A Little Help Around the House

This little tale of love and jealousy is a bit different from what I usually write. A sassy penal slave causes trouble, and she doesn't even do much.

Chasticorp and its technology have been introduced in Family Dinner, but this story should make sense even if you haven't read it. Please check the tags to see if this is for you, and let me know what you think!

Chapter 1

When Liz came home from work and her husband, Matteo, was nowhere to be seen, she knew immediately that something was off. Normally, he would sit on the front porch, a cool drink in hand, reading a book, or watching some show on his data pad. He had his routine, which didn't include a regular job, cleaning up around the house, or even watering the plants in the garden.

Where was he? It wasn't the time for a run, and he went to the gym in the mornings. He was consistent that way, and at least he kept himself in good shape. At thirty-six he was a couple of years younger than her, and quite handsome with his boyish smile and perpetually unkempt black hair.

Liz on the other hand didn't care much for hanging around at home. She needed to be out in the world, meeting people, selling houses, while he was perfectly happy sitting in their elaborately renovated farmhouse and doing essentially nothing of any importance. Granted, he had published a few short stories to good reviews, but his novel had been stuck in chapter three for the better part of a year.

She glanced down the street towards the city. What had been Liz's grandparents' farmland fifty years ago was now downtown, and her parents had made their fortune by selling off the land and later by developing some of it themselves. Now retired, they would once in a while send a message or some photos from one exotic place or another.

*

She took off her heels that had been torturing her all day and went inside barefoot. It was about time to get out of her pantsuit and especially that bra. The rest of the evening would include a hot shower, probably some takeout, and watching the sun go down on the back porch with a glass of wine.

"Matt, where are you?" she shouted, but didn't get a response. The house was large enough, if he was upstairs he wouldn't hear her.

In the kitchen she poured herself some wine, and when she walked into the living room, she stopped in her tracks, almost spilling the contents of her glass on the carpet.

"Who the fuck are you?" she asked when she saw a busty brunette sitting on her posh white leather couch with her feet on the crystal glass table.

She seemed to be in her early twenties, and all she wore was a wide steel collar, leg irons, and restraint bracelets on her wrists. That, and a number tattooed above her pubic mound, the kind you would only find on indentured servants or penal slaves. She wasn't a stunning beauty, maybe a bit on the chubby side, but cute enough, with a sizable pair of breasts.

"I'm Erin," she said, grinning, and didn't find it necessary to cover her breasts or close her legs.

"And what are you doing here?"

She shrugged. "Maybe you better talk to your husband. Oh, and is there any chance you could get me something to eat? Matt and I only had a couple of sandwiches for lunch."

The audacity, thought Liz. But before she could answer, Matteo finally appeared -- a bit out of breath and as usual carrying his data pad.

"Now that's a generous pour," he said, when he saw her glass of wine, but she chose to ignore his comment. A couple glasses of wine at night hardly counted as heavy drinking, which she had told him numerous times.

"What the fuck is this?" asked Liz, pointing at Erin. "Why is there a naked girl in our living room?"

"That's because she was sold without clothes, babe, and I don't think anything from your wardrobe would fit."

The girl was smirking, which infuriated Liz even more.

"Don't get smart with me, mister," she said, her finger still pointing at Erin. "Who is she, and what is she doing here?"

"I bought her this morning," he said. "At quite the discount. She's got one and a half years left on her sentence."

Liz shook her head in utter disbelief. "What? We don't need a goddamn slave, Matt. And most certainly I don't need some twenty-year-old naked slut in my living room."

"Our living room, babe. And there's nothing wrong with a little help around the house. She could cook, for example."

"I can't cook," said Erin, finally crossing her legs and making her leg irons jingle.

Liz shot her an annoyed glare. "Shut up and get off my couch. And you, you're a trained chef, so how about you do the cooking? I work my ass off all day, I don't think making dinner is asking too much."

He just shrugged while Erin sighed and got up -- slowly and reluctantly. With the chain of her shackles dragging over the expensive hardwood floor, she walked over to Matteo and crossed her arms under her bare breasts.

"We need to talk, Matt," she said and grabbed the girl by her upper arm. "How about you start dinner, and I'll put her in the kennel."

*

One room of the house's large basement was the slave kennel. It was more or less unchanged from back when the farm was still in business and consisted of five steel-barred cells -- three on the left side of the wide corridor, two on the right, and one large communal shower. Each cell had a couple of cots with various anchor points for restraints and a squat toilet with a water dispenser in the corner.

The kennel was well-suited as a playroom, and there had been a lot of sex and role playing over the years. Matteo had a bit of a submissive streak and loved being chained up, but lately she hadn't been in the mood to indulge him.

"Get in," said Liz and pushed her into the last cell on the right. "Stay! I'll find you something to wear."

The closet at the end of the corridor had all kinds of equipment. Anything from clothes to restraints and punishment implements was there, and most of it hadn't been used in half a century. After some searching, she found a simple dress in a grayish color and the leg iron connector that she knew was in there somewhere.

There was no way she'd let that girl walk around in the house without shackles, but the clinking of the chain would get on her nerves, and eventually, it would ruin her precious wooden floor. She checked her comlink bracelet, and it looked like Matt had already transferred the access codes. With the press of a button she unlocked the chain from her anklets and replaced it with the steel cable that was designed for indoor use.

"What are you in for anyway?" asked Liz after slamming the cell door shut.

"It was all a misunderstanding," started Erin, yawning while getting dressed. "They totally blew it out of proportion and-"

"You know what, save it. If there's a problem, there's an intercom in the corner. Press the red button to speak, but if you use it for no reason, you will regret it. Clear?"

"Yeah, whatever."

Liz squinted her eyes. "What was that?"

"Yes, ma'am. Gods! And I could still eat. You have a legal obligation to feed me!"

You wouldn't die if you lost a few pounds, thought Liz, but said nothing. Matt could feed her, it was his responsibility.

*

Matteo was efficient in the kitchen and within twenty minutes he had whipped up a meal. Most weeknights he didn't bother and they just ordered in, or Liz picked up something from his parents' restaurant on the way home. When he made an effort though, it was always worth it.

"Here you go, babe," he said, as he put the nicely decorated plate in front of her, but she didn't acknowledge him and started eating.

The first five minutes passed in frosty silence, at least from Liz's side of the table. Matteo had a very sunny disposition, which she usually appreciated, and he seemed to be eating without a care in the world.

"Buying a goddamn penal slave without even talking to me," said Liz finally, "I should use the strap on your ass."

"Do it."

"Or the cane."

He grinned. "Even better. How's the pasta?"

"Edible."

Trofie al Pesto was her favorite, and it was delicious, but there was no way she would admit that to him now. Good food and even better sex was how he had won her over almost ten years ago, much to her parents' dismay.

"Look," she started, "I get that you're mad at me, but teaching me a lesson like this, that's not fair. It won't happen again, I promise."

"I already said that you're forgiven," said Matt, shoveling more pasta onto his plate. "All I want is a little help around the house. The company's doing great, we can afford it."

Liz rolled her eyes. The garden was a weeds-infested mess, and if their cleaner, Alejandro, didn't come by two times a week, the house wouldn't look much better.

"You want someone to fuck when I'm at work," said Liz, and it was a statement, not a question.

Nobody discussed it openly, but a slave in the house was supposed to tend to the owners' needs, whatever they were. Most people didn't consider sex with a slave or servant cheating, it was more akin to masturbation. Liz, however, wasn't most people.

"I have no intention of doing that," he said with a mischievous smirk. "But you're gone all day. What would it matter as long as you get what you want at night?"

"I am under a lot of stress, and we still fuck almost every night. Just yesterday I sucked your dick at the goddamn breakfast table. What more do you want from me?"

"Nothing. You're amazing, the best I ever had."

And you had them all before we got married, thought Liz. She pulled up the kennel's surveillance feed on her comlink bracelet and scoffed.

He raised his eyebrow. "What is it, babe?"

"Look," she said, holding the comlink so he could see it better. It was Erin on her cot, eyes closed, legs open, and her right hand busy on her crotch.

"So?" he said and shrugged. "What does it matter if she's getting herself off?"

"Go feed your pet, but keep it in your pants. I'll be upstairs, maybe you want to join me."

*

Okay, that's why I married him, thought Liz when Matt's dick stretched her asshole in a way that few men could. Kneeling on the bed, she was rubbing her clit as he was pounding her from behind with long, powerful strokes.

Strictly speaking, she shouldn't have offered her ass after that stunt he had pulled, but after a long day at work she figured that she deserved some fun, and there was no point in punishing herself.

Fifty hard whacks with the cane had left a pattern of angry red welts on his butt, and it had been extremely hard for her to stop. There was little that turned her on quite like her husband groaning from a vicious spanking, and as much as he loved it, she couldn't let frustration get the better of her.

"I should have made you jerk off in the shower," said Liz, gritting her teeth as he pushed his impressive dick into her as far as it would go.

"Why didn't you?" he asked and pulled her arms behind her back, keeping them away from her clit. With him holding her wrists, she was helpless, and there was no way she could make herself cum, which was precisely the point. Eight years of marriage had taught her that Matteo had stamina -- even without performance-enhancing pills this wouldn't be over any time soon.

"Do your worst," she said. "I'm sorry, I got a bit carried away. Maybe it's better if you don't show that butt at the gym tomorrow."

"I'll put some gel on it, it'll be healed in a couple of days. Your asshole will need it, too. I think the doc overdid it with the tightening."

A couple of weeks ago, a visit at the clinic had restored her to almost virgin state front and back, which meant that even with generous amounts of lube, taking someone his size was a challenge.

"Does it hurt?" he asked when she winced.

She nodded and grit her teeth. Of course it hurt, like it always did after a tightening, and that was what made it so exciting. She craved that mix of pleasure and pain -- even though right now it was mostly pain because he was still keeping her from rubbing herself.

"Don't stop, harder! And keep holding my hands."

"Okay, whatever you want. And you're sure you don't wanna cum?"

"Not until you're done. Take your time."

She moaned into the sheets and pushed back against his dick, remembering how she had enjoyed herself with her assistant, Bertrand, after they both had a few drinks too many. She had confessed everything that same night, but stil felt guilty about it. Buying that slave was probably Matt's way of getting back at her.

Dammit, she thought, as he hammered her with ever-increasing speed, there's nobody who does me like my husband.

*

"She's kinda cute, I'll give you that," said Liz, still basking in the afterglow of an intense orgasm. "Nice tits, too."

"Your tits are nicer," he said, rubbing her left breast as she put her head on his chest.

"They were expensive enough. And now stop it, you're making me horny again. I've got an early start tomorrow."

"I haven't had this much fun in a while," he said and pushed her long blonde hair out of her face. "I love it when you get all dominant in bed."

'In bed,' thought Liz, but only there.

"And I love it when you ream my ass," she said and reached between her legs. "Gods, it's still gaping. Go and get me a glass of water, please. I have to wait until it closes or I'll ruin the sheets."

He got up and grinned. "Sounds like a job well done."

"Hey," she shouted, so he could hear her from the bathroom. "Don't forget that I'm the only woman who can take that dick of yours down her throat."

"Are you feeling threatened, babe?" he shouted back. "You're way more beautiful than her."

Also a lot older, she thought. Not that it was very obvious -- a few modifications here and there in recent years had kept the signs of aging in check. She liked her body more than ever in her life, but she still had her insecurities, and that young thing locked in the basement was a reminder that she wasn't in her twenties anymore.

"Tell me the truth," she said when he sat down on the bed and handed her the glass. "Why did you buy her?"

"You're always on my case about the garden," he said and grinned. "And I could always use another ass to ruin."

"Jerk," she said and elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'm joking! I'm not gonna touch her, scout's honor. Keith said she had some experience in landscaping, I swear. Neither of us wants to do it, and for the price I paid we couldn't hire anyone."

"You got her from Keith? The one with the body shop over on Twenty-Seventh?"

"Yes. He said that he didn't have enough work for her, so I got her on the cheap. She was supposed to go up for auction this afternoon, and I was worried where she might end up, so I pulled the trigger."

Of course, thought Liz. Keith was one of Matteo's old school buddies, and he sure knew all the tricks. He was a bit of a crook and not exactly famous for his honesty.

"That's exactly how you move your crappiest merchandise," she said after drinking a sip of water. "A time-limited discount, the oldest trick in the book."

Matteo looked over to her. "You think?"

"I sell stuff for a living, Matt," said Liz and picked up the data pad from the nightstand. "Did you even check what she's in for?"

"They gave her two years. Can't be that bad, right? If she was dangerous they wouldn't have cleared her for private sale."

"It says here on the slave register that we're the fourth owner in just six months. Now if that isn't a big, fat warning sign. There's no way Keith would have gotten a good price at auction."

Matt looked at the ceiling and said nothing.

"Her first owner was Mitch Sullivan. I'm gonna go and talk to him tomorrow."

They were just about to turn off the lights when the intercom chimed. "Hey, it's fucking boring down here. How about a snack?"

Chapter 2

Erin was still asleep in her cell when Liz left the house at quarter to six in the morning. Instead of having coffee, she had sucked Matt off at breakfast, hoping that it would help him resist any temptations he might feel during the day, and left him with a list of tasks for Erin.

On her way to the office she stopped by Sullivan's, a small landscaping business in the eastern commercial district that she often used on projects. They were hard-working and reliable, and one of her earliest memories was riding along on Mitch's excavator at one of her parents' developments. That and the cherry lollipops he always gave her.

When she pulled up in their parking lot, Mitch and his son, Steward, were just loading up a pickup truck. Mitch was a heavyset, bald man in his seventies and Steward, twenty years younger than his father, was his spitting image.

Liz waved at them. "Hey, boys! How are you?"

"Fine," said Mitch, and with a wink he handed her one of the lollipops that he always kept in the front pocket of his shirt. "Just about to head out. It's gonna be a hot day, the earlier we start, the better."

"I won't keep you, I just wanted to talk about a penal slave that my husband bought yesterday. I saw that you were her first owner. Her name is Erin."

Mitch's cheeks turned even redder than usual. "Erin? Gods, what a pest."

"I take it she left an impression."

"Like a nasty rash on my butt that just won't heal," he said, throwing another shovel on the bed of the truck. "She caused quite the stir."

"Put her in a cage with a sack of slave gruel," said Stewart, "and don't open the goddamn door until her sentence is up."

"That bad?" asked Liz. "What happened?"

Stewart didn't answer. Without a word he turned around and stomped off towards the company greenhouse.

Mitch scratched his head. "That little nymphomaniac fucked pretty much everyone. Staff, penal slaves, even customers. Junior couldn't keep it in his pants, and when my daughter-in-law found out about it, she almost filed for divorce."

Fantastic, thought Liz, her heart sinking. That's exactly what I needed.

"Elizabeth, dear, I've had a lot of slaves work for me, but this girl was the first in almost twenty years that I had to zap."

"Zap? You mean neuro shocks? Through her collar?"

"Yes. Not that it helped for longer than five minutes. She does whatever she feels like, and we never got a day's work out of her. Not even if you sum up the six or seven weeks she was here."

"Damn," said Liz, unwrapping her lollipop. "But she's not violent or anything?"

"No, but she's a danger to my blood pressure. One time she tried to start a goddamn weed plantation at a customer's site, not that she knows the first thing about gardening. I ended up selling her at half price, but I would have given her away for free, just to get rid of her."

*

At the office, Liz made herself some coffee and opened the live video feed of the home security system to keep an eye on things while she worked through her messages. She usually didn't spy on Matt, but once in a while she reviewed last night's bedroom footage when the sex had been especially good and added it to their private collection -- properly categorized and with detailed descriptions.

There wasn't much to be seen on the feed though; Matt was probably out on his daily run, and Erin was still sleeping on her cot. Unsupervised and with the cell door wide open, thought Liz. Just great!

She sent Matt a message with a summary of her conversation with Mitch Sullivan, rich in expletives and exclamation marks. It was the kind of message he never answered out of principle, but she needed to get it off her chest.

*

By quarter to eleven, not a single task on the list had even been started. Erin had leisurely taken her breakfast in the kitchen, without putting anything in the dishwasher, and was now watching something on the living room TV.

Wait a minute, thought Liz, is that my dressing gown? That little bitch, and it's wide open! And what the hell is she watching? She's got her fingers on her twat again, for Gods' sake!