felt pleasant. Occasionally she would end up with her face pushed close into mine, her soft, full lips almost touching my own, and I was overcome by a desire to kiss them. Of course, however, I was a mere object, and such desires were not permitted to me; I stayed totally immobile.

I was still painfully aware, however, of the smell of her breath passing across my face, of the drool that trickled from her mouth onto the skin of my cheek. I wouldn't have rubbed it off even if I was able to. Instead, I luxuriated in the sensation of it cooling on my face. I felt like a human sponge, absorbing all of her, her smells, her drool, the feel of her skin. Her night dress would shift up and down as she rolled around, and I could feel the soft hair of her belly press against mine, and the cotton of her underwear on my skin. At times she nestled herself down, with a firm push into my body, and the stiffness of my cock pressed up between her buttocks, rubbing along the cleft. Now I couldn't fall asleep again. I was too turned on. I was no stranger to this kind of torment, of course, but my physical connection with Aisha felt instant in a way not many others had. Her use of me was natural, relaxed. The others had thrilled at their new toy, been unable to resist feeling me all over, delighting in the novelty. Aisha's dominance over me was by comparison understated and easy. She sank into me as if she were experienced, trying her fiftieth mattress slave out for size, already knowing the most comfortable way to sleep, the best positions to snuggle down into. I felt that she was the professional, and I the excited newbie, unable to control myself in her presence.

The urge to hump back against her was so strong. Though my range of motion was limited, I could very easily rub my throbbing penis gently against her cotton panties. But I forced myself to remain still. The sexual gratification of a mattress was irrelevant. Not only would it be incredibly selfish to move and thus risk disturbing Aisha, I had been expressly forbidden to engage in sexual activity with her. Of course, despite that stipulation, the couple both knew that virtually all volunteer slaves got a sexual thrill from being used and degraded - such feelings can't be helped. That was why most of us were in the business. And the intimacy that goes with being a mattress slave is obvious. I knew from my colleagues in this business that many women in these situations also find it comforting to fondle their slaves as a sleep aid, and that too is tolerated by their husbands. But for me, the mattress, to actively, purposefully rub against her, to risk an orgasm? That would be a betrayal.

So instead I lay, my nerves on fire, hypersensitive to every small motion my princess made. Every twitch, every time her muscles momentarily tensed. She still straddled my penis; it settled between her legs as she lay on her front, pushed down and outward uncomfortably from my body by the way she had slipped a little down me. Every time she shifted, her thighs would rub together and squeeze or stroke my painfully hard erection. I gritted my teeth and tried to keep my breathing regular, for her sake. I knew it would be a long night.

Aisha slept long into that morning. I couldn't quite see the alarm clock, but by the time she awoke, she must have slept nine or ten hours. From the whole night, I couldn't have been asleep for more than three.

Still, the look on her face made it all worth it. She had a long, hard stretch, vibrating slightly against me as her arms reached out to touch the headboard with the tips of her fingers. Thankfully, at this point, my erection had been down for a while. Even so, the obvious relaxation and satisfaction in her sleepy expression highlighted her beauty, and I felt myself again drawn strongly to her.

"Good morning!" she said, and smiled a radiant smile at me. "That was the best sleep I've had in years."

I swelled with pride. She went upstairs to fetch Dani and he freed me from my restraints. I was sore and aching all over my body; my limbs were stiff, my neck was pained and my wrists and ankles had chafed against the restraints. But I didn't care; Aisha had had an amazing sleep, and that was all that mattered.

***

Things changed a little over the subsequent days. Aisha slept on me each night, in much the same way. During the day, I got familiar with the running of the house. I was at Aisha's command, and so she relieved herself of the burden of all household chores and passed them to me. I cleaned, cooked, ironed, washed clothes and folded clothes. I felt deeply grateful for the opportunity to serve her in this way.

Both Aisha and Dani seemed much more relaxed, now that the first test had passed. Already, the way they spoke to me was a little different. Aisha became less reserved and more open; she chattered to me as I did her housework. Dani went the other way. He grew used to my presence and stopped filling the silences. Both of them, consciously or no, became comfortable commanding me. This always happened. At first, a new owner would feel awkward bossing me around. It really doesn't come naturally to most people. But soon, seeing how compliant and submissive I was, they would slip into a more assertive tone; they would stop requesting, and start demanding. When someone purposefully fills the role of the slave or the object, as do I, the other parties in the arrangement begin to internalise that they really are such a thing, and deserve to be treated so. It came with a sexual thrill for me. The more dismissively and imperiously they spoke to me, the more eagerly I responded, revelling in the knowledge that I was lesser, that my place was beneath them, and that they knew it and showed it.

This happened progressively. By the second day, Aisha had stopped saying "please" when telling me to do a particular task. A week in, Dani would simply sit on the step when he came in from work, and wordlessly expect me to remove and tidy away his shoes and coat. By two weeks, they had both stopped calling me by my name; "slave" became the most common form of address.

It was around that time that Aisha started insisting I call her "princess." Was it her who suggested that title, or me? I had thought it was her, but I'm no longer sure. She had grown into the role of mistress of the house, no longer a wife who did housework, but a noble lady who commanded a slave to do it for her. It was a role that suited her well. She spoke to me more and more freely, never expecting or asking for a response, but telling me all her thoughts as I went about the house completing tasks. If this sounds at odds with her commanding role, it wasn't. She told me everything not as a best friend might do to a confidant, but as a queen might absent-mindedly chatter to a chambermaid.

Her gaze was just as hungry as it had been that first night at the dinner table. She often commanded me to work about the house shirtless, and devoured me with her eyes while I did so. I was never sure whether Dani was aware of this. Of course, I was naked in bed with Aisha, but that was medically prescribed; what was the purpose of this? But it wasn't my place to question my princess, of course.