Jill thought her life was reasonably good. She was married, her husband getting ever more successful. The marriage wasn't the most romantic -- comfort, potential riches, and her middle class father's approval weighed more on Jill's mind when she married Oliver -- but he was a good lover and kept her in the manner to which she had become accustomed, and she felt she couldn't ask for much more. Approaching her thirtieth birthday, there were no kids, an idea Oliver kept postponing.
About a year ago, Oliver had come into the money at work. They were now living in a plush villa in suburbia. They had recently purchased a slave -- first hand at a State Slavery and Auctions Department auction as well (i.e. no previous owner). She -- or it, as Jill, who had found herself getting into the role of mistress of the household, like to call her -- was in her early twenties, petite with pale skin and dark hair. Jill herself had a pretty face framed by dark hair, but was more voluptuous in a sexy way.
While Oliver was working through the day, it was Jill that oversaw the running of the household. It was the slave that now did all chores, and Jill set them and kept discipline. Her middle class family had had a slave in Jill's youth, and that was where she had acquired her discipline regime and her view that slaves were sub-human scum that weren't worth consideration. Jill made a list of all the slave's tiniest mistakes, and let Oliver punish her at the end of the day at the whipping post. Jill also from time to time issued punishments, such as denial of privileges like clothes. It is perhaps no surprise then that it was Jill's idea to treat the slave as a dog, making her sleep in a kennel and occasionally crawl humiliatingly.
And so Jill found herself one normal morning issuing a list of orders to the slave in the kitchen. The slave stood meekly in her usual day clothes of nothing but a pair of plain black briefs.
"Do you understand?" Jill finished.
"Yes mistress."
"Good, you can start scrubbing the floor then."
