Note: Coercion is wrong in reality, and if you uncomfortable reading about it, please skip this story.
Chapter 1
Introduction
Dear Izzy,
You did a tremendous job on week one. We were all thrilled with your performances. The place has never been cleaner, and we never had better dinners.
We have been pleasantly surprised with how you took to the other sections of the chore list. Your hair is sexy, your voice is fantastic, and we were very impressed with your outfits. We won't even mention how much we appreciated the other chores you did.
However, you are staying here for free. We are feeding you, and as you noticed, we are spending a good amount on you to help you complete these chores. The rules have been modified for week 2, as we think we took it a little too easy on you.
We can't wait to see how you handle it.
Yours truly,
Your Roommates
I stared at the note in disbelief. Seriously? They thought that was easy. After the initial shock wore off, I couldn't help but get annoyed. I knew I'd worked my ass off in week one, juggling their ridiculous chores and even agreeing to some seriously fucked up stuff. At least the roommates seemed pleased with my efforts, and I still have a home.
As I scanned through the chore list for week two, it was clear they weren't about to cut me any slack. Section A, the cleaning crap, mainly was the same, but they'd slashed the total points down. Great! Fewer points for the same amount of work. I rolled my eyes; they wanted to shift me into the other sections even more.
Section B had gotten a makeover itself. They'd removed the hair dyeing, which made sense, considering I'd already turned myself blonde. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror, running my fingers through my now slutty blonde hair. I had to admit, it was kind of sexy, in a sort of trashy way. It was almost like it wasn't me in that mirror; it was like my sluttier twin sister.
Looking closer, I had to wear their approved outfits daily to earn points. Gone were the partial points for individual days. Plus, they added some seriously absurd things like lip fillers to the list because that's exactly what I've always wanted: dick-sucking lips.
Then came the kicker. The training videos I'd reluctantly watched were now only worth 1 lousy point if I watched them, but I'd lose 2 points if I skipped a day. Seriously, negative points now?
Finally, I reached Section C. Massages were out, and massages with happy endings were in. As I read the words, I felt my embarrassment rise. Massages were easy points, and sure, I did the happy ending last time, but I was just caught up in the moment, you know?
What became clear from these changes was that my roommates were paying attention and trying to edge me toward the chores they wanted me to do to mold me into their ideal model roommate.
With a deep breath, I stood up and grabbed the chore list. It was time to roll up my sleeves and get to work. They wanted to see how I'd handle it. Fine. I'd show them that I could more than take it. I wouldn't just become their plaything. I would stay the same, Izzy, no matter what chores I had to do.
Lying in bed, I couldn't help but weigh my options. Jason's offer of a potential job at his office felt like a glimmer of hope, a way out of this bizarre circus. But then there was the memory of my old boss, David Montgomery, at the restaurant, who'd made it clear I'd never waitress in this town again.
As anxiety gnawed at me, I wondered how I'd survive this week with all the new challenges and my uncertain future. Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I drifted to sleep, dreading whatever the hell the next week would bring.
Chapter 2
Monday [0 pts]
This morning, to my surprise, I found myself awake and ready to face the day earlier than usual. Maybe there was some subconscious drive there, trying to get a start on this new week. With a determined sigh, I hopped out of bed, headed straight to the shower, and got myself clean and ready for the day. Doing makeup had joined my regiment. Even though it wasn't technically a chore, it felt right if I was dressed on display the way I am.
As I styled my hair, I stared at the chore list, mentally bracing myself. The rule changes kept echoing in my mind. If I wanted the 14 points for having my outfits approved, I had to start that first thing. I needed to know who was in charge of approving my clothes this week.
Tightly clutching the towel around me, I swung open my bedroom door and peered into the hallway. And there, standing with that signature cocky grin, was Braden. Figures, he'd be the one. I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling more self-conscious in my towel-clad state than when I was completely naked.
"Morning," I managed to greet, my voice coming out in that high-pitched way that I still couldn't get used to.
"Morning, Izzy," he replied, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Ready for a new week?"
I glared at him, my lips twisting into a pout that probably only added to my image. "Like, totally ready, duh! So, who's, like, gonna be the fashion police this week?" I asked, trying to sound nonchalant even as the words came out in that ridiculous voice.
"That would be me, babe. I've got your wardrobe for the week right here."
I arched an eyebrow, mentally rolling my eyes at the term babe. "And, like, what's the deal?"
His grin widened, and he leaned against the doorframe. "I've given you enough clothes for the week. Wear whatever you want, but only from these. No repeats, though; we wouldn't want to get bored."
Bored, what a jerk. I sighed in defeat, realizing that arguing would get me nowhere. "Sure, like, hand it over, please!" I said, stepping out of my room and extending my hand.
As I accepted the clothes, he leaned closer, his voice lowering slightly. "You know, Izzy, I've got to say, you're rocking this blonde bimbo look. It suits you."
Images of last week flashed in my head. Of me, looking up at him as I stroked his cock. I couldn't help but scoff, my frustration with this situation getting the better of me. "Yeah, well, it's either this or, like, the streets."
His laughter followed me as I retreated into my room, clothes in hand. I shut the door behind me and let out a sigh of both annoyance and resignation. I glanced at the clothes. I might as well get dressed and get this day over with.
As I explored the contents of the bags, it was evident that Braden had outdone himself this week. Leather pants, short shorts, miniskirts, and tiny tops sprawled out before me, each seemingly designed to give off a "come fuck me" vibe. He had some audacity. Looking closer, this must have cost him a lot. It feels like the money I would be paying for rent is going directly back to me. I could not comprehend this, so I just shrugged and moved on.
My attention then turned to the underwear selection. There were precisely six pairs of skimpy panties, which meant that one day this week, I'd have to go commando. Braden was sticking firmly to his "no repeats" rule. And then there were the bras, each generously padded to give my assets an extra lift. That bastard, you'd think I was hot enough, but he keeps throwing these jabs at my boob size. Sure, they are small, but they are cute. Is that not good enough? What am I thinking? Who cares what he thinks?
At the bottom of the bag, Braden included an assortment of baby dolls and other sexy nighties for bedtime. At least I don't have to sleep naked.
After a brief consideration, I chose a pair of cut-off jeans for the day. I wanted to start the week off in Braden's good graces; he seemed to enjoy these the other day. However, these weren't just short; they were scandalously brief, with the lower curves of my ass peeking out. Paired with the tiny top and the padded bra, I couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
And then there were the shoes. Braden had included a collection of high heels. I shook my head. Thank goodness I didn't have to enter the real world dressed like this today.
With one last glimpse in the mirror, I couldn't resist admiring myself. I did look hot. Exiting my room, I quickly remembered why I was not too fond of high heels. Seriously, who enjoys torturing themselves like this? My footsteps echoed down the hallway as I went to the common areas. But it seemed like I'd taken longer than I thought because the apartment was quiet. Doing these cleaning chores without having to parade around dressed like this for my roommates was a win in my books.
I decided to tackle the cleaning list first. At least that was familiar territory. As I scrubbed and dusted, my mind wandered. Maybe I was doing better than I thought because the list was shortening quickly. It was surprising but also kind of a relief. Perhaps that's why section A was worth fewer points this week.
Lunchtime rolled around, and I allowed myself a moment of respite, sinking into a chair to give my feet a break. Looking around the empty room, I decided it was the perfect opportunity to get in some of that training. After all, losing points was not an option.
I pulled up today's training video and the bimbo instructor I'd become all too familiar with appeared. Strangely, I had started to get good at mimicking her voice. Who would've thought that sounding like a bimbo would be a skill I'd rock? I shook my head at the absurdity of it all as I practiced my best imitation.
While finishing the cleaning chores, I heard the boys' voices echoing through the apartment as they returned home. I braced myself for the inevitable teasing and banter that always accompanied their entrances. Sure enough, they didn't disappoint, making snarky remarks about my outfit and my body that I was ready to fire back at.
Post dinner and clean up, I seized the opportunity to retreat to the bathroom. A warm bubble bath was just what I needed after today. I sighed in relief as I sank into the warm water, feeling my tense muscles start to unwind. It was amazing how something as simple as a bath could provide a small escape from reality.
As I leaned back, closing my eyes and relaxing, my gaze wandered to the shelf beside the bathtub. There it was, my pink razor. I couldn't even escape the chores in the bathtub. Thinking back to the list, "shave your pussy - 15 points." That was a lot, even by their standards. And there was no denying that I needed those points.
I found myself toying with the idea as I traced my fingers along the razor's handle. I kept a trim landing strip, so I was used to shaving down there, but this time it was different. Was shaving to keep a roof over my head much worse than shaving for a partner or myself? It was, but I needed to rationalize myself into doing this.
With every careful pass of the razor, I couldn't shake the nagging question: Why did guys find this so appealing? I mean, seriously, was the sight of a completely bald pussy really that thrilling? Scrutinizing myself, it was like I was transforming into having the looks of a porn star before my eyes. I rationalized that I could keep this hidden until it grew back.
