"Chrissie"

Chrissie

by c.w. cobblestone

 

BOOK ONE

“Mrs. Martin”

 

Part I

My right leg had a mind of its own.

Rebecca frowned. “Why you keep bouncing like that? What’s wrong with you?”

“Um, I … I … nothing.”

“Bullshit, nothing. Something’s up; you been acting weird ever since we got back from Paris. What the hell’s going on, Chris?”

I balled my fists. Clenched my jaw. Closed my eyes. Drew a breath.

Took the plunge.

“Okay. Okay. It’s just … well, now that we’re talking about moving in together, I just think we need to be honest with each other. And I … well, I haven’t told you everything about myself.”

“Uh oh. Do I want to hear this?”

I sucked in more air but couldn’t exhale.

“What, Chris? What ain’t you told me?”

Gulp.

“Um, yeah … so … I … I have this fantasy. Well, it’s not really a fantasy; it’s more like a … need. It’s a need … for some reason, and I don’t understand why, but I need to have a woman treat me like a slave … for her to … um, dress me up in … in women’s clothes and … and treat me like … like a … a sissy. It’s weird, I know, but it’s something I’ve wanted since I can remember.”

My pulse jackhammered my jugular. The thumping was the only sound until, finally, Rebecca made her chair creak by crossing her legs.

“Chris … honey, I’m sorry, but that ain’t … I don’t … I don’t want that, Chris. I mean, I ain’t putting you down if that’s your thing, but it … well, it ain’t my thing. At all. I do appreciate you telling me all this before I gave up the lease. Now … I guess … well, I guess we can move on … with no strings or nothing.”

My eyes welled. “Are you saying … are … are you breaking up with me?”

“Well, I don’t see how we can stay together. Do you?” Tears filled her eyes, too. “I’m sorry, but a man dressed like a woman just don’t turn me on, Chris. It’s bad enough—” She halted mid-sentence and looked at her hands.

“What? It’s bad enough what? That I’m 5’6? That I’m shorter than you?”

Rebecca sighed. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say it, but if you want to go there, Chris, yeah. I mean, no offense, but I get a little tired of never wearing heels when I dress up because I don’t want to tower over my date.”

“I-I’m sorry. I told you: I could wear elevator shoes.”

“And what? That would make me only an inch taller than you in heels? Besides, that ain’t the point, Chris. It ain’t about how tall you are; I like masculine men — not guys who wear girl’s clothes. And I want to be in a relationship with a man, not someone I treat like a slave. I don’t find anything sexy about that at all. No offense, but I just don’t.”

“I’m … I’m so sorry.”

She exhaled. “Well, I guess this does explain why you’re always so helpful. I never met a man who volunteered to clean my apartment like you did. I get it now. That’s your thing. You were probably fantasizing about wearing women’s clothes while you were cleaning. And me treating you like a slave. Weren’t you?”

“I … uh …”

“Tell the truth.”

“Okay. Yes. I was. I … I’m sorry.”

“Well, Chris, I’m sorry, too. I really am. And, again, I do want to say thank you for telling me all this before we moved in together. I really appreciate that. A lot of guys would’ve waited and then sprung it on me afterward, hoping to get me to go along. That says a lot about you, Chris, and the kind of person you are. You’re sweet. Considerate. That’s what attracted me to you in the first place. So, I’m hoping we can still be friends. Okay?”

My head fell to my chest and I started bawling. She placed her hand on my ear.

“Don’t be like that, Chris. I’m sad, too. Look, we had some good times together. You took me to some cool places I’d have never been able to afford, and I really appreciate it. Paris was frigging awesome. But … I don’t know, this just wasn’t meant to be. Why don’t we just walk away on a positive note? Okay?”

I sniffled. “Okay. I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m the one who’s … a pervert.”

“Oh, come on, honey. That’s not true. Everyone has their thing; it just ain’t my thing, that’s all. You’re not a pervert. You’re just … different.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not the man you need me to be, Rebecca. I really am. I really do love you very much.”

“Oh, Chris, you’re such a doll. There’s love on this end, too, but … honey, I’m sorry — it just ain’t gonna work. It just ain’t. Don’t take it too hard, Chris, okay? You’ll find someone else. We both will. It’ll work out somehow. Watch and see.”

 

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The Cubs were trailing the Cardinals, 1-0 with two on and two out in the bottom of the ninth when the phone rang. I saw the name on the caller ID and forgot all about the stupid game.

“‘Lo?”

“Hello, Chris? It’s Rebecca.”

“Rebecca?! Hey, how you been?”

“I’m fine. You?”

“Great. OMG, it’s so good to hear from you after all this time. Uh, what’s … what’s going on?”

“Listen, Chris, can we meet for drinks?

“Of course. Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine. Let’s talk about it when we meet, okay?”

“Um, sure. When you want to meet?”

“Tonight’s fine if you’re free.”

“Sure, I’m not doing anything.”

“Great. Meet you at O’Hara’s at 8.”

She hung up.

I couldn’t breathe.

 

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The light filtering through the tavern window gave her hair a sparkle, making it easy to spot her as soon as I walked in the door.

As I approached her booth she stood and had to lean down a bit to hug me. It sent a familiar shiver of shame through my spine.

“You look good.” She sat back down.

“Thanks, you’re … beautiful as always.”

“Have a seat, Chris.”

I scooted into the booth across from her. She smiled.

“So, Chris, you dating anyone?”

“Uh … no. Not right now. Um … er, how about you?”

She wiggled the fingers on her left hand, showing off the small diamond on her wedding ring. “I’m married, Chris.”

I slumped. “Oh.”

She giggled. “Aw, you look so sad. You always was such a little puppy-dog.”

I gazed across the table at her, blinking back tears. “I … I don’t understand.”

“Well, Chris, I’m just gonna come out and say it: I could use a slave right now. And I thought of you.”

Blood rushed to my head and other places. “Uh, I, uh, um …”

Our conversation was interrupted by the waitress. After we ordered, Rebecca sat forward in the booth.

“As I was saying. I could really use a slave in my life. Especially for cleaning.”

“Eeeyah, buh, uh, you, uh, I … er, you …” A series of sounds spilled out of my mouth.

Rebecca leaned sideways and peeked under the table, smirking at the little boner that jutted up beneath my pants. “Ha, I know you, Chris. So, I take it you want the job, then?”

“Um, I … I don’t understand, Rebecca.”

“What’s there to understand? Didn’t you tell me you wanted me to treat you like a slave?”

“Well, yeah, but … but that was a few years ago when we were in a relationship together.”

“But you said you didn’t want that relationship. You didn’t want me treating you like a boyfriend. I’m just going by what you told me, Chris. You said you wanted me to treat you like a slave … and dress you up in women’s clothes. You said it wasn’t just a fantasy; it was something you needed. Didn’t you say that, Chris? Or am I going crazy? I seem to remember you saying that.”

“Well, yeah, I did say that. But … but, that was when we were still together. You’re married now, Rebecca.”

“Who cares? I guarantee if I’d have taken you up on your offer three years ago, there’s no way I wasn’t gonna see other men eventually. I told you back then — guys who dress up in women’s clothes don’t turn me on. Masculine men turn me on. But I’ve changed my mind about the slave thing. Having one, I mean.”

“But … but how would that work? If you’ve got a husband—”

“What, I can’t have a husband and a slave at the same time?”

“I … well, yeah, I suppose. But what would he say?”

“Karl’s open-minded; I already talked to him about it, and he don’t care if I have a slave, as long as I ain’t doing nothing with him. And before you get any ideas, that ain’t never gonna happen, Chris. Sex, I mean. I’m in love with Karl.”

I licked my lips. “I … I don’t even know what to say, Rebecca. I just … what changed your mind about this? You said it didn’t turn you on, but—”

“It don’t turn me on. Karl turns me on. Having a slave ain’t about turning me on, Chris. You’re looking at this the way you see it. For me, it’s about making my life easier. I’m at a point where I’m tired of settling. I want what I want. And right now, I want someone to do my housework, and run errands and stuff. I got to thinking about what you told me the night we broke up, so I called you. If this ain’t something you want to do, that’s fine. I’m sure I could go on one of them kinky websites and find someone who wants the job.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could.” I wrung my hands. “Um, is it okay if I think about this for a few days?”

Her lips twisted upward. “Sure, thing — Chrissie.”

I gasped. She smirked, knowing how using the feminine version of my name had just destroyed me.

“I’ll need an answer by Wednesday,” she said.

I melted in the booth. “Um, okay.”

The waitress arrived with our drinks and burgers. There wasn’t much conversation while we ate. Rebecca took off shortly after.

I picked up the check. Then I went home and didn’t sleep for two days.

 

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Part II

My eyes were pried open. The Deluxe Diet Deep-Frier infomercial wasn’t making me drowsy. Crosswords and sudokus didn’t do the trick. No matter which side of the pillow I hugged or how many sheep I counted, I couldn’t tune out the two syllables whispering in my inner ear:

Chrissie …

I slipped on my frillies and fumbled with my dick. It wouldn’t get hard. This situation was beyond masturbation. There was too much thinking to do with the big head.

Chrissie …

Nothing made sense. Rebecca was married; why would she reappear in my life all of a sudden? Dollar signs in her eyes? That seemed the obvious guess. But she never was like that. After we’d dated about a month, I’d offered to take care of her financially. I told her she wouldn’t have to work; told her she could relax, go to the gym or do whatever she wanted. She refused, even though she didn’t make a lot of money as a Best Buy cashier. She said I was moving too fast, and that she didn’t want me “taking care” of her. That showed me Rebecca was both beautiful and independent — exactly the kind of woman I’d always wanted.

Alas, when we started talking about possibly moving in together, following what I thought had been a romantic trip to Paris, I laid my sissy slave cards on the table — and she dumped me like a sack of soggy French fries. Although it tore me up, I figured she just wasn’t the dominant mistress of my dreams and tried to move on.

It was impossible; Rebecca Anne Strickland was all I could think about. I’d never gotten over her humiliating rejection and hadn’t dated anyone since.

What now?

Chrissie …

I closed my eyes and the little head took over. On the black screen of my shuttered eyelids, an endless loop detailed every nuance of the half-second it took her to utter that frightening, glorious, terrible, empowering, enslaving word:

Chrissie …

The way her lips had contorted like a smirking snake to form the sibilant “s” sound.

Chrisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssie …

That glint in her eye after she realized she’d literally just taken my breath away.

Chrisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssie …

I pulled my hand from my crotch and rubbed my chin. Maybe her husband was behind this. That Karl asshole. Was he pulling the strings? Maybe Rebecca had told him about a rich ex-boyfriend who’d wanted to be treated like a sissy slave, and Karl figured he could exploit me through her. They clearly weren’t rolling in the dough, judging from Rebecca’s wedding ring.

Was this a setup?

Chrisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssie …

The little head jumped in. What if it wasn’t a scam? What if Rebecca was telling the truth? What if she really did want a slave in her life?

The idea of being Rebecca’s sissy slave overwhelmed me. I focused on that the rest of the night. I wasn’t able to get to sleep but the big head finally shut up and I jacked off five times.

With saggy eyes, a sticky stomach and a sore pee-pee, I dragged my sorry ass out of the sack at sunrise and prepared for what I knew was going to be a motherfucker of a Monday.

 

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Tuesday started out even shittier. I called in sick and lay in bed all day with a pounding headache and a throbbing boner.

By then it wasn’t a matter of whether I was going to agree to Rebecca’s out-of-left-field request — the only question was if I would wait until the next day’s deadline to call her or inform her immediately.

The choice was made for me when Rebecca phoned just after 6 that evening.

“Listen, I know I said you could wait until tomorrow but I need to know now, Chrissie. This house is an absolute mess; if you’re going to be my slave you need to get over here now and get to cleaning, because I can’t stand living in this pigsty another minute. And I don’t feel like doing it myself. So, are you gonna do this or not?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Um, yeah.”

“’Yeah?’ Is that how my slave should talk to me, Chrissie?”

“Um … Mistress?”

“No, that’s weird, I don’t like that. You can call me by my married name, Mrs. Martin. Okay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“See? That’s a good little sissy. Chrissie the sissy. Now, listen, Chrissie the sissy, you need to get over here and get this damn house clean.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. Um, can I have your address?”

“It’s 16242 South Sycamore. Hurry up, now, Chrissie. This is going to be so much fun. My own little slave.”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Oh, and Chrissie?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin?”

“Go ahead and bring whatever little girly outfit you like to wear. Whatever will make you clean better. Okay? Will you be my little maid? Ain’t that your big fantasy?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Well, it’s my fantasy to have a nice, clean house. So, get your little butt on over here.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. Um … excuse me, Mrs. Martin?”

“Yes, Chrissie?”

“Is … is … he … will your husband be there?”

“Why wouldn’t he? He lives here.” She sighed. “Listen, Chris, if this is gonna be a problem—”

“Oh, no, please, Mrs. Martin, please, I’m sorry. I want to serve you. I do. I don’t mind if … if your husband is around, as long as I can serve you, Mrs. Martin. I was just asking. I’m sorry.”

“There’s my little doll. It’s time to hang up now, Chrissie. I need you here.”

 

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North Sycamore was where the nice houses were; the south end of the street was literally on the other side of the railroad tracks, where folks installed bars on the windows of their dilapidated shacks.

I pulled up in front of 16242 South Sycamore. My beautiful Rebecca lived in a shit-hole.

It took every ounce of courage to peel myself out of my car and amble up the walkway. With a trembling sigh, I tapped on the door. It swung open and Rebecca’s smile melted my apprehension while adding to it at the same time.

“Why, hello, Chrissie,” she said in the same mocking tone I’d played in my head a million times over the past few days.

I stepped inside and was surprised when she leaned down and gave me a light hug and a peck on the cheek.

“Come in and meet Karl.”

I followed her into the house, my eyes on her ass but my peripheral vision taking in their messy quarters. Rebecca hadn’t been kidding — this dump definitely qualified as a pigsty.

As soon as I spotted Karl a chill shot through my spine. The guy instantly intimidated the shit out of me. He shifted on the sofa and sneered when his wife led me into the living room.

“Baby, meet my new slave, Chrissie. Chrissie the sissy. Chrissie, this is my husband, Karl.”

I couldn’t look him in the eye. He rose from the couch and towered over me. He must’ve been at least 6’3, and the contrast between us was palpable, which is why I think he stood up — he wanted to shame me. It worked.

“Hello, Chrissie,” he said. “You come to clean our house for us?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

He chuckled and sat back down. “Sir, huh? I like it. Becca, this guy just might work out.”

“Told you,” my ex-girlfriend said as she joined her husband on the couch and melted into his embrace. “He’s a little doll.”

She then smirked at me. “So, Chrissie, you probably got a million questions.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin, I … I do.”

“Well, now’s the time to ask.”

I licked my lips. “Well … um, I was kind of surprised that you called.”

“That ain’t a question, Chrissie.”

“Oh. Sorry. Um, why … I was just wondering what made you call me after you said this wasn’t something you were interested in.”

Rebecca snuggled closer to her husband. “I think you misunderstood me, Chrissie. I told you I wasn’t interested in treating my boyfriend like a slave. I wasn’t interested in my boyfriend dressing up in women’s clothes. I told you: I like masculine men.” She squeezed Karl’s bicep and smiled at me. “Obviously.”

“But … I … I don’t understand.”

“What’s there to understand? I didn’t want you as my boyfriend after you told me you was a crossdresser. No offense, but that blew it for me. We never did have a real passionate relationship to start with — nothing like what I have with Karl. But lately I been thinking more and more about things, and I remembered what you told me. About wanting to be my slave. And I think I’d like that. Having a slave, that is.”

Karl kissed his wife’s head. “Ol’ girl hates housework. Me too. That’s where you come in.”

Rebecca flicked a speck of lint off her sleeve. “So, Chrissie, that’s pretty much it. There’s nothing else really to discuss. You need to start cleaning. The mop, and Pine-Sol and stuff are in the basement. Did you bring something girly to wear?”

I gulped. “Um … I … yes, I’m wearing it under my clothes.”

She shrugged. “Well, get undressed or whatever you need to do and get started.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

After I stood there for a few seconds, she blinked twice. “Well?”

I shed my outerwear and they chuckled at my lacy red teddy and thigh-high stockings.

Rebecca cocked her head. “Are you going to be a good little worker for me all dressed up in your girly clothes, Chrissie the sissy?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Okay, then. Get to work.”

I turned to leave but she stopped me. “Wait. Get me a glass of Diet Coke, first.” She glanced at her husband. “You want one, hon?”

“No, but I’ll take a beer.”

Rebecca snapped her fingers. “Get to it, Chrissie the sissy. And then get this place cleaned.”

Karl guffawed and picked up the TV remote. “I think I’m gonna like having a slave around.”

Rebecca kissed him. “You know it, babe.”

And so, while Rebecca and Karl relaxed on the couch watching television and smoking weed, I busted my ass all evening cleaning their house. I was interrupted three times for drink refills, once to bring potato chips, and once when Rebecca had me get dressed and run outside to fetch a receipt from her car’s glovebox.

While I polished the dining room table, I kept peeking at them on the sofa, wishing it could be me holding Rebecca in my arms while some lovestruck pansy did all the housework. She had never sat that way with me; when we’d watched TV together, more often than not I’d be on the floor at her feet — perhaps a subconscious playing-out of my then-secret desires.

At about 11:00, as I was scrubbing out the oven, Rebecca called me into the living room.

“We’re going to bed, Chrissie, so you can call it a night and go home,” she said. “This is a decent start, but there’s a whooooooooolllle lot more cleaning to do. You’re working tomorrow, right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“You still get off around 5 or 6?”

“Most nights, yes, Mrs. Martin. Depending on what happens with the market.”

“Okay, then report back here as soon as you get off work. I guess you can wear your sissy cleaning clothes underneath your suit. That’ll make for an interesting day, huh?”

“I … I guess, so, Mrs. Martin.”

“Well, then we’ll see you tomorrow, Chrissie. The house looks good. You’re such a little doll. My little house-cleaning sissy doll.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“You should probably thank Karl, too, Chrissie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No problem, pansy,” he said.

Rebecca giggled. “Good night, Chrissie. See you tomorrow.”

 

Part III

I don’t know how I managed to hold the steering wheel steady on the drive home from my first evening of service to Rebecca and her husband. My hands shook like crazy. I had a hard time breathing. I felt like pissing my panties.

What a night!

When I returned to my condo, I took a long, hot shower, and for the first time that evening felt the pain radiating throughout my body. I’d worked my ass off for hours without a break, and wasn’t in the best of shape to start with. But I’d only been thinking of one throbbing body part as I minced around in my girly underthings cleaning Rebecca and Karl’s hovel while they relaxed on the couch watching TV and getting high. My aching back, legs and shoulders had never crossed my mind until I got home.

After my shower, I lay back in bed and replayed the incredible evening in my mind.

… the way Rebecca had called for drink refills: “Chrissie. More soda.” Such a princess. She clearly took to having a servant.

… the embarrassment at being chided by Karl in front of a smirking Rebecca. “Hey, sissy, from now on when you bring me a beer, can you not step in front of the goddamn TV?”

… the jealously I felt seeing Karl relaxed on the couch with the woman who’d dumped me because she didn’t want to be with an effeminate crossdresser.

… the incredible erotic feeling I derived from that jealousy.

Once again, I stayed up all night masturbating. I had phoned in sick the previous day, so when the alarm went off, I had to get up and drag my ass in to work, as much as I wanted to crawl back under the covers.

Under my suit, I wore a lacy white teddy and panties, and between that and a lack of sleep I had a difficult time focusing on my clients’ investments. At around 10 a.m. a major coffee-dump started calling my name from deep within my bowels, but I clinched my butt-cheeks and held it in, fearful if I sat on one of the lavatory toilets, someone in the next stall might see my feminine underwear.

At lunch, I duckwalked out of the office to the corner coffee shop, which had a small bathroom with a single toilet. There was an “Out of Order” sign on the door but I brushed past the waitress, slipped into the john, plopped on the toilet and released the magma. It took a huge bundle of TP to get myself properly clean, and because the toilet wouldn’t flush, I had to leave the whole soupy mess floating there.

“Sorry,” I peeped as I rushed past the frowning waitress. I figured I’d probably need to find somewhere else to get coffee for the foreseeable future, but in my mind it had been worth it.

When the market finally closed, I could barely contain myself as I locked up my desk and drove back to the shitty part of town for my second day of servitude, one hand on the steering wheel, the other inside my panties.

Rebecca answered my knock with a smile. “Chrissie! So, I guess Karl and me didn’t scare you off last night.”

“Um, of course not, Mrs. Martin. I … I’m very happy to be serving you. It’s all I thought about all day.”

“Aw, ain’t that sweet?” She leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Why don’t you go ahead and get started?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Did you wear your girly stuff under your suit like I told you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

She giggled. “You’ll do anything I say, won’t you, Chrissie?”

I lowered my eyes and gulped. “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“That makes me really happy, Chrissie. It really does. I think it’s sweet that you want to give of yourself like that. Now, I’ve got a whole list of stuff that’s gonna take a few days to get done at least, and then Karl has some stuff he wants done, too. So go ahead and get undressed and do your little sissy housecleaning thing.”

The way she flicked her fingertips when referencing my “little sissy housecleaning thing” embarrassed me beyond belief, because it showed how breezily she dismissed this fetish of mine, something that for me had been a matter of grave contemplation and self-reflection since long before puberty. To her, the whole thing was a joke, something to smirk at with her husband while getting free maid service. And ruminating on that fact as I finished cleaning out the oven made my panty-covered dick throb.

I spent another night busting my ass while Rebecca and her husband relaxed, smoked weed and watched television. It was a scenario I’d jacked off to hundreds of times, but the pain radiating throughout my aching body was real, as were the feelings of resentment at how I was allowing myself to be exploited — and then, being a wimpy sissy, those feelings of resentment turned into horniness, which propelled me to scrub a little harder and polish with a little more fervor, despite my exhaustion.

The evening news was signing off when I was called into the living room.

“That’s it for tonight, Chrissie,” Rebecca said. “But I think Karl has something he wants you to do. He’s in the bathroom; he’ll be out in a minute.” She yawned. “Go ahead and get dressed.”

As I was donning my suit, Karl strode out of the bathroom, yawning himself.

“Listen, Chrissie, my brother’s loaning me his expansion plug wrench and I need it at the shop tomorrow. So, I want you to run over to his place and pick it up. He said it’s under a bench behind his shed. Bring it back here and put it inside the back screen door; I’ll leave it unlocked, but make sure to lock it back up when you’re done.”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“I’ll text you his address.” Karl fumbled with his phone for a second before I got his message.

“Um … uh, sir, is this a mistake? He lives in Carysville. Uh, that’s … a three-hour drive. I … I wouldn’t get back until almost 6 in the morning.”

“Sounds like your problem, Chrissie, not mine,” Karl said.

Rebecca pouted. “Aw, poor Chrissie. You look like you’re gonna cry.”

“Um, uh, ah, I’m sorry … it’s just … it’s just that I haven’t gotten any sleep the past few days.”

Karl pulled his wife into his embrace and smirked. “Yeah, it must suck being a slave, huh?”

I let loose a long sigh of frustration and exhaustion.

Rebecca frowned. “Listen, Chrissie, what do you think it means to be someone’s slave? Karl wants the wrench here when he wakes up in the morning; I’m sorry if that means you don’t get any sleep, but oh, well. That’s what being a slave is, Chrissie. It ain’t about what’s easy for you. It’s about what we want. Understand?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Aw, poor thing.” She turned to her husband and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and she smiled at me.

“Tell you what, Chrissie. If you’re a good little sissy, and go get my husband’s tool for him, I’ll let you kiss my pussy. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

I hyperventilated. “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl chuckled. “The poor sissy’s gonna have a heart attack, Becca.”

Rebecca wiggled out of her jeans. “Only through the panties,” she warned. “And just once.”

I knelt before her. She stood with her legs slightly spread and pulled her panties up tight from the waistband.

“Nice kiss,” she ordered. “Go ahead.”

I leaned forward, breathing in her scent, and pecked my lips to her cameltoe.

“See?” She smiled down on me and patted my head. “Now, wasn’t that nice, baba?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Okay, then.” She rejoined her husband on the couch. “See you tomorrow, Chrissie.”

“Make sure you lock that screen door when you’re done,” Karl said.

“Yes, sir.”

I had no problem staying awake for the entire six-hour round-trip drive, and after dropping off Karl’s wrench and getting back to my condo, I didn’t even bother trying to sneak in an hour or two of sleep. I was way too wired to crash as I contemplated my status as a real-life slave — something I’d always dreamed about but was now finding to be a major pain in the ass in real life.

Rebecca and Karl weren’t playing a game. Even though my ex had been nice about it, neither she nor her husband gave a shit about me, my feelings, how tired I was — nothing. My job was to do what they wanted, period, even if it meant driving halfway across the state for a stupid tool. Talk about being exploited. My ex-girlfriend and her husband were taking advantage of my fetish, and they’d probably laughed about what a sap I was as soon as I walked out the door.

And, of course, as I lay in bed recalling the evening’s events, those feelings of resentment turned into horniness, which propelled me to fap a little harder and polish the knob with a little more fervor, despite my exhaustion.

 

Part IV

I got very little sleep during my first week of serving the Martins but I never woke up from the dream.

Night after night after leaving the brokerage firm I’d make a beeline to 16242 South Sycamore, where Rebecca and Karl kept me busy scrubbing every inch of their house dressed in my “little sissy thingies.” Other than giving me orders, my new masters pretty much ignored me while I cleaned. They’d send me home at 11 or so, and I’d jack off all night before crawling out of bed the next morning, trudging to work and repeating the process.

Saturday and Sunday were spent scrubbing and organizing their abomination of a garage, with very little interaction with either Rebecca or Karl, since they were gone all day Saturday and spent a chilly Sunday morning and afternoon holed up in their house without once coming out to check on me. On top of that, they said they didn’t want the neighbors seeing a sissy going in and out of their garage, so other than my underthings I wore male clothes. I may have been dressed like a man, but as I made trip after trip lugging armfuls of junk to the curb, I had to admit that no real man would allow himself to be so ruthlessly exploited.

By sunset Sunday, the once-sorrowful garage was shipshape and spic and span. My condition was considerably worse; in addition to being drop-dead exhausted, I was feeling pretty resentful, having killed myself for two long days without anyone even bothering to talk to me.

Rebecca picked up on my mood immediately when she answered my knock at the backdoor.

“The … the garage is all done, Mrs. Martin.”

She stuck out her bottom lip. “Aw, Chrissie, you look so sad. Are you sad because you didn’t get to wear your little sissy thingies while you cleaned? I guess it ain’t the same, huh?”

“I …” My eyes watered. “I … I don’t know, Mrs. Martin. It’s just …”

“Just what, sweetie?”

“It’s just … well, I haven’t even seen you for two whole days.” I broke down and started sobbing.

Rebecca held her hand to her mouth and giggled. “Aw, poor Chrissie. You got such a crush on me. Don’t you?”

“I … I …”

“It’s okay, baba. Tell the truth. You got a crush on me?”

“Uh … y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“You think about me a lot, baba?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. I … I never stopped thinking about you, even … even after we broke up.”

“Yeah? While we was broke up, did you touch yourself thinking about being my sissy slave?”

I couldn’t find my voice.

“Did you? Tell me,” she demanded.

I lowered my eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Martin,” I whispered.

“Did you ever pretend to be my slave when you were with any of your other dates?”

“Um, I … I didn’t date anyone else, Mrs. Martin.”

Rebecca cocked her head. “Really? Not one date?”

“N-no. I … I just …” More tears prevented further explanation.

“Aw, poor yoooouuuuuu. You really do have a crush on me, don’t you?” She leaned down and kissed my forehead. “It’s so cute. I’m not sure what my husband would think. But cute.”

“I … I …”

She waved her hand. “Oh, it’s alright if my little sissy has a crush on me. Just don’t get carried away, Chrissie, because Karl don’t play.”

“I … I won’t, Mrs. Martin. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Hang on, let me go get him; he wants to see the garage.”

I stood on the back porch for a few minutes until Rebecca returned with her husband in tow. My bottom lip quivered but my chest swelled as I led them to the garage.

“Oh, wow,” both of them said simultaneously when I opened the door, causing me to beam even brighter. Karl was clearly impressed that I’d polished every tool, dusted the rafters and even wiped the bottoms of the workbench and other surfaces.

“Nice job, sissy,” he said when the tour was over.

“And he did it dressed like a man, which is hard for him,” Rebecca added, her condescending tone causing my ears to redden with shame.

“Yeah, I guess being dressed like a sissy is all part of it, huh?”

I blinked. “Um, I … I don’t know, sir. It was okay cleaning in men’s clothes, sir, although I … I prefer…”

“You prefer being dressed like a sissy,” Rebecca smirked. “That’s because you are a sissy, Chrissie, and sissies like being dressed like sissies.”

“Try saying that five times fast,” Karl quipped and the couple shared a laugh while I stood there feeling like a fool.

Finally, the man of the house clapped his hands. “Well, you done good, sissy. I say that deserves a reward. Would you like to kiss Becca’s butt once?”

Rebecca giggled. “Ooh, you’re so mean, Karl.”

“What? That’s not mean. I’m doing the sissy a favor. Ain’t I, sissy?”

I gulped. “Um … yes, sir. T-thank you, sir.”

He shrugged. “No problem. Hard work deserves extra rewards, I always say.”

With a shiver, I ventured a look at Rebecca.

She scoffed. “Well, come on over here if you want to.”

As I scooted across the garage, Karl wagged his finger. “Through the jeans, Chrissie. You’d have to really do something special ‘fore I’d let you kiss my baby’s bare booty.”

Rebecca punched her husband’s arm. “Oh, you are SO MEAN.” She puckered at me. “Don’t listen to him, Chrissie.”

I knelt a few feet from the haughty couple. Rebecca turned around, grabbed her husband’s shoulders for support and thrust her jean-covered butt toward me.

She issued the order in a singsong voice: “Okaaaaay, Chrissiiieeeee, you worked so haaaaaard, come get your priiiiiize.”

I leaned toward her ass, panting like an aging, asthmatic Airedale in August, causing Karl to chortle.

“Damn, sissy, calm down,” he said. “It’s just an ass in blue jeans.”

“Hey, I resent that!” Rebecca shook her rump left to right, inches from my face. “Chrissie thinks my butt is real special. Even if it is covered up in blue jeans. Don’t you, baba?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

She giggled. “Go ahead, Chrissie. A nice little kiss.”

Sobbing, I pecked my lips against her butt.

“See?” She tittered. “What do you say, Chrissie?”

“T-thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“Thank Karl, too, Chrissie. It was his idea.”

“T-Thank you, sir.”

Karl yawned. “You’re welcome, Chrissie. You got your little treat — now, get the fuck out of here.”

Rebecca guffawed. “Oh, you are so mean to Chrissie.” She turned to me and pouted. “I’m sorry my husband is such a meanie. Thank you for working so hard for us, Chrissie. The garage looks great. You’re such a sweetie. You really are. We’ll see you later, okay?”

I managed to squeak out a good-bye before scurrying away.

Monday morning followed a familiar pattern, with me rolling out of bed with bloodshot eyes and a bloodshot penis, jumping in the shower, dragging my sorry, sissy ass to work and squirming all day against the lace beneath my suit.

Just before the markets closed, I got a text from Rebecca:

“the garage looks grate the house is find dont come tonite will let u know when u can come over again”

It was the worst possible news. I drove home and spent yet another sleepless night, although instead of beating my meat I lay in bed clutching my pillow, panicked that Rebecca and her husband might be tiring of my sissy service.

 

Part V

Tuesday was blues-day. The market took a shit and the NYSE and NASDAQ joined me in the toilet.

Through bleary eyes, I ignored the tumbling stock tables and stared at my cellphone, writhing in my chair, bothered by my uncomfortable underthings. I’d again donned frillies beneath my suit hoping that Rebecca might summon me to clean after work, but her text never came, and by the close of trading all I had were diminished portfolios and a sore ass from panties crawling up my crack.

Wednesday was worse. The Dow rebounded but I sank further into the red with still no word from my beloved Rebecca. I felt like a fool for yet again wearing women’s underwear and stockings, shifting in my seat all day, afraid to use the bathroom lest anyone see my girlies, only to spend another sad, lonely night at home pining for the woman who’d dumped me for a taller, more masculine man — a genuine hunk, not a 5’6 crossdressing sissy.

Thursday? I thought I was going to die. Just before the market closed, I composed a text:

“Is there anything I can do for you tonight, Mrs. Martin?”

After rereading the message, I tweaked it:

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Martin. Is there anything I can do for you?”

I scanned the text again and made a crucial fix:

“Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Martin. Is there anything I can do for you or Mr. Martin?”

Wallowing in shame and anxiety, I sat at my desk trying to conjure the nerve to send a text message begging my ex-girlfriend and her husband to exploit me.

In the end, I didn’t push send. I drove home and cried instead.

All night, I cursed myself for having confessed my sissy tendencies to Rebecca while we were dating. Would we have still been together if I’d kept my mouth shut? We’d been talking about moving in together, although I’d been doing most of the talking. She was so beautiful and out of my league, I figured I’d lose her if I didn’t get some kind of commitment, so I tried to entice her by inviting her to move out of her crappy one-room apartment and into my luxury condo, rent-free. But my money had never impressed Rebecca.

Neither had my prowess in bed; she seemed bored whenever I’d hump her like a dinky rabbit before filling my condom in two minutes or less. She was so sexy I couldn’t help my quick orgasms. She was too nice to say anything, but I only had to catch her watching TV so many times while I was pounding away with my 4-incher to realize she wasn’t into it. She preferred having me lick her, and most of our sex life consisted of me worshiping her pussy with the lights out.

As I lay in bed trying to recall every contour of Princess Rebecca’s sacred vagina, I got a perverse sexual thrill knowing that it was now off-limits to me — and then I’d think about the pig who had complete access to her body, and my horniness would turn to sadness and I’d start sobbing again.

After I got up and showered Friday morning, in a flash of defiance I actually wiggled into a pair of Fruit of the Looms before donning my suit. I figured if Rebecca didn’t want me to serve her, then, goddamn it, why should I spend all day at work feeling self-conscious and uncomfortable wearing lacy underthings?

I made it as far as the bedroom door; then, with a defeated, lovesick sigh, I turned around and changed into a pink teddy with matching panties and stockings.

When my phone beeped just after lunch, I shrieked, prompting a nearby broker to ask if I was okay.

“I’m fine,” I said, scanning the text message with a grin:

“need you to go shoping get 4 steaks case of budwiser n 5^th of jack and chips regular and bbq 2 bags of doritoes bring rite after work”

After catching my breath and pondering several potential replies, I went with: “Will do, Mrs. Martin. I’ll leave as soon as work is over. Thank you.”

I wanted to type so much more. I wanted to bare my soul and thank her for the opportunity to lay eyes once again on her unbridled beauty … to gaze once again upon the consecrated derriere against which my lowly, effeminate lips had recently been so honored to peck … I wanted to tell her that I’d never stopped loving her … never stopped thinking about her … that she’d shattered my sissy heart when she dumped me — and that I would literally do anything to avoid losing her a second time.

Hunched over my desk at work, I must’ve re-read her grammatically incorrect text message 1,000 times as I muddled through a whirlwind day of rollercoasting tech stocks. After the final bell, I hustled to the store and purchased the best cuts of steak available along with all the other items on Rebecca’s list. She and Karl clearly were prepping for some kind of weekend party, and I briefly considered buying two cases of beer and two fifths of Jack Daniels to impress my princess. In the end, though, I decided to follow her orders to the letter.

With a mixture of delight and trepidation, I arrived on South Sycamore Street and noticed a strange hooptie in the driveway. As I made my way up the front walk carrying the grocery bags on wobbly legs, Karl bellowed from behind the house: “Back here.”

I lugged the groceries to the backyard, where Karl, Rebecca and another couple their age sat on lawn chairs near a portable BBQ cooker. The unknown man had a tray in his lap and was rolling a joint.

“There’s my lil’ baba,” Rebecca slurred when I came into sight, and I could tell she’d already been drinking.

I was unsure what to do as I stood there with my arms full of grocery bags, shifting from foot to foot in front of the two reclining, smirking couples.

Karl let me squirm for a few seconds before finally nodding toward a table near the grill. “Set that shit over there.”

I obeyed and then again teetered before the foursome.

Karl grinned. “Okay, that’s all. You can go.”

When I didn’t move — because I was numbed by grief and embarrassment — he pointed toward the street. “Go. Get the fuck out of here.”

The girls giggled and the other guy leered. Tears formed in my eyes.

Rebecca tilted her head and pouted. “Aw, poor baba, I’m sorry he’s so mean to you all the time. I keep telling him to stop, but he’s just a big asshole, ain’t he?”

Karl blew his wife a kiss. “Yeah, I know I’m an asshole — but at least I’m your asshole, honey!”

Rebecca crinkled her nose at her husband before turning back to me. “Never mind what Mr. Asshole says. Thank you for buying all that for us. You’re such a little doll. I really do appreciate it. Now, we’re gonna hang out for a while, so we’ll see you later, okay?”

“Um … okay. Uh … t-thanks.” I almost called her “Mrs. Martin,” but decided to spare myself further shame.

Before turning to go, I stole one last glance; my Rebecca looked so utterly beautiful in the setting sun’s glow, it made my heart ache.

The last thing I heard as I plodded out of the backyard was the other woman snicker and say, “damn, you weren’t kidding, were you? Your own little bitch.”

They all laughed. Including my Rebecca.

I bawled in bed all night.

By Saturday morning there were no more tears left to cry. I stayed glued to my mattress, unable to get up even to pee.

Then, just after 10, my phone dinged and gloom turned to glee:

“house needs clean come now”

 

Part IV

Rebecca’s text triggered the panic button, and in my haste to get ready I stubbed my toe on the bathtub. Ignoring the pain, I focused on my mission: “house needs clean.”

Because it was a Saturday and I wasn’t worried about concealing a lumpy garment beneath work clothes, I wore my new French maid’s outfit. I’d purchased the dress online a few days earlier while in the throes of Rebecca Strickland-Martin Withdrawal Syndrome, but was having second thoughts about wearing it, fearful my masters might think it was over the top. I took a chance and donned the uniform, covering it with a lightweight, loose-fitting track suit for the drive over.

Rebecca answered my knock dressed in sweats, wearing no makeup, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She obviously hadn’t done a thing to gussy up, yet she was lovelier than ever.

“We’re gonna do a schedule,” she said as she led me into the house. The “Juicy” logo on her swaying ass made me oozy but I tried to concentrate on what my beloved was telling me.

“Karl says he don’t want you coming over all the time, but after a few days the house gets real messy — obviously.” Rebecca gestured toward the living room, where the carpet was littered with crumbs, while dirty dishes and open containers were stacked on the coffee table. “So, we’re thinking you can swing by after work Mondays and Wednesdays to pick up a little and do the dishes, and then do a real deep cleaning, and laundry and all the other stuff on either Saturday or Sunday, depending on what we got going.”

I swallowed my excitement at the news that I’d be seeing my darling Rebecca — or at least cleaning her house — three times a week minimum. “Yes, Mrs. Martin,” I replied in my most professional voice. “Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“Yeah, that’ll probably work best, at least for now,” she mused. “I’m trying to get Karl to trust you so you can clean when we’re not here or after we go to bed. But he’s still leery.”

“Uh … no, I … I wouldn’t … um, Mrs. Martin, I would never …”

Rebecca waved her hand. “Oh, I know you’d never steal, Chrissie. I think Karl’s more worried about you going through our dirty underwear.”

My ears burned but Rebecca just giggled.

“Anyway, go ahead and get started. The backyard’s a real mess from the BBQ last night, so you’ll want to get that for sure, although don’t be wearing your sissy clothes outside. Oh, and the kitchen needs a lot done — especially that fridge; Stupid-Ass got drunk and spilled OJ everywhere. So, make sure you clean that out real good.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

I drew a breath and peeled off my track suit, revealing my maid’s uniform, watching for Rebecca’s reaction. There was none. After all my apprehension, she didn’t comment on the outfit, instead ordering me to fix her a Diet Coke and bring it to the bedroom before I started cleaning.

When I knocked on the boudoir door, Karl looked up from his spot on the bed next to Rebecca, where they relaxed watching Netflix.

“Hey, sissy, bring me a beer,” he said.

“Yes, sir.” I set Rebecca’s beverage on her nightstand before scurrying to fetch one for her husband, feeling the dress brush against my stockings with every step.

Karl smirked as I handed him his can of Bud. “Thanks, Chrissie. Did Becca tell you about the car?”

“Um … the car, sir?”

He took a sip and smacked his lips. “Yeah, my transmission blew out and the damn junkyard said it was gonna be two weeks before they get one in. I was gonna have to go out to the rent-a-car place today, but I got to thinking: fuck it, I’ll just send you out.”

“Um, okay, sir … um, do you want me to go now, or should I keep doing my chores for a while since … um, since I’m already dressed? I can check to see when they close if you want, sir.”

Karl rubbed his chin. “I don’t know, Chrissie; hell, if you really was our slave, you’d just loan me your car until mine gets fixed.”

“I … uh … um, s-sir?”

He stared at me. “I said: If you really was our slave like you say you are, then you’d let me use your car.”

Rebecca smiled into my soul. “OMG, Chrissie, that would be soooooooo awesome of you.”

“Um, I …” I melted under her gaze, and two syllables — “OK” — somehow escaped my lips.

My angel’s eyes twinkled “You are such a little doll, I swear.”

“I … uh … t-thank, you, Mrs. Martin …”

Karl smirked. “Great, Chrissie, now be a good little doll and bring me them keys. The registration, too.”

“Um … uh, y-yes, sir?”

As I started to slog away, wondering what the hell had just happened, Rebecca tittered. “Hee-hee, I think you like having a slave more than I do.”

I didn’t hear Karl’s reply as I continued down the stairs to the hall closet, where I’d left my gym bag. Trembling, I had a difficult time controlling my fingers as I fished the car registration from my wallet and twisted the key fob off the ring.

Rebecca beamed as I handed over my keys and paperwork to her hubby.

“It really takes a giving person to want to be someone’s slave, and do stuff like this for them,” she said. “Seriously. Thank you, Chrissie.”

“Um … you’re welcome, Mrs. Martin. Um … can I ask a question?”

“Sure, sweetie.”

“Um … how … how am I gonna get home?”

Karl snorted. “There’s a bus stop on Waldo Road. It’s only about a mile walk.”

I blinked back tears.

Rebecca made a sad face. “Aw, Chrissie, we’d give you a ride, we really would … but we weren’t planning on going out today; we had a little too much to drink last night, and just wanted to make this a laying-around day. Okay, baba?”

A single tear worked its way past my defenses and slithered down my cheek.

My beloved tilted her head. “Don’t be sad, Chrissie. You want to make my life easier, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin, I do.”

“Then, don’t you also want to make my husband happy, and make his life easier, too?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.” I couldn’t bring myself to look at the smug sonofabitch but I could feel the heat of his sneer.

“See?” Rebecca smiled. “All better now, baba?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.” I cleared my throat. “Um, uh … when I’m done cleaning, is it okay if I just call an Uber to take me to the rent-a-car place, so I can get a car?”

Karl propped his hands on the pillow above his head and pondered my request. “Naaaaaah, I don’t think so. Take the bus for a while, sissy. If you really want to be a slave, then you need to come down a few pegs.”

With the tears now freely flowing, I glanced at Rebecca, whose hand covered her mouth in an obvious attempt to hide her mirth.

“Poor Chrissie,” she sang. “You put up with so much, don’t you?”

“I … I don’t know.” I hung my head and sobbed more.

“Aw, poor thing. It’s not easy being our slave, huh?”

“Buh-buh-buh-buh-buh,” was all I could manage.

Rebecca searched my face. “Listen, Chris, seriously — is this slave thing even something you want to do? You said you wanted to, but you act so bummed out about it all the time. I thought this was your thing, but I don’t want to keep doing it if all you’re gonna do is cry.”

“Oh, no, no, Mrs. Martin, please.” I sniffled and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Mr. Martin, sir, please, no, take my car for as long as you need it, sir. And I’ll … I’ll take the bus, no problem. Whatever you want. Please, I just … I just want to … I want to keep serving you. Please.”

I dropped to my knees, clasped my hands, squeezed my eyes shut and eked out one final “pleeeeeeeease.”

Karl scoffed. “Fucking sissy.”

“Oh, hush, I think it’s sweet.” Rebecca looked down on me. “Get up off your knees, Chrissie. We’ll still let you be our slave if you want to. Just stop all the crying, okay? I know Karl’s mean to you sometimes, but that’s just how he is. If you’re gonna really try to make this work, you need to deal with it without all the drama. Okay?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. T-thank you, Mrs. Martin. Thank you so much. No more crying. I promise. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, baba,” she said. “Now, why don’t you go ahead and get started?”

Rebecca hadn’t been kidding about it being a “laying-around day” for them. They cuddled and binge-watched “Ozark” while I scrubbed, scoured, fetched and polished. I worked as slowly as I dared, trying to draw out the day as long as possible, making excuses to pass the bedroom as I cleaned so I could peek in at my Princess, even if it meant having to see her nestled in that asshole’s arms.

When the house was spotless, and I could no longer delay the inevitable, I reported to Rebecca and her husband.

“Um, the … the house is all done.”

By then, they’d turned off Netflix and were each kicked back in bed going through their phones. I stood before them in my maid’s dress, feeling even shorter than 5’6 while they ignored me.

Rebecca finally looked up. “All done, sweetie?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. Um, is … is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, baba, I’m good.”

I gritted my teeth. “Sir? Is there anything else you need?” I hated myself for kissing up to the sonofabitch, but I was desperate to stay in their good graces.

Karl rubbed his chin. “Nah, you were a good little sissy slave for us today. Thanks for the car. Is there gas in it?”

“Oh, yes, sir, I just filled it up the other day, sir.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m all set then.”

“Um, okay.” I stood there for another second. “Uh … see you later. T-thank you for letting me serve you.”

“You’re welcome, Chrissie.” Rebecca giggled. “Say hi to the bus driver.”

 

Part VII

As I waited for the bus it started pouring. There was no shelter so I stood on the corner and cried in the rain.

With every thunder boom, I hoped like a sap that Rebecca might realize how bad it was outside, feel sorry for me and come give me a ride. She knew where I was, since her husband had just ordered me to walk a whole fucking mile to the bus stop on Waldo Road, and there was no way they couldn’t hear the thunder and driving rain, so I kept thinking that perhaps … maybe … perchance …

A speeding truck rumbled through a puddle and the spray smacked me in the face — reality setting in. Who was I kidding? Rebecca wasn’t feeling sorry for me; every time it thundered, she probably giggled with her husband about the infatuated little toady who’d just handed over his car keys and cleaned their house and was now getting soaked.

“Say hi to the bus driver.”

Those were her last words to me as I’d left their house. It was a meanspirited statement, and she said it for no other reason than to be cruel. I wiped mud from my face and gritted my teeth. Karl’s nastiness had rubbed off on my pristine angel.

It took about a half-hour for the bus to arrive. The driver shot me a strange glance but I shrugged it off. I had other problems. Slumped in a rear seat dripping water, I couldn’t get the vision out of my head of Rebecca and Karl snuggled up in their warm, comfy bed, laughing at me.

The storm hadn’t let up by the time the bus got to my stop, so I trudged a half-mile through the deluge, rain mixing with tears, until I finally made it home.

My mood tumbled even further when I walked into my condo and saw my reflection in the mirror — my maid’s dress showed beneath the thin material of my soaked track suit. Blood drained from my face when it dawned on me why the bus driver had given me a funny look.

And then, out of the blue, a miracle occurred and all my troubles melted away: When I switched on my laptop, I saw that Rebecca had friended me.

Her acceptance of my friend request meant I now had access to all her Facebook photos, not just the single profile pic I’d been pining over. My old phone had crapped out a few years earlier, and I’d lost all my pictures of Rebecca from when we’d dated. Since her Facebook security settings blocked non-friends from her account, I had been relying on the one profile photo, which unfortunately included Karl — and because their faces were smushed together there’d been no way to cut the prick out of the pic.

There were hundreds of photos in her picture folder showing her alone and with Karl doing all sorts of partying with different people, and I realized how popular she was. Rebecca had 993 friends. I had 7.

It didn’t matter, because one of my Facebook friends was Rebecca Martin.

I spent hours in a narcotic haze poring over her photo albums, feeling like an archeologist who’d just discovered the blueprints for the Pyramids.

A photo of Rebecca sitting on a rustic wood fence was probably my favorite, but there were so many other good ones.

Her smile lit up the pic from a few years earlier when she and her girlfriends had gone to Vegas.

Even though Karl stood next to her, I couldn’t help feeling mushy at how happy my angel seemed in the photo where they posed in front of monkeys in the zoo.

I teared up when I came to the baby picture. My precious, precious Rebecca Anne Strickland-Martin … so utterly adorable.

Then, there were the wedding pix. It appeared to be a low-budget affair, but they seemed so infatuated with each other — which also brought tears to my eyes, but for a different reason.

After finishing with the photos, I started stalking Rebecca’s timeline. I sifted through a few mundane posts before absorbing a major gut-punch — some woman named Cyndy Rae had tagged Rebecca in a photo showing me from behind as I walked from the Martins’ backyard, accompanied by the hashtag, #RebeccasLittleBitch.

This Cyndy was obviously the woman who’d been at the BBQ the other day and it appeared she’d snapped my picture with her cellphone after I’d dropped off the groceries and was so embarrassingly dismissed. Following the initial shock of seeing the photo, I felt a twinge of relief that at least my face didn’t show; and then I wondered if Rebecca had replied. There were 16 responses. I almost didn’t want to look. But I did.

The first post in the thread was a second photo showing the groceries I’d brought, with Cyndy explaining: “Rebecca’s ex simps for her like crazy. He just dropped off beer, Jack and steaks! Party on!”

I was beyond mortified, but also relieved that Cyndy either didn’t know about my crossdressing or had decided not to post about it. I figured with Rebecca and Karl’s crowd, they’d probably kept that part under wraps, lest their friends think it weird.

No, my beloved and her asshole of a husband seemed perfectly happy with everyone just thinking I was some lovestruck ex-boyfriend who was making a fool of himself.

The next post in the thread was some smartass named Jonathon Beeder who replied to the photo of the groceries I’d bought: “Bud? Shoulda had him get Sam Adams.”

Carole Johns, whose profile photo was stunning, wrote: “I used to have a guy like that. Wish he was still hear but had to move to Cally cuz his work. He wanted to married but didnt want that but dint mind using him for his money LOL”

“Dude should have some self reapct WTF,” a guy named Joe Polanski wrote.

Carla Keller warned, “You might want to be careful. A lot of these ex bfs are obsessed and they can be dangerous so don’t lead this guy on if he creeps you out at all.”

Tom Mobley was brief: “incel cuck”

Rebecca finally weighed in two hours after her friend had composed the post: “Be nice guys.”

I broke into tears. My angel had stuck up for me on Facebook.

 

Part VIII

The alarm clanged way too early. I rolled out of bed, grumbling to myself that nobody should have to wake up at the ungodly hour of 4:45am. But since I wasn’t sure how long it would take for the bus to get me to work, I had to err on the side of caution.

After donning a baby blue teddy beneath my suit, I trekked the half-mile to the nearest bus stop and cooled my heels in the predawn darkness for nearly an hour. When the bus finally came, I was relieved that it wasn’t the same driver who’d spotted my maid’s dress beneath the soaked material of my track suit after I’d been caught in the big thunderstorm two days earlier.

The market broke even and it was a relatively stress-free Monday at the office. After work, I was happy to find a bus stop less than a block from the firm, although that turned out to be a mixed blessing when my boss, Mr. Colburn, drove by and saw me standing there.

He rolled down the car window. “Hey, Chris, why are you taking the bus?”

“Uh, um, my car broke down,” I lied.

“Oh, well, get in. I’ll give you a ride home.”

Thinking fast, I sputtered: “Um, thanks, uh … but my friend is fixing my car, and, uh … I’m, uh, headed to his house to pick it up.”

Mr. Colburn shrugged. “Hop in, I’ll take you to your friend’s.”

I kicked at the sidewalk. “Um, uh … that’s okay. I’m good.”

“You sure?” My boss frowned. “Listen, is everything okay, Chris? You’ve seemed distracted the last few weeks.”

“Yes, yes, everything’s fine. I … uh …” I thought up another lie: “Um, I just been having some family issues lately.”

“All right,” my boss said. “You take it easy, then.”

He pulled away and I exhaled, relieved that he was out of my hair, but also upset that I’d have start walking to a bus stop farther from work until I got my Mercedes back so my boss wouldn’t see me — and according to Karl, that wouldn’t be for another two weeks.

After catching the bus and walking a mile, I didn’t get to the Martins’ house until well past 8pm. My ears turned red when I saw my Mercedes in the driveway, although I noticed the absence of Rebecca’s Neon.

Karl answered my knock and stood in the doorway towering over me.

“You’re late,” he snapped.

“Sir, I’m sorry … I took the first bus that came after work, sir. It … it just takes a lot longer to get here on the bus, sir.”

“You’ll be alright.” Karl chuckled and let me inside. “It’ll do a rich boy like you good to ride the bus for a while; see how the other people have to live.”

I wanted to tell the low-class, redneck piece of shit that I’d grown up dirt-poor and had worked two jobs to put myself through college. Sure, I was making high six figures and drove a $150,000 Mercedes GT63 S — or, I did before Karl took it — but nothing had ever been easy for me.

I bit my lip and scanned the room for Rebecca.

“She’s out with her girlfriends from Best Buy,” Karl said. “She probably won’t be back until late; go ahead and start.”

Sniffling back tears, I shed my suit, revealing my teddy. Karl tittered.

“So, wearing that shit makes you want to clean the house?” He plopped on the couch, set his feet on the coffee table and smirked up at me. “I don’t understand that shit. How does wearing women’s underwear make someone want to clean a damn house?”

“Um, well, sir, it’s, uh, kind of hard to explain,” I said. “It’s not really the clothes that make me want to do it … um, it’s just … well, when I was a kid—”

Karl waved his hand. “I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Y-yes, sir, sorry, sir,” I said, seething inside, since he was the one who’d broached the subject in the first place.

Resentment ate me alive as I scuttled about picking up dirty plates, cups, empty chip bags, a pizza box and other trash from the coffee table while Karl chilled and watched a ballgame. He didn’t move his feet so I worked around them before heading to the kitchen to do the dishes. After the kitchen was spotless, I did the bathroom. The living room carpet also needed vacuuming, although since Karl was still watching TV, I figured I’d better check with him before firing up the appliance.

“Um, sir, everything’s done except the vacuuming, but I didn’t want to make a bunch of noise with you watching TV, sir.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to watch the game; don’t be turning on the damn vacuum cleaner.” Karl jerked his thumb toward the laundry room. “Go get the whisk broom and the dustpan out of the closet in there.”

“Yes, sir.”

While the smug sonofabitch relaxed on the couch watching the ballgame with his feet on the table, I maneuvered around him on my hands and knees sweeping up crumbs.

During a commercial, he leered down at me.

“Tell me something, Chrissie: You in love with my wife?”

“Um, uh … I … er … sir?”

“It’s a simple question. Are you?”

“Sir, I don’t … I …”

He scoffed. “It’s okay, sissy boy. I know you are. I don’t blame you; she’s beautiful, ain’t she?”

“Uh, um, y-yes, sir.”

“You think about fucking her still?”

“Um … I … uh … no, sir.”

Karl snorted. “Bull fucking shit. I see you all goo-goo eyed whenever you look at her.”

“S-sorry, sir.”

He studied me for a few minutes. I squirmed under his gaze.

“She says you’re a pretty nice guy; you just get turned on by this crazy shit.”

“I … uh … I guess, so, sir.”

“Well, you work hard, I’ll give you that much. It’s been nice having you around; that garage looks fucking great.” He stared at me a few seconds more. “Tell you what: When you finish up here, you can go ahead and call an Uber, and rent a car if you want to. I’ll let you.”

“Oh, sir … t-thank you so much, sir.”

Karl shrugged. “No problem. Like I said, you’ve been working real hard for us. Becca loves it; the girl hates a dirty house, but she hates cleaning even more. And I sure as hell ain’t doing it. So, it’s great having you, Chrissie. You’re a good slave.”

“I really, really appreciate it, sir … um, and I do like serving you and … uh, Mrs. Martin, sir.”

He picked up the remote. “Well, great. Hey, before you go, how about you whip me up some nachos?”

“Oh, yes, sir, right away, sir.”

“That’s a good little sissy.”

The insult made me smile.

 

Part IX

I chose the most expensive Beemer at the rent-a-car place and drove to work with a grin on my face.

The only drawback to my buoyant mood was that it was Tuesday, a non-cleaning day, meaning I wasn’t scheduled to see my angel, although I wore a white teddy and panties beneath my suit anyway on the off-chance Rebecca or Karl might summon me. I wasn’t worried about using the bathroom at the office anymore, having figured out that spreading a newspaper across my lap obscured my panties and covered me from possible prying eyes in the adjacent stalls. So, I threw on my girlies just in case.

My boss had mentioned how distracted I’d seemed recently, so as the opening bell rang, I did my best to put Rebecca — and Karl — out of my mind. It was, of course, impossible. Since Karl had treated me halfway decently the previous evening, I’d been in turmoil, fighting a deep desire to submit to the hillbilly sonofabitch — the same subservient, mushy feelings I’d always had for Rebecca. The more I tried not to think about it, the more I did, and the more I hated myself for it.

I tried to reason away the terror and doubt that churned my gut, to no avail. Karl had acted like he’d done me the biggest solid in the world by allowing me to rent a car while keeping my Mercedes for himself — but I was ashamed to admit that I FELT like he’d done me some huge favor. It scared me how much power he held over me through my infatuation for Rebecca. And he knew it, too. He was well-aware that his pretty little wife had me wrapped around her pretty little finger, and that he could get me to do anything he wanted simply by having her tell me to do it. As a result, I felt like my fate rested on his whim, while any little favor or nicety he deemed to mete out had me wagging my tail like an overeager, pathetic puppy.

The day ended with a decent Tuesday tech rebound, and with me concluding that my best bet was to just keep kissing Karl’s ass and hoping he stayed in a good mood. The alternative was to allow him to bother me, cry about it all the time and have Rebecca bar me from serving her. That was a fate I didn’t want to contemplate.

As I drove home from work, my cellphone rang, and I almost careened into a ditch when I saw Rebecca’s number.

I engaged the Bluetooth. “Uh, hey, Mrs. Martin.”

“Hey, Chrissie. You home yet?”

“No, Mrs. Martin, I’m on my way, though.”

“Oh, good. There’s a new Whataburger on the strip, and Karl’s never had one. Pick us up a couple Avocado Bacon Burgers, and I guess two large fries.”

In the background I heard Karl yell, “onion rings for me.”

“He wants onion rings,” Rebecca relayed before telling her husband, “you’re gonna love that burger, watch.” Then the line went dead. For a nanosecond I considered calling her back, thinking maybe we’d been accidentally disconnected, but with a sigh, I realized that she’d simply been rude and had hung up on me without saying thanks.

Her disrespect didn’t keep my spirits down for long, though — I was getting an extra chance to spend some time with my beloved angel, even if it was just to drop off dinner.

I picked up my masters’ Whataburger order and sped to their house, seething when I spotted my car in the driveway covered bumper-to-bumper in mud. Karl answered the door and whistled at my rented BMW.

“Nice ride.” He grinned. “Race ya.”

“Um … er …”

Karl reached down and ruffled my hair. “Just kidding, Chrissie. You are gonna have to wash that one, though; me and Tom was doing a little off-roading. Nothing major, don’t worry. Just a few donuts.”

I gritted my teeth. “Y-yes, sir.”

He smacked his lips. “Okay, let’s have them burgers Becca keeps talking about.”

He led me into the living room, where Rebecca sat on the couch, still in her Best Buy uniform. “Oh, hey, Chrissie, go get plates,” she said.

After I’d set the table, laid out their food and fetched drinks from the kitchen, Rebecca and I watched as Karl took a bite of his burger.

“Mmmm.” He nodded with his mouth full, causing Rebecca to grin.

“Told you,” she said before looking up at me. “Thanks for getting those, Chrissie. I guess we’ll see you tomorrow after work.”

“Um, okay, Mrs. Martin, thank you.”

Karl glanced out the window. “You know what? It’s still light outside; why don’t you go ahead and wash the Mercedes now, instead of waiting until tomorrow?”

“Uh, y-yes, sir.”

“Thanks, Chrissie.” Karl winked at me. “Hey, Chrissie — watch this.”

He leaned over and yanked up his wife’s Best Buy shirt and bra, exposing her breasts.

Rebecca playfully slapped her husband’s hand, causing her tits to jiggle. He ignored her and grinned at me.

“Lookie there, Chrissie,” he said. “How you like them apples?”

I tried to formulate words but all that came out was “bububububdadadadaabababebebe.”

Rebecca pulled her shirt down. “You’re so funny. See you tomorrow, baba. Thanks again for the burgers.”

“T-thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“Make sure you turn off that hose and lock up the garage when you’re done washing the car,” Karl said.

“Will do, sir, thank you, sir.” I instantly cursed myself for being such a suck-up to the man who’d stolen my angel’s heart.

The vision of Rebecca’s lovely breasts was stuck in my head all night, offsetting my resentment as I scuttled back and forth in the driveway washing my own car after Karl had taken it joyriding it through the mud. Once again, though, instead of being massively pissed off, I left their house feeling indebted to the sonofabitch for showing me his wife’s boobs, and hoping I’d washed the car to his satisfaction.

 

Part X

Wednesday’s cleaning shift took a lecherous twist and my Rebecca Anne Martin obsession boiled over into full-blown delirium.

Since the schedule called for light housecleaning on Mondays and Wednesdays after work, I normally would have waited until the weekend to scrub the floors. But Karl had tracked mud through the house, and the carpets and linoleum needed immediate attention. Stripping to my teddy and stockings, I hung my suit in the hall closet, gathered the cleaning supplies and got busy.

Rebecca and Karl were chilling on the couch watching television and passing a joint back and forth when I approached them clutching a can of carpet cleaner.

I cleared my throat. “Um, excuse me.”

Rebecca looked up from the TV. “What, baba?”

“Uh, is it okay if I spray this on the carpet right now to let it set before I start on the bathroom and kitchen?”

She shrugged. “Go ahead, as long as it don’t stink.”

“Um, thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl nodded at his empty can. “I need another beer first, sissy.”

“Yessir.”

Within a few seconds, Karl had his Bud and I was on my knees a few feet away, cleaning up the mess he’d made.

As I applied the solution to the mud stains, Rebecca shook her head at me and sighed. “My husband is such a slob.” She smacked his leg. “Can’t you take off your damned boots when you been working in the mud all day instead of tracking it everywhere?”

Karl chuckled. “Hey, that’s what we got the sissy for. Chrissie likes cleaning shit like this, don’t you, Chrissie?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” I threw in: “Thank you, sir.”

“See?” Karl toked his joint.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Well, hurry up, damn it; you still got everything else to do tonight, too. I don’t want you here till midnight.”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

I quickened my pace and finished spraying the cleaner on the carpet before moving to the bathroom, since that was the easiest. After scrubbing mud from the floor tiles, I wiped yellow drops of Karl’s piss from the toilet rim, a recurring chore.

Next, I tackled the kitchen. While on my hands and knees polishing the tiles at the base of the refrigerator, I glanced into the living room and gasped — my angel’s head was bobbing up and down in Karl’s lap as he relaxed on the couch!! I tried to look away but the smug sonofabitch caught me gawking and flashed a double thumbs-up.

“Damn, this feels good, Chrissie.” He leered. “She ever do this for you?”

I peeked up at Rebecca. She locked eyes with me, holding the dick in her mouth for a few seconds before winking and continuing the blowjob.

“Did she?” Karl demanded.

I was certain he already knew the answer. “Um … no, sir. She … she never did.”

“Well, let me tell you, Chrissie, you don’t know what you’re missing. Ol’ girl can suck a dick.”

Rebecca lifted her mouth from the cock with a pop and pouted my way. “I’m sorry I never gave you blowjobs when we were dating, Chrissie. Don’t take it personal, baba; a girl only wants to do that for a certain kind of guy, you know?”

“Uh, um … yes, Mrs. Martin.” I blinked back tears.

“You’re so much fun to tease.” She blew me a kiss. “Go ahead and keep cleaning, Chrissie, don’t mind us."

"Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.” I went back to scrubbing the kitchen floor, trying unsuccessfully to ignore what was happening in the living room.

By the time the cleaning solution had set in and I was ready to start on the carpet, Rebecca and Karl were locked together on the couch making out. He rummaged his hand inside her pants while she jacked him off. I bowed my head and started scrubbing the carpet nearby, trying not to peek. My back was turned to them and I was focused on a particularly tough stain when Karl’s voice made me jump:

“Come over here, Chrissie.”

Trembling, I turned and faced my masters, still on my knees. She had shed her pants and shirt, and only her panties prevented me from laying eyes on the heavenly vision of her naked body. I shuffled across the carpet toward them, trying not to stare at Rebecca’s tits.

Karl presented his index and middle fingers, which had just been inside his wife’s pussy. He touched them to his nose and inhaled.

“Ahhh,” he sighed, wiggling the two digits at me. “Want a sniff?”

My gasp came out as a squeak, causing Rebecca to giggle.

“Well?” Karl pulled the fingers back. “Do you want a sniff or not?”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Then, where’s your manners, Chrissie?” He smirked. “Ask nice.”

“Um, sir … um, can I please smell your fingers, sir?”

Rebecca giggled again.

“Sure thing, sissy, come on,” Karl said.

He held his fingers a few inches from my nose. I leaned forward and breathed in the celestial fragrance of my angel’s sacred vagina. It completely overwhelmed me, and while I tried to hold it back, I couldn’t help releasing a pitiful, anguished moan:

“oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Rebecca snorted. “Damn it, Karl, you’re gonna give that poor thing a heart attack. Come on now; he needs to get these damn carpets clean so he can do the rest and get the hell out of here.”

Karl shrugged. “What’s your hurry babe? We only wanted him to get done quick tonight so we could fool around. Why not let him stay? Give the sissy a little treat? You said to be nice to him, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” Rebecca tilted her head. “What do you think, Chrissie? Can you handle it?”

“Uh … I … I …”

“Oh, he can handle it fine.” Karl stood and pulled his wife up after him. “Come on, sissy.”

My entire body shook as I followed them into their bedroom.  I fought the urge to pee, and had to remind myself to breathe. After Rebecca fell onto the bed, Karl removed her panties and turned to me.

“We’re gonna start off slow,” he said. “For now, you just get to listen, Chrissie. Maybe you can watch later; we’ll see. Sissies got to earn their privileges around here. Understand?”

“Y-yes, sir.” I glanced at Rebecca, who was watching us with a glazed look in her eye, clearly fascinated by the primal contrast between her tall, muscular husband and the 5’6 beta cowering before him in women’s underwear.

Karl held Rebecca’s panties against the bedroom wall with his thumb. “Step on over here and put your hands on your head, Chrissie,” he said.

I followed his order and he continued: “Okay, now you need to hold them panties against the wall with your nose. And don’t let ‘em drop, sissy, or you’re kicked out of the bedroom, you hear?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Rebecca tittered. “Jeezus, Karl, where the hell you come up with this shit?”

“Hey, I’m just being nice to the sissy like you asked me to. Ain’t I, sissy?”

“Y-yes, sir,” I said, pressing my nose harder against the panties. “Thank you.”

“Did you know that Rebecca asked me to start being nicer to you?”

“I … I … no, sir, I didn’t know that.” It was difficult to talk while holding the panties against the wall with my nose, but I added, “T-thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“Aw, you’re my little doll, Chrissie. We don’t want nobody being mean to my little doll, do we?”

“N-no, Mrs. Martin, t-thank you so much.”

Karl’s gruff voice cut in: “All right, now forget the faggot and come here, girl.”

I heard Rebecca’s light slap. “Be nice, I told you.”

There was a scoff, followed by the wet smack of a kiss. The bedsprings creaked as one of them shifted positions. Heavy breathing. Wetter smacks. Creakier creaks. Then, a feminine gasp — Karl entering my angel. I pressed my nose against her panties, wallowing in the shameful reality of his dick being literally twice the size of my pea-shooter. The degradation worsened when he began pumping that howitzer into her, and my precious Rebecca actually sounded like she was enjoying it — as opposed to the times when she’d yawned and watched “The Bachelorette” over my shoulder during our pathetic stabs at lovemaking.

They started going at it like crazy and my veins felt electrified. I could taste blood from biting my lip, but if I hadn’t clamped down so hard, some kind of sorrowful wail surely would’ve escaped from within me. My entire body trembled, making it even more difficult to hold the panties against the wall with my nose while keeping my hands on my head. After about 20 minutes, my arms, shoulders, neck and nose started to ache terribly, although the pain was alleviated by the erotic moans swirling behind me. The bedpost started slamming the wall at jackhammer speed, and Rebecca’s wails got louder and more desperate before Karl let out a cry. The creaking waned until stopping altogether.

All I heard for the next several minutes was heavy breathing. Then, my beloved angel deemed to address me:

“Go get a towel.”

I hesitated. “Um, is it okay if I let the panties down now?”

Karl scoffed. “Yeah, go ahead — but that’s a good sissy for asking.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I let my hands drop from my head and secured the panties in my grip before inching my nose back, thinking it would’ve been disrespectful to let them fall to the floor. Then, I dashed to the bathroom to fetch a towel and when I returned, I kept my gaze downward, not wanting to gawp at my naked mistress. She snatched the towel from my grasp and wiped herself before handing it to her husband, who followed suit, while I stood before them in my frilly underthings, still looking down, still shaking from head to toe.

Karl popped his lips. “Hey, Chrissie, how’d you like to taste Rebecca’s pussy?”

My jaw dropped and my hopes skyrocketed, but they came crashing down an instant later when he smirked and handed me the towel. “Here, lick that, bet you can taste her on there.”

Rebecca giggled as I took the towel from Karl.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Lick it.”

Red-faced, I lifted the towel to my mouth.

“Hee-hee, can you taste her, sissy?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Careful, there, sissy, that might be me you’re tasting,” Karl smirked, and I avoided eye contact. He chuckled. “I’m just playing with you, Chrissie; ain’t I been nice to you tonight?”

“Oh, yes, sir, thank you sir.”

“Then, you think you can do me a little favor, too?”

“Of course, sir. Anything.”

“Great. How about you gas up the Mercedes before you go home?”

I gulped at the humiliation of it, but peeped out a “yessir.”

“Thanks, Chrissie. Just slide the key through the mail slot when you’re through.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Rebecca sighed. “Well, that was nice, but you need to finish up and go home.” She turned to her husband. “I’m tired, baby; I want to go to sleep. Can’t he just clean up out there? We don’t need to sit and watch him, do we?”

Karl sneered at me. “I don’t know, sissy, you gonna be stealing my wife’s panties?”

“Oh, no, sir, of course not.”

“Then, okay. I guess you can go ahead.”

“Thank you, sir, for … for, um, trusting me.”

Rebecca smiled. “You’re such a doll, Chrissie. You work so hard and put up with so much. You know what?” She nodded at the panties in my hand. “Why don’t you go ahead and just keep those?”

“Oh … oh … Mrs. Martin, thank you. Oh, thank you so much, Mrs. Martin, thank you.”

Karl chuckled. “Damn, I think he done hit the sissy Lotto!”

My angel yawned. “Okay, Chrissie, we’re gonna go to sleep now. Finish up the cleaning and make sure you lock up behind you. Thanks again, baba.”

“Um … okay. Uh … good night, Mrs. Martin. Uh, good night, sir. T-thank you for letting me serve you.”

“No problem, sissy,” Karl said. “Don’t stretch them panties out too bad wearing ‘em, you hear?”

“N-no, sir.” I exited their bedroom, laughing to myself at the absurdity of Karl’s assumption that I would dare consider desecrating the sacred material that had touched my angel’s most private parts by donning the panties myself.

As Rebecca and Karl snoozed, I finished cleaning their house with a song in my submissive heart. And after driving my Mercedes to the Sunoco station and filling it with premium gas, I even spruced up the inside, emptied the trash bag and made sure to return the seat to the position Karl preferred.

I wasn’t happy about the huge burn mark in the leather seat — probably from an errant joint, since Karl didn’t smoke cigarettes — but even that couldn’t dampen my spirits as I dropped off my car at the Martins’ full of gas and drove my rented BMW home, where I spent the night with my nose in Rebecca’s panties and my soul in sissy heaven.

 

Part XI

My masters had wanted me to get an early start Saturday morning, so by 9:30am I was already in my maid’s uniform scrubbing the hallway baseboards while Rebecca and Karl relaxed in bed smoking a wakeup joint and watching cartoons.

From my kneeling position just outside their room, I fluctuated from cleaning to ogling the half-dressed, reclining stoners to glancing at their TV show, “Hoop the Horse.” When a wheel fell off the equine hero’s dune buggy, sending the vehicle tumbling over a cliff, Rebecca slapped her head.

“That’s what I was trying to remember to tell you — that damn wheel on the car keeps rattling,” she said. “Can you look at it today?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Karl scoffed. “I don’t know about you, honey, but I been thinking it ain’t right that we got a slave driving a goddamn BMW and you’re stuck with that piece of shit. Hey, Chrissie!”

“Y-yes, sir?”

“Get your ass in here.”

I scrambled to my feet and stepped into the bedroom.  “Y-yes, sir?”

Karl frowned. “You think it’s right that Rebecca has to drive that old Neon while you’re running around in that nice Beemer you rented? I mean, ain’t you supposed to be the damn slave around here?”

“Um, y-yes, sir.”

“Well, then, she shouldn’t be driving that Neon, should she?”

“Um … I … uh, no, sir.” I bit my tongue; if I had any balls, I’d have asked the selfish bastard why he didn’t just let his wife take my Mercedes while he drove the older of the two cars. But I kept my mouth shut, knowing that questioning Mr. King Shit would only cause my angel to reprimand me, because in her eyes the sonofabitch could do no wrong.

Karl leaned his head back and regarded me through buzzed eyes. “I think my girl should be driving that Beemer, what do you think, sissy?”

I gulped. There was only one acceptable answer. “Um, yes, sir. Uh, I’d need to add her name at the rent-a-car place, though, so she’d be authorized to drive it.”

“Yeah, well, make sure you get that done before she has to go to work Monday,” Karl ordered.

“Y-yes, sir. Um, I better get there today, then, sir, because they’re closed Sundays … um, if it’s okay, I can run over there as soon as they open at 11, and then come back and finish up my chores here.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. Take care of it, Chrissie. My Becca should have the best.”

Rebecca leaned over and kissed her hubby. “I love you, babe.”

“Love you, too, girl.”

I seethed and returned to cleaning the hallway baseboards. As usual, my resentment faded after just a few minutes and was replaced by an overwhelming desire to please my angel. I got to thinking that maybe it made more sense to just buy her a new car — and then, like a good wimp, I started second-guessing myself. Would she consider that over the top? Would Karl? And if I bought her a car, would I have to get one for him, too? I already knew the answer; did I really want to shell out that kind of money?

Fuck it, I scoffed to myself as I wiped a smudge from the wall — why not buy them a goddamn house while I was at it?

The first time that question ran through my mind, my inner voice was being a smartass. Then, as I worked my way down the hall to the baseboards near the bathroom, I started contemplating the matter more seriously. Why not buy them each a car? Why not buy them a house? I certainly had the money. Were they not my masters? Was I not their slave? Was it not my job to make their lives comfortable at all costs? Was this dynamic of ours not real? It sure seemed like it to me; after just a few weeks I couldn’t imagine a world without being allowed to serve Rebecca — and yes, Karl, too, as much as I hated to admit it.

After finishing in the hallway, as my masters were working on the morning’s third joint, I decided to take a chance and bring up the idea of buying them new cars, although I thought offering a house at that point might be a bit much.

I stood before them wringing my hands. “Um, Mrs. Martin? Um, sir?”

Rebecca hit the doobie and blew smoke my way. “What, baba?”

“Um, I … I hope you don’t think I’m moving too fast, or that I would … um, you know, expect anything … you know, in return … I mean, you might think it’s a little too much, but it’s something you both really need, and I … well, I think—”

“What the fuck are you babbling about, sissy?” Karl took the joint from his wife and held it in front of his lips. “Spit it out, for chrissakes.”

“Um, well, I was wondering if it might not be better to … uh, for me to just … um … buy new cars for you guys.”

Rebecca and Karl glanced at each other. Then she turned to me, her brow in a knit.

“That’s sweet, Chrissie … but … I don’t know …”

“But … uh, it’s not a problem; I … um, I have the money.”

“I don’t …” she mused. “No … no, I don’t want you buying cars, Chrissie.”

“Mrs. Martin, how come?”

My angel arched her eyebrow. “Well, frankly, if you want to know the truth, I don’t want you thinking I owe you anything.”

“Oh, no, no, Mrs. Martin, I would never think that.” I clasped my hands together. “No, I would never … please, I would never, ever think that you owe me anything. Please — I’m the one who owes you.”

Karl scratched his balls and sucked his teeth. “And you’re talking about buying ‘em for us free and clear? No strings attached; they’d be our cars, 100%? In our names?”

“Sir, yes, sir, no strings, sir. I … I just want … I just want to serve you.” My eyes watered. “Please.”

Rebecca turned to her husband. “What do you think, honey?”

He shrugged. “Sure, fuck it, why not? As long as our name’s on the title and not his. Hell, it’s Saturday — we can go the damn dealership later on today if you want to.”

Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “Okay, baby, if you think it’s alright.”

He nodded. “Hell, yeah, I don’t see why not. Fuck it.”

She studied my face and chuckled. “My little Chrissie. You do soooooo much for us, don’t you?”

I bowed my head. “Um … I don’t know … I …”

“Well, I’m happy we have you, baba. Such a loyal, hard-working little thing.”

A tear snaked down my cheek. “T-thank you so much, Mrs. Martin. Thank you, sir. I’m happy to be serving you. I really am.”

Karl clucked his tongue. “One big happy family. Now, I’m starting to get the munchies; how ‘bout you whip us up some bacon and eggs right quick, sissy?”

“Oh, yes, sir, coming right up, sir.” I literally ran to the kitchen. Rebecca giggled at my enthusiasm.

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

Karl drove us to the dealership in my Mercedes, with Rebecca riding shotgun and me hunched in the backseat, my ears on fire from the Bose system blasting 105.3 FM, the Young Country station, at full volume.

He pulled into Bob Baxter’s Friendly Ford and made a beeline for the row of F-350s. Karl and Rebecca strolled through the lot holding hands and gawking at trucks while I followed behind them. Within minutes, a salesman appeared.

“Hey, guys, that’s a nice one, huh?” he nodded at a red F-350 that had attracted Karl’s eye.

“Real nice.” Karl kicked the tire. “Can I take ‘er for a spin?”

“Sure, follow me,” the salesman said and we trailed him to the office, where he copied Karl’s driver’s license before handing him the key.

“Sweeeeeet,” Karl said, sounding like a middle-schooler as he gamboled out of the office toward the truck, leaving Rebecca and me trailing behind.

“Come on, baby,” he called over his shoulder. “Hop in.”

She slipped into the passenger seat and Karl pulled out of the lot.

The salesman smiled. “You guys all friends?”

“Uh … yeah.” I crammed my hands in my pockets and pretended to read the sticker on a car window, sending a wordless signal to this greaseball that I wasn’t interested in further conversation. My head was pounding from the pressure of the situation; at some point I was going to have to explain that I was the one who’d be paying for the truck my companion clearly planned to drive, and all morning I’d been racking my brain concocting possible cover stories.

I’d considered the obvious options; I could say I was Karl’s brother or uncle, and that this was a birthday present; or that I’d lost a bet. But I hadn’t yet discussed the matter with Karl, and I was scared the immature sonofabitch might go ahead and tell the salesman the truth — that I was the couple’s rich slave who was buying them each a vehicle.

Despite all my teeth-gnashing, the subject never came up. When Karl told the salesman he’d take the truck, the man asked how he’d be paying and my master pointed at me. I simply said, “I’ll be taking care of it,” and the greasy guy in the tan suit, knowing he had a for-sure pending sale and reading my mood, shut the fuck up and stopped asking personal questions.

After getting the financial issues squared away, securing the plates and setting up the insurance payments through my checking account, Karl drove his new toy out of the dealership. Rebecca took the wheel of my Mercedes while I sat beside her; she didn’t want to ride with her husband because he’d said he wanted to “let ‘er rip” before heading to the next car lot, meaning he was going to probably hit more than 100mph. My angel wanted no part of that.

“This is so nice of you, Chrissie,” she said as we sat at a redlight. “Honestly, I don’t even know what to say.”

I gulped. “I … I really want to make you and Mr. Martin happy. I really do. It’s … it’s all I ever think about.”

“Well, you’re sweet. You always were; that was never the problem.” She reached over and rested her hand on my thigh. “Chrissie, I know things didn’t work out between us when we were together, but … I don’t know, this just seems perfect. This kind of relationship, I mean. It’s like you were born to be my slave. I’m so glad I called you.”

Tears filled my eyes. “Oh, Mrs. Martin, thank you. Thank you so much. All I want is for you to be happy — and for Mr. Martin to be happy, too.”

“Well, I am happy, Chrissie.” She shimmied in her seat and squealed. “Now let’s go get my Range Rover. Woo-hoo!”

 

Part XII

When the salesman at the Sunnyside Land Rover dealership asked Rebecca if she and I were married, her response sounded suspiciously like a scoff.

“Chris is a friend,” she said. “My husband will be here in a minute; he had to stop and do something first.”

She neglected to tell the salesman that the “something” Karl “had to stop and do” entailed him hitting the freeway and slamming the pedal to the metal to see how fast his new truck would go, which is why Rebecca had ridden with me in the first place, since she knew how crazy her redneck husband drove.

“Ah.” The salesman nodded at the $170,000 Range Rover P530 SUV Rebecca had been eyeing. “Well, I bet your husband is going to love seeing you in this. It’s a beauty. I can go get the keys if you want to take ‘er for a spin.”

“Ooh, wow, yes, please.” My angel’s smile lit up the universe.

As we followed the man into the office, Rebecca leaned toward me, her shoulder brushing my ear. “This is so awesome. You’re so sweet for doing this. Thank you so much. I’ve never had a new car; shit, I’ve never even had a car that’s less than five years old. So, thanks.”

“Well, I’m just really, really glad that you’re happy — so, thank YOU.” I was dying to say more but didn’t want to display too much servility within earshot of the salesman. Had nobody been around, I’d have dropped to my knees and thanked my Princess for giving me the opportunity to make her this happy. I’d have told her how grateful I was for allowing me back into her life. I’d have shed tears at how beautiful she looked when her eyes were lit up with joy.

Instead, I swallowed my boiling emotions and stood by while the man photocopied Rebecca’s driver’s license and handed over the keys.

She grinned, showing me the key fob. “What do you say, Chris? Let’s go for a ride.”

I followed her and the salesman outside, thrilled that she’d invited me along to share this moment — a feeling that immediately evaporated when Karl’s red F-350 came screeching onto the lot.

He rolled out of his truck and stormed our way. “Fuckin’ cops gave me a goddamn speeding ticket on the freeway.”

“Oh, damn, baby, I’m sorry; that sucks.” Rebecca walked up to her husband and melted into his embrace. “Don’t let it bother you, okay, baby?”

He huffed and squeezed his wife tighter. “Yeah, fuck it. I ain’t gonna.”

Rebecca had to tilt her head way back in order to smile up at her towering husband, an act that sent a bolt of humiliation shooting through my 5’6 frame. “Baby, I’m about to take this Rover out for a ride if you want to come,” she said.

Karl shrugged. “Sure, babe, let’s go.”

My beloved turned to me. “Chris, why don’t you go ahead and get started on all the paperwork and insurance stuff? That way, if I end up deciding on this one or another one, we’ll have a head start already.”

“Um … uh, okay.” I’d almost slipped and called her “Mrs. Martin” in public but caught myself.

This salesman was smart enough to refrain from asking questions, and he didn’t comment on how my “friend” had just cast me aside and invited her husband along for the test-drive after she’d just asked me to go seconds earlier — even though I obviously was the one who’d be paying for the vehicle, should it strike her fancy. That’s exactly what happened; by the time she returned, Rebecca had fallen in love with the SUV and the first words out of her mouth after she pulled up were: “I’ll take it.”

That didn’t exactly put me in the best bargaining position as far as trying to finagle a lower price but the glow on my angel’s face was all I could think about, so following some perfunctory wrangling I signed on the dotted line.

After the paperwork was filled out, the insurance squared away and the deal consummated, Rebecca, Karl and I huddled in the lot outside the dealership office.

“I’m hungry; let’s go eat,” Rebecca said.

“What about him?” Karl nodded my way.

She shrugged. “He can come with.”

“I dunno, babe. It’s getting late and he’s still got all them weeds to pull next door, and a bunch of shit to do at the house still, since we been gone all day. Unless you want him to come over tomorrow and do it all.”

“No, no, we were gonna go to that fish fry with Cyndy and Tom tomorrow, remember?” Rebecca turned to me. “I’m sorry, baba, you can eat with us next time. Go ahead back to the house and get started pulling those weeds, and we’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin,” I said after glancing around to ensure nobody was within hearing range.

She smiled. “You’re such a sweetie.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

I watched through watery eyes as Rebecca and Karl traipsed to their respective vehicles — top-of-the-line models that together had just set me back more than $200,000, not counting the future insurance payments. They each drove off without so much as a glance my way.

At least Rebecca had thanked me multiple times for the pricy present. Karl hadn’t said a goddamn thing.

With relentless self-criticism tying me in knots as usual, I drove my Mercedes back to the shitty part of town. Every time I’d glance down and see the jagged burn mark in my leather seat, I’d grit my teeth and hate myself for allowing things to spiral out of control like they had … and then my resistance would melt, and I’d slip into a sub-space trance, where everything felt so right.

Sure, I’d just dropped a ridiculous amount of cash on my ex-girlfriend and her husband — but $200k was a pittance to me, since I had about $3 million in savings, and my money wasn’t doing me any good sitting in the bank, anyway. The amazing, submissive cloud I’d been floating on since embarking on my service to the Martins was priceless. I’d never felt more alive and wanted that to continue. A couple hundred grand was nothing.

I got back to South Sycamore Street and chuckled when I saw Rebecca’s Neon still parked in the driveway. Her new SUV was worth 100 times more than that piece of shit, and it dawned on me that Karl had been absolutely right earlier that morning — Rebecca had no business driving a car like that. While I had been thinking the same thing since I’d started serving her, I felt ashamed that Karl had been the first one to say it out loud.

After surveying the size of the driveway, I decided to park my Mercedes in the street to allow room for the two large new vehicles that would require spots once Rebecca and Karl returned home from the restaurant. Then, with a sigh, I squared my shoulders and got started on the fucked-up lot next door.

The weed-choked, litter-strewn parcel wasn’t part of the property my masters were renting, but Karl had said he was tired of looking at it, and since nobody from the city had responded to his complaints, he’d told me to clean it up. It was a huge endeavor that was going to take several hours to finish, which is why my masters had wanted me to report to their house early Saturday morning. Those plans changed once they decided to go to the dealerships, but my masters still wanted everything done.

It began to rain, and I found out the hard way that it’s nearly impossible to pull wet weeds bare-handed. Since I didn’t have the key to the shed where the work gloves were stored, I did the best I could, getting soaked in the process.

After about an hour-and-a-half, Karl’s truck pulled into the driveway, and he dashed through the pouring rain into his house without saying a word, even though he’d glanced my way and we’d made eye contact. I hung my head and kept working. About 20 minutes later, I spotted Rebecca’s stylish new SUV turn onto the block. After she parked, she also ran to the house, but to my great joy, she paused in the doorway and yelled out to me: “dry off and come inside.”

I didn’t have anything with which to dry myself, so I stood on the porch wringing out my shirt and shaking my head like a dog to expel the excess water. When I was no longer dripping, I used my hand to slick back my hair and ventured into the living room, where Rebecca and Karl were relaxed on their couch, smoking a joint and watching television.

“I feel like celebrating.” Rebecca smiled up at me. “Make me a nice, strong screwdriver, Chrissie.”

Karl scratched his balls. “Beer and a shot of Jack for me, sissy.”

“Coming right up.”

With as much enthusiasm as I could muster, I scooted into the kitchen to fix my masters’ drinks, feeling like I was an important part of this little family we seemed to be developing, even if I was the perpetual flunky.

I served Rebecca’s drink first before moving to Karl’s side of the couch and setting his beer and shot glass on the table in front of him. He picked up the shot, clinked it against Rebecca’s glass, and the two of them formally celebrated their new vehicles. I was surprised that my angel downed her whole drink in one gulp.

Karl handed me his empty shot glass. “It’s raining too hard for you to keep going on that damned lot, so you’ll just have to come back here tomorrow and get it done while we’re at the fish fry, I guess.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Shit, we should just get you your own key.” Karl shrugged. “It ain’t like you’re gonna steal anything.”

“Oh, never sir.”

He leered. “And you’re not gonna rummage through the dirty clothes, sniffing my wife’s underwear?”

“Why would he need to do that? He’s got a pair of his own.” Rebecca’s eyes danced. “Do you sniff the panties I gave you, Chrissie?”

I forced out the words: “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl smirked. “Hey, sissy, you want to listen to me and Becca again tonight? Because I definitely plan on tearing that little pussy up.”

Rebecca slapped his arm. “Have some damn class. You’re such a pig.”

He chuckled. “Chrissie don’t think so — do you, Chrissie?”

“Oh, no, sir. Um, thank you very much, sir.”

My master shrugged. “Hey, like I said, you do good, you get rewards. You been a real good slave for Rebecca and me. That truck’s sweeter than a motherfucker. Good job, Chrissie.”

“Um, uh, thank you so much, sir.” Here I was thanking him for the privilege of buying him a $85,000 F350, knowing that his little “good job, Chrissie” was as close to a thank-you as I was ever going to get.

After serving refills, I returned to cleaning the house while the lovebirds chilled on the couch, sipping alcohol and smoking herb. By the time I had the kitchen spotless and was working on the bathroom, they were feeling no pain.

I was scrubbing the toilet when Karl came running into the room unzipping his pants. “Move, Chrissie, I gotta go.” I backed away from the commode just in time for Karl to brush past me and release a firehose stream. I knelt there with my head bowed, listening to the tinkling.

When he finished, Karl zipped back up and chuckled. “You’re gonna want to get that, Chrissie,” he said, jerking his thumb at the yellow dewdrops that dotted the floor and toilet rim. He strolled away, leaving it to me to flush the toilet.

By the time I’d finished in the bathroom, my masters were stoned and horny, judging from their hot-and-heavy activity on the couch. I wasn’t sure what to do, so I stood before them in my frillies with my head bowed and hands folded in front of me, floating on a wave of submissive bliss.

After they snogged for a good 20 minutes, they unlocked lips and sucked down more alcohol. Rebecca was pretty lit as she sneered up at me, shaking her head and chuckling.

“Look at you in your little maid’s dress, Chrissie. Do you like being our little sissy maid?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. T-thank you.”

“You should probably thank Mr. Martin, too, Chrissie.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

Karl sucked his teeth. “No problem. It’s good to have a little sissy around.”

Rebecca twirled her finger. “Dance for us in your little dress, Chrissie.”

“Um … uh, d-dance?”

“Yes, dance.” My Princess fiddled with her cellphone for a second before it started blasting the song “I’m Every Woman,” prompting Karl to spit out his beer.

Rebecca clapped. “Go, Chrissie, do a little dance for us.”

I felt like a goddamn fool as I swayed back and forth to the beat.

Rebecca shook her head. “Come on, Chrissie, get into it. Be our little ballerina.”

Karl added: “You got to do better than that if you think you’re gonna get to listen to us in the bedroom tonight, now.”

That spurred me into action, and I started bumping and grinding like a coked-up stripper while my stoned masters sat on the couch dying laughing. When the song was over, Karl said “good sissy,” and then stood and lifted Rebecca by the hand. “Come on to the bedroom, Chrissie, and I’ll give you your little reward.”

My heart pounded as I followed my masters to their love nest. I stood nearby focusing on the carpet while they both undressed. As Rebecca slipped into bed, I watched Karl pluck his boxers from the floor.

“Chrissie, I know you done bought us the new cars and all, and that’s all good,” my master slurred. “But if you’re gonna be our slave, we can’t have you getting spoiled now, can we?”

“Uh, n-no, sir.”

“No, we can’t. So, tonight it’s still listening only.” He pressed his boxer shorts onto the wall. “Come on, Chrissie. You know what to do; hands on your head.”

As I moved to obey, I heard a peal of feminine laughter behind me.

“OMG, Karl, you are SO MEAN. Poor Chrissie; I know you don’t want to have to smell that pig’s dirty underwear. I’m sorry he’s such an asshole all the time.”

She sounded drunk and bemused, not sorry. But with my nose pressed against her husband’s boxers, I replied, “It’s okay, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl patted me on the head. “Little Chrissie likes my dirty drawers, don’t you, Chrissie?”

“Of course, sir.”

“See?” He smacked me in the ass, making me jump. “Now, stay there till I tell you to move, sissy.”

“Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Why I’d thanked him, I had no idea, but I had a lot of time to think about it, because after the sounds of my masters making love sent me into a submissive blackness for about a half-hour, the bedsprings eventually calmed down and were followed by snores.

Rebecca and Karl had gone to sleep. My big dilemma was whether to move or to obey the last order my master had given me, which was to stay put until told otherwise.

Of course, being a sissy slave, I decided to obey. I did lower my arms from time to time to give my aching shoulders a rest, and once in a while I’d stretch my neck while pressing Karl’s boxers to the wall with my hand.

Otherwise, though, I held my position like a good slave all night long. I knew it would’ve been perfectly fine had I just slipped out of the bedroom after my masters crashed. Karl was so drunk, there was no way he’d have remembered what he’d ordered me to do. And Rebecca wouldn’t have cared.

But where was the fun in being rational? Yes, I was martyring myself — because that’s what sissy slaves do.

It was more than that, though. As hour after hour passed, I became overwhelmed by a deep desire to make my masters’ world as perfect for them as humanly possible. I wanted them to wake up, see me standing there and realize that I would do anything, go to any lengths and suffer any hardship or indignity just to make them happy.

I stood in the dark bedroom with my hands on my head, pressing Karl’s underwear against the wall with my nose, finally admitting it to myself:

I loved Rebecca. I loved Karl. I loved them.

Like a stray kitten who’d been rescued from a shelter, I felt I owed my very existence to my benevolent masters.

That feeling both thrilled me to death and scared the living shit out of me.

 

Part XIII

With my nose pressing Karl’s boxers against the wall and my hands planted on my head, I had no concept of time, although I knew it was late when my masters finally started to stir because daylight had been streaming through the bedroom window for quite a while.

I listened to the mattress shifting, Karl’s hacking and Rebecca’s groaning.

Karl noticed me first. “What the fuck? What are you doing, Chrissie?”

“Um, sir, you … you told me not to move last night, remember? But you fell asleep before I—”

“Ugh, keep your voice down, damn it; go get me some tomato juice,” Rebecca hissed, her tone betraying her irritation.

“Um, right away, Mrs. Martin,” I whispered, pulling my nose back and removing Karl’s underwear from the wall. After folding them and setting them on the dresser, I scooted to the kitchen, my tail between my legs. I’d assumed my decision to stay put all night would’ve been greeted with satisfaction from my masters when they realized the depths of my dedication and obedience. While standing there for hours, I’d also fantasized that perhaps they’d even tease me a little about being such a compliant wimp, and that their taunts would stoke my submissive fires, making for an erotic morning.

Instead, I got the worst possible reaction; the hung-over Rebecca didn’t think my stunt was cute at all. She wasn’t honored, flattered or impressed — just annoyed. Making matters worse, there was only a tiny drop of tomato juice in the refrigerator, a sad reality which I reported to my scowling princess.

“Well, get me a glass of water and then change out of that stupid dress and run down to the 7Eleven and get more,” she snapped. “And hurry up, Chrissie.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. Right away, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl yawned. “While you’re out, why don’t you stop at Top Dogg and pick us up a couple hot dogs and some chili fries?”

“Oh, good idea, something greasy for a hangover,” Rebecca said.

After serving Rebecca’s water and taking the initiative to also prepare a glass for Karl, I changed into street clothes and ducked into the bedroom one last time before leaving.

“Um, is it okay if I get myself something to eat, too?” I asked the reclining couple.

Rebecca waved her hand. “I don’t care, Chrissie, hurry up.”

It was still pouring when I headed outside. I muttered a curse, unhappy at the prospect of toiling all day in the overgrown lot next door without having slept, while also getting soaked to the bone. I dashed from the porch to my Mercedes, phoned in the Top Dogg order and hit the road, rubbing my eyes as I drove in an attempt to stay awake.

After picking up two large cans of tomato juice from the 7Eleven, I zoomed through the rain to the restaurant, where breakfast was ready for pickup. Within a half-hour of leaving the Martins’ house, I was back with their order, which pleased my mistress.

“Wow, that was quick, good job, Chrissie,” Rebecca said from the bedroom. Her compliment filled me with joy as I rushed to the kitchen, transferred their food onto plates and served them breakfast in bed. I sat on the floor and leaned against their mattress, enjoying my scrambled eggs and sausage out of the Styrofoam container, once again feeling like part of the family after what had been a tense start to the day.

Rebecca glanced out the window, chewing. “I bet Cyndy and Tom end up canceling that fish fry.”

“I dunno; he’s been pretty excited about it for a long time, so he’ll wait until the last minute if he does cancel.” Karl looked down at me. “Chrissie, if it don’t stop raining by the time we’re ready to leave, I guess you can just go on home and finish that damn lot another day.”

My angel popped a chili fry into her mouth. “No, he’s still got a whole bunch of cleaning to do; he never did finish because we left for the car dealers. Chrissie, it was so stupid for you to stand there all night like that.”

“S-sorry.”

“Yeah, well, next time something like that happens and we fall asleep, you need to leave and get your chores done. Understand?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin … I’m sorry, Mrs. Martin; it’s just that Mr. Martin told me not to move until he said so, and—”

Rebecca showed me the hand. “Ugh, just shut up, Chrissie, you’re giving me a pounding headache. Next time, just do your damn chores, okay?”

I lowered my eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Sitting at the foot of their bed, I finished my breakfast in silence while above me on the mattress, my masters ate and watched TV. When they were done I collected their plates, washed them, and then got started on the chores I hadn’t had the chance to do the previous evening. While I worked, my stoner masters stayed in bed chain-smoking doobies.

Because they were dealing with hangovers, I used the whiskbroom and dustpan instead of the noisy vacuum cleaner, although neither Rebecca nor Karl seemed to notice the sacrifice. It took about three hours to finish my chores, and by the time everything was done, the skies had cleared, Karl had confirmed with his buddy that the fish fry was indeed still a go, and he and Rebecca were in better spirits as they prepared to leave, their headaches having faded.

“The house looks good; you probably don’t need to come over tomorrow,” Rebecca said as I followed her and Karl outside. “So, I guess we’ll see you Wednesday.”

“Um … yes, Mrs. Martin. Thank you, Mrs. Martin.” Her edict had burned a hole into my soul, since it meant I likely wouldn’t be seeing her for days, although she didn’t appear to notice my anguish.

Karl waved his hand toward the jungle of a lot next door. “That should keep you busy for a while,” he said. “Make sure you lock up the shed when you’re done with the lawnmower and shit.”

“Yes, sir,” I said under my breath so neighbors wouldn’t hear.

With that, Karl hopped into his new F350 while his wife, my angel, slipped into the passenger seat. A wave of submissive sadness washed over me as I watched the truck peel out of the driveway. With a sigh, I trudged to the Martins’ shed to retrieve the needed tools, and then got started on what I knew was going to be one hell of a job.

As the hours under the humid sun crept by, with every bone aching and my body covered in sweat, I kept envisioning Rebecca and her husband relaxing at the fish fry, partying with their friends. I’d fume at the indignity of it all, and the resentment would threaten to overcome me — until my little dick would stir, and I’d glance around to ensure nobody was looking before sneaking myself a quick pick-me-up diddle. Then, the cycle would restart.

I finished just before sundown. The formerly overgrown lot looked like a pool table, and as I returned the lawnmower and tools to the shed and locked up, I felt absolutely exhausted, but also pretty damned proud of myself.

Having gotten zero sleep the night before, I conked out seconds after arriving home. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been in dreamland when my phone rang. I was still groggy, but snapped out of it when I saw Rebecca’s name.

“Hello?” I glanced at the clock, which showed 1:24am.

“Um, Chris … c-can you help me?” She sounded like she was crying.

“OMG, of course, I can, Mrs. Martin — what’s wrong?”

“It’s Karl. He’s … he went crazy again. He … we got in an argument at the fish fry, and he hit me after we got home … and … I just need to get away from him. Can … can you get me a hotel room somewhere where he can’t find me?”

“Yeah, I’m getting dressed now, and I’ll find a place and call you right back.”

“Okay. T-thanks, sweetie.”

“Of course. Just one sec, okay? Call you right back.”

As I scrambled around throwing on clothes, I was ashamed to admit to myself that while I was certainly worried about my angel and infuriated that Karl had assaulted her, I was also feeling twinges of happiness. This news brought hope that Rebecca might wise up and divorce that selfish sonofabitch.

And I also couldn’t help feeling overjoyed that, when my angel had found herself in trouble, instead of calling her many cool friends, she’d reached out to me, the little 5’6 sissy.

She’d even referred to me by my male name, Chris!

My princess needed my help. No matter what, I knew I had to rescue her, and whisk her away from the shitty situation that was dragging her down.

I called the Hilton and rented the presidential suite. I figured if I was going to be providing Rebecca Anne Strickland with a better life, I might as well get started on the right foot.

 

Part XIV

To my anguish and delight, Rebecca cried all night.

I certainly wasn’t happy about my angel being in pain, and her tears churned me up inside — but at the same time, I was secretly thrilled that she was seriously thinking about leaving her dickhead of a husband.

“OMG, tell me what happened,” I said as I escorted her into the palatial suite I’d rented.

She sat on the couch and sighed. “Well, we were at the fish fry and he started acting like an asshole, wanting to fight everyone. Then, on the way home, he gets on the freeway and floors it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, jeez.”

“Yeah. He had it way over 100mph … I kept telling him to slow down, but he never listens — and, sure enough, the cops pull him over and he gets another damn ticket.”

“You gotta be kidding me.”

“Nope — and, then, the stupid-ass almost got himself thrown in jail yelling at the cop; he’s lucky he didn’t. So, then, when we got home everything just blew up. We had a huge argument and he …” Tears filled her eyes. “H-he slapped me.”

I took a seat next to her on the couch and rubbed her arm. “OMG, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Mar— … um, I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks, Chrissie.” Through her tears she managed a smile, and I forced my lips upward in return, hiding my embarrassment and disappointment at being called by my “sissy name,” since I’d thought she’d called me to provide friendship, not submission, and in the moment I was more interested in saving her than serving her.

I drew a breath and offered my opinion: “If you don’t mind my saying so, um … well, Karl seems pretty selfish.”

Rebecca’s face twisted up ugly. “Listen, Chrissie, you should probably just keep your damn mouth shut.”

“Oh, no — I-I ... I didn’t—”

She sighed and touched my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell, Chrissie. You’re right. I know he’s an asshole. I know. But …”

Although her sentence trailed off, it was obvious what lurked behind the “but.”

“But … I love him.”

“But … he’s so handsome.”

But … he’s so tall and muscular.”

“But … he fucks my brains out with that big dick of his.”

I shook my head. “I know … I know that you … um, love him — but nobody should ever lay a hand on you. There’s no reason you should have to put up with that.”

“Yeah, I know. It ain’t the first time, either.”

“What?! He hit you before? When?”

“A few times. Nothing real bad; usually just slaps. He—”

“Just slaps? That’s crazy, Rebecca. He can go to jail for that. Did you ever call the cops?”

“Oh, no, no … I don’t want to go there, Chrissie. I just … I don’t know. He’s such a fucking dick sometimes. He makes me want to scream. But I do love him. You know? I love the bastard so much.”

“Well, I don’t care; he shouldn’t be touching you … um, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“No, that’s fine, Chrissie. You’re absolutely right. I don’t need to put up with that shit.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t. That macho asshole can’t just go around slapping me every time he gets mad.”

There was silence for several seconds before I ventured a question: “So … what now?”

“I … I don’t know, Chrissie.” Rebecca stared out the window at the skyline. “I love him so much, but I can’t … I just don’t know.”

Her phone beeped and she glanced at it before setting it on the couch cushion face-down.

I sighed. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Says he wants to talk.”

“Are you?”

She tightened her lips and turned off her phone. “No. Right now, no, I don’t want to talk to him.”

“Good.”

For the next several hours, my angel vented about her husband while I sat next to her providing a sympathetic ear, nodding at the appropriate times and jumping up to fetch Diet Coke refills. For all intents and purposes, I was her girlfriend, even if I was dressed in men’s clothes.

After she was finally all talked out, Rebecca yawned. “Well, look, Chrissie, it’s been a day. I’m absolutely exhausted. Thank you for everything. Seriously, you don’t even know. You’ve done so, so much for me, Chrissie.”

Tears filled my eyes. “T-thank you. All I want is to make you happy.”

“Well, you do.”

She offered a hug and we sobbed in each other’s arms. Our embrace lasted several minutes before she pulled back and wiped her eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight, Chrissie; will you stay?”

“Of course, I will. Of course, I will.”

“I knew you would. I can always count on you, can’t I, Chrissie?”

“Until the day I die.”

She touched my cheek. “You’re always so sweet.”

I followed my angel across the sprawling hotel suite toward the king-size bed, my heart pounding at the prospect of possibly sleeping next to her for the first time since our breakup. Alas, with a disarming smile she handed me a pillow and the comforter, wordlessly indicating where she expected me to crash.

Rebecca picked up on my disappointment. “Aw, I know it’s a huge bed, and it’s kind of mean of me to make you sleep on the floor, but we need to keep boundaries, Chrissie. You’re still my slave, no matter what happens with Karl, and I can’t have my slave sleeping in the same bed with me. You understand, don’t you, baba?”

I gasped. “Um … you mean it? You really want me? No … no matter what?”

Rebecca cracked a real smile for the first time that night. “Of course, I do. Where would I be without my little Chrissie?”

My spirits skyrocketed and more tears formed. “Oh, t-thank, you, Mrs. Mar— … um, thank you soooooooooooo much. I promise, from the bottom of my heart, I’ll serve you the best I can for as long as I live. I promise.”

She smiled. “I know you will, baba. And that makes me very happy. I told you the other night: it feels like you were just born to serve me. When you told me about all this while we were dating, it threw me for a loop, and it wasn’t something I really wanted … not with a boyfriend. But this? This is different. It … just seems right.”

“OMG, I feel that way, too, and hearing you say that makes me so happy, I just can’t tell you. Please … I … I … thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, baba. Now, turn out that lamp and let me get some sleep, okay?”

“Um, okay. G-good night.”

“Night, Chrissie. Thanks again for everything.”

I lay on the floor all night listening to my angel’s cute little snore. With every wheezy breath she drew, I gazed out the window at the purple heavens, mouthing silent prayers of thanks.

 

Part XV

Rebecca held out until 11 Monday morning before finally turning on her phone. After perusing her husband’s deluge of voice messages and texts, she clenched her jaw and dialed his number.

Having called in sick, I stood next to her during the conversation, listening to her side.

“Hey …”

Pause.

“I’m at a hotel.”

Pause.

“Because I needed to be alone.”

Pause.

“Don’t worry which one.”

Pause.

“Jeez, it’s not even noon and you’re drunk already.”

Pause.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you. You’re hammered.”

Pause.

“Karl, I don’t care. You hit me — again. What did I tell you last time you did it? Did you think I was joking?”

Pause.

“Yeah, that’s the exact same thing you said last time. Word-for-word.”

Pause.

“Look, I love you, too. But I’m not gonna do this anymore. I’m not putting up with it. I told you.”

Pause.

“Well, I don’t care, Karl. I’m done.”

Pause. Tears.

“Yes, done. How many times am I supposed to believe you? How many times you think I’m gonna fall for this shit?”

Pause.

“You can’t keep using that as an excuse. I don’t care about your dad. Lots of people’s dads hit them and they don’t act like that.”

Pause.

“Well, I’m sorry, too. But you put your hands on me for the last time, Karl. I’m done. I’m telling you right now … I’m filing for a divorce.”

When she said that, it was all I could to do tamp down my grin.

Pause.

“I don’t care, Karl. You needed to do all that before.”

Pause.

“Well, you should probably get a lawyer, because I’m going to be getting one. I’m serious, Karl. I ain’t joking.”

Pause.

“Who cares if he pays for the lawyer? What’s he got to do with anything?”

I bristled, knowing they were talking about me.

Pause.

“Well, you’re the one who encouraged it. I told you I’d go ahead and start cleaning more if you didn’t want me to call him, but you kept on saying what a great idea it was for us to have a slave — so don’t come throwing that in my face now. You wanted him to come over as much as I did.”

She glanced at me but I couldn’t maintain the eye contact.

Pause.

“Who cares? It don’t matter what lawyer I get; I don’t want nothing from you, Karl. Shit, you ain’t got nothing for me to take, other than that truck now — and you probably should go ahead and get your own insurance, because Chrissie ain’t gonna keep paying it now that we’re broke up.”

The humiliation at being referred to as “Chrissie” during such a grave conversation was offset by my glee that she was actually discussing their divorce as a foregone conclusion.

Pause.

“Look, all I know is, I don’t want this anymore. So, you can cuss all you want to, Karl; I’m getting a lawyer. You should, too. I’m hanging up now. Okay? No, I’m hanging up. Bye.”

She clicked the button and stared at me for a brief second before breaking down and falling into my arms. I stood on my tiptoes and we hugged and sobbed for ten minutes, ten hours, ten lifetimes.

“I’m so sorry,” I lied, because I wasn’t sorry at all. “It’ll be okay.”

“Thank you.” She sniffled. “Shit, I … I … I don’t even know what I’m gonna do. I need to find a place to stay.”

“Stay at my place, Rebecca. Of course.”

My angel wiped her eyes. “Thanks, Chrissie, you’re such a doll, I swear. You do so much for me.”

“Please, it’s my honor to be able to help. You can move in today if you want to.”

“Thanks. Right now, though, I’m starving.”

After cleaning up, we had lunch in the hotel restaurant and then Rebecca drove her Range Rover by her house, hoping Karl wouldn’t be home so she could get some clothes and other items. The truck wasn’t in the driveway so we dashed inside, and while I kept watch at the front window she scooped up her things and we made our escape. As she burned rubber down South Sycamore Street, we leaned into each other, giggling like schoolgirls — a moment I knew I’d cherish forever.

With her most important possessions secure, we swung by the hotel so I could pick up my Mercedes and check out before heading back to my condo. Rebecca relaxed on my couch while I made several trips back and forth carrying her boxes and bags up to my unit, thrilled beyond belief that my dream was actually coming true.

My angel was finally moving in with me — and not only had she accepted me as her sissy slave, she’d made it clear that she loved having me serve her, and that she wanted it to continue forever. It was everything I’d hoped for on that fateful night three years earlier when I sat my then-girlfriend down and confessed my deepest sissy desires, only to have her summarily dump me.

After unpacking her things and moving my stuff out of the master bedroom and into the smaller guest room, I prepared a feast for Rebecca and I to celebrate our first night as roommates.

We gorged until our stomachs hurt. Then, we clinked glasses of Diet Coke.

My angel beamed.  “To a new beginning. Me and my little Chrissie.”

I returned the smile with tears in my eyes. “To a new beginning. Thank you, Miss Strickland.”

 

 

BOOK TWO

“Miss Strickland”

 

Part XVI

The Carbonara Florentine recipe was no piece of cake but it was worth the hassle, since I wanted my angel’s 26^th birthday dinner to be perfetto.

I came home to an empty condo after work, changed into my frock and scrambled around the kitchen hoping to have Rebecca’s favorite-but-complicated-to-prepare dish ready by the time she returned from wherever she’d gone.

Everything was set by 7pm, with the pasta warming in the oven and gifts arranged throughout the living room. A huge “Happy Birthday” banner hung on the wall where Rebecca would see it as soon as she walked through the front door. Candles flickered. Whispers of lilac essential oil puffed from the diffuser.

With the condo transformed into a shrine honoring my Princess’s special day, I changed out of my housecleaning frock and into my formal maid’s uniform. Although I was caught up on all my chores, I bustled around wiping, polishing and rearranging knickknacks anyway, anxious for my mistress’s return.

The wait was still on at 8. Nine o’clock came and went. Ten bowled me over. When I turned on the 11 o’clock newscast, the anchorman announced: “This just in: Rebecca isn’t coming home tonight, dumbass.”

Like a sap, I kept dinner warm until midnight. Then, with tears in my eyes, I stowed the food in a Tupperware container, ate a lonely cup of yogurt and trudged to the “maid’s room,” where I lay in the dark tossing and turning on my pink-sheeted mattress, wondering, wishing, bawling and chiding myself.

What the hell had I been thinking? Her birthday … on a Friday night? There was no way Miss Popular would’ve wanted to celebrate it with her lovestruck little maid. Still, I’d hoped she might at least have dinner at home before traipsing off to the clubs with her vampire girlfriends — but as I lay in bed trying to get some sleep, I felt foolish for having been such an optimistic chump.

I spent a good part of the evening crying in the darkness of my sad little room, something I’d been doing fairly often since embarking on a life of service to my spoiled princess. To be sure, I was living a dream and had never been happier — but a year after entering our strange relationship, I’d come to realize that even with Karl out of the picture it wasn’t easy being Rebecca Ann Strickland’s slave. Tears came with the territory.

The first thing I did after rolling out of bed Saturday morning was check to see if Rebecca’s keys and purse were in their usual spot on the floor for me to pick up. With a sigh, I noted that the carpet was bare.

I fixed myself a light breakfast and watched TV for a few minutes, but since I couldn’t get Rebecca out of my mind anyway, I decided to make use of the time by doing something nice for her. It had been a few weeks since I’d polished her shoe collection, so I gathered my cleaning gear, laid out newspapers, sat on the floor and got started.

Just before noon, as I was buffing a high gloss onto her tan boots, Rebecca stumbled through the door holding her head. She plopped on the couch and kicked off her pumps.

“Ugh, Diet Coke, Chrissie, and hurry up.”

“Yes, Miss,” I whispered, since my mistress was obviously suffering a hangover.

After rushing into the kitchen and serving her drink, I teetered near the couch in my 4’ heels, hands folded in front of my apron awaiting my next order. My mistress scrolled through her cellphone sipping her soda for several minutes before finally addressing me.

“What’s there to eat, Chrissie?”

“Uh, I made Carbonara Florentine last night for your birthday, Miss — your favorite.” I shifted. “Um, Happy belated birthday, Miss.”

Rebecca leaned back on the couch and groaned. “Ugh, I drank too much. Gina kept buying me Jell-o shots.”

“Um, sorry, Miss.”

“I always let her talk me into stuff.” She stretched and yawned. “That Florentine sounds good, Chrissie; go microwave me a plate.”

“Right away, Miss. Um … do you want your presents now?”

She scowled and waved her hand. “I ain’t in the mood for all that crap; can you just bring me my food like I asked you to?”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

I hustled to the kitchen, sniffing back tears, crushed at how my cranky mistress had just blown off everything I’d done the night before to try to make her birthday special. But Rebecca had made it clear early on that she didn’t want me crying about my “sissy problems,” as she liked to put it, so I’d learned to keep my sobs to myself and put on a fake smile.

Rebecca was on the phone when I got back with her plate.

“Yeah, hang on,” she said into the receiver before looking up at me. “My mom wants you over there today; Randy tracked grease all through the house and she don’t want to wait till Monday. Leave now.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Without acknowledging me, my mistress started eating her birthday leftovers while continuing her conversation. Sighing, I slogged to my room and slipped on sweats.

Rebecca’s childhood home, where she’d grown up with her mother Marlene, stepdad Randy and little sister Emily, was about 15 miles away. With no weekend traffic I made the drive in just a few minutes.

Emily answered the door with a smirk.

“Hi, sissy.”

“Um, hello, Miss Emily.”

The 18-year-old vixen grinned. “I left a you present in my room.”

“T-thank you, Miss Emily.”

“Don’t you want to know what it is?”

“Um, y-yes, Miss Emily.” I braced myself.

“It’s three whole bagfuls of my new boyfriend’s laundry. Isn’t that a great present?”

“Y-yes, Miss Emily. T-thank you, Miss Emily.”

“Ian couldn’t believe it when I told him my sister has a slave who’ll do whatever I want. He said you can come over and clean his apartment, too; I’ll see what Becca says.”

Marlene called from the living room: “Em, leave that damn sissy alone; he needs to get started on these grease stains.”

“Bring me a beer first, Chrissie,” Randy ordered from his spot on the La-Z-Boy.

“Yes, sir.”

As I headed to the kitchen I took inventory of the damage. Black marks scarred the carpet across the living room, fading as they continued up the staircase. With slumped shoulders, I realized it was going to take hours to clean the mess.

I served Randy his Corona, changed into my housework uniform and got started on the carpet while he relaxed nearby watching college football. Marlene and Emily, who had left the living room shortly after my arrival, returned minutes later, dressed to go somewhere.

Marlene leaned down and kissed her husband. “We’re headed out shopping, honey; see you in a little bit.”

Emily scowled at me. “You better not leave before Ian’s clothes are done, Chrissie.”

Randy chuckled. “Oh, Chrissie will still be here when you guys get back; when he’s done with this floor, he’s gonna be detailing my truck, and that’ll take at least a couple hours.”

“Well, whatever, Ian’s clothes better get done, you hear me, sissy?”

“Y-yes, Miss Emily.”

Marlene touched her daughter’s shoulder. “Come on, hon, let’s go.”

As soon as the ladies were out of the house, Randy winked at me.

“Hey, Chrissie. We’re all alone now. Know what that means?”

I bowed my head. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Did you bring your lipstick?”

“Yes, sir.”

He snapped his fingers. “Then put it on, sissy, and then come and give your daddy some lovin’.”

Slipping into autopilot mode, I floated like a phantom carrying out what was probably the most distasteful aspect of my service to Rebecca — having to orally serve her bisexual pig of a stepdad. Since I’d started my weekly Monday night cleaning of Rebecca’s parents’ home shortly after my angel moved in with me, Randy had taken every opportunity to maul me. He did it whenever we were alone, and sometimes after Emily had gone to bed or wasn’t home. Marlene didn’t care; she hated giving blowjobs, and was more than happy to let me take over that duty. Sometimes I’d spend an hour or more fellating her husband while she relaxed in bed next to us watching TV or playing card games on her iPad.

After applying the apple-red lipstick Randy preferred, I knelt in front of the La-Z-Boy, closed my eyes and started sucking his dick. He relaxed and watched football, clicking from game to game, sipping beer and, every once in a while, farting in my face. At one point, when I’d subconsciously quickened my pace, probably because I’d wanted to get the nightmare over with, he cuffed me on the ear.

“Slow down, bitch. What’s your hurry? You got a train to catch?”

It must’ve been an hour-and-a-half before Randy finally grabbed my hair and started face-fucking me until shooting his load down my throat.

He shoved me away. “Good job, sissy. Now, you better hurry up and get back to them stains — Marlene’s gonna be pissed if she gets back and they’re not cleaned up.”

“Y-yes, sir,” I said, wiping my mouth.

Randy chuckled. “Yeah, I spilled some damn grease in the shop and it made a big fucking mess. Sorry ‘bout that, sissy. You’ll have to get it out of my truck carpet, too.”

“Y-yes, sir,” I said, calculating in my head how many hours of work awaited me, and not liking the answer — between finishing with the carpet stains, getting all the regular housework done, doing Emily’s boyfriend’s laundry and detailing Randy’s truck, I figured I wouldn’t be getting home until at least 10pm.. That meant my hopes to spend the Saturday with Rebecca were shot.

I tossed the first load of laundry into the machine before getting back to the grease stains. It took about three hours before the carpets were clean, and then I started on the regular chores — scrubbing the kitchen and bathroom, cleaning everyone’s bedrooms and doing windows. As I worked, I darted in and out of the laundry room to keep up with the wash while fetching Randy’s beer refills. After a year of being Rebecca’s overworked slave, with her pimping me out to her family and close friends for housework and other errands, I’d become quite adept at juggling.

Marlene and Emily returned from their shopping excursion while I was detailing Randy’s truck, having thrown my sweats over my maid’s uniform.

“Bring our bags in,” Marlene said, gesturing toward her SUV before she and her daughter waltzed into the house.

I scooped up the ladies’ purchases and hurried inside.

“Carpet looks good, sissy,” Marlene said.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

Emily frowned. “Did you get Ian’s laundry done?”

“Oh, yes, Miss, it’s all folded up real nice for him, Miss.”

She sniffed. “Aren’t you a little brown-noser? You know, Becca says you get on her nerves sometimes being such a kiss-ass.”

“I … uh, I’m sorry, Miss.”

Marlene leaned back on the couch and stretched her legs. “Ugh, I did a lot of walking, Chrissie; I could use a foot rub.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I hustled to retrieve Marlene’s favorite lotion, and for the next 45 minutes I sat on the carpet in front of the couch, massaging Rebecca’s mom’s feet while she relaxed and played solitaire on her iPad.

The foot massage set me back even further on my chores and I didn’t finish everything until after midnight. The family was asleep by then, so I let myself out and locked up behind me.

Every bone in my body ached as I climbed into my car and headed homeward — but I forgot all about my physical pain when my phone dinged, and I absorbed the soul-crushing text message:

“Stay gone till I txt u back”

I knew exactly what that meant: My angel had a guy over.

With my bottom lip trembling, I drove to Nick’s Diner, where I sat in my usual booth sipping my usual pot of coffee, wiping the usual tears from my eyes. I held out until 3am before giving in with the usual sad sigh.

I paid the bill, leaving my usual big tip, and drove to the Hilton, where I paid for the same suite I’d rented that fateful night a year earlier, when I’d saved Rebecca from her brute of a husband.

After pulling the comforter and a pillow from the king-sized bed, I curled up on the hard floor and cried all night.

 

Part XVII

My burger tasted like boogers. The sky made me cry.

The view out my hotel room window should’ve been spectacular, with the North River glimmering beneath a purple-orange sunset. The BBQ Bacon Burger Deluxe from Hilton’s room service menu had set me back $36.99, not counting the tip, so it should’ve at least been halfway-decent.

But everything looked, smelled and tasted like shit because it was past 8pm and I hadn’t heard back from Rebecca. That meant I couldn’t go home. Worse, it meant she was still hanging out with whatever dickhead she’d hooked up with the night before.

Although the word “slut” wasn’t an accurate description of my angel, she was definitely no wallflower, either. With an abundant cashflow (thanks to me), and nothing but free time on her hands after quitting the Best Buy job, Little Miss Newly Single Twenty-Something had been hanging out at the trendiest clubs several nights a week and enjoying an active sex life. She hadn’t told any of her lovers about our Mistress/slave relationship, although when the subject of her living situation would come up, she’d explain that I was her gay roommate. That was highly embarrassing for me, but Rebecca and her friends thought it was hilarious.

Being a recent divorcee, my angel wasn’t looking to get serious with anyone, and thankfully her flings had all fizzled after a few dates. Rebecca didn’t like me being there when she brought guys home because she didn’t want them feeling uncomfortable. The first few times she dragged someone back from the bar, I was forced to roll out of bed in the middle of the night and hustle off to a hotel. After a while, I begged her to let me sleep in my own bed during her spur-of-the-moment late-night romps, and she agreed as long as I remained silently in my room with the door closed. Still, if at all possible, Rebecca preferred that I not be home when she fucked her bar studs.

My angel had four platinum credit cards in her name and could have afforded the finest hotels in the world, but she insisted on bringing these idiots home because she was paranoid that hotel rooms were all equipped with hidden cameras. I’d never interacted with any of her studs, other than one evening when she was out shopping and some palooka returned to the condo to pick up the jacket he’d left behind. Our encounter was brief; after answering the door, I said, “here you go,” and handed the garment to the tall, muscular dude, who grunted his thanks and split. I never did learn his name; as Rebecca’s slave, it wasn’t my place to ask, and she hadn’t offered that information.

By nightfall, there was still no word from my princess, and as I sat gazing out the hotel window at the moonlit river, I was starting to wonder if I’d need to swing by the haberdashery before work the next morning to buy a new suit, since the only clothes I had with me were my sweats and the housework frock I’d donned to clean Rebecca’s parents’ house the previous day.

But at 9:37pm, my cellphone finally dinged, and the message I’d been aching for appeared:

“u can come home pick up dt coke”

I swooned. My angel and her Diet Cokes!

The condo was an absolute mess when I got home. So was Rebecca.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Chrissie.” She giggled at my gasp of horror as I took inventory of the living room, which was littered with beer bottles, empty glasses, many of which had been used as ashtrays, and pizza boxes. At the foot of the sofa, shards of a shattered wine goblet sparkled on the carpet near an elongated burgundy stain. The “Happy Birthday” banner I’d hung up Friday night lay on the floor, and while the gifts I’d bought my angel had been put away, the wrappings lay everywhere.

“Bryce wanted to see the Bears game, and then Gina and Ronnie came over to watch, and they invited Sal and Katie … and the next thing you know it’s a huge party.” Rebecca groaned. “Ugh, we got carried away. Long Island iced teas. Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

After swallowing my resentment, I stood before my reclining mistress with my hands folded respectfully in front of me. “Um, Miss, I’m so sorry you’re not feeling good; is there anything I can get for you before I get changed and start cleaning?”

“Yeah, we’re out of Diet Coke,” she snapped. “That’s on you, Chrissie.”

“I’m so sorry, Miss; I bought four cases last time I went shopping—”

She waved her hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know, my asshole friends drank it all, and it’s all my fault. Now, can you shut up and go pour me a glass? Can you do that?”

“R-right away, Miss.” I hurried to obey, lamenting how unfair and bitchy she’d become. She knew damn well I had nothing to do with her friends gulping down all the soda I’d bought, but she reamed me out about it anyway, just because she’d had too much to drink as usual and needed a whipping boy.

Being a submissive soul, though, my indignation at her nastiness quickly morphed into lust. After reaching beneath my panties and giving myself a quick diddle in the kitchen, I shoved those naughty feelings aside and fetched my mistress’s soda, changed into my work dress and started cleaning while Rebecca relaxed on the couch watching TV.

I was on my hands and knees near the sofa tackling the wine stain when my angel smirked down at me. “We left a mess for you, didn’t we, Chrissie?”

“Um, yes, Miss.”

“Wow, what a birthday. Oh, hey, I loved the necklace you bought me, Chrissie.”

I perked up. “Thank you, Miss, I’m so, so glad you like it.”

She smiled. “The candy was good, too — although Bryce ate most of it, the pig.”

Unsure what to say, I focused on scrubbing the stain while she continued.

“He’s kind of an asshole, I don’t know,” she mused. “I mean, he’s great in the sack, but I get so tired of these macho types who act like they’re the king of the world just because they got a big dick. You know?”

“Um … uh, yes, Miss.”

“I mean, I married an asshole like that already. Ugh. Bryce is good for a fuck, but that’s about it.”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

“Gina says she wants dibs on him when I’m done with him. By the way, she told me you should plan on being there late Tuesday; she’s got a whole bunch of ironing she says she wants done.”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Oh, and my sister called earlier; she wants you to start swinging by her boyfriend’s place once a week to clean. So, get the address from her.”

“Yes, Miss. Um, I can’t do it Mondays or Tuesdays because I’m at your mom’s and Gina’s.”

“Well, whatever, work out a schedule with Em, but make sure you run it by me first.”

“Yes, of course, Miss.” I gritted my teeth at the prospect of even more work.

Rebecca snorted. “So, Mom and Em went out shopping yesterday, and left you alone with Randy?”

I averted my eyes. “Y-yes, Miss.”

“And how did that go?”

I gulped. “Um … he … he had me … do him.” The last word cracked.

Rebecca tittered and shook her head. “He’s such a perv. Ma says you’re a godsend, though; she hates doing that.”

“Um, t-thank you, Miss.” Wanting nothing more than to end the conversation, I refocused on the carpet stain, struck by the contrast between the world Rebecca grew up in and mine. Both my parents were deceased, but I couldn’t fathom them ever having discussed their sex lives with me — but in the Strickland family, the fact that Marlene didn’t like giving blowjobs was such an open matter that she felt comfortable asking her daughter if her sissy slave could perform that duty on her husband.

It was an entirely different culture than what I’d been used to, but since Rebecca was my love and my light, I’d made the decision to put my shoulder to the grindstone and try to figure it all out — and, in the process, endure the humiliation of giving regular blowjobs to her slob of a stepdad. Afterward, I’d hate myself, convinced that my infatuation with Rebecca had gone way too far.

And then, eventually, Rebecca would flash that little smile, or do something else to make me fall deeper in love with her, and I’d end up thanking the stars for the opportunity to serve such a beautiful, wonderful woman. My unfair, one-sided relationship with Rebecca made my life feel complete, despite the sometimes-horrific debasements that came with it — and also because of them.

My angel went to sleep just before midnight, and I continued toiling quietly until 3am. When the condo was spotless, I trudged off to the maid’s room and crashed, physically, mentally and spiritually exhausted, but with a smile on my dick-sucking lips.

 

Part XVIII

I had taken great pains to symmetrically arrange the cheese wedges, fruit and other nibblers on the serving platter, but Rebecca was too busy ogling a photo on her friend Katie’s cellphone to notice my meticulous craftwork.

“Day-um, girl, you hit that?” My angel leaned forward and plucked a pineapple slice from the tray after I’d placed it on the table and reassumed my position at attention near the sofa with my hands folded like a good sissy maid.

“I’m gonna hit that.” Katie giggled. “I gave him my number last night. And he definitely seemed interested.”

Gina scooted over on the couch to have a look. “Oh, I’ve seen him around at The Odyssey; he’s always talking to that blonde bitch behind the bar.”

“Cassandra.” Katie scowled. “Fuck that ho.”

Gina turned to Rebecca. “Wasn’t Cassandra trying to move in on Bryce?”

My angel scoffed and sipped her wine. “As if that heifer had a chance.”

“How’s it going with Bryce?” Katie set down her phone and grabbed a handful of grapes.

“Oh, I don’t know, he’s a fucking asshole.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “He thinks he’s the king shit, like he can do whatever he wants to. I’m about getting tired of his bullshit, to tell you the truth.”

“Well, when you’re done with him, send him my way,” Gina said.

Katie slapped her friend’s thigh. “Don’t be a leech, go get your own dick.”

Gina downed her wine and snapped her fingers. “Ree-fill, Chriss-siiieeee,” she sang and I sprang into action.

As I was pouring the Chardonnay, Gina smirked at me. “Did you know Rebecca’s boyfriend has, like, the biggest dick in the world, Chrissie?”

I gulped. “Um … no, Miss Gina.”

“Well, it’s huge.”

Katie held out her empty glass and scoffed at her friend. “How do you know how big it is, bitch? You never seen it.”

“She better not have,” Rebecca said, putting on a serious face before cracking a grin.

Katie took a swig of the wine I’d just poured and pouted my way. “Poor Chrissie, you never get laid, do you?”

“Uh … I … um..”

“Chrissie gets all the sex he needs … with his hand.” Rebecca popped a grape in her mouth. “I can hear his little bed squeaking.”

“Eww, that’s gross,” Katie slurred. “No offense, Chrissie, but it’s kinda creepy to think of a little sissy in the next room perving like that.”

“Oh, stop picking on my Chrissie.” Rebecca smiled up at me. “You were nice and quiet in your little room when I brought Bryce home the other night, weren’t you, baba? No squeaky bed at all, huh?”

“Um, er, no, Miss.”

Katie snarled. “Well, the idea of a sissy jacking off just seems wrong. You need to cage him.”

Rebecca squinched up her face. “Cage him? What’s that mean?”

“One of those cock cages. You never seen one?”

“No, Katie, I’ve never seen a cock cage. What the hell is a cock cage?”

Katie thumbed through her phone and held it up, revealing a photo. “See? A cock cage.”

Gina tittered. “What do you know about cock cages, girl?”

“My sister dated a guy who was into that shit. They call it chastity. A chastity device. They were into the same kind of master and slave stuff you guys are; I told you about them, remember? She said he’d wear this thing and go three, four months without cumming. Said it made him obedient as hell. He even got a piercing on his dick, and it attached to this thing with a lock, so he couldn’t get out unless she unlocked him.”

Rebecca squealed. “OMG, Chrissie’s getting one of those!” She turned to me. “You need to order one, like, today.” The blood drained from my face.

“The piercing, too?” Katie sipped her wine. “Laura says they can squeeze out of the other cages if there’s not a piercing attached to it.”

My angel batted her eyelashes at me. “Would you get your little pinky pierced for me, baba?”

“I … uh … er … if … if you want, Miss.” Tears formed in the corners of my eyes but I managed to blink them back. “Whatever you want, Miss.”

“Awwww, that’s so sweeeeeet,” Gina giggled, presenting her empty wine glass to me. “You’d do anything for Miss Rebecca, wouldn’t you, Chrissie?”

I poured her fourth refill. “Um, yes, Miss Gina, I would.”

Rebecca beamed. “My little baba.”

“I don’t know why you don’t have him wear makeup, and put a wig on him when he’s at home.” Katie dipped a celery stalk into the ranch dressing cup. “Right now, he’s just a little wimpy guy in a maid’s dress.” She took a crunchy bite, and said with her mouth full, “No offense, Chrissie.”

“Makeup would be so cuuuuuuuttttttee,” the drunken Gina slurred. “You should, Becca.”

My princess looked me up and down and shrugged. “I dunno. I never really thought about it that much; I honestly don’t care what he wears, as long as he does what he’s told.”

“Oh, but it would be so much fuuuunn making him up.” With a smirk, Gina dug into her purse and started pulling out cosmetics. “Come over here, Chrissie; I’m gonna turn you into a pretty little sissy.”

I was having a difficult time breathing, and my ears were hot from the avalanche of humiliation flooding my senses. Makeup had never been a priority to me, since my fantasy, which I’d been living out, revolved around being a man in a maid’s dress and heels, rather than trying to pass as female. But as I shuffled toward the preening Gina, with my heart threatening to thump a hole through my apron, I knew that nobody else in the room gave a rat’s ass about my preferences.

I knelt in the spot where Gina had indicated and she began applying coverup. “This is my good Maybelline, Chrissie, so you better be thankful.”

“T-thank you, Miss Gina.”

Katie turned to Rebecca. “Maybe if you make him look more like a woman, you won’t have to worry about Bryce when he comes over.”

“Oh, hell no.” My angel shook her head. “He’s so homophobic, it ain’t funny. He can’t stand the idea that I’m living with a gay guy; there’s no way he’d go for a man dressed as a woman. I told Bryce that my roommate’s job has him on the road most of the time, so he thinks he’s gone when he comes over — but sometimes I’ll let Chrissie stay in the bedroom if he’s nice and quiet. It’s our little secret, ain’t it, baba?”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

Katie scoffed. “Well, if you slap a wig on him, you could always try to pass him off as a girlfriend — although on second thought, there’s no way Chrissie could ever pass for a woman.”

“Hey, I resent that,” Gina teased as she applied my eyeshadow. “I went to cosmetology school — I’m pretty good.”

“You ain’t that damn good.” Katie smirked at me. “No offense, Chrissie.”

“Come ooonnnnn, you guuyyys, stop picking on my baba.” Rebecca stuck out her bottom lip. “Poor Chrissie, are my mean friends always picking on you?”

“Um … er … uh, it’s okay, Miss.”

“And you don’t mind getting your little thingy pierced for me so you can wear one of those cages? And stop playing with yourself all the time?”

I swallowed, trying to stay still as Gina rubbed rouge onto my cheeks. “N-no, Miss.”

“You’re so special,” Rebecca said. “My special little doll.”

Katie sneered. “Hey, Chrissie, what do you think of when you play with yourself?”

“Um …” I would’ve closed my eyes but Gina’s eyeliner pencil prohibited it.

Rebecca huffed. “You better be thinking of me.”

“Oh, of course, I do, Miss. That’s all I ever think about when I … when I—”

My angel waved her hand. “Ew, please, do not be more specific, Chrissie.”

Everyone laughed as I fought back another round of tears, not wanting my newly applied eyeliner to run.

When the mirth faded, Gina snapped her compact shut, grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward Rebecca and Katie, who both broke into applause.

“OMG, you are so pretty, Chrissie.” Rebecca held her hand to her mouth. “I don’t know why I never thought to have you wear makeup before, but it’s perfect. You look like a little doll with your rosy cheeks. I want you to always have big, rosy cheeks like that, okay, Chrissie?”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

“All you need is a wig. Go buy one. A blonde, curly one, so you’ll look like a little doll. My little Chrissie doll, with the rosy red cheeks. Go get the wig and one of those cock cage things, too. Actually, do the research and then show me all the different ones; I’ll pick. And then you can go get your piercing.”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

“Ooh, I want to see him get pierced,” Gina said.

Katie nodded. “Me too.”

“We can make a party out of it,” Rebecca agreed.

Katie leaned forward. “Hey, Becca, make him show it to us.”

“Show what?”

“His little dicky.”

“What for? It’s not like you ain’t seen it before.”

“I know but I want to show you how the piercing works.”

My princess shrugged. “Pull down your panties, Chrissie.”

Red-faced, I obeyed and the girls hooted.

“OMG, I forgot how small it was.” Gina tilted her head and squinted at my crotch. “Damn, Becca, how did you put up with it when you dated this shrimp-dick?”

“Be nice now,” Rebecca chided, and my spirits soared because for a brief moment she’d stood up for me.

“Come over here, Chrissie.” Katie pointed to a spot in front of her. After I complied, she crinkled up her nose and lifted my penis with her thumb and forefinger as if she were holding the tail of a dead mouse.

“So, he gets pierced with a hoop right under the head, here.” She pointed with her other hand. “Then, when the device goes on, it attaches right to it. Voila!”

Gina poked Rebecca in the ribs and guffawed. “All of a sudden, she’s a cock cage expert.”

“No, my sister showed me pictures, asshole,” Katie shot back. “Look it up if you don’t believe me.”

I was left to stand there with my panties around my ankles while the three ladies giggled over cellphone pictures of pierced cocks attached to cages. Rebecca lit up when she saw a chastity device that struck her fancy.

“That looks like a real good one,” she said.

Katie giggled. “It’s got spikes, so if he does get a little boner it’ll hurt.”

“Order that one, Chrissie,” Rebecca said. “And then make an appointment for your piercing; find somewhere with good reviews, not one of them sleazebag places. Go ahead and tell them you’re my slave, and that you want the piercing to attach to a cock cage. And tell them you got three friends who want to come, too.”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

“There’s my baba.” Rebecca pointed to her empty glass. I started to refill it but the bottle was empty.

“You guys want to open another one?” my mistress asked her friends.

Katie shrugged. “Yeah, fuck it, why not?”

Rebecca snapped her fingers. “You heard the lady. Another bottle, Chrissie.”

“Yes, Miss, right away, Miss.”

As I was in the kitchen fumbling with the corkscrew, I heard Gina giggle.

“So, then, Becca, about Bryce — when are you finally gonna pass that big-dicked motherfucker my way?”

The girls all laughed as I uncorked their third bottle of Chardonnay.

 

Part IXX

Crying tears of joy and pain, I licked my way through heaven while the devil’s pitchfork poked my pee-pee.

Rebecca chuckled when I yelped for the fourth time.

“Aw, baba, your mascara’s running. Them spikes must really hurt, huh?”

I nodded and resumed the glorious task of worshiping her divine vagina — and paying the price.

“Ooow-hoooww.”

She chortled again. “Poor Chrissie. I know it hurts, but deal with it, okay? Ever since you got locked, you’ve been a perfect little doll … no more pouting … no moping around … I tell you to do something; you run. I mean, you always were a good slave, but I like the new you — so don’t plan on getting out of that cage any time soon, understand?”

I nodded again and she patted my wigged head. “There’s my lil’ baba. Mmmm, move your tongue down … yeah, right there. Ooh, that’s nice.”

“Owww-howwwww!”

“Hee-hee, poor Chrissie. Now, shhhhhh. I been wanting to see this movie; try to be quiet, okay?”

My mistress pulled the covers over my head and kept me at it for nearly two hours while she sipped Diet Cokes, snacked on Cheetos and watched her romcom. That left plenty of time for me to focus my mind elsewhere while I licked in an attempt to keep my dick from growing. But no matter how hard I tried to think of baseball, I kept harkening back to the degrading events that had led to my penis being pierced and locked up in a hellish prison. Recalling that humiliation only made me hornier, causing more pain, which I had to endure in silence so I wouldn’t disturb my angel’s chick flick …

 

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After Rebecca’s drunken friends had concocted the scheme to have me pierced and caged, I ordered the device my angel had picked out, paying extra for overnight delivery. I also found a nearby tattoo and piercing shop with a 98% review rating online, and made an appointment to get what I learned was called a “reverse Prince Albert piercing.” The woman on the phone had no problem with my request to bring three friends to the procedure.

I was embarrassed explaining my situation to a stranger on the phone, but Rebecca had ordered me to inform the staff because she had questions about how the piercing would interact with my chastity device. The shop proprietor, Wren, said they had several customers who were into the BDSM lifestyle and that it was no big deal. She could probably tell I was nervous and seemed eager to calm me. It didn’t really work but it was nice of her to try.

The chastity device arrived in the mail the following day. It was a well-made Kevlar contraption with dozens of tiny, menacing-looking needles, which piqued Rebecca’s interest — and scared the shit out of me.

“OMG, those look like they’d really hurt. Here, put it on, Chrissie.” She passed me the XLR-Z Trap, the best chastity device money could buy.

With shaky hands, I lifted my dress, dropped my panties and fumbled around down there. After a few unsuccessful attempts, Rebecca huffed.

“Oh, jeez, come here, Chrissie, let me do it.”

I stepped over to my impatient little mistress and she clinically stuffed my penis into the cage and fastened it. With a smirk, she snapped the lock shut and showed me the key.

“I know you’re not pierced, yet, Chrissie, but there’s no reason you can’t start wearing this now. You won’t try to wiggle your little dicky out of that thing without the piercing, now, will you?”

“Uh … um, no, Miss, I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Yes, Miss.”

Inside, I wanted to cry. I’d thought she was going to wait until after I was pierced to lock me up, and had hoped to sneak in as many jerkoffs as possible before the scheduled appointment three days later. But as I watched her twist the key to my device onto her keyring, I knew that plan was out the window.

She tapped the cage with her forefinger. “Is it tight, Chrissie?”

“Um, kind of.”

“Let’s see if it works.” My angel’s eyes danced. I knew that look and steeled myself.

She hummed a stripper’s tune as she shimmied out of her sweats and panties, exposing her sacred vagina. “Look, baba.” She slapped her pussy three times. “Don’t you wish you could fuck me like a man, instead of being a little sissy slave?”

“Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!” She knew exactly which of my submissive buttons to push, and as soon as my dick began to swell just a tiny bit, the needles inflicted excruciating pain.

Rebecca giggled. “Aw, poor Chrissie. If you think that hurts … watch this.”

She stepped forward, pushed my head down until I was on my knees and started rubbing her bare pussy all over my face.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhieeeeeeeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!”

My angel laughed harder. “I’m sorry, Chrissie, I know it’s mean, but I just love making you cry. Do you hate me, baba?”

“Ow, no, Miss, of course not — owwww, please, nooooooooo, owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww, noooooo!”

“No? Does that mean you don’t like kissing my pussy, baba? I’m insulted.”

“No, it’s just … owwwwwwwhhhhwoooo … I wouldn’t … ow, no, I love … I love … kissing …. owww-hoowwwww!”

She pushed my head back and sneered down at me. “Well, Chrissie, I guess we know it works, now, huh?”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

She flopped onto the couch. “That was fun. Go get me a Diet Coke.”

When I limped back with my mistress’s soda, clearly still in pain, she pouted. “Aw, poor Chrissie, I’m so mean to you, ain’t I?”

“Um … uh … it’s okay, Miss.”

She tilted her head and smiled. “You’re so sweet, I swear. You put up with so much. But I love having a slave. I love it. I always want to have you. My little baba.”

My chest swelled beneath my apron and the hurt beneath my panties vanished. “Oh … oh, thank you, Miss. Thank you so much. I always want to serve you, Miss. I … I love you so much.”

“I know, baba.” She held out her hand and I kissed it. “There’s my little doll. Now, I’m starting to get hungry; why don’t you go ahead and get dinner ready?”

“Yes, Miss, right away, Miss. T-thank you, Miss.”

“You’re welcome, sweetie. You might want to fix your makeup first; I think I smeared it a little.” She giggled. “Sorry ‘bout that, Chrissie. I guess I got carried away. I can’t help it — you’re so much fun to tease.”

 

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I sat in the backseat listening to the three women up front giggling and having a ball. The Sissy Slave Dick-Piercing Show was about to begin.

The Den was a scary-looking place, with the entire facility done up in black, leather and chrome while death metal blasted through the speakers — although it lived up to the reviews extolling its cleanliness because there wasn’t a dust bunny in the joint.

Wren and Razz, the owners, were even scarier-looking, with piercings and tattoos covering their entire bodies, including their faces.

Rebecca did all the talking. “I’ve got him in a cage,” she said, grabbing me by the shoulders and pushing me forward toward the freaky couple. “Chrissie, drop your sweats and show them.”

I was mortified as I wiggled down my sweatpants.

Katie snorted. “I’m not sure it’s even big enough to pierce.”

Razz leered. “Oh, no, we’ve had slaves in here with a lot smaller than that.” He chuckled. “Well, maybe not a lot smaller — this is pretty damn small.”

Gina asked Wren: “Is it gonna hurt him?”

“We use anesthetic, but, yeah, when it wears off, he’s gonna be in some major pain.” Wren smiled at me. “You gonna take the pain for your mistress and her friends, sweetie?”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.”

“Okay, then, get up here on the table.”

Razz nodded at my half-off sweatpants. “You gotta take those off first.”

I couldn’t stop trembling as Razz donned rubber gloves and began wiping my crotch with an alcohol swab. Gina and Katie both filmed my ordeal with their cellphones while my angel watched Wren rub my dickhead with numbing cream.

After waiting a few minutes to allow the cream to take effect, Razz picked up the piercing needle. I almost puked.

“I advise you don’t look,” he said.

I scanned the room for my mistress. We locked eyes and she beamed.

“You scared, baba?”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

“Aww, don’t be. This is for me, remember?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Then you should be happy, right?”

“Yes, Miss. Uh … I am.”

Gina bared her teeth. “If you’re really happy, you need to tell everyone. Say, ‘I’m so happy I’m getting my little dick pierced.’ Say it.”

Swallowing the softball in my throat, I complied. “I … uh, I’m so happy I’m getting … uh, my little dick pierced. T-thank you.”

I was the opposite of thankful a second later when the needle hit home. My screams were accompanied by snickers, although Rebecca didn’t laugh; instead, she stared at me with a strange glint in her eye, as if drinking in her power, knowing I’d just allowed myself to be mutilated for her.

When it was over, with the ring permanently attached through my penis head, Rebecca walked over to me and kissed me on the forehead.

“Thank you, baba. This means so much.”

“T-thank you, Miss.”

Katie scoffed. “Boy, what a wimp — he gets a needle stuck through his little dick and a hoop through it, and he thanks you. Fucking pathetic.”

“Aw, come on, be nice,” Rebecca said, and her words of kindness sent me over the top. I lay on the piercing table with tears streaming down my cheeks; luckily, my mistress hadn’t required me to wear makeup to the tattoo shop, or my mascara would’ve ran all over the place.

 

Part XX

Rebecca was in the lavender haze when she returned home from her date. It made me want to puke.

Prior to my mistress’s arrival, I’d spent a quiet Sunday evening hand-washing her delicate garments and peering out the laundry room window that overlooked the condo parking lot. When Rebecca’s SUV finally pulled up, I hurried to the kitchen and placed an ice-cold glass of Diet Coke on the silver serving tray along with a vase with a red rose. After checking my makeup in the mirror, I stood near the door offering the tray with a smile, eager to greet my mistress with humility and style.

She breezed right past me and plopped on the couch. I followed her into the living room and set the drink on the table in front of her while she kicked off her pumps and dialed her cellphone.

“Hey, girl,” she said as I bent to retrieve her shoes. “OMG, I think I’m in love.”

Rebecca snapped her fingers and pointed to her feet, indicating that she wanted them rubbed. I dashed to the hall closet, retrieved the lotion, sank to my knees and went to work while my mistress reclined on the couch and gabbed.

“He’s a little older than what I usually go for, but this guy’s got class, Katie. The exact opposite of Bryce, Matt and the rest of those assholes. Tris owns his own company; some kind of stock trading stuff. Hang on a sec.” My angel squinted down at me. “Chrissie, you ever hear of a company called TBH Advisors? I think it’s the same kind of stuff you do, investments and whatnot.”

Blood drained from my face but I shrugged off the shock and provided the correct answer: “Um, yes, Miss, uh, TBH is one of the fastest-growing investment firms in the city.”

Rebecca beamed. “You know Tristan Huxley?”

I blinked. “Um, I … I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard of him. He ... he was on the cover of Investor’s Monthly not long ago.”

“OMG, you got a copy?”

“I … I might have one at work, Miss.”

“Well, when you go to work tomorrow, look for it. Ain’t he hot, Chrissie?”

“Um, yes, Miss … from his picture, he’s … very handsome.”

“You got that right.” She chortled at something Katie said and forgot about me as she resumed her conversation.

I continued rubbing my mistress’s feet although my mood had suddenly soured. Of course, I’d heard of TBH Advisors and their swashbuckling, maverick owner Tristan B. Huxley — we’d been losing clients to him since his company’s formation two years earlier. TBH had appeared out of nowhere and quickly lapped the more-established firms, including mine, thanks to Huxley’s astute investing. His market maneuvers were criticized as reckless by the “investing establishment” before a string of bombshell successes completely silenced his critics and made him the Golden Boy in my field.

The thought of Rebecca seeing Tristan Fucking Huxley — and her use of the “L word” after one lousy date — made me sick to my stomach. Her ex-husband Karl and the other guys she’d dated after the divorce were all braindead, musclebound party boys who knew how to fuck but were broke. Tristan Huxley? Shit, he had ten times more money than me, which negated the one thing I could offer Rebecca that the others couldn’t: Financial security.

As I worked lotion into my princess’s soles, I had to remind myself that in addition to unlimited spending money and free room and board, I also provided her with service and submission. Rebecca had repeatedly told me how much she adored having a slave, and that she got a kick out of teasing and abusing me. Focusing on that calmed my fluttering stomach somewhat. I still felt nauseous, but was able to give my mistress a top-notch foot massage while she jabbered with her girlfriend about her “dreamy” first date.

Rebecca finally hung up and smiled down on me as I slavishly tended to her tootsies.

“You happy for me, Chrissie?”

I faked a smile. “Y-yes, Miss.”

“I think it’s fate that we met; he said he don’t even go to bars, but he stopped off at Charro’s to meet the owner for some business thing, and we just couldn’t take our eyes off each other.” Rebecca sighed. “He finally came up to talk, and … wow! I mean, this guy ain’t like anyone I ever been with, Chrissie. And he seems pretty open-minded, too; I’m gonna tell him about you the next time we get together.”

“Um, er … ah … okay, Miss.”

“I swear, I really do think this is love at first sight. I can tell he thinks so, too. I never felt this before. We just sat there looking at each other, not saying a word.”

“Buh, buh, buh …” I couldn’t keep my lip from quivering, and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

She frowned. “What? Something wrong, Chrissie?”

I had to turn away. “Noth…” The word wouldn’t come out.

Rebecca stared at me. “Listen, you had to know I’d eventually find someone again, right? I mean, we’re not exactly boyfriend/girlfriend here — and, frankly, your attitude is pissing me off. Instead of being happy for me, you’re feeling sorry for yourself again. I thought you were done with all this moping-around shit.”

“I … I’m so sorry, Miss … I am happy for you, I am. It’s just … well, it’s just—”

She held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Chrissie. ‘It’s just’ nothing. I ain’t interested in your opinions on this. If your feelings are hurt, deal with it. You serve me; who I date or fall in love with is none of your business. Understand?”

“Y-yes, Miss. Of course, Miss. I’m so sorry.”

Her eyes were cold and she didn’t reply as she started thumbing through her cellphone. I redoubled my efforts, working my aching fingers into her deep foot tissue, trying desperately to please my snooty, lovestruck mistress, who completely ignored me the rest of the evening until she drifted to sleep.

I continued the massage for a while before lifting her legs onto the couch and nudging her into a prone position. Sometimes when I did that she’d wake up and stagger off to bed, but this time she was exhausted after her big date and remained conked out. I covered her with a blanket and slinked away to my small maid’s room, where I squirmed in bed all night thinking about my angel and the dashing Tristan B. Huxley — and having to admit that, in my mind’s eye, they made a beautiful couple.

 

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I didn’t sleep, but with the help of coffee I managed to get through work Monday, although I spent half the day monitoring the activity of TBH Advisors instead of paying attention to my own clients’ portfolios. After the final bell rang, I splashed water on my face, sucked down one last cup of joe and drove to Rebecca’s parents’ house for its weekly cleaning.

Emily’s boyfriend Ian answered my knock.

“Hey, fag.” He stepped aside and I tiptoed past him into the house.

“H-hello, sir.”

“You need to get over to my place before Wednesday; I had a party and it’s a fucking mess.”

I cleared my throat. “Um, sir, I don’t think I can. I have to clean here tonight, and then on Tuesdays I go over to Rebecca’s friend’s place to clean after work. I’ve got Wednesdays set aside for you, sir.”

The cocky 18-year-old smirked. “Well, since I’m crashing here tonight, you can go to my place when you get done. I’ll give you the key, and when you’re finished, you can bring it back here and leave it in the mailbox. That way, if you get my place nice and clean tonight, you can have Wednesday night off. See, faggot? Ain’t I nice?”

“Um, y-yes, sir, thank you, sir.” As exhausted as I was, I realized this new edict meant I wouldn’t be getting much sleep, although I swallowed my sorrows and followed Ian into the living room, where he fell onto the couch next to Emily.

Marlene, who was relaxing on her La-Z-Boy, jerked her thumb. “Randy wants you out in the garage before you get started in here.”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.” My heart sank. I knew what was coming as I plodded through the kitchen to the garage, where Rebecca’s stepfather was hunched over the hood of his truck.

“There you are.” He straightened up and pointed with a wrench. “You need to take that steel wool over there and scrub all the gunk out of that goddamn carburetor. It’s stuck in there pretty good, but I want it done. Oh, and I spilled some oil there, so you’ll need to get that up, too.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

His lip curled. “But you know what?” He stepped forward, unzipping his jeans. “While we’re alone, we might as well make the most of it.” He nodded at my gym bag. “You got your sissy shit in there?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Well, then, hurry up and make yourself pretty, and then come give Daddy some lovin’.”

“Y-yes, sir, thank you sir.” I wasn’t feeling very thankful, but such sucking-up was required. Literally and figuratively.

Using the compact mirror, I was able to quickly apply the face Rebecca preferred; she called it the “doll look,” with round, ridiculously rosy cheeks, ruby-red lipstick and light eyeshadow offset by dark eyeliner. After slipping on my curly “Shirley Temple” wig and donning my cleaning frock, I knelt on the concrete garage floor and looked up at Randy. He sneered, whipped out his dick and yanked my ears forward, causing me to yelp. With no regard for my comfort whatsoever, he began face-fucking me as hard as he could, his cock poking my tonsils as I gagged in rhythm with his thrusts. Through my peripheral vision I could see black tears slithering down my cheeks, and it dawned on me that I’d have to redo my makeup later — an odd thing to think about in the middle of such a terrifying oral assault.

Randy finally tensed up, wrenched my ears harder and shot his load down my throat before wiping his dick on my wig.

“Good job, sissy. Now, clean yourself up and get started on that damn carburetor.”

While Randy worked on his truck, I sat on a bench nearby, scouring the caked-on muck from the carburetor, which, as promised, was incredibly difficult to remove. The job took nearly two hours, with the final half-hour spent alone in the garage after Randy finished his tinkering and headed inside.

When the carburetor was polished to a high gloss, I fixed my makeup and teetered through the kitchen door that led to the garage. The clacking of my heels on the linoleum caused the occupants of the living room to look away from the movie they were watching.

“That carburetor all set?” Randy asked from his easy chair.

“Yes, sir, it’s clean, sir.”

“Good job, sissy, bring me a beer.” He turned back to the adventure movie blaring from the TV.

After I fetched his Corona, Marlene nodded toward the kitchen. “I want that refrigerator cleaned out real good tonight, Chrissie, and the stove, too.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Inwardly, I sighed. More work, meaning less sleep for me.

Emily hit her vaping pen and frowned. “There was a huge smudge on the heel of my red boots, Chrissie; didn’t you say you polished all my shoes last week?”

“Um, I … I did, Miss. I’m so sorry; I must’ve missed that.”

“Well, next time do it right, loser.”

“Y-yes, Miss. I’m sorry.” The bitchy 18-year-old was so haughty, it made me horny and caused my little dick to swell inside my cage — bringing excruciating pain from the needles. I managed to keep my whimper silent, having had much practice after two months of imprisonment in the dastardly device.

Other than calls for drink refills, nobody bothered me further as they got back into their movie while I scurried around them cleaning. The entire time, I was haunted by the vision of Rebecca snuggled in the arms of Tristan Fucking Huxley, whose square-jawed features had graced the cover of my industry’s largest trade publication while I toiled away in an obscure cubicle. I kept wondering how tall he was, hoping he might be a shrimp like me, but knowing in my heart that he was probably 6’4, as well as being handsome, successful and rich.

Because I’d been cleaning the Stricklands’ house weekly, there wasn’t a ton to do after finishing the stove and refrigerator, so I managed to have the whole place done shortly after their movie ended. Emily and Ian retired to her bedroom upstairs, and it wasn’t long before I could hear their groans and the bedsprings squeaking. In the household Rebecca grew up in, there was nothing unusual about an 18-year-old girl dragging her boyfriend home and loudly fucking him while her parents were right downstairs.

Nor was there anything unusual about what happened next:

I had just finishing cleaning and was removing my wig, ready to change clothes and head over to Ian’s to start on his place, when Randy shook his head pointed to the staircase.

“Uh-uh, put that wig back on; I want you in the bedroom, Chrissie.” He grinned. “You ain’t getting off that easy.”

With my head hung low, I followed him upstairs to his room, where Marlene was kicked back in bed playing a game on her iPad.

Randy joined his wife on the mattress and leered at me. “We’re gonna make this one nice and slow, okay, sissy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I fall asleep, go ahead and let yourself out.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Marlene scoffed. “I’m glad you’re here to do that, Chrissie, because there’s no way I’m gonna.”

I blinked twice to acknowledge her but by then she was focused on her tablet.

With a defeated sigh, I started sucking Randy’s dick while he relaxed next to his wife watching TV. After about an hour, both of them were snoring, so I slipped off the bed, wiped my mouth and headed downstairs to change. I drove to Ian’s apartment, where I cleaned into the night, dragging ass the whole time. The kid was a fucking slob; in addition to the place being trashed from his party, there was dogshit in the living room that had obviously sat there for days. Luckily, Ian’s pit bull Sarge was either too old or too lazy to do anything but growl when I got near him, and the beast didn’t otherwise molest me.

It was past 4am when I finally stumbled home. My exhaustion turned to heartache when I saw no sign of Rebecca, and realized she was most likely spending the night with Mr. Wonderful.

I wobbled around the foyer for a few seconds before dashing to the bathroom. Lifting the toilet seat, I puked my guts out.

 

Part XXI

 

Rebecca danced in the mirror, fluffing her hair and singing a bubbly Katy Perry tune that sounded more like a funeral dirge to me.

“Cuz baby, you're a firework / Come on, show 'em what you're worth / Make 'em go, "Oh, oh, oh" / As you shoot across the sky”

Firework, my ass, I grumbled under my breath as I sat on the carpet just outside the master bathroom polishing my angel’s flats and peeking up at her every few seconds to watch her primp. Her new boyfriend was coming over for the first time to enjoy a romantic dinner, and I had been tasked with cooking and serving it. While that made my princess happy, it sucked for me, and her cheerful warbling was only making it worse. I sure as hell wasn’t looking forward to facing this asshole, although according to Rebecca he was fascinated with her having “a little sissy slave,” and was dying to meet me.

In the week-and-a-half Rebecca had been dating Tristan Huxley, I had been on edge, and often scared to death. My mistress was in love. And this Huxley guy didn’t just have everything — he had the Super Deluxe version of everything, with extra pickles and a side of coleslaw.

Looks? He was a square-jawed movie star with piercing blue eyes, according to the dozens of pictures I’d obsessed over online since my angel had first mentioned the name Tristan Huxley.

Sex? Rebecca kept telling her friends that the man had a huge schlong and was a king in bed.

Money? After 10 years as a broker, I had managed to save close to $3 million. Huxley wiped his ass with $3 million; he probably cleared that in a month.

Gee, what else did he have that I didn’t? Rebecca’s heart? Duh. I knew that was forever off limits to me. Oh, sure, she loved me in her own way — like a girl loves a kitten, perhaps — but I knew if I were to try to rise above my servile station and ask her to be my girlfriend again, she’d roll over laughing. No, her heart belonged to Tristan. For the past two weeks, all she’d talked about was how she was in love with this guy; how it was meant to be … that it was written in the stars. Fate. Karma. A bunch of Zodiac crap. I would smile and nod, biting back my jealous tears until bedtime, when I’d cry myself to sleep, trying my best to keep quiet by burying my face in the pillow.

Not only was Rebecca completely besotted by this asshole, but he was my professional competitor, as well — although in reality I was no competition for Tristan B. Huxley, the Golden Boy of the stock market who took ridiculous risks and won every time.

Tristan B. Huxley had balls of steel. I had a Kevlar cock cage.

Tristan B. Fucking Huxley had me beat at everything. Well, not exactly everything. When it came to being Rebecca’s servant, nobody did it better than me. I tried to take solace in that, and reminded myself that I occupied a valued place in her life. It didn’t work.

In addition to Tristan’s physical, sexual and financial attributes, Rebecca had been gushing nonstop about his open-mindedness. Not only was he cool with her living with a sissy slave, but according to her, “he says it kind of turns him on.”

When she told me that, it made me shiver, sending my imagination spiraling into all sorts of unsavory places.

Rebecca had also told Tristan where I worked, and she informed me that he didn’t think much of my boss, Jeremy Colburn, whose grandfather had founded Colburn & Partners in the 1940s. Tristan apparently thought that Colburn was a dumbass who’d inherited everything and was fucking it up. I had to agree my boss wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, although he’d always been nice to me, and I felt miffed that an outsider was badmouthing him — especially some guy who was running circles around our company and fucking my angel.

As I sat on the carpet polishing Rebecca’s shoes, I reflected on what a longshot it was for her to have ever crossed paths with Tristan Huxley in the first place. They certainly didn’t mingle in the same circles; she hung out with the beer-and-darts Young Country barroom crowd, while, according to her, Huxley rarely went to bars, and certainly not the places Rebecca frequented. But one of his clients was the bar owner, who’d invited him over for a business lunch; she says she locked eyes with him from across the room, “and the rest is history.”

Since she’d broken the news, I’d fluctuated between jealousy and concern for my angel, being somewhat suspicious of Huxley’s motives. Rebecca wasn’t exactly “high society,” despite her natural beauty and grace, so why was a big-shot like Tristan Huxley spending so much time with a woman from the other side of the tracks who said “ain’t” all the time and couldn’t spell for shit? Was he using her just for sex? Was this asshole going to break her heart?

Those thoughts would linger for a few seconds before common sense bitch-slapped them out of existence. It was patently obvious why anyone, from the President of the United States on down, would fall head-over-heels in love with Rebecca Anne Strickland. She was the most wonderful, gorgeous, vivacious, breathtaking, beautiful woman in the world — even if she didn’t know the difference between “too,” “two” and “to.” Syntax notwithstanding, Rebecca was no dummy and certainly nobody’s fool, as anyone who ever tried to manipulate her quickly learned.

I looked up at my angel and smiled. Nah, if any hearts were going to be broken, I thought, it would be Tristan Fucking Huxley’s.

As I worked a tiny grain of glass from the sole of my mistress’s shoe, it occurred to me how it had also taken a lucky set of circumstances for she and I to have met. I’d bought a new large-screen television from Best Buy and the cashier, a gorgeous blonde, rang up the wrong price, undercharging me by almost $400. I didn’t notice the discrepancy until I got back to my car, and I went back into the store to fix it. The cashier flashed a devastating smile and told me it was nice to see that there were honest people in the world. That gave me the confidence to ask her out. She accepted. The rest is history.

When Rebecca’s shoes gleamed top to bottom and toe to sole, I knocked on the bathroom door.

“Um, Miss? I’m done with your flats.”

She continued applying eyeliner for a few minutes before glancing at me through the mirror.

“What are you doing standing there, Chrissie?”

“Um, I’m done … with these.” I presented the shoes to her, realizing she’d been too wrapped up in her thoughts to hear me the first time.

“So?” She frowned. “Put ‘em down and go do something. I don’t want you hovering around me while I’m trying to get ready — it gets on my nerves when you do that.”

“Sorry, Miss.”

“Nobody wants a sissy moping around. It’s annoying.”

“Sorry, Miss.”

“And go put on that fancy maid’s dress; I know you ain’t planning on wearing that thing when he gets here.”

“Oh, no, Miss. I was just—”

She showed me the hand. “Whatever, Chrissie. Go.”

“Sorry, Miss,” I said a third time before retreating to my bedroom to change clothes. Little Miss Priss clearly was nervous about her boyfriend coming over and was taking it out on me.

I shrugged it off. I was used to being her whipping boy.

I’d been fussing with dinner for a few minutes when the doorbell rang. When I looked in the peephole, I gasped. It was Tristan. He was a half-hour early.

Fuck.

Panic set in.

 

Part XXII

The sonofabitch had a smirk that cut like a shark’s tooth.

He smacked his lips. “You must be Chrissie.”

I peeked up at the towering rock of a man whose presence and shoulders filled the threshold, and it was all I could do to keep from pissing my panties.

“Um, please come in, sir,” I managed to croak before stepping aside.

He walked in like he owned the place and looked me up and down. “Becca wasn’t kidding — you ARE a little doll, aren’t you?”

“Uh, I … uh…”

Tristan chuckled. “Where is she?”

“Um, still getting ready, sir. Excuse me a sec while I go tell her you’re here.”

I dashed to the master suite, where my angel was scrambling to pull on her stockings.

“Uh, Miss … he … he’s here.”

“I know, I heard the doorbell. Damn it, he’s a half-hour early. Did you ask if he wants a drink?”

“Uh, no, Miss, I didn’t, sorry.”

“What’s wrong with you, Chrissie? Get out there and offer him one now, and tell him I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Uh, yes, Miss, right away, Miss.”

I returned to the living room, where Tristan had taken the liberty to sit on the couch.

“Sir, Miss Rebecca says she’ll be out in a minute. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“What you do have, Chrissie?”

“Um … I’ve got some 25-year-old Macallan, if you like scotch, sir.”

Tristan shrugged. “Sure.”

After I served his drink, I sort of teetered in front of the sofa, unsure what to do.

Tristan broke the ice. “So, Chrissie, Becca tells me you work for Colburn. What’s that like?”

“Um … I don’t know, sir. It’s okay, I guess.” I forced a smile. “Although we haven’t been doing so great after your company started up. You guys have been killing us.”

He swirled the scotch around in his tumbler. “Well, Chrissie, some people got it, and some don’t. Know what I mean?”

“Um … yes, sir.” As I stood before the arrogant prick in my maid’s dress while he relaxed on my sofa, I couldn’t help thinking that he’d directed his comment at me.

He smiled. “Now, Becca? She’s got it. And then some. She’s a little firecracker, isn’t she?”

“Um … I … I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know? I do. Rebecca is something else. She told you we’re in love, right?”

“Uh, yes, sir, she did.”

“Well, good, because we are. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s an amazing woman. Just amazing. So, get used to having me around, Chrissie, because you’re going to be seeing a lot more of me from now on. And in case you’re worried, I have no problem with alternative lifestyles; I told Becca I think it’s sexy that she has a slave. I’ve always had a bit of a dominant streak myself, and my old girlfriend and I even went to an S&M club a few times back when I lived in Frisco. So, this should be fun. I’m looking forward to it.”

I gulped.

Tristan pointed to a spot on the carpet. “In fact, why don’t you be a good little sissy slave and kneel down right there?”

My heart was beating like a jackhammer, and my trembling made it difficult to obey — but obey, I did, kneeling where the smug alpha male had indicated.

He chuckled. “Becca tells me you’re, like, crazy in love with her.”

I lowered my eyes. “Um … I …”

“It’s okay, Chrissie. I understand. She’s easy to fall in love with, isn’t she?”

“She … she is, sir. She is.”

“Well, it’s okay. I’m glad you’re in love with her.”

I looked up. “You … you are?”

“Sure. We’re shipmates, Chrissie. We’re both part of Team Rebecca. Our job is to make her happy, right?”

“Um … right, sir.”

He raised his glass. “Well, then, here’s to Team Rebecca. Say it: ‘Go, Team Rebecca.’”

“Um … go, Team Rebecca.”

He jeered. “Say it like a cheerleader, Chrissie: ‘Gooooooo, Team Re-BECCA!!!”

I felt silly, but complied: “Gooooooooo, Team Re-BECCA!!!”

“Maybe we’ll get you some pom-poms. Say it again, like you mean it.”

“Um, gooooo, Team Re-BECCA!!!”

Just then, my angel made her breathtaking entrance.

“Team Rebecca? Sounds good to me.” She headed straight for her lover, who yanked her onto the couch with him while she squealed and mock-protested.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair, damn it.”

“I plan to.” He smacked her butt. “And that’s not all I plan on messing up.”

“Ooh, is that a promise?”

His answer was a kiss. They made out for several minutes while I knelt on the carpet, eyes cast downward so as not to gawk at them.

When they finally broke away from each other, Rebecca smiled at me. “I see you two have gotten to know each other. Did mean old Tristan make you get down on your knees, Chrissie?”

“Uh … I … uh …”

Tristan emptied his glass of scotch and held it out toward me. “I just wanted to make sure everyone knew their place from the get-go. Refill, Chrissie, on the double.”

As I struggled to my feet, Rebecca nuzzled her head against her lover’s chest and flashed me a little smile that said, “isn’t he just the coolest?”

She kissed Tristan’s ear. “Baby, I’m so glad you and Chrissie and getting along. Seriously.”

“I told you: I think it’s sexy that you have a little sissy slave,” he said. “Can you make him do tricks?”

Her giggle was the last thing I heard before disappearing into the kitchen.

I was back in a flash with the refill and returned to my knees. Not two seconds after I settled into position, Rebecca said, “stand up, Chrissie, Tris wants to see your cage.”

The blood drained from my face and I couldn’t force myself to move.

Rebecca frowned. “Chrissie! I just told you to do something.”

“I … uh …”

Tristan scoffed. “You’re too lenient with him, Becca.” He destroyed me with an icy-blue glare. “Chrissie, if you don’t want me to take my belt to your ass, you’d better do exactly what your mistress told you, right this second.”

In a panic, I jumped to my feet and lifted my dress, exposing my shameful, locked genitals while Rebecca giggled.

“OMG, you are so good with him,” she told her boyfriend. “I love you so much.”

Tristan leaned in for yet another kiss while I stood there holding my dress up, fighting back tears.

When their snog ended, Tristan tilted his head and studied my chastity device. He reached over and tapped it three times. “That thing looks serious. Does it hurt, Chrissie?”

“Um … not usually, sir.”

“Becca says it has spikes on the inside. You saying that doesn’t hurt?”

“Oh, no, sir, that hurts … um, it hurts a lot, sir. But usually, … um, I guess I’m just used to it, although …” I let the sentence trail off.

Tristan cocked an eyebrow. “Although what, Chrissie?”

“Nothing, sir.”

Rebecca tittered. “He was gonna say ‘although I’m horny all the time because I don’t get to play with my little pee-pee.’ Ain’t that what you were gonna say, Chrissie?”

“I … uh …”

She scoffed. “Don’t even try it. I know you too good. You little sissy, I still can’t believe you embarrassed me in front of company when I told you to do something. I should take Tris up on that offer to get his belt out.”

Tristan’s eyes widened. “Ooh, that would be fun.”

“Seriously? You want to?”

“Well, it sure looks like the little sissy needs to be taught a lesson. I can’t have him disrespecting you like that.”

“OMG, you’re so awesome, I love you so much.” She squeezed his bicep. “Want to do it before or after dinner?”

“Let’s wait until after. That way, I can work off what I eat.”

Rebecca smirked at me. “You hear that, Chrissie? My man is gonna take a belt to your ass after dinner because you disrespected me. You should thank him for taking the time to teach you some manners. Say it.”

“Uh … um, t-thank you, sir.”

“No, say the whole thing: ‘Thank you for taking the time to teach me some manners.’”

I swallowed. “T-thank you for taking … taking the time to teach me some manners, sir.”

Tristan shrugged. “No problem, Chrissie. You realize when you don’t obey your mistress, that drags down Team Rebecca, right?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

My angel looked up at her lover. “What’s all this Team Rebecca stuff?”

Tristan nodded at me. “Tell her, Chrissie.”

I felt like a fool standing there still holding my dress up, but I managed to get through the explanation: “Uh … um, Miss, um … Mr. Tristan says that he and I are on the same team … um, Team Rebecca, and … uh, that both our job is to keep you happy, Miss.”

“Ooh, that sounds good to me; I like being happy.” She smiled at him, not me.

“Me too, baby. I’m all about keeping you happy.” He kissed her nose. “Now, let’s eat! I’m starving.”

Without turning away from her lover, Rebecca snapped her fingers. “You heard the man, Chrissie. Go get dinner ready.”

With a knot in my stomach, I lowered my dress and scurried off to the kitchen. My hands were shaking so badly it was impossible to lift the serving dish, so I leaned against the stove in a desperate attempt to calm down and catch my breath.

I knew I had a long, painful night ahead of me.

 

Part XXIII

Nobody mentioned my baked salmon so I assumed the food was okay — which was about the only positive development in what had so far been an otherwise shitty evening. Shitty for me, that is; the lovebirds were having a ball, completely oblivious to my misery.

Rebecca and Tristan flirted with each other throughout the meal while I stood near the table at attention with my hands folded in front of my apron trying to stay still. Inside, I was trembling, scared shitless at my impending punishment for not obeying Rebecca fast enough when she’d told me to show my chastity device to her lover. I wasn’t even sure how many strokes I’d be receiving; all Tristan had told me was that he’d be giving me a taste of his belt after dinner — an idea that had thrilled my angel to no end.

While my looming ass-whipping was all I could think about, neither of them seemed concerned about it as they relaxed at the table eating and chatting. I hung on their every word, but focused my gaze at the carpet, pretending not to listen as Tristan switched from seducing Rebecca to bragging about his stock market savvy.

“I take risks nobody else will take, which is why my company runs circles around the other firms, including Chrissie’s rinky-dink outfit,” he told his captivated dinner date. “Jeremy Colburn is too stupid to know better, so he just takes the safe route, and doesn’t come close to making as much as money as he could. It’s why we’ve been stealing his clients by the dozen — isn’t that right, Chrissie?”

“Um … y-yes, sir.”

Tristan sipped his wine. “I bet Colburn has major plans for when that orange crop report comes out Monday. Doesn’t he?”

“I … uh, I …”

He snorted. “Oh, come on, Chrissie. You can tell me. I already know Colburn’s got the head of the Agriculture Department in his pocket because he was friends with his dad. Colburn has already seen the crop report; I have that confirmed. And I know he tells his team so they can prepare. So, what’s it say?”

I blinked. “Um, sir … that’s … um, that’s proprietary, sir, and you’re … well, you’re the competition, uh, sir.”

Rebecca dropped her fork. “OMG, Chrissie, I can’t believe how disrespectful you’re being. What the hell’s wrong with you, calling him competition while he’s sitting here at my dinner table?”

“I … it’s just … please, Miss, that’s something only employees of my company are supposed to know, and we all signed a non-disclosure—”

She held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear it, Chrissie. You’ll tell him what he wants to know, and that’s all I want to hear about it. Got it?”

“I … uh …”

Her eyes hardened. “Got it?”

“But, Miss—”

“Chrissie, I am giving you a direct order. You’re already getting as ass-whipping for not obeying me; you want more, you disrespectful little sissy?”

“N-no, Miss.”

“Well, then? You gonna tell him what he wants to know?”

“Um …” I closed my eyes and sighed. “Yes, Miss.”

Tristan’s sneer melted my gut. “So, Chrissie? What’s that report say?”

I felt my lips move against my will. “Um … it said the late frost didn’t affect this year’s orange crop, sir.”

“Really?”

“Yes, sir. It says there was no real damage done to the crop, sir.”

“Hm. Very interesting. Good job, Chrissie.” He tossed his napkin onto his plate and pushed back his chair. “Listen, Rebecca, I’m sorry but I need to run.”

My angel’s jaw dropped. “Run? Seriously? We ain’t even finished eating yet.”

“Yeah, I know, sorry, but I’m set up for that report being bad news, and I’ve got to go make some major adjustments to my strategy before Monday.”

Tristan leaned over, pecked Rebecca on the head, and within a few seconds he was gone.

My angel blinked back tears and looked up at me. “What the hell just happened?”

“I’m sorry, Miss; he’s supposedly a maniac about work, and that crop report is a pretty big deal.”

“Are you gonna get in trouble with your boss for telling him about it?”

“I don’t know, Miss. I wasn’t supposed to say anything … but you wanted me to, so I did.”

She scowled. “Don’t put this on me, Chrissie.”

“S-sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean it that way. But this is … it’ll really hurt our firm if Tristan starts buying orange futures and driving up the price, since everyone assumes the report is going to be bad news and has been selling their shares. My boss was really counting on this report to help offset some of our losses this year.”

“Look, all I know is that he left out of here as soon as you told him about that report. I can’t fucking believe him. He got right up and walked out without a glance back.”

“I … I know. I’m sorry, Miss.”

“You should be; this is all your fault for talking about work shit with him.” She glared at me for a few uncomfortable seconds. “You know what? Go into my bedroom and bring me my red belt; the one with the gold buckle. You’ve got punishment coming, and just because Tristan’s gone, I don’t see why you should get off free. You disobeyed me, Chrissie. That needs to be dealt with.”

I started hyperventilating. “But, Miss—”

“‘But, Miss,’ my ass. Go get the belt, Chrissie. Now.”

With my head hung low, I scooted to the bedroom and retrieved her belt. She doubled it over and slapped it against the palm of her hand five times, making me flinch.

“Flip up your dress and pull down them panties, Chrissie,” she said. “Then, bend over the chair.”

As soon as I was in position, the assault started. Rebecca had never physically punished me, and through my haze of pain I was surprised at how much power my petite princess was able to generate with blows that were punctuated by insults, as she let out her frustrations on me.

WHAP!!!

“Goddamn little sissy, you couldn’t wait to start talking to him about work stuff because you knew he’d leave, didn’t you?”

“N-no, Miss … I didn’t … he’s the one who brought it up—”

THWAAAAP!!!

“Shut up, Chrissie. I don’t want to hear your mouth.”

WHAAAAP!!!

“Ow, please, Miss.”

CRAAAACK!!!

“I said shut up. You wanted him to leave, didn’t you?”

“N-no, Miss, I—”

THRRRAPPP!!

“You couldn’t stand the idea of me being with him from the minute I mentioned his name.”

“But, no, Miss, I—”

“Shut up, Chrissie!”

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

I was somehow able to keep quiet through 20 more vicious blows, and then Rebecca threw the belt onto the carpet and ran to her bedroom in tears.

My poor ass was cut to ribbons, but all I could think about was my angel’s pain.

After several minutes of sitting in the living room listening to Rebecca’s sobs through her closed bedroom door, my sadness turned to anger at the man who’d made her cry. I got to wondering about Tristan, and giving more thought to how he had supposedly met Rebecca at the bar by chance while talking to the owner. According to the story, the bar owner was Tristan’s client, and he’d gone there to discuss his investments.

I decided to see if that was true. I looked up the number for Charro’s Bar and dialed. A woman answered.

“Charro’s.”

“Um, yes, may I speak to the owner, please?”

“May I ask what is this regarding?”

“Uh, I’m calling from his brokerage firm. It’s about his investment portfolio.”

“Hang on.”

After a few seconds, a man’s cheery voice cut through the silence. “Hey, Bill, how you doing? How’s Mary and the kids?”

“Um, this isn’t Bill, sir. I’m calling on behalf of TBH Investments.”

“Oh. Well, I already have a broker I’m happy with, so I’m all set, thanks.”

“Oh, no, sir, I’m not a telemarketer. I’m calling about your investments with TBH.”

“I don’t have any investments with TBH. What is this, some kind of scam? Who the hell is this?”

“Uh … I … uh …”

I hung up. Then, I spent the next half-hour listening to Rebecca cry in her bedroom, wondering how I was going to break the news to her that she and Tristan hadn’t met by chance; he’d clearly orchestrated their meeting in order to get inside information about the upcoming crop report. I’d always heard that Tristan Huxley was ruthless, and the way he’d manipulated my angel proved it. He must’ve done recon on everyone at our firm, and figured out I was the weak point.

But how? Was he aware of my slave relationship with Rebecca? And if so, how was he able to figure it out? After racking my brain for hours, I figured it must have been leaked by one of Rebecca’s friends. Loose lips sink ships, and it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for Tristan to have had one of his spies get in good with Rebecca’s vampire friends in order to surreptitiously pump them for information about me.

I figured in any other scenario, that level of espionage was probably unlikely — but with tens of millions of dollars at stake, and as cutthroat as Tristan was reported to be, I didn’t rule it out.

Of course, I couldn’t be 100% sure how he’d pulled it off, but it was obvious that Tristan had somehow figured out that I would spill any secret if Rebecca ordered me to do it. He’d manipulated her, fooled her into thinking he was in love with her, and executed his plan perfectly. Once he had the information he wanted, he clearly saw no point in pretending anymore; he was gone in two minutes, leaving me to deal with the fallout.

And there was a lot of fallout.

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

I waited until the next day to tell Rebecca my news. Predictably, she didn’t believe me at first, but as the days passed without Tristan returning any of her calls or texts, the awful truth that she’d been used began to dawn on her.

When the crop report came out, my firm didn’t turn the kinds of profits my boss had hoped for, since, as feared, Tristan drove up the price by buying thousands of orange future shares just before the report’s release, and others followed suit. Mr. Colburn was crestfallen when the final bell rang that day, but he never mentioned whether he suspected the crop report had been leaked. That didn’t stop me from feeling guilty as hell about it.

My angel went into a deep depression. At first, she wouldn’t eat or come out of her room, but after a few weeks of isolation she went in the opposite direction, going to the bar every night and coming home absolutely hammered — that is, when she came home.

Through it all, I was there for her, providing perfect maid service and trying not to be too judgmental about her spiraling lifestyle, since she’d yell at me whenever I’d bring up how much she was drinking.

Then, after work one evening, things hit rock-bottom, at least as far as I was concerned. When I walked into the condo, my heart sank when I saw a familiar, smirking figure kicked back on my sofa with his feet on the coffee table.

“Well, hey, there, little sissy. Long time, no see.”

When I was able to talk, I peeped out: “Um, hello, sir. N-nice to see you, sir.”

It was a damn lie. I was decidedly NOT happy to see Rebecca’s ex-husband.

My angel smiled at me. “Chrissie, you need to run to the store and pick up some beer for Karl.”

“Y-yes, Miss. Um, do you still drink Bud, sir?”

“Sure do.” Karl winked at me. “Better pick up a case, Chrissie. I might be here a while.”

 

BOOK THREE

“Mrs. Martin (revisited)”

 

Part XXIV

Marlene seemed to be enjoying my foot massage as she kicked back on her La-Z-Boy smiling at Rebecca and Karl.

“It’s so good to see y’all together again,” Marlene said. “Although I don’t know why you waited a damn month to tell us.”

“Well, Ma, we wanted to be sure.” Rebecca turned and kissed her ex. “I know how much you guys always loved Karl, so I wanted to hold off on saying anything until we knew 100% that we was getting back together.”

Marlene shifted her foot in my hands. “Well, I’m glad you did, baby.”

Randy flashed a thumbs-up. “Me too. I finally got someone to help me work on that truck again.” He sneered at me. “This little pansy ain’t no help, that’s for damn sure.”

Karl sniggered. “Naw, lil’ Chrissie ain’t much of a mechanic — although Becca tells me he helps out with some other things.” He squeezed his dick through his jeans and leered at me.

When I squirmed under the barrage of laughter, Emily clucked her tongue. “Aw, don’t be embarrassed, Chrissie.”

“Yeah,” her boyfriend Ian chimed in. “Faggots shouldn’t be embarrassed about sucking dick. It’s what you fags do.”

That prompted another round of chuckles, although I continued rubbing Marlene’s feet without missing a beat.

Rebecca sipped her beer. “Karl’s been using him, too. His mouth, that is. Ain’t he, Chrissie?”

I blinked in disbelief at how casually this trashy family discussed such matters behind closed doors, although I was certain neither Karl nor Randy would publicly admit that they allowed a sissy to blow them, lest anyone think they were “fags.”

However, I pushed those thoughts aside and answered my mistress’s humiliating question as required: “Um, y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Marlene smiled. “Got the sissy using your married name, huh?”

“Might as well start now, since we’re getting remarried soon.” Rebecca squeezed Karl’s bicep.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that, baby, I really am,” Marlene said. “How’s that all gonna work, though? I mean, with Chrissie?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine.” Rebecca shrugged. “After we get married, we’re gonna get a house and try to have kids, and Chrissie is gonna stay on. Tell them the plan, Chrissie.”

As I worked Marlene’s sole, I relayed the soul-crushing edict my masters had imposed on me just a few days earlier: “Um, I … I’m going to retire at the end of the fiscal quarter so I can be the full-time maid.”

Rebecca nodded. “Once he don’t have to work, he’s gonna dress as Chrissie 24/7, and live as a woman. He has $3 million saved up already, and he’ll get another million when he retires in some kind of … what did you call it, Chrissie? A parachute?”

“Um, a golden parachute severance package, Mrs. Martin.”

“Yeah, that’s it. We got it all planned out, Ma: Chrissie’s gonna buy me a beauty salon and a garage for Karl, so we’ll have some money coming in. But those will be more like hobbies; we can work when we want, and let someone else run the everyday business. We’ll have that $4 million when he retires, plus all his investments, which should last us … as long as we play it smart and don’t go blowing it.”

Marlene scoffed. “Jeez, I would hope $4 million would last you.”

“I know, it’ll be fine,” her daughter said. “And then when we decide to have kids, Chrissie can stay with us as our maid. We’ll have him grow his hair out, and maybe even get some breast implants, we ain’t decided yet. We want it to be just like having a female maid, so he’ll basically be living as a woman.”

Ian sniffed. “You mean as a fag.”

Emily giggled. “No shit. Chrissie won’t never be no real woman.”

Randy licked his lips and rubbed his crotch. “Well, he’ll do in a pinch.”

Everyone cracked up.

Marlene smiled at Karl. “So, Becca says you been using the sissy, too, huh?”

“He didn’t want to at first,” Rebecca said. “But then—”

“But then, your daughter went on the rag, and I was horny, so I figured, fuck it,” Karl cut in. “And I found out the little pansy’s got a fuckin’ silver tongue like a $1,000-a-night whore.”

Rebecca shook her head. “Yeah, and now, poor Chrissie can’t get his housework done because this horny bastard’s always molesting him.”

“That don’t make me a fag, does it?” Karl quipped, and the room erupted with cackles. I somehow managed to sniffle back the tears and concentrate on rubbing Marlene’s feet.

“Don’t be wasting too much of that cum shooting it down Chrissie’s throat, now, you hear?” Marlene smiled at Karl. “Save some of them swimmers to give me a few grandkids.”

That got yet another a laugh out of the group, and then the conversation thankfully moved on to other subjects. For about a half-hour I got a welcome break from the humiliation — unless you count the built-in humiliation of being on my knees slavishly giving a foot massage to a GILF while being ignored by everyone in the room.

My recess ended when Rebecca glanced at the wall clock. “Uh oh, Chrissie. It’s almost 8.”

Marlene furrowed her brow. “What happens at 8?”

Rebecca smiled. “Marriage counseling.”

“Marriage counseling?” Marlene scratched her head. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, as you know, Karl’s got a little temper on him; it’s the reason we broke up,” Rebecca explained. “Sometimes, he gets really frustrated, but he’s got nowhere to put all that anger, and ends up lashing out at me. So, Chrissie volunteered to let him take out his frustrations on him instead. With the belt.”

Marlene hooted. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, and it’s been working great,” Rebecca said. “So, it’s kinda like marriage counseling — Karl gets out his frustrations on Chrissie every night, and that fixes the one thing that was wrong with our relationship: Karl’s anger issues. Chrissie’s such a doll; he agreed to sacrifice for our marriage.” She smiled at me. “Didn’t you, Chrissie?”

“Um, y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Aw, poor little thing, I know it’s hard for you. He gets you pretty good sometimes; some nights you have to sleep on your tummy, don’t you, baba?”

“Uh, yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“But you sacrifice for our marriage, huh?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. T-thank you.”

Marlene smirked down at me as I continued rubbing her feet. “So, Karl takes a belt to your ass every night at 8 o’clock, even if you didn’t do nothing wrong?”

“Um, yes, Ma’am … I’m glad to be able to help with … uh, their relationship,” I lied.

Randy swigged his beer. “How many strokes does he get each night?”

“Oh, there’s no set number; it depends on my mood.” Karl winked at me. “Some nights, like when the Cowboys lose, I might have more frustrations to get out than usual, huh, Chrissie?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“I don’t like it when them Cowboys lose, do I, Chrissie?”

“N-no, sir.”

“But I let you slide the other night after you washed my truck real good, didn’t I?”

“Y-yes, sir, you did. Thank you.”

“No problem, sissy. See? It ain’t all bad. Is it?”

“No, sir, it’s not. Thank you, sir.”

“No problem. Although brown-nosing won’t help you tonight.” Karl checked his cellphone. “Well, shit, it’s getting on 8 now — as soon as Marlene’s done with you, we’re gonna do some marriage counseling right here, so we can show everyone how you’re helping me and Becca stay together. Sound good to you, Chrissie?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Marlene lifted her feet from my hands. “You’re done, Chrissie. I want to see you get your ass whooped.”

“Ooh, me too, I wanna see this shit,” Emily shrieked.

Karl sneered as he stood and pulled his belt through the loops of his jeans. “Since everyone wants to see this, why don’t we go ahead and make it a good, hard one tonight, Chrissie? Okay?”

I gulped. “Y-yes, sir.”

He doubled the belt. “Bend over that chair. We’ll pretend the Cowboys lost again.”

“OMG, light his ass up, Karl,” Emily squealed.

Ian chuckled as I lifted my dress, bent over the chair and pulled down my panties. “Fucking pathetic.”

Randy winced. “Damn, his ass is already tore up. Look at them bruises.”

“I told you — Karl gets him pretty good sometimes,” Rebecca said.

“And I’m gonna get him good tonight, too.” Karl’s lips formed an evil smile as his gaze bore a hole into my soul. “Ready for some marriage counseling, sissy?”

“Y-yes, sir. T-thank you, sir,” I managed to peep from my upside-down, bent-over position.

“Heh, heh, no problem sissy. Count ‘em out loud and thank me for each one.”

THHHHHWWWWAPPPPP!!!

“Ow, one, thank you, sir.”

“Ooh, that sounded like it hurt,” Ian joshed.

Emily pouted. “Poor sissy.”

“Poor sissy, my ass,” Karl said before slashing three more blows in rapid succession.

“Owwww, 2thankyousir3thankyousir4thankyousir, ow!”

Karl inhaled through his nostrils. “Woo-HOOO! Damn, this feels good! Letting out all my frustrations!”

THWACCCCCKKKKK!

“Ow, ow, 5, thank you, sir.”

The numbers and thank-you’s poured out of me as the barrage continued: THWACK, THWACK THWACK, THWACK THWACK, THWACK THWACK, THWACK THWACK, THWACK

Finally, after “30, thank you sir, owwwwww,” my master slipped his belt back through the loops and plopped on the couch next to a smiling Rebecca.

“Whew, that was a workout.” He snapped his fingers. “Pull them panties up and run and get me a beer, sissy.”

As I hurried to obey, bawling my poor eyes out, I heard Ian say, “Damn, that looked like fun. Mind if I give it a try?”

Fear filled my gut, and my tears flowed harder — until my angel saved me.

“No, Karl got him pretty good just now,” she said. “We don’t want to hurt poor Chrissie too bad. Maybe next time.”

I continued crying as I fetched Karl’s beer, but these were tears of joy.

Rebecca had stood up for me! She really did care!

I floated back to the living room with a sissy smile plastered on my mascara-streaked face.

No can of Bud was ever served more submissively. Karl burped as I handed it to him, and then ordered me to rub his feet.

 

Part XXV

Rebecca gasped when she spotted me upon returning home from her Sunday afternoon shopping excursion.

“OMG, what happened to your eye, Chrissie?”

From my position on my hands and knees, where I was scrubbing the living room baseboards, I sniffled.

“Um, the Cowboys lost in overtime … the ref blew a call … and, uh, Mr. Martin was pretty mad. So, we had our counseling session, and he gave me 50 with the belt … and then, when I got his beer, I, um … I tripped on the throw rug and spilled it all over his lap, and he … he …”

“He hit you?”

A tear trickled from my good eye. “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. His pants got all wet and he jumped up and punched me.”

Rebecca frowned. “Jeez. That asshole. Where is he?”

“Um, I think he’s meeting some guy named Fat Ronnie at the bar to get an 8-ball.”

“Ugh, he’s getting coke?”

“That’s what I heard him say on the phone. Um, Mrs. Martin, please don’t let him know I told you.”

“I won’t — but I’m gonna talk to him when he gets home about that damned eye of yours. We agreed he could use the belt when he gets frustrated, but we can’t have him beating on you like this. Are you okay, Chrissie?”

My face was wet with tears. “I … I don’t know. It hurts a lot, Mrs. Martin. And I’ve got a real bad headache.”

“Aw.” She stared down at me with a patronizing smile. “And, yet, here you are, still getting your chores done. You’re so loyal. You put up with so much, don’t you, baba?”

“Um, Mrs. Martin … um, I’m … I’m trying to be a good slave for you guys. It’s just … it’s just …” I broke down sobbing. “Ever since he moved in … he’s … he’s always so mean to me, Miss.”

“I know, baba. I love him, but he’s such a bully sometimes. I’ll talk to him, I promise.”

I drew a breath. “Um, Mrs. Martin?”

“What, sweetie?”

“Um, when you talk to him … uh, do you … do you think you could ask him to change the no-furniture rule? My whole body hurts from sleeping on the floor.”

Rebecca sighed. “I don’t know, Chrissie. I mean, if this is gonna be permanent like we talked about, and you’re gonna be serving us and our kids when they come, then Karl needs to be able to set rules in his own household, don’t he?”

“I … I guess so.”

“Well, I don’t like him hitting you with his fists, and I’ll talk to him about that — but, no, Chrissie, if he don’t want you on the furniture, then you need to deal with it. You’re the slave, and he makes the rules. If your body hurts from sleeping on the floor, oh well. You promised to be Karl’s slave, too, right?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“And that means doing what he says — even if you don’t like it. Right?”

I hung my head. “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Well, then, you’ll be happy to do what he says and sleep on the floor. Right?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“There’s my lil baba. Now, run and go get me a Diet Coke, ‘kay?”

By the time I returned with my mistress’s soda, she was relaxed on the couch chatting on her cellphone. I served her beverage and returned to cleaning the baseboards, eavesdropping on her half of the conversation.

“Ugh, you’ve got to be kidding me. I’m sorry, girl. Shit, I can have Chrissie come by right now if you want.” There was a pause. “Oh, well, then, he can stop by tomorrow.”

After another second of silence, Rebecca addressed me: “Chrissie, you’ll be going over to Katie’s tomorrow night after work; her sewer backed up and there’s a huge mess for you to clean. I’d send you over there now but she’s staying at her ma’s tonight.”

I halted my scrubbing. “Um, I’m sorry, Mrs. Martin, but I’m cleaning your Mom’s place tomorrow, remember? Then Gina’s on Tuesdays, and Wednesdays I go to Ian’s apartment. I won’t be free after work till Thursday.”

Rebecca huffed. “Damn it. That’s why I can’t wait for you to retire, Chrissie. I need you full-time.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. I’m so sorry.”

I had no idea why I was apologizing to Rebecca for spreading me too thin by offering weekly cleaning services to half the damn zip code, but my groveling went unnoticed as my angel returned to her conversation with Katie.

“I guess I can bump everything back a day; Chrissie can come to your place tomorrow and then go to my Ma’s on Tuesday. We won’t have him here until Friday, though. Oh, well. Okay, girl. Sorry, you’re going through all this. Okay, bye.”

Rebecca hung up and frowned at me. “I wish you could retire now, damn it. It sucks not having you available during the day.”

“I know, Mrs. Martin. But I have to wait until the new fiscal quarter starts if I’m going to cash in on all my stock options.”

“It’s worth the wait, I get it.” She picked up the remote. “Now, shush.”

As my angel relaxed and watched “Real Housewives,” I continued cleaning the living room baseboards, ignoring my headache and peeking up at her with my one good eye. Her leg was cocked in such a fashion that made her cameltoe swell through her jeans, and it wasn’t long before I paid the price for my voyeurism.

“Yee-Ow!” I yelped when dick met spikes.

Rebecca smirked at me, knowing full well what had just happened. In a sing-song voice, she teased: “Aw, poooooooor Chrisssssssssssiieee. You getting horny again in your little cage, baba?”

“I … I’m .. OUCH!”

“Hee-hee.” My angel kicked her legs in the air. “Tell you what, baba. Because Karl was so mean to you, I’ll ask him if we can give you a special treat and let you lick me tonight. Would you like that?”

“Oh, Mrs. Martin … t-thank you. Thank y—yoooowwwwwwww!!”

She leaned back with a smug smile. “You’re welcome, baba. You know if it was up to me I’d let you lick me more often, but Karl’s so jealous. He resents that me and you had a relationship before we met, and that I moved in here with you after the divorce. That’s why I ain’t wanting to ask him to change the rules he makes for you. He needs to feel like he’s part of this; like you’re here to serve him, too. Know what I mean, Chrissie?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. It’s just … well, my back hurts so bad. Um, from sleeping on the floor every single night.”

My mistress giggled. “Aw, poor Chrissie, you put up with soooooo much. Tell you what; I’ll talk to him about maybe letting you use a sleeping bag … or one of them doggie beds, ‘kay?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. Thank you so much.”

She cocked her head. “Has your little thingy stopped trying to be naughty in its cage, baba?”

My ears reddened. “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“How long has it been since you had a cummy?”

“Um, it’ll be five months Thursday.”

“And when’s your next release?”

“Um … Karl pushed it back another month when I burned the bacon, so it’s not until February.”

“Poor Chrissie.” Rebecca pouted. “He’s so mean to you. But you put up with it for me, dontcha?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“You still my little sissy slave doll?”

“Oh, y-yes, Miss Martin. I … want to serve you forever and ever.”

“And Karl, too?”

“Um, yes, Mrs. Martin. I want to serve him forever, too.”

“Even if he’s mean to you sometimes?”

I swallowed the nasty taste. “Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Rebecca chuckled. “See? There’s my lil baba. Now keep quiet and let me watch my show, okay?”

 

Part XXVI

I was elbow-deep in dishwater when the front door slammed. My blood ran cold. Karl was home.

From the kitchen, I could hear Rebecca greet her lover: “Hey, babe. Where was you?”

“The bar. Got an 8-ball from Fat Ronnie.”

My angel huffed. “An 8-ball? You doing coke now? When did you start that?”

“It’s just once in a while, babe. It ain’t like I’m hooked or nothing.”

“Well, you know how I feel about that shit.” Her voice had an edge.

“I know, Becca — but I at least I was up front. When you asked where I was, I didn’t lie, did I?”

“No, baby, you didn’t. Look, I’m sorry; I don’t want to sound like a bitch, and if you want to do a little coke once in a while, you’re a grown-ass man … but I’m just worried. You know how that shit fucked up my cousin.”

“Yeah, but she got hooked — I ain’t gonna get hooked.”

“Um, okay … I won’t say nothing else, as long as it don’t turn into a regular thing.”

“It won’t, Becca, I promise. M’kay?”

“Okay, baby.”

After what sounded like a kiss, Karl bellowed: “I could use a beer out here!”

His voice made me jump. I dried my hands, retrieved a cold Bud from the refrigerator and scurried as fast as my heels would allow into the living room.

Karl whistled. “Damn, Chrissie, I really popped that eye good, huh?”

“Y-yes, sir,” I said as I handed him his 12-oz can.

“But you didn’t spill beer on my lap again, so it looks like it worked. Did you learn your lesson, Chrissie?”

I had to sniffle back tears. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Good bitch. Don’t spill anything on me. I hate that shit.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t know, honey, that’s too much. Don’t hit Chrissie like that again, okay? I mean, it’s one thing to use the belt on him like we talked about — but please don’t hit him with your fists. I mean, look at him. Poor thing. He’s so tiny; it’s like hitting a little girl.”

I winced at her humiliating remark, even though she was standing up for me.

Karl leaned back on the sofa. “Ugh, I know, I know. It’s just … well, Dallas got fucked over by that goddamn ref — who must be in Pittsburgh’s pocket, because there’s no fucking way that cocksucker didn’t see that pass interference — and then, the sissy spills beer all over my lap … and … well, I just lost it. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you should apologize to Chrissie, babe,” Rebecca said. “He’s the one with the black eye.”

Karl took a swig of beer. “Oh, all right, Chrissie. I’m sorry I hit you, but you need to be more careful from now on. Alright?”

“Y-yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

“No problem. Now, go get me a small plate from the kitchen.”

I fetched a saucer and set it on the table in front of Karl as he slipped a small packet from his pocket. After tapping a measure of the cocaine onto the plate, he used his driver’s license to cut up two large lines, which he snorted into each nostril through a rolled-up $10 bill.

He sniffled deeply and pinched his nose. “Woo HOO! Day-um! Woooo!”

Rebecca cocked her head. “Sounds like good stuff.”

“Oh, yeah. Primo. Fat Ronnie don’t fuck around.”

“Ugh. Well, you can have that shit — I’ll stick with weed. And alcohol.”

“That’s okay, babe, more for me.”

Karl snorted another line through each nostril and then stared at me while I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.

“I guess hitting you IS kind of like hitting a little girl, ain’t it?”

I didn’t know how to reply, so I just stood there and fidgeted.

He turned to Rebecca. “You was right, babe. I won’t hit the little sissy with my fists no more, I promise.”

She smiled. “That’s cool, thanks. We don’t want to hurt the poor thing. He works so hard for us.”

“Naw, you’re right. But, I was thinking … if he pisses me off, you don’t care if I just smack him, do you? I won’t hit him with my fist, but … it’s just … well, I get mad real quick sometimes, and I don’t want to have to fuck with taking my belt off and going through all that. You know?”

My angel sighed. “Oh, I don’t know, Karl. I guess as long as you ain’t using your fists on him, it should be alright. Just don’t hit him, okay? Look at his poor eye.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I popped him pretty good, didn’t I? Sorry, ‘bout that, Chrissie. You know how I get sometimes. It’s that temper we talked about; it’s why we do the marriage counseling every night, to let me work all that out.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“But I won’t hit you no more, I promise. Just slaps from now on. And the belt. Okay?”

“Um …” I was tongue-tied.

He arched an eyebrow. “What’s that, Chrissie?”

I gulped. “T-thank you, sir.”

“That’s better.” Karl smirked. “Tell you what: I’m gonna let you slide on the counseling tonight, how’s that?”

“Oh, sir, thank you so much. Thank you so much, sir.”

“No problem.” His lip curled. “But now, you owe me.”

He contemplated me for a few unsettling seconds, rubbing his chin. “You know, Chrissie, you don’t look half bad, now that Becca has you wearing makeup and that wig. And that black eye is kinda sexy. I think I might just want me a blowjob.”

Rebecca groaned and punched him in the arm. “Jeez, Karl, can’t you go 20 minutes without getting your damn dick sucked?”

Karl smirked. “Hey, blowjobs on tap.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to his crotch. “What guy wouldn’t take advantage of that?”

My angel shook her head. “Well, I feel for ya, Chrissie. I know I wouldn’t want to have to suck this idiot’s dick 20 times a day.”

I didn’t reply as I inched toward my master, kneeling before him on the couch.

He wiggled his hips. “Come on, now, sissy, don’t be shy. Pull ol’ Roscoe out and make friends with him.”

With a red face to match my black eye, I obeyed, burning under Rebecca’s amused gaze.

Once his dick was released from his jeans, he patted me on the head. “Okay, Chrissie, nice and slow.”

He turned toward Rebecca and the two started making out. As I bobbed up and down, I pretended I was instead using those lips to kiss my angel.

I wasn’t sucking a cock; I was snogging with the most beautiful girl in the world.

 

Part XXVII

Karl smirked at me as I set his coffee on the nightstand.

“Hey, sissy, how’d you like your treat last night?”

I clasped my hands in front of me. “Oh, sir, it was just wonderful, sir, thank you so much, sir. Thank you so much.”

“No problem.” My master chuckled. “Becca says I should let you lick her pussy more often. I can see why she likes it — you do have a talented tongue, Chrissie.”

“Er, thank you, sir.”

He leered. “I left a lot of cum in there for you, huh?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“How’d it taste?”

I blinked. “Um, good, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Good?”

“Oh, no, sir, sorry, it was delicious, sir. Really delicious. Thank you, sir.”

“So, does it taste better eating it from Becca’s pussy or straight from the tap?”

“Um … ah, it’s delicious either way, sir.”

He scoffed. “Fucking sissy.”

Rebecca drifted into the bedroom towel-drying her hair. “Chrissie, I want coffee, but first get out my purple bra-and-panty set; the one with the flowers on ‘em.”

“Right away, Mrs. Martin.”

As I turned to obey, Karl yanked the naked Rebecca onto the bed with him, and they rolled around wrestling and giggling. By the time I returned to the bedroom, the lovebirds were making out, so I quietly set my mistress’s coffee on her nightstand and slinked out of sight.

I stayed busy cleaning out the refrigerator. After enduring about a half-hour of grunts and squeals, Karl hollered, “Chrissie! Get in here.”

The first and only thing I saw when I entered the bedroom was Rebecca lying on the mattress with her legs splayed. She snapped her fingers and called in that sing-song voice of hers, “cleanup time, Chrissie.”

“Uh, t-thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“You should thank Karl, too, baba. That’s two treats in a row he’s giving you.”

“T-thank you, sir.”

“No problem, sissy, I left another good load for ya.”

 

“T-thank you, sir.”

With a pounding heart, I slid onto the bed and nestled between my mistress’s legs. She shifted on the mattress and pulled her leaking lips apart. “C’mon,” she cooed.

I leaned in and began licking, bowled over by their combined smells and tastes. Having my face buried in her sacred vagina was absolute nirvana — until the spikes hit home.

“Yeeoooowwwwwwwww!”

Rebecca shook with laughter. “What’s wrong, baba? Them mean ol’ spikes hurting you again?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. Owwww!”

“Well, then, you need to stop thinking naughty thoughts, huh?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.” I resumed my licking, trying to focus on the infield fly rule in order to keep my dick from swelling. I was only somewhat successful, and the spikes pinched the entire time.

Too quickly, Rebecca patted me on the head. “Okay, all done.”

Karl wiggled his slimy dick. “My turn.”

I scooted to his side of the bed, steeled myself and got started. As I carried out the humiliating task of licking Karl’s crotch clean, Rebecca petted me like a cat. “You’re such a good little slave.”

Karl nodded. “Yep, he sure is. And that deserves a reward.” He leaned to one side and ripped a long fart, right in my face. “There you go, Chrissie — a kiss for ya.”

Rebecca slapped Karl’s thigh with one hand and pinched her nose with the other. “Ugh, you asshole, that’s GROSS. Don’t do that to poor Chrissie.”

In response, Karl forced out another, less powerful peep of a fart. Although Rebecca tried to hold it in, she busted out giggling.

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry, Chrissie, he’s such a pig.”

With my soul in the toilet and the eggy smell of flatulence floating in my nostrils, it was all I could do to keep from puking my guts out. Through sheer grit and willpower, however, I somehow managed to hold it down and continue cleaning the sticky sex residue from my master’s penis. Karl and Rebecca started play-wrestling again, bouncing my head back and forth with their jostling while I continued my soft, submissive licks.

Karl toyed with his woman for a few minutes before he eventually shoved me away with his foot, causing me to tumble onto the floor while he rolled over and pinned Rebecca’s shoulders to the mattress.

“Say uncle”

She kicked and squealed. “Let me up, damn it.”

“Nope. Say uncle.”

“Let me up.”

“Not gonna happen, babe. Say it.”

“Okay, you asshole — uncle.”

Karl released her, chuckling. She sat up and socked him on the shoulder, which only made him laugh harder.

“Just get it through your head, girl: You can’t beat me. I’m a man.”

Rebecca crinkled her nose. “Ugh. Here we go again — more macho bullshit.”

“No, I’m serious,” he said, not sounding serious at all. “You chicks need to realize that we men are just born stronger.”

“Well, not everyone. Some women are stronger than men.”

Karl scoffed. “Bullshit.” He gestured toward me, where I sat sprawled on the floor after he’d knocked me off the bed. “Even Chrissie’s stronger than you are. That’s just how Mother Nature made it, babe.”

Rebecca made a muscle. “Don’t be so sure — I took Tae Kwon Do when I was a kid; I made it all the way to brown belt.”

“Well, I’ll bet you a dollar.”

“Bet me a dollar what?”

“That Chrissie can kick your ass in a wrestling match.”

I gasped while Rebecca threw back her head and laughed.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “That would never happen.”

“Okay, then put your money where your mouth is, girl. A dollar says you can’t beat him.”

“Okay, you’re on, dickhead.” Rebecca looked my way and shrugged. “Sorry, Chrissie, but this asshole’s always trying to prove a point.”

“But … I … um, Mrs. Martin, I can’t … I would never … um, fight you.”

“Oh, jeez, don’t be such a wimp.” She rolled her eyes. “Ain’t nobody talking about fighting, Chrissie. It’s just wrestling.”

“But, Miss … I … I can’t …”

Karl shot me an icy stare. “You can … and you will.” He pointed at me. “Listen, sissy, you’re gonna do this — and to make sure you try to win, if you don’t, we’re gonna have us an extra marriage counseling session. A hundred with the belt if you lose, on top of your regular session tonight. How’s that sound?”

“Oh, please, sir. Please, I’m begging you—”

Rebecca waved her hand. “Enough, already. Stop with the damn whining and get undressed, Chrissie, so I can kick your little ass.”

Realizing further protest was futile, I hung my head and stripped down to my panties. Rebecca rolled out of bed still naked, having just been fucked, and crouched into a stance.

Karl, who was propped up in bed and acting as referee, clapped three times. “Okay, you both ready?”

My infatuation for Rebecca was outweighed by the prospect of 100 terrible strokes with the belt, plus the realization that this was something she wanted to do, anyway, so, I had to try to beat her whether I liked it or not. Reluctantly, I assumed a fighting position.

“Okay … one … two — go!” Karl yelled.

Rebecca moved in quickly, grabbing me by the wrists. I tried to pull away but couldn’t escape her grip. Within seconds my face reddened, both from my effort and from having to admit to myself that she was obviously stronger than me.

But those 100 belt strokes motivated me, and I grappled with my angel with all my might while Karl shouted encouragement: “Get ‘er, Chrissie. Pull her down and get on top of her.”

But that’s precisely what she did to me, tripping me with her foot and falling onto me with all her weight before pinning my arms.

“Say uncle.”

I could feel Rebecca’s bare pussy rubbing against my stomach, and my dick swelled in its cage, despite my helpless predicament — or, more likely, because of it.

“Ow, ow,” I squealed, although I didn’t say the required word, and continued trying to escape.

Rebecca squeezed harder. “Say uncle, Chrissie.”

I pushed and yanked and pulled with everything I had, but I finally closed my eyes and whispered, “uncle.”

My angel released her grip and smirked at her lover.

“Pay up, sucker.” She moved off me and padded naked across the room to rejoin Karl on the bed, leaving me lying in a demoralized heap on the floor.

Karl shook his head. “I must be a goddamn idiot for putting my money on such a pathetic, candy-ass pansy. I’m tearing that ass up, Chrissie. Go get my belt.”

My eyes welled with tears. “Y-yes, sir.”

Rebecca stuck out her bottom lip. “Aw, poor Chrissie. You look so sad. It’s no fair, is it?”

 

Part XXVIII

I never truly understood the phrase “work your fingers to the bone” until I became a maid.

Every finger throbbed with pain, as did my wrists, forearms and shoulders, but after more than an hour of furious scrubbing, the wine stain still blemished the collar of Gina’s blouse. I hung my head and crept toward the living room to relay the bad news, my stomach aflutter.

Earlier that evening when I’d first reported to Gina’s condo for its weekly cleaning, she’d given me strict orders to remove the burgundy blemish — or else! — and I wasn’t looking forward to telling Rebecca’s best friend that I’d failed miserably.

Gina lay on her couch gabbing on the phone, and she ignored me for at least 10 minutes while I stood there swaying back and forth on my heels, clutching the damaged garment to my apron. Apparently, her discussion about hot movie stars and purses took precedence over anything I had to say.

Finally, she stopped chatting and looked up at me. “What?”

“Um, sorry to interrupt you, Miss Gina, but, um … that wine won’t come out.” I presented the blouse. “I … I did everything I could but—”

She cut me off with a scoff. “If you can’t do my laundry right, Chrissie, then what good are you?”

I teetered on my pumps. “Uh … I …”

“A maid who can’t do laundry is pretty much worthless, wouldn’t you say?”

“Um, I … uh …”

“And here I was just bragging to my friend Charlotte about you, and you embarrass me like this. Maids who can’t do laundry are worthless. Are you a worthless maid, Chrissie?”

“I … I’m so sorry, Miss Gina. I—”

“Are you a worthless maid with a little dickie that’s locked in a cage?”

“Um …”

“Are you?”

I closed my eyes. “Y-yes, Miss Gina.”

She giggled into the phone. “Say it out loud for Charlotte to hear, Chrissie; say: ‘I’m a worthless little maid with a tiny little dickie that’s locked in a cage, and I can’t even do laundry right.’ Go ahead.”

She held her iPhone toward me. I drew a breath.

“Um, I’m a worthless maid … with a … a little dickie that’s locked up in a cage. And, uh, I can’t do the laundry right.”

“That’s right. And since you can’t do my laundry right, I’m gonna tell Rebecca you need marriage counseling.” She explained to her friend: “That’s when Rebecca’s husband whips his ass with a belt. They call it marriage counseling. It’s hilarious.”

After listening to Charlotte’s reply, Gina laughed and then changed the subject, chatting about various topics that included men, “The Bachelor,” a new coffee shop in town and various shoe brands. Since I hadn’t been dismissed, I stood there holding her wine-stained blouse while Gina lolled on the couch idly bullshitting. My feet and calves were throbbing in my 4” heels, but I was sure she didn’t give a shit.

Gina finally said good-bye and hung up. After staring at me for several excruciating seconds, she shook her head and clucked her tongue.

“I’m really disappointed in you, Chrissie.”

“Miss, I’m so, so sorry, but … but I—”

“I asked you to do a job and you messed it up. I’d say you need some serious marriage counseling. What do you think, Chrissie?”

Tears filled my eyes. “I … I … please, Miss Gina. I tried everything I could to get the stain out. Please, I—”

Her glare bore a hole right through me. “Chrissie? Don’t make this worse. You fucked up my laundry. The blouse is ruined. So, I’ll ask you again: Do you need Karl to give you some marriage counseling?”

“I … I … please, I didn’t … I just …” 

“Chrissie! OMG, you don’t want me to tell Rebecca you were disrespectful, do you? Now, do you need counseling or not?”

I closed my eyes. “Y-yes, Miss.”

The room was silent for way too long, so I ventured a peek and was surprised to see Gina’s shoulders shaking. When she could suppress it no longer, she busted out laughing.

“I’m sorry, Chrissie, I’m just fucking with you. I didn’t think that stain would come out, but I figured I’d have you try just in case. You can just throw it away, I guess. It sucks; I love that blouse. Oh well.”

I heaved a sigh. She giggled.

“You were so scared, Chrissie! Your face was all red. I’m sorry — you’re so much fun to mess with.”

I licked my lips. “Um … uh, Miss Gina?”

“What, Chrissie?”

“Um … are you still gonna have Mr. Martin … um, give me a … counseling session?”

She waved her hand. “Naw, you been good tonight, Chrissie, I’ll give you a good report. Now, go on back to work, okay?”

“Yes, Miss, thank you so much, Miss.”

At first I felt relieved that I wouldn’t be getting an extra ass-whipping. But as I tossed the blouse into the trash, having worked so hard to get it clean, resentment set in. This wasn’t the first time Gina had pulled such a prank; she was always scaring the shit out of me with the promise of having me punished, only to toss out the smirking refrain, “I’m just fucking with you.”

But she had followed through on her threats just often enough to keep me guessing. I never knew when she was serious, and sometimes, like a bratty little tattletale, she’d inform Rebecca about some transgression that would result in Karl laying extra stripes on my ass. My weekly housecleaning excursions to Gina’s condo were often frightening, humiliating experiences.

On this occasion, though, I knew I wouldn’t be getting an extra marriage counseling session, so I shook off my anger, counted my blessings and got busy cleaning. I managed to finish before 11pm, and reported to Gina in the living room.

She smiled. “All done?”

“Yes, Miss Gina.”

“You’re such a helpful little thing. Okay, come gimme my kiss.”

Per our weekly ritual, I kowtowed before her and kissed her foot. She leaned down and patted my head.

“Thanks, Chrissie. The place looks great. See you next week.”

 

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The dank corridor smelled like spoiled cabbage and piss. I tiptoed around the contents of a spilled garbage bag and knocked on the door to #5G.

Ian pulled the door open and smirked. “Hey guys, the fag’s here.”

As I followed him into his apartment, I was crestfallen to spot a roomful of people, including Rebecca’s sister Emily and two sneering couples their age whom I didn’t recognize. Sarge, Ian’s old pit bull, glanced up at me for a second before laying his head back down.

I started to undress, but Emily held up her hand. “Don’t change into your sissy clothes just yet, Chrissie. You’re running to the liquor store.”

“And Burger King,” Ian chimed in.

Everyone rattled off their orders and, with a sigh, I retraced my steps back to my car. I was exhausted and had hoped to get Ian’s apartment clean fairly quickly so I could hurry home and try to get some shuteye. After I’d returned from Gina’s condo the previous evening, Karl had made me rub his feet while he and Rebecca watched a movie. Afterward, Karl was horny but my angel wasn’t in the mood, so I ended up blowing him until past 2am, and after he dismissed me, since it was impossible to get comfortable on the floor, I didn’t get much sleep.

But, since I now had to go back out and run errands, and with a bunch of young punks hanging around Ian’s place, I knew my hopes for an early, uneventful evening were out the window.

Part XXIX

I lugged an armful of bags through the rancid hallway and used my elbow to knock on the door. Ian let me into his apartment and ordered me to pour everyone shots from the bottle of Jaeger I’d purchased.

As I measured out the six drinks, I took in the lay of the land. The apartment, which reeked of weed, was an absolute pigsty as usual. Two unknown guys were playing a PlayStation game between bites of their Whoppers, while their apparent girlfriends and Emily ate on the couch. Ian joined the girls on the sofa and dug in.

I improvised by arranging the shot glasses onto a large plate, since Ian didn’t have a serving tray in his kitchen, and ventured into the living room.

Emily perked up when I made my entrance. “So, everybody: This is Chrissie, my sister’s little simp. Like I was telling you, she makes him come over here once a week to clean.”

The other girls sang: “Hiiiiiiiii, Chrissssssiiiiiieeeeeee,” while their boyfriends didn’t take their eyes from their video game.

I served drinks, setting the shot glasses near the two game-players before standing at attention to await further orders.

Ian nudged his friend. “Come on, push pause, Tommy. We’re doing shots.”

After everyone slammed their Jaeger, Emily glared at me.

“Why are you still dressed like that, Chrissie?”

“Oh, I … I’m sorry, Miss. I … I didn’t have time to change yet.”

“Well, go change, you idiot.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Amid the sound of humiliating titters, I grabbed my duffel bag and scurried off to the bathroom to don my maid’s uniform and fix my face. Rebecca had mandated early on in my service to her that I always be in “full Chrissie mode” while cleaning her friends’ and relatives’ places. After putting on makeup and my wig, I stared in the mirror at my feminine features and sighed. In a few weeks, I’d be quitting my job and living as a woman 24/7, per my masters’ orders, and would no longer need to change clothes during cleaning assignments.

With my retirement date looming, I’d been obsessing over the future Rebecca and Karl had mapped out for me. It was both terrifying and exciting. I was the one who’d first approached Rebecca about being her sissy slave, and despite the constant humiliations and hardships, I had never felt happier or more fulfilled — but it seemed like the world had careened out of control since Karl’s reappearance in our lives, and I was scared things were about to get a hell of a lot worse.

It was one thing for me to live as Christopher Tomczak, a successful stockbroker who secretly went home and served as a sissy maid to a beautiful woman and her man. Even with all the degradation that lifestyle entailed, it at least allowed me to maintain my core identity, and have an office to go to five days a week where I felt respected and on an equal footing with others.

But I was panicked by the prospect of quitting my job, throwing away all my male clothes, growing out my hair, perhaps even getting breast implants, and living full-time as a downtrodden, overworked, abused maid. I felt I was completely losing myself in some swirling black hole, unable to do anything about it.

Pushing those concerns aside, I drew a deep breath, squared my ruffled shoulders and teetered on my heels back into the living room.

When I entered, one of the girls squealed. “OMG, he looks just like a girl.”

“I dunno,” said her boyfriend, who’d set down his game controller. “Kinda ugly if you ask me. Maybe at closing time, I’d hit it. If I was drunk.”

“Real drunk,” his buddy quipped.

Ian pointed. “Hey, Chrissie, guess what? Sarge left you a present in the kitchen.”

I glanced at the dogshit. “Yes, sir. I’ll get it cleaned up right now.”

“Make him eat it,” one of the guys said.

“Ew, that’s nasty, Seth.” His lady shoved him.

“Make him eat it,” the other dude echoed.

“Eat it!”

“Eat it!”

Emily held up her hand. “Come on, guys, none of that. My sister says we can’t fuck with him too much — not since Ian put him in the hospital.”

The guy named Seth scratched his head. “Put him in the hospital? What happened?”

Emily smirked. “The dummy shoved a broomstick up his ass.”

“What?!” one of the girls asked as the room erupted with laughter.

Seth frowned at Ian. “What the fuck, bro, why’d you shove a broomstick up his ass?”

Ian sneered. “Tell, him, Chrissie.”

“Um … I bought the wrong video game.”

Amid a fresh round of hilarity, Ian propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Yep. I told the stupid sissy I wanted him to pick up Art of War for the PS4, and the dumb fuck shows up with the Xbox version. So, I—”

“So, he raped him with the broomstick,” Emily deadpanned, prompting another round of soul-crushing laughter.

Ian sighed. “Yeah, the little fag ended up having to go to the ER with a torn rectum, so now Rebecca says he’s only allowed to clean when he comes over. We got to leave him alone, she says. No punishment, nothing.”

Emily grabbed a handful of French fries and threw them on the floor before grinding them into the carpet with her sneaker. “Yep, all we can do now is make Chrissie clean — so come clean these fries up, you faggoty little bitch.”

She raised her hand high in the air and snapped her fingers with a flourish, clearly showing off for her friends. I jumped into action, dropping to my knees at her feet and scraping up the mess with my fingers. From behind me, I heard Ian hock up a loogie a split-second before the green globule landed on the carpet.

“Clean that up, too, queer — with your hand,” he said, and everyone howled with glee.

When the fries and phlegm were removed from the carpet and I’d washed my hands, I was allowed to weave my way around the six partiers tidying the apartment, although I kept getting interrupted to fetch drinks. The more inebriated they became, the funnier they thought it was to hock loogies onto the carpet, the walls and even the television set, before ordering me to “clean it up with your hand, sissy.”

Since they weren’t allowed to do anything other than make me clean, they exploited the loophole more creatively with each shot downed. They threw food everywhere, laughing as I scrambled to retrieve it. One of the girls, Jordyn, poured her drink on my shoes. The asshole named Tommy took a bite of his Whopper, chewed it up, tilted his head back and spewed the pieces everywhere like a volcano. Everyone rolled over laughing while I rushed around picking up the wet chunks with my fingers.

It surprised me that the girls were even raunchier than the guys. At one point, Emily wiped a booger on the table.

“Get that, Chrissie — and be lucky I don’t make you eat it.”

“Ooh, make him eat it!” the guy named Tommy hollered.

Everyone cheered in agreement, other than Emily, who shook her head.

“Naw, my sister would be pissed,” she said. “She told me we ain’t allowed to make him do any of that kind of shit no more. It’s bad enough we got him picking up snot with his hands.”

Ian sneered at me. “Well, then, we ain’t gonna make you eat it, Chrissie, but I’ll tell you what — it’ll go a lot easier on you if you volunteer to do it. You get my drift?”

“Yeah, eat the booger!” Jordyn yelled as tears filled my eyes.

The group took up the chant: “Eat the booger! Eat the booger! Eat the booger! Eat the booger!”

I knew what I had to do. With my ears burning, and everyone’s cell phones recording, I plucked Emily’s booger from my palm and brought it to my lips.

“Eat it!” Emily shrieked.

“Eat it! Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!”

I ate it.

“Ewwwwwwwww!” they all said at once.

Ian scoffed. “You are one sad piece of shit, you know that, Chrissie?”

I hung my head and cried.

“Quit your whining and go get everyone another shot,” Emily hissed.

I obeyed and was thankfully dismissed to get back to my cleaning. It wasn’t long before everyone got so hammered they passed out. Ian and Emily retired to their room, one of the other couples snuggled on the sofa, while Tommy and his girl curled up on the floor with a blanket and pillows.

As I tiptoed around the apartment silently putting the finishing touches on that week’s cleaning, I smirked down at my two tormenters who were forced to sleep on the floor just like me — although I was taken down a peg when it occurred to me that at least they had pillows and a blanket, luxuries I hadn’t been afforded.

When my chores were done, I slipped out of Ian’s apartment and softly shut the door, making a mental note to diplomatically remind Rebecca that she’d promised to lobby Karl to let me use a sleeping bag or a doggie bed to alleviate the pain that racked my body from lying on the hard floor every night. I sighed, knowing that my angel had probably simply forgotten about my request. She didn’t care about my pain.

On the drive home I fantasized about my master allowing me to buy something soft to sleep on, and what it would be like to wake up every morning pain-free. I decided my best strategy was to do some major brown-nosing before approaching Rebecca with my request. I tried to think of extra chores I could do that might please them, but then I started second-guessing myself.

What difference would bowing and scraping really make? Karl would probably deny my request anyway — and most likely give me extra marriage counseling for daring to ask for special privileges.

For the millionth time, I was reminded of a phrase Karl had used way back when I’d first started serving him and Rebecca:

“It must suck being a slave.”

Yeah, I thought bitterly as I pulled onto the exit ramp … it most certainly does suck being a slave.

 

Part XXX

I spent two weeks kissing ass and taking on extra chores that included buffing the undercarriage of Karl’s F-350 and polishing Rebecca’s jewelry before deciding that the timing finally felt right to put in my bedding request.

It was a Saturday afternoon. Karl was away helping Randy work on his truck, while Rebecca had just returned home from a shopping trip and was relaxing on the sofa. After serving her a Diet Coke, I sucked in a deep breath and went for it.

“Um, Mrs. Martin?”

“Yeah, baba?”

“Um …. do you remember … ah, when you said you were gonna ask Mr. Martin if I could have a … a sleeping bag or a dog bed? My back has really been hurting … um, from sleeping on the floor.”

Rebecca giggled. “Aw, I did say I was gonna ask about that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin, um, you did.” I wanted to add: “THAT WAS A FUCKING MONTH AGO!” But, of course, I kept my sissy mouth shut.

“I don’t know, Chrissie.” Rebecca sipped her soda. “I hate to go against his rules … but you really have been good lately — although you wouldn’t know it by the way he was laying into you last night. What the hell did you do to piss him off?”

I played with my apron. “Um, he was just mad because he lost the point spread in the Mavs game when Johnson hit a three-pointer at the buzzer.”

She rolled her eyes. “Him and his damn sports. And he always takes it out on you when his stupid teams lose, don’t he?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Well, I really wish he wouldn’t hit you so hard — but at least he’s using the belt and not his fist, so that’s good.” Rebecca smiled. “And the counseling sessions really do help; he ain’t nowhere near as aggressive as he used to be, at least not with me. So, I really appreciate you putting up with it, Chrissie, although I do wish he’d lighten up a little. Your poor butt must really hurt.”

“Um … I … I don’t want to sound ungrateful and complain, Mrs. Martin, but, um, yeah, it does hurt — but my back and legs hurt even worse from sleeping on the floor. I mean, it hurts real bad, Mrs. Martin. It’s hard to walk sometimes.”

Rebecca sighed. “Well, I guess I could ask him to let you have something soft to sleep on. I mean, technically I don’t have to ask him nothing, since you’re MY slave. But we agreed that you’d be his slave, too, so I kinda feel funny asking him to change the rules he sets up. You know?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin,” I said, fighting back tears.

She pouted. “Aw, poor Chrissie. You put up with soooooooo much, don’t you?”

I wasn’t sure how to respond, and as I struggled to find the right words, Rebecca smiled. “Tell you what, baba, I’ll go ahead ask him at dinner tonight. How’s that?”

I wiped my eyes. “Oh, Mrs. Martin, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Now, go find something to do, Chrissie; I wanna watch this tennis match.”

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Martin, thank you again.”

Since the condo was spotless and my other chores were done, I retreated to the maid’s quarters to relax. I found a spot on the carpet where, if I left the door ajar, I could see the television in the living room at the other end of the condo. From that far-away vantage point, I curled up on the floor and watched the Belgian Open with my mistress, wishing I could use furniture like a normal human being.

 

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For dinner, I prepared a smorgasbord of Karl’s favorite dishes: Steak, mashed potatoes, macaroni salad, corn on the cob, coleslaw, cornbread and carrot cake.

Karl returned from Rebecca’s parents’ place as I was setting the table. He plopped onto the couch and sighed.

“Chrissie, come get these boots off.”

I set down the silverware I was laying out and rushed to tend to my master. Kneeling in front of him, I wiggled off his left work boot. Karl lifted his foot and cracked his toes an inch from my nose, and I could smell his dirty sock.

“I’m starving, Chrissie, is dinner ready yet?”

“Yes, sir, it’ll be on the table in just a few minutes, sir,” I replied as I pulled his right boot free.

“What’d you make?”

I beamed. “Steak, mashed potatoes, mac salad, cornbread — all your favorites, sir.”

He scoffed. “What, do you think brown-nosing is gonna get you out of marriage counseling tonight?”

“Oh, no, sir, I … I … just thought you might want steak after working on Mr. Strickland’s truck, sir.”

He didn’t reply, instead picking up the remote and switching on the TV.

Rebecca wandered out of the master suite. She leaned down and gave Karl a kiss. “Truck fixed?”

“No, that goddamn truck ain’t fixed.” Karl frowned. “I don’t know what the hell’s a’wrong with it; I tried the battery, the starter, the alternator — the fucking thing still don’t want to act right.”

Rebecca waved her hand. “Oh, you two love fussing with that old truck. I told Randy I’d just have Chrissie buy him a new one, but he don’t want to replace the stupid old thing, since it’s supposed to be some kind of classic or something.”

Karl’s eyes widened. “‘Some kind of classic?!’ You’re goddamn right it’s a classic. That’s a 1954 Chevy 3100.”

“Well, it’s a dumb old truck as far as I’m concerned.” Rebecca smiled. “You guys love that it keeps giving you problems. It gives you something to do.”

“Well, it’s better than sitting around on my ass all day,” Karl drawled, scratching his scrotum through his jeans. Then, he frowned at me, still crouched in front of him after pulling off his boots. “Didn’t you say you was getting dinner on the table, Chrissie?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, then, what the fuck you doing still down there? Hurry the fuck up, sissy — I’m hungry.”

“Yessir!” I hopped to my feet and literally ran on my 4” heels with Rebecca’s chuckles chasing me into the kitchen.

After the table was set, I stood at attention in my usual dinnertime spot, holding my breath, petrified that the master of the household might become perturbed at something that would quash my chances of getting something soft to sleep on. He was clearly pleased with the food I’d prepared, though, wolfing everything down in a matter of minutes before pushing his plate away and releasing a five-second belch.

“Now, THAT hit the spot!” He burped again.

“Chrissie’s such a good cook.” Rebecca winked at me. “He’s been such a little doll lately. We should reward him.”

Karl jeered. “I did reward him. I let him lick your pussy last night when we was done fuckin’, remember?”

“I know.” She smiled. “But the poor thing has been limping around like crazy lately; he says it’s from sleeping on the floor. I know you said slaves shouldn’t be using the furniture, and I agree … but can’t we at least let him use a sleeping bag, or one of them doggie beds?”

My master leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin. “I dunno, Chrissie. You think you can handle a special privilege like that?”

I blinked. “Um, sir, I … I … uh, yes, sir.”

He studied me for a few more uncomfortable seconds. “And what are you gonna do for me, Chrissie?”

“Um … sir, I’ll do anything you want, sir.”

With a leer, he rubbed his crotch. “Anything? Shit, I can think of something.”

My angel threw up her hands. “Jeez, here we go again!”

Karl chuckled. “Hey, what can I say? I’m a dawg.”

“Yeah, with fleas,” his lady jibed back.

My master unzipped his pants and whipped out his dick. “Tell you what, sissy. Come give ol’ Roscoe a little lovin’ and I’ll think about it.”

Rebecca giggled at how quickly I dropped to my knees and ducked under the dining room table.

“Make it a good one, Chris-siiiiiiie, or you’re gonna have to keep sleeping on the flo-oooooooooor,” she sang in that lilting, taunting tone that always cut me to the bone.

I toiled under the table for at least a half-hour while Karl and Rebecca enjoyed a post-dinner joint and conversed as if I wasn’t there. They discussed various topics, and eventually got around to the subject of my sleeping arrangements.

“I was thinking: I got the perfect thing we can let Chrissie sleep on,” I heard my angel say before she pushed her chair back and padded into the bedroom. When she emerged a few seconds later, Karl cracked up laughing, jostling my head as he shook. I continued humbly blowing him, wondering what the hell Rebecca had just retrieved.

I was left to wonder for several more minutes until Karl reached down, grabbed my ears and started humping. I was used to this; it meant he was about to spew. And spew he did, twisting my ears painfully back and forth the whole time. After his convulsions died down, he shoved me away, and I banged my head on the table leg.

Rubbing the sore spot, I climbed out from under the table and saw what Rebecca had gotten for me to sleep on: The huge, multicolored unicorn that had occupied the corner of her bedroom with the rest of her stuffed animal collection.

She giggled at my reaction. “I’ve had her since junior high; her name’s Rainbow Sunshine. If you promise to take real good care of her, you can sleep with her. She’s real soft; it’ll kinda be like laying on a real mattress. Okay, Chrissie?”

“I … I … yes … um, thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl smirked. “A girly unicorn is perfect for a little sissy to sleep on — but then again, we don’t want you getting cocky, do we, Chrissie?”

“Um, no, sir, of course not.”

“Well, then, you’re gonna have to earn the right to sleep with Rainbow Sunshine every night,” he said. “If you do something extra special during the day, when you come report to me at bedtime, I’ll decide if you earned it. That sound good to you, sissy?”

“Um, y-yes, sir. Thank you sir.” Thinking fast, I added: “Um, sir, if you want, I can give you an extra-special foot massage while you relax after dinner, sir.”

“What a little pansy ass-sucker.” Karl chuckled. “Okay, Chrissie, let’s see how bad you want to sleep on something soft. Go get the foot lotion.”

 

Part XXXI

My knees throbbed, my fingers tingled and my back was killing me, the consequences of giving Karl a foot massage that lasted through an entire movie and two sitcoms.

After their relaxing evening in front of the TV, Rebecca and Karl retired to their bedroom while I cleaned up. When I was finished, I reported to them for my nightly bed-check to see if they needed anything before I turned in.

They told me they were good, but instead of scurrying away like I normally would have, I drew a deep breath and opened my mouth, although I was so nervous I found it impossible to formulate the words I was dying to say. I so badly wanted to ask for permission to sleep on something soft for the first time in ages, and I prayed that my lengthy foot massage had been good enough to appease Karl.

Steeling myself, I tried again: “Um … uh … I …”

Karl frowned. “The fuck you babbling about?”

Rebecca giggled. “Oh, you know what he wants. Poor thing. Go ahead, baba, ask him.”

I licked my lips. “Um, sir … is it … would it be okay if I sleep with … um, Rainbow Sunshine, please?”

Karl propped his hands behind his head and let me stand there for several uncomfortable seconds.

“I dunno, Chrissie,” he finally drawled. “I already done let you slide on your counseling tonight because I didn’t feel like stopping the movie. And now, you want more? You think you earned it?”

I shifted from heel to heel. “Uh, I … I … I don’t know, sir … I don’t want to sound pretentious, sir, but—”

He frowned. “Don’t want to sound what? Use normal words, sissy. Talk American, goddamn it.”

“Yes, sir, sorry, sir. I meant I didn’t want to sound like I’m being cocky, sir … um, but, uh, yes, sir, I … I do feel like I’ve earned it.”

Karl grimaced at Rebecca. “He feels like he earned it — and yet there the little sissy is, still standing up.”

It took a second before I caught his meaning, and then I dropped to my knees and clasped my hands in front of me.

“Oh, sir, please, sir, can I please sleep with Rainbow Sunshine tonight, sir? Please, sir, I beg you.”

“You need to show her more respect, sissy,” Karl said. “From now on, that’s MISS Rainbow Sunshine to you.”

Rebecca covered her mouth with her hand.

I gulped. “Um, please, sir, can I sleep with Miss Rainbow Sunshine?” I sniffled. “Please?”

Rebecca nuzzled up against her man. “Aw, come on, honey, look at the poor little thing. He’s been so good. He really is trying.”

My master sighed. “Oh, alright, sissy, I suppose you can go ahead and sleep on your little faggoty stuffed unicorn tonight. Now, what do you say?”

I reclasped my hands. “Oh, sir … thank you, thank you, thank you, sir. I … I … thank you!”

Rebecca giggled. “Well, you can’t say he ain’t grateful,” she told her lover, who snorted.

“I still say we’re spoiling him.” He scowled at me. “If I was you, I wouldn’t be expecting to sleep with that thing every night, you hear?”

“Um, of course, sir, whatever you decide, sir.”

“Damn straight. You need to earn them privileges. Got it?”

“Y-yes, sir. Thank you.”

Rebecca smiled. “Yay, Chrissie! You got your little unicorn to sleep on. You happy?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Martin, thank you.”

“Good. I always want my little sissy doll to be happy. Now, go ahead and turn off the light — and make sure you start the coffee before you leave for work tomorrow, m’kay?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

She cocked her head. “You got everything set up for the retirement?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m signing all the severance stuff tomorrow, and since Tuesday is my last day, Colburn said I can leave at noon.”

Rebecca fluffed her pillow. “Well, it’s gonna be nice having you available full-time, Chrissie. Everything seems to be going according to plan so far — your hair’s growing out nice, and pretty soon you’ll be able to get a perm. You’ll be my little sissy doll for real, with your actual hair instead of that wig! Won’t that be great, Chrissie?”

“Uh, yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“We ain’t decided on implants yet,” she mused. “I don’t know …”

Karl guffawed. “I’m telling you; we need to get him a pair of big’uns.”

Rebecca smacked his leg. “Oh, hush, I don’t want Dolly Parton for a maid.”

I was flooded with humiliation while they so casually discussed a possible major medical procedure for me that was completely out of my hands.

Rebecca yawned and flicked her fingers my way. “Alright, Chrissie, you can go now.”

I rose to my feet. “Yes, Mrs. Martin. Good night, Mrs. Martin. Good night, Mr. Martin; thank you again for letting me sleep with … uh, Miss Rainbow Sunshine.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Karl scoffed. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

After turning out the light, I carried my new best friend to the maid’s room and curled up on the floor, tightly embracing the furry stuffed unicorn, feeling like the luckiest sissy in the whole, wide world.

It was like sleeping on a rainbow-colored cloud. In the morning, for the first time in memory, I woke up relatively pain-free. With a smile, I prepared to face the day.

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

The next week was a blur, which was probably a good thing, because if I’d have had time to think about what was happening to me, I’d have hopped on the next flight to Katmandu.

I squared away all the severance paperwork at the firm Monday, and on Tuesday, my last day at Colburn & Partners, my colleagues threw a little going-away party, where Mr. Colburn presented me with a nice plaque. Having been teased and abused for so long at home, and pretty much ignored at work, the good tidings were a bit jarring.

And then, just like that, the career I’d strived so hard to build and cultivate was over. It was a scary feeling walking out of the office for the last time, realizing that life as I knew it was in the rear-view mirror.

The day after my retirement — the unofficial launch of a new chapter in our lives — Rebecca and Karl as usual didn’t do a whole lot, other than running out to the Justice of the Peace to get remarried. I wasn’t invited to the service; I had too much other stuff to take care of getting everything ready for our pending adventure together.

Most of my time was spent on the beauty salon and auto garage — gifts for Rebecca and Karl that had set me back more than $1 million by the time both places had been renovated and equipped with new top-of-the-line amenities. I had already registered the respective business names with the state; Rebecca had picked “Shear Elegance Salon,” while Master went with “Martin’s Auto Service.”

There were still a ton of i’s to dot and t’s to cross before the Grand Openings, but some of the decisions had already been made. Rebecca had hired her bestie Gina, a cosmetologist who’d been the first one to put makeup on me, to run the salon day-to-day, while Karl named Rebecca’s stepdad, Randy as the garage manager.

Other than that, I was 100% responsible for everything involved in getting the two businesses up and running, and Karl had made it clear: if any detail went askew, it would be my ass. I spent a hectic Wednesday afternoon overseeing deliveries and getting the utilities turned on to the two facilities.

My final errand of the day was by far the toughest. I trudged into the country clerk’s office and formally changed my name, taking on my master’s surname like a bride, while adding the ridiculous middle name Rebecca had concocted for me one drunken evening, “because it just sounds so cuuuuuuuute.”

Stumbling out of the Carlton County Municipal Center building after the deed was done, I began to cry.

Christopher Tomczak was gone, erased from existence, replaced by a sissy named Chrissie Pooh Martin.

 

Part XXXII

The drive home from the county building was stressful and surreal. Outside my windshield, the world seemed to crawl by in slow-motion, while the buzzing in my ears wouldn’t stop. I tried to shake it off and focus on the road. It wasn’t easy.

I felt dizzy, unmoored, separated from my career, my name, my gender. The old me was dead. In order to maintain sanity moving forward, I knew I’d need to dedicate myself to a singular goal: Serving Rebecca and Karl from the depths of my soul.

They were all I had left. I was an only child with deceased parents, no surviving relatives, no friends, and now, not even coworkers to talk to. Without my masters, I had nothing to live for.

Rebecca and Karl had ordered me to quit my job and change my name, and by all rights I should’ve been furious at them for blowing up my life like that. But I was mad at myself instead. I kept thinking about turning the car around and driving until I reached California. There was nothing stopping me from walking away from this one-sided, abusive relationship — other than my own neuroses and Rebecca obsession — and I knew that if I ever did grow a pair of balls and leave her, I’d still be able to keep my savings, minus the $1.2 million I’d spent on the two businesses that were in my masters’ names.

The angel on my right shoulder implored me to try to forget Rebecca; to hop off this runaway train while there was still time to carve out a decent, honorable life for myself, free of the constant humiliation and punishment that surely awaited me if I continued down the dark road I was on.

But the devil on my left shoulder screamed louder, and the rotten sonofabitch won out as usual. Pushing the negative thoughts and second-guessing to the side, I drove home fantasizing about my erotic future as Rebecca and Karl’s fulltime sissy maid, whose every waking moment would be spent serving them. All the trepidation and guilt instantly melted away, replaced by a warm, sensual, narcotic high. My penis swelled in its spiked cage — and the excruciating pokes from Lucifer’s pitchfork reminded the little fag on my right shoulder who was boss.

With my focus back on pleasing my masters, I decided to stop off at a boutique liquor store on the way home to pick up a $150 bottle of Jack Daniels Legacy Edition as a special present for Karl, hoping that kissing his ass might convince him to let me sleep with Rainbow Sunshine that evening. Of course, I also picked up a $170 bottle of Belle Côte Chardonnay for Rebecca, since it would’ve been rude to buy a present for Karl without also getting one for her.

After arriving home and changing into my maid’s uniform, I reported to my masters in the living room clutching the two bottles to my bosom, feeling awfully proud of myself.

Rebecca looked up from her phone. “What’cha got there, baba?”

“Um, I picked up special presents for you and Mr. Martin.”

My mistress chuckled. “Looks like someone don’t want to sleep on the floor.”

Karl snapped his fingers twice and pointed at the bottle, which I handed over. He studied it for a moment and frowned.

“Legacy Edition? How much you spend on this shit, Chrissie?”

I cleared my throat. “Um, they were about $150 each, sir.”

My master shook his head. “Well, it’s a goddam scam; they slap a fancy label on it and charge triple the price for the same shit. Fuckin’ stupid sissy — from now on, you need to check with me or Becca before spending that kind of money. Got it?”

“Um, yes, sir. S-sorry sir.”

I wanted to cry. My special gift had only gotten me yelled at.

Karl narrowed his eyes. “In fact, since you ain’t working no more, I don’t see why you need to be spending any money. Do you?”

“Um … uh …” Even though it was my funds we were talking about, the only answer available to me was: “no, sir.”

“Well, then, from now on, you don’t spend a fuckin’ dime unless we say so,” he said. “You hear?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Rebecca giggled. “Don’t worry, Chrissie, we’ll make sure you never run out of makeup.”

“Uh, t-thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

She tightened her lips. “Seriously, Chrissie, you don’t need money now that you ain’t working. You’re our fulltime slave now; you should be asking permission for everything you do. Including spending money. You know?”

“Uh … yes, Mrs. Martin.”

She studied my face. “I ain’t being mean; this is what you wanted. Right? To be our slave? For real?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. I do. I really do. I want to serve you … uh, and Mr. Martin, too. Um, forever.”

“See? Everyone’s happy, then, because I want you to serve us forever, too.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

She tilted her head. “So, did you take care of everything today?”

“Yes, Ma’am. They finally delivered the shampoo stations, and I made an appointment for them to deliver the salon chairs tomorrow between 1-4.”

“Oh, good.” She smirked. “Did you get down to the clerk’s office?”

I hung my head. “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Rebecca clapped and sang: “Yaaaaaay! Chrissie got a new naaaaaaame. Say it, Chrissie. What’s your new naaaaaaaame?”

Blinking, I forced out the words: “Um … Chrissie Pooh Martin.”

Karl snorted. “What a fag.”

“Oh, be nice,” Rebecca chided her husband before turning to me. “You know what? I think I’d like one of them Chardonnays now, Chrissie Pooh.”

“Yes, Ma’am, coming right up.” I bowed to Karl. “Sir, would you like a glass of yours, sir?”

“Sure, why not? Although there ain’t no difference ‘tween this $150-a-bottle bullshit and plain ol’ Jack.” He chuckled. “Fuckin’ sissy, you thought you could bribe me into letting you sleep on that unicorn. Didn’t you?”

“I … uh, sir, I … I just wanted to do something special for you and … um, Mrs. Martin.”

He scoffed. “Bullshit.”

I stood there for a few seconds moping before Rebecca threw up her hands.

“Hello? Am I gonna get my wine sometime this century?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin, sorry.”

As I scurried away, Karl sniffed. “And the fucking sissy thinks he’s gonna get special sleeping privileges. Not tonight, he ain’t.”

After serving the drinks and fighting back tears at the prospect of spending another night on the unyielding floor, I decided to make one last-ditch appeal to my master. I dropped to my knees in front of him on the couch, prostrated myself and started kissing his bare feet.

“Sir, please, sir, I’m begging you, please let me sleep with Miss Rainbow Sunshine tonight. Please, is there anything extra I can do for you that’ll let me sleep with her, sir? Please, anything. I … I just … my back hurts so bad when I sleep on the floor, sir. Please.”

Karl yanked his foot back and wiped it on my hair. “Do you believe this fuckin’ fag? Go get the belt, Chrissie.”

“Sir, please …”

“Please, my ass. When I decide on something, you don’t question me. Now, go get that goddamn belt. We’re gonna have us some serious marriage counseling.”

Rebecca sipped her wine. “Oh, Chrissie Pooh, when are you ever gonna learn? Your master don’t play.”

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

I curled up on the carpet, sobbing, rubbing my sore, blistered ass and pining for the multicolored unicorn that smirked at me from the corner of my room. I’d never felt more pathetic — even the goddamn stuffed animal was making fun of me. Thankfully, I finally was able to drift off to sleep.

When I woke up the next morning, my back, hips and legs were once again killing me from sleeping on the hard floor. After doing some stretching to try to alleviate the pain, I washed up in the guest bathroom and donned my maid’s uniform, which felt strange for a weekday, since I was used to putting on a suit and heading off to work.

Under the new normal, I puttered around the condo cleaning while my masters slept in, just like I’d been doing on weekends. Just after 10am, I heard stirring in the bedroom, followed by giggles. Then came the sounds of squeaking bedsprings, the headboard slamming against the wall, feminine squeals, masculine grunts … and then one final, protracted groan before everything got quiet again.

I already had coffee poured and the tray set up when Rebecca called, “Chrissie! Come here.”

As I hobbled into the bedroom with the tray, Rebecca sat upright, exposing her boobs. She stuck out her bottom lip.

“Aw, poor Chrissie, you’re limping so bad. Hard night on the floor, baba?”

I handed over her cup. “Um … I … Ma’am, I don’t want to complain—”

“Good,” Karl scoffed. “Then don’t fucking complain.”

“Yes, sir.”

As I served my master’s coffee, he reached up and slapped me hard on the butt, which hurt like crazy and caused me to yelp.

He chuckled. “Got you pretty good last night, huh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what did you learn?”

“Um … that when you say something, I shouldn’t question it, sir.”

He smirked. “See? That belt works, don’t it?”

“Um, yes, sir.”

“Well, good. Just don’t do it again, sissy.” Karl pulled back the covers, exposing his slimy dick. “Now, get over here. Ol’ Roscoe needs a clean-up — me and Becca got a little sticky this morning.”

Rebecca giggled. “You did cum a lot. Hand me a towel first, Chrissie.”

The look on my face must have betrayed my disappointment at not being allowed to clean her sacred vagina with my tongue, because my mistress tittered and sang, “awwwwww, don’t be saaaad, Chrissie Pooh. I’m just a little sensitive this morning, that’s all.”

Karl fixed me a stare. “You don’t need to explain nothing to this fucking sissy. He knows he don’t get special privileges like that every day. Ain’t that right, sissy?”

“Um, yes, sir, I … I’m grateful for any privileges you or Mrs. Martin decide to give me, sir, and I know I’m not—”

He waved his hand. “Oh, shut the fuck up, already, and get me cleaned up so you can get started on breakfast.”

“Ooh, yeah, breakfast; hurry up, Chrissie, I’m hungry,” Rebecca added.

I closed my eyes and began the degrading task of licking up the sex residue from Karl’s cock. When he was satisfied, he shoved me away.

“Bacon and eggs, sissy,” he said.

Rebecca nodded. “Me too.”

In a flash, I had breakfast ready and served it to my masters in bed. They dug in as I stood there at attention, since I hadn’t yet been dismissed.

My angel took a bite of bacon and smiled.

“Tastes good, Chrissie. You’re such a good little cook.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

“So, what do you got going today, baba?”

“Um, I’m going by the beauty supply place to pick up those window displays you wanted, and then I’ll need to stay at the salon from 1-4, because that’s when they’re delivering the chairs.”

My angel chewed, deep in thought.

“You know,” she mused. “You might as well start dressing as a woman fulltime now, like we talked about. Now that you ain’t working, there’s no reason for you to keep on wearing men’s clothes. Is there?”

My mouth went dry. “Uh … no, Mrs. Martin.”

“Well, then, put all your old clothes in a box and throw ‘em away.” She shrugged. “Or give ‘em to charity if you want to. You ain’t gonna need ‘em.”

 

Part XXXIII

The woman behind the counter kept staring at my throat. I knew what she was doing: She wasn’t sure if I was a man or a woman, and was looking for an Adam’s apple.

Because my hair hadn’t grown out long enough for the kind of perm Rebecca wanted me to get, I still wore a wig, but thanks to months of makeup practice, combined with my naturally feminine features, I made for a passable woman — although I think my voice may have betrayed me when I questioned the clerk about the window displays I’d ordered for the salon.

During my next verbal exchange, asking a Home Depot employee where to find indoor plants, I tried to affect a feminine tone. My voice sounded cartoonish to me, but the ruse must’ve worked because the dude said, “plants are in Aisle 45, Ma’am.”

As I went about my first day in public drag, every social interaction was stressful beyond belief, leaving me wondering whether or not I was actually fooling the people I was talking to. Nobody said anything, but I got lots of funny looks.

After the salon chairs were delivered and installed, I swung by Rebecca’s mom’s house. Since I’d been running around like crazy getting everything ready for the two businesses’ Grand Openings, I hadn’t had time to do my weekly cleaning of either Marlene’s place, Gina’s or Ian’s. Per a text Rebecca had sent earlier in the day, Marlene’s house was a mess that needed immediate attention when I finished taking care of the garage and salon issues. After that, Rebecca said she wanted me to clean Gina’s place; Ian’s apartment would have to wait, she said.

Marlene answered the door with a smirk.

“Well, well.” She looked me up and down. “Ain’t you a pretty little thing?”

“Um, t-thank you, Ma’am.”

She chuckled. “Becca wasn’t kidding, was she? She said she was gonna turn you into a fulltime sissy slave, and damned if she didn’t. When that girl puts her mind to something, it gets done.”

I wasn’t sure what to say in response, so I went with, “um, yes, Ma’am.”

She scoffed. “Well, don’t just stand there; you got a lot of work to do.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I was relieved to find that both Randy and Emily were gone, which meant I wouldn’t have to deal with his lecherousness or her mean-spiritedness. Marlene relaxed on her La-Z-Boy and watched television while I bustled around cleaning, and I was able to complete the four-hour job without one insult being hurled my way.

When the house was spic and span, Marlene had me give her a foot massage for about an hour. Her nose was in her tablet the whole time and she paid me no attention.

After Marlene dismissed me, I was off to Gina’s to catch up on my weekly cleaning obligation to her. She answered the door wearing sweats.

“Hee-hee, look at you!” She held her hand over her mouth. “Such a cute little thing. Have guys been flirting with you since your big coming-out, Chrissie?”

“Um …. no, Miss Gina.”

“Well, I’m shocked, because you’re one sexy little bitch.”

I didn’t say anything in response, prompting a scowl.

“I just gave you a compliment, sissy. You got nothing to say?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, thank you, Miss Gina.”

“Too late. You disrespected me.” She smirked. “I’m telling your mistress.”

I gasped. “Oh, no, Miss Gina, please, I didn’t mean … please, I just … I’m sorry. My mind was wandering, and I forgot to say ‘thank you.’ Please don’t tell her. Please?”

“So, you want me to lie to my best friend?” She shook her head. “Now, I’m gonna tell her you wanted me to lie to her.”

Tears filled my eyes. “Please, Miss, please—”

She showed me the hand. “Quiet, Chrissie, I don’t want to hear it. Get to cleaning.”

I hung my head and turned to obey. As I worked, I prayed she was just yanking my chain as usual, but those hopes were dashed when I overheard her side of a phone conversation as I was scrubbing the toilet in the guest bathroom.

“Hey, girl. I see you finally made Chrissie come out full-time,” she started the call, and I knew she was talking to Rebecca.

After laughing about something my angel said on the other end of the line, Gina’s tone grew quasi-serious. “Well, I think the little sissy is getting a little too big for his britches if you ask me. He completely disrespected me when he first got here.”

Blood drained from my face as Gina continued: “I told the little bitch he looked sexy and he didn’t even thank me.”

Rebecca said something that caused Gina to chuckle. “Ooh, Karl’s mean! That ought to do the trick.”

The confab veered into other topics of discussion, and Gina chatted with her friend while I cleaned around her. When she finally hung up, she sneered at me.

“I know someone who’s in for a little extra marriage counseling tonight,” she said with an amused gleam in her eye. “Karl says he’s gonna tear your ass up. You’re getting an extra 50, on top of your normal counseling. Now, then, do you have anything to say for yourself, Chrissie?”

“I … I’m sorry.”

“What else?”

“Uh, t-thank you, Miss Gina?”

“Thank me? For what?”

“T-thank you for, uh, correcting me. I … I was disrespectful for not saying ‘thank-you’ earlier, Miss. I’m so sorry. I … I just … I’m so, so sorry, Miss. I really didn’t mean to be—"

Gina waved her hand. “Okay, enough. Back to work.”

Bowing my head, I retreated from the room. I continued sprucing up while Gina watched television and fiddled with her phone. When I was finished, I reported to the living room and gave Rebecca’s bestie her weekly “goodbye kiss” on her socked feet.

“Bye, Chrissie,” she said as I headed toward her door. “You’ll probably be sleeping on your stomach tonight, because from the sounds of it, your little ass is grass. Have fun!”

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

I sat in the condo parking lot for several minutes trying to work up the courage to go home. Finally, when I dared wait no longer, I peeled myself out of my car and trudged to our unit, feeling like a condemned man on his way to the electric chair.

When I opened the door, I expected the worst — but the festive mood was immediately palpable, and my masters were beaming.

Rebecca smiled at me when I walked into the living room.

Then she dropped the hammer:

“Chrissie! Good news! I’m pregnant!”

 

BOOK FOUR

“The Family Martin”

 

Part XXXIV

Rainbow Sunshine’s soft faux fur felt like a hug from heaven. I closed my eyes and squeezed my stuffed companion, grateful for the chance to relax after yet another long, exhausting day — but just as I was drifting off to sleep, Rebecca’s crabby voice jolted me upright.

“Chrisssssssiiiiiiiiiiiee!”

I scrambled to my feet and rushed across the condo to the master suite, where my mistress sat up in bed holding her swollen belly.

“Yes, Mrs. Martin?”

“The baby’s craving orange sherbet, Chrissie.”

“Um, yes, Mrs. Martin.” I rubbed my eyes. “I’ll go get dressed.”

Rebecca smiled. “You’re such a doll. I don’t know what I’d do without my little Chrissie Pooh.”

“I know what you’d do,” Karl said from under his pillow. “You’d be nagging me to run out to the goddamn store every five minutes when you get these cravings. And you’d be shit out of luck, too. Ain’t no way I’m crawling my ass out of bed — it’s too damn cold.”

“Oh, hush.” My angel patted her stomach. “You know you’d go out to feed your daughter if we didn’t have Chrissie.”

“You mean my son?”

“No, your daughter. It’s a girl; I can feel it A mother knows these things.” Rebecca turned to me. “Why are you still standing there, Chrissie? Didn’t I tell you I wanted sherbet?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Well, then, go. Hurry up.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin, but … um, is it okay if I make some coffee real quick before I run out? I … I didn’t get home from your ma’s until 5 in the morning last night and I only got about an hour’s sleep. I’m scared to drive when I’m this tired.”

Rebecca squinted. “Why were you at my ma’s so late?”

I averted my gaze. “Uh … Mr. Strickland … he … um … he …”

Karl chuckled. “Randy had you suckin’ his dick all night?”

“Um … y-yes, sir.”

He sneered. “Fucking sissy, what are you bitching about? You were born to suck dick.”

“Oh, no, sir, I wasn’t complaining, sir, not at all. But … um, like I said, I hardly got any sleep because I had to get to the garage early this morning and scrub it down before it opened because of that oil spill, and then I was just—”

Rebecca threw up her hands. “Jeez, can you shut your trap and go get me my sherbet like I asked you to a half-hour ago? Can you do that, Chrissie?”

“Yes, Ma’am, sorry, I’m leaving right now, Ma’am. Um, I won’t make coffee so I can save time, but, um… would it be okay if I just bought a cup at the 7Eleven? Please, I … I’m really worried about driving when I’m this tired.”

“Yes, whatever, Chrissie, you never shut up, go,” Rebecca snapped. She was annoyed at me for no reason — a recurring issue during her pregnancy.

It was snowing heavily and by the time I made it back home from the store, Rebecca and Karl had gone to sleep. I stowed the sherbet in the freezer and glanced at the kitchen clock. It was 3:22am, meaning I wouldn’t be getting much shuteye for the second night in a row, although at least my master had given me permission earlier in the evening to sleep with Rainbow Sunshine.

I conked out seconds after lying down on the velvety stuffed animal. Alas, the alarm sounded way too soon. Moving quietly so I wouldn’t disturb my slumbering masters, I got dressed and put on a pot of coffee, thinking about the busy day I had ahead of me.

There were still a million things to buy for the upcoming Christmas Eve party at Marlene and Randy’s, and I also needed to pick up some hair coloring kits from the beauty supply warehouse, before swinging by the auto parts store to grab three cases of 10W30 oil for the garage. Since it was a Wednesday, I’d also have to report to Ian’s apartment for its weekly spruce-up once all my other errands were finished, and I never knew what kind of horrors and humiliations that might entail.

My masters were running me ragged. Although I no longer had a job, I was working harder than ever. Most mornings I woke up at 6, and while Rebecca and Karl slept in, I’d run to the salon and clean up the previous day’s messes before it opened at 10. That usually took about two hours, and then I’d head back to the condo so I could have breakfast ready when my masters woke up, which was usually anywhere from 10 to noon, or even later, depending on how much partying they’d done the night before. Some days, one or both of them would swing by the salon or garage; otherwise, unless I had specific errands, I hung around the condo serving them and taking care of the household. I still spent my evenings Monday through Wednesday cleaning the homes of Rebecca’s parents, Gina and Ian. Thursday nights were now spent scrubbing down Karl’s four-bay commercial garage, and there were always extra jobs, like the oil spill the previous day, which I had to shoehorn into my hectic schedule.

Although I hadn’t slept much two nights in a row, I managed to stay awake and purchase most of the items on the list for the Christmas party. Being out in public while dressed in drag no longer induced panic, although I still bore the regular humiliation of having people staring at me, at least in my imagination.

After the shopping was done, I picked up the hair coloring kits and delivered them to the salon, where four customers were being served. Gina smiled when I entered.

“Ah, the kits are here,” she said. “Just put them in the storeroom, Chrissie.”

I nodded and obeyed. I could pass for a woman as long as I didn’t talk, so while I was allowed into the salon during business hours, I was under strict instructions to keep quiet in front of customers, so as not to freak anyone out. Even though transgenderism was becoming more acceptable in society, Rebecca said there was no point in possibly alienating customers if it wasn’t necessary. The staff all knew about me, as did certain clients. But otherwise, if strangers were in the salon during my deliveries, I maintained radio silence.

The “no-talking” rule was even more strictly enforced at the garage, where Randy was the only employee who knew my true identity; thanks to the story Karl had concocted, the rest of the mechanics thought I was a mute auto parts delivery girl. Following Randy’s lead, the mechanics constantly disrespected me and treated me like a whore, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it but smile and accept it.

When I got to the garage to drop off the cases of oil, Randy and one of the mechanics, Jim, were busy working on a car, while a second mechanic, Ron, sat in the lobby, taking a coffee break.

“You look pretty today, Chrissie,” he said, rubbing his crotch. “I got a little something for ya.”

I blinked and set down the first case of oil.

Ron smiled. “Come on over here, girl. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

I shook my head and returned to my car to retrieve the second case of oil. When I got back to the garage lobby, Ron stood up and cornered me.

“Listen, Chrissie, I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He reached behind me and squeezed my ass. “We can go in the back room right there.”

I squirmed away and rushed out of the lobby with Ron chuckling behind me. “You know you want it, Chrissie. You’ll come around.”

When I got back with the third case of oil, Ron had sat back down and was munching an apple. “We’ll see you next time, Chrissie. Make sure you wear something pretty for me, now, you hear?”

I shot him a doleful glance before making my escape. After sitting in my car crying for a few minutes, and feeling completely used and degraded, I pulled myself together and continued my errands.

As my otherwise shitty day wound down, I was pleasantly surprised to get a text from Ian explaining that he wouldn’t be home that evening, and that I should let myself in with the key he’d leave under the doormat. Although his apartment was trashed as usual, at least I was able to work without being abused and humiliated.

When I returned home, absolutely exhausted, Rebecca and Karl were already in bed. I reported to them in the master suite as usual.

I stood before them and cleared my throat. “Um, Ma’am? Sir? Do you need anything before I go to bed?”

Rebecca, who was focused on her phone, shook her head. Karl didn’t answer, so after waiting a few seconds, I initiated our other bedtime ritual, dropping to my knees and folding my hands.

“Um, sir, is it okay if I sleep with Miss Rainbow Sunshine tonight? Please?”

Karl leered and spat back his usual: “I dunno, what are you gonna do for me, Chrissie?”

Sigh.

“Um, whatever you want, sir.”

“Well?”

I stood and started to clamber onto the mattress to give my master his usual blowjob, but he held up his hand.

“We’re gonna try something a little different tonight.” He bared his teeth. “Becca ain’t been able to fuck lately because her belly done got too big. So, I been thinking …”

I gasped. My angel giggled.

Karl continued: “Let’s see your butthole, Chrissie.”

“Um … sir?”

“You heard me: Turn around, pull down them panties and let’s see your butthole. Bend over and spread ‘em — I wanna see if there’s any hairs in there you need to pluck out, ‘cause I ain’t fuckin’ no hairy man-butt.”

Mortified beyond belief with my angel watching, I somehow cajoled my body into compliance, feeling exposed to the world as my masters peered up my heinie-hole.

Rebecca giggled. “Not one hair. That’s my little doll. Do you shave down there, baba?”

I had to work up enough saliva to reply. “N-no, Mrs. Martin. J-just my legs, and pubic hair like you told me to.”

“See?” She squealed. “You’re a born sissy, baba.”

Karl snorted. “I always knew you didn’t have a hair on your ass, Chrissie, and now we done proved it. That’s good, though — I like a little pink bootyhole. Although it ain’t gonna be pink for long, ‘cause I’m about to make it red.”

I tried to hold down my anguish, but I couldn’t stop heaving. “Ohhhh, oh, sir, please … please, sir—”

“Oh, shut UP, Chrissie, you’re always whining.” My irritable mistress frowned. “I can’t have sex right now, okay? I’m seven months pregnant. You think I like that? Not having sex with my husband?”

My lip quivered. “N-no, Ma’am.”

“You think Karl likes it?”

“N-no.”

My master scoffed. “Well, you’re right about that, Chrissie. I don’t like it. But Becca’s too big to fuck right now, so for the time being, looks like you’re gonna have to do. Now, go in your little bathroom and wash your ass for me, Chrissie. Let’s make this something special; we’ll pretend it’s prom night, okay?”

My feet were stuck. Karl frowned.

“You wantin’ the belt, sissy? I said go get cleaned up. We’re gonna do this — now, we can either do it the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. What’s it gonna be?”

“Come on, Chrissie, it’ll be fun.” Rebecca’s eyes danced. “I’ll be right here the whole time, baba. Go on. Your master has needs I can’t take care of right now, and I’m counting on you to help me out. ‘Kay, baba? Can you do that for me? Can you be strong?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin,” I squeaked.

“There’s my lil’ doll. Go on, now — make yourself fresh and pretty for your master.”

With my chin on my chest, I managed to trudge into the small guest bathroom, where I used a washcloth to scrub my asshole, making it nice and clean for its looming debasement. When I returned to the bedroom, Karl patted the bed.

“Come on, Chrissie. Let’s get that cherry popped.” He smirked. “Although technically, I think Ian did that with the broomstick.”

Rebecca tried not to laugh but couldn’t hold back. “Oh, you’re terrible,” she chided her husband before grimacing at me. “Seriously, that was really mean of Ian. He didn’t need to do that. But don’t worry, tonight’s gonna be different. Master will be gentle with you, baba.”

Karl hooted. “The hell I will — I’m tearin’ that sissy ass up!”

I literally jumped when he said that, causing Rebecca to snigger yet again.

Gulping, I tried to formulate the words “please don’t do this,” but all that came out was “pllleeeee…pleeeeeee…”

My angel scowled. “Okay, enough already with the whining, Chrissie, you’re starting to piss me off.”

I licked my lips. “S-sorry. I … I just—”

This time, Rebecca patted the mattress. “It’s okay, baba. I know you’re scared. But you’ll get through it. Let’s take care of Master, ‘kay? I know it’s gonna hurt, but can you sacrifice? For me?”

Tears refilled my eyes as I found myself saying, “y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

I inched forward like a doomed man and climbed onto the bed. Karl pushed my head down to guide me into the position he wanted: Kneeling on all fours with my face in the pillows and my ass in the air. I’d never felt more vulnerable or afraid. He slapped my butt, making me jump, much to Rebecca’s amusement.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I could only hear and feel what was happening to me, seemingly in slow-motion: the shift of the bed as my master positioned himself behind me, the squishy sound of lotion being squeezed out of a bottle, and the sharp, cold, painful invasion when he stuck his lubricated fingers up my ass, causing me to yelp and prompting more titters from Rebecca.

I felt his hands on my haunches — then a sudden avalanche of searing pain as he shoved into me with a vengeance. Horrible doesn’t begin to describe the feeling of being ripped open like that. Ian’s broomstick was bad enough, but this was a new low, with Karl literally pushing his dominance to depths I never knew existed. I sobbed throughout the ordeal, while Rebecca lay next to us on the bed stroking my curly locks, whispering “it’s okay, baba. It’s okay. I know it hurts, poor thing.”

Then, something completely unexpected happened, corkscrewing me further down into the abyss of degradation and self-hatred: As Karl’s huge cock relentlessly poked my prostrate, all the pent-up frustration from being locked in my chastity cage for several months without an orgasm overtook me like a tidal wave. I couldn’t help myself; with a moan that cut through my sobs, I started squirting cum onto the sheets.

Rebecca applauded. “Yaaaaaaay, Chrissssiiiiiiiiiie! Your first girly orgasm!”

Karl grunted the word “fag” and continued pounding into me while I shivered and bawled and moaned. By the time he finally tensed up and shot his load into my bowels, I was a defeated, limp ball of pure submission. Through the swirling blackness I heard Master tell me to fetch a wet washcloth, and as I rolled out of bed and limped toward the bathroom, I was grateful he hadn’t made me clean his messy crotch with my tongue.

I returned and offered Karl the washcloth. He snatched it, wiped off his dick and threw it at me. It smacked me in the face, and my masters laughed.

“Clean your mess off the sheets, sissy,” Karl said.

After I obeyed and stood in front of the bed awaiting further instructions, Rebecca smirked. “So, you feel any different now that you’re not a virgin anymore?”

“I … I don’t know, Ma’am.” I was trying not to sob, but it was impossible.

“Well, I feel different,” Karl said. “I feel tired. Turn off the light, Chrissie.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Despite my complete and utter debasement, I knew I’d need to humiliate myself even further if I hoped to lie on something soft for a second night in a row. So, I sank to my knees, and again folded my hands.

“Um, please … uh, can I sleep with … um, Miss Rainbow Sunshine?”

My master yawned. “Sure, Chrissie, why not? You were a good girl for your daddy tonight.” He pointed to his cheek. “Now, come give Daddy a good-night kiss.”

I climbed to my feet and tiptoed to Master’s side of the bed. As I pecked Karl’s cheek, my ears burned with humiliation.

Rebecca held her hand to her mouth. “Aw, you two are sooooo cute.”

Karl smirked. “Me and Chrissie got something special going on now that I popped her cherry, don’t we, girl?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Yeah, your first is always special.” My angel beamed. “My little Chrissie Pooh is a woman!”

Karl sniffed. “I wouldn’t quite go that far. A fag with a tight bootyhole is more like it.”

“You’re so mean,” Rebecca said. “Don’t listen to him, Chrissie. You did great. Good night.”

“G-good night, Mrs. Martin. Good night, sir. Thank you for letting me sleep with Miss Rainbow Sunshine tonight, sir.”

Karl grunted. “Yeah, yeah, now get the fuck out of here already, would ya?”

 

Part XXXV

Karl winked at me and squeezed his cock.

“Mornin’ Princess.”

I served him coffee in bed. “Um, good morning, sir. Good morning, Mrs. Martin.”

Rebecca blew on her steaming mug. “Good morning, Chrissie. How’s your butt?”

“Uh, it … it hurts real bad, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl scoffed. “Oh, quit your bitching. We seen how much you loved it last night — fuckin’ little sissy.”

“You squirted everywhere, Chrissie!” My angel snickered. “It was soooo cute.”

I hung my head in shame, wishing I could convince them that the only reason I’d had an orgasm while Karl was fucking me the night before was because I hadn’t cum in months, and the stimulation of my prostate gland had forced an involuntary reaction.

But how could I convince my masters of that when I even couldn’t even convince myself?

Rebecca read my mind. “Be honest, Chrissie; you liked Master fucking you, huh?”

“I … I …”

“Tell the truth,” she warned.

My shoulders slumped.

I closed my eyes.

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Laughter echoed off the walls.

Karl leered, his hand returning to his crotch. “So, you got a crush on yo’ daddy now, sissy?”

“Um … uh … sir?”

“I said: You got a crush on me? I seen you peeking at ol’ Roscoe when you brought my coffee just now.”

Rebecca pointed. “Ball gaze.”

My mouth felt like it was welded shut.

“Answer me, goddamn it,” Karl snapped.

“Um, no, sir, I … no, I just—”

“No?!” Karl scowled. “So, you AIN’T got a crush on me? I think that’s an insult.”

I shifted from heel to heel, playing with my apron. “Sir, it’s just … I … well … uh, I’m not gay, sir.”

“You sayin’ I am?”

“Oh, no, no, sir, that’s not what I meant at all, sir, I just …” I licked my lips. “I’m not saying you’re gay, sir; of course, I’m not. But I … well, yes, I do have feelings for you, sir, because you’re my master and everything. But … a crush … um, that’s different, sir.”

Karl sniffed. “Bullshit. Just watch — pretty soon you’ll be singing the birds and the bees, just like all the bitches do when they get a taste of Daddy’s big dick.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “OMG, you are SO full of yourself.”

“What?” Karl held out his hands, feigning offense. “I can’t help it if the ladies lose their mind after ol’ Roscoe lays the hammer down. Now, I don’t know why Chrissie’s playin’ hard-to-get; I guess I need to do a little better than I done last night, that’s all. What do you say, Chrissie? Do I get another chance? Can I get a second date?”

“I … um …”

I sighed.

“Y-yes, sir. Uh, thank you.”

He propped his hands behind his head on the pillows. “No problem, sissy.”

I stood in front of the bed squirming. The discussion was making me extremely uncomfortable, because while I assumed Karl was half-joking, I was seriously starting to question whether I actually WAS developing deeper feelings for the man with whom I’d been so painfully intimate only hours earlier. I’d sucked his dick untold dozens of times, but now that he’d fucked me, it felt different; as though he owned me in a new, profound way. And when I reflected on that feeling, I got a warm ooze in my belly that was hard to deny — although I certainly didn’t want to admit it to my masters.

Karl bailed me out by ordering me to fix breakfast. I couldn’t get the hell out of that bedroom fast enough.

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

After devouring his biscuits and gravy, Karl decided to swing by the garage to hang out for a few hours, leaving me home with Rebecca. She relaxed on the couch watching TV and fiddling with her laptop while I sat on the floor nearby with newspapers spread out around me, polishing her shoe collection.

My angel suddenly squealed and cradled her stomach. “She’s kicking! Come feel, Chrissie.”

I clambered to my feet and hurried across the room. Pressing my hand to Rebecca’s belly, I could indeed feel the baby thumping around. Experiencing the miracle of life like that should have been uplifting. Instead, I felt humiliated, put in my place, reminded once again that I was nothing but a freak, a sissy in a spiked cock cage who was incapable of breeding like a real man.

My angel cut into my thoughts: “Do we still have any of that cheesecake you made?”

I nodded. “Yes, Ma’am, there’s more than half of it left.”

“Mm, how about a piece of that and then a nice foot rub?”

“Oh, right away, Mrs. Martin!” I brushed away my feelings of degradation and sprang into action, prompting Rebecca to giggle at how obviously eager I was for the chance to touch her feet.

After so many foot massages, I’d become quite good at it, although my angel seemed uncomfortable with her huge belly protruding as she kept changing positions on the couch.

“Ugh, I can’t wait till she’s born.” Rebecca sighed. “I love having her growing inside me, but, man, it’s a such a pain sometimes!”

I put on a sympathetic face and nodded while my mistress continued lamenting her condition.

“What really sucks is no sex,” she said. “Not just for me, but poor Karl has to go without — although you really did help last night, baba. Seriously, it’s not ideal, but he seemed to like it okay — and so did you. Didn’t you?”

“I … uh, yes, Mrs. Martin, um, kind of.”

“‘Kind of?!!’ Don’t even try it, Chrissie; you were moaning like a little whore.”

Focusing my gaze on her foot, I rubbed with renewed vigor, hoping to make this topic go away.

I failed.

Rebecca giggled. “You feel different about your master now, don’t you?”

My mouth was bone-dry, and I was only able to summon a few undecipherable syllables: “Buh buh boo bah…”

“It’s okay, Chrissie, it’s just us.” She smirked. “You can tell me.”

I gulped mouthfuls of air. “Um … I do … feel different, Mrs. Martin. I … I just want to serve you and Mr. Martin. All I ever think about is what I can do to make you guys happy.”

Rebecca clapped. “Well, then, Chrissie, let’s think of something we can do that’ll make Master happy, ‘kay? Because I’m sure he’s gonna be wanting another date when he gets home, the horny bastard. You’re my size; maybe I can let you borrow something sexy to wear. All you got now are them boring, old maid’s uniforms. The formal one’s nice, but it ain’t sexy. You know?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“And you can wear my 6” fuck-me heels.” She grinned. “You’ll finally be taller than me, Chrissie!”

My ears burned with the disgrace of being reminded once again that my angel towered over me, but I peeped out the required answer: “Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“We’ll surprise him when he gets home and turn the bedroom into you guys’ little love nest, with incense and candles and stuff. And you can greet him at the door all dolled up and sexy. Won’t that be fun?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

She rocked her foot back and forth in my hands and picked up the remote. “Okay, do the heel, for a while, Chrissie, and keep quiet; I wanna watch this show.”

I managed to remain silent while working lotion into my mistress’s heel. But my insides were screaming.

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

Walking on 6” heels was a bitch, but by the time I heard my master’s keys rattling at the front door, I’d figured out how to teeter around okay — although I nearly fell on my ass when both Karl and Randy strolled into the condo.

Karl stopped in his tracks and ogled me. “Well, doggies, lookie here!”

Rebecca smirked. “He said he wanted to seduce you, so I let him borrow my fuck-me pumps and one of my sexy nighties.” She grimaced at her stepdad. “Although we weren’t expecting company.”

Randy shrugged. “We was gonna grab something to eat real quick and then head back to the garage.” He sneered my way. “Although I can think of a reason to stay for a while. Karl told me he took your cherry last night, Sweet Pea. Now that he done broke you in, maybe he’ll let me have a turn.”

My angel snorted. “OMG, you’re both a couple horn-dogs.”

“Well, when you get the little sissy all sexied up like that, what do you expect?” Randy chuckled. “Nah, I’m just kidding. Don’t wanna intrude between Karl and his new squeeze, if they had something special planned together.”

“Hey, it’s no problem, bro,” Karl said. “We can both hit it if you want, I don’t give a shit.”

Randy smiled. “Well, hell yeah, then, sounds good to me.”

Rebecca cupped her hands over her mouth and called in her singsong voice: “Gaaaaannnng baaaannng.”

A wave of panic overcame me, but my angel didn’t seem to notice as she walked to the closet and put on her coat.

“Well, listen, you two, have fun with Chrissie; I’m gonna take off for a while and go shopping.” She turned to me. “You be good, now, baba, and do what you’re told. ‘Kay?”

Tears filled my eyes. “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Remember what we talked about; all the tricks you can use to please your man.” She chuckled. “I guess just take what I told you and times it by two. I know Randy coming over’s a surprise, but do the best you can, ‘kay, baba?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Kay, bye! Have fuuuuuuuuuun!”

With that, she grabbed her purse and was gone.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Karl and Randy started closing in on me.

I hung my head, shut my eyes and prayed.

Nobody answered.

Then, it started and I died. A thousand times. I don’t even want to talk about it.

 

Part XXXVI

My pity party was interrupted by the rattling of the front door, followed by a startled feminine gasp.

Rebecca crept into view, her hand covering her mouth. “OMG, Chrissie, what the hell happened?”

Through tears, I peered at her from my curled-up position on the living room floor, right where Karl and Randy had left me. A low moan escaped my throat.

My angel pouted. “Aw, poor thing. They really did a number on you, huh?”

I sobbed harder.

“I’m sorry, baba. If I’d have known Randy was gonna come over, I wouldn’t have had you get all dolled up like that. But you can’t blame him for wanting you, Chrissie — you did look pretty hot. They both wanted you, apparently.”

“I … he … they …” I was too choked up to continue.

Rebecca clucked her tongue. “I guess we can say goodbye to that negligee — it’s tore all to hell. I bet Randy did that; Ma says he’s a wild man in bed.” She grimaced. “She says he’s hung like a horse, too, so I feel for ya, baba. Karl’s bad enough. Your poor butt must really hurt.”

More tears flowed as convulsions overtook me.

“I would’ve stayed here and helped you get through it, baba, but not with my stepdad. That would be creepy. You know?”

I sniffled. “Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“How long you been laying there?”

“Um … since they left.” I glanced at the clock. “About three hours, Ma’am.”

“Three hours?” Rebecca tilted her head. “Well, shit, sounds like someone had a nice, long break.”

I wanted to scream that recovering from a brutal, unwanted gangbang wasn’t exactly a break, but I bit my lip.

My angel sat on the couch. “Well, listen, Chrissie, you need to pull yourself together and get started on dinner. I know they probably got a little carried away, but boys will be boys. I don’t want you laying around moping about it all night, you hear?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“See? There’s my lil Chrissie Pooh.” She clapped. “Okay, baba, shake a leg, I’m starving. Take care of them bags first; I got a couple new maternity blouses, and some other stuff you’ll need to wash later.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“You’ll need to pick up a few sexy things to wear until the baby comes. You can go ahead and use the credit card. Karl likes red.” Rebecca smirked. “Don’t get nothing too sexy, or you might steal him away from me with all them sex tricks I taught you. From the looks of it, they must’ve worked.”

I wasn’t sure how to reply, but I threw out a “yes, Mrs. Martin” anyway.

She shook her head. “I’m gonna kill that damn Randy for ripping my negligee like that. And look at all them red marks. What the hell did they do to you, Chrissie?”

“I … I … do you mind if I don’t say?”

Rebecca sighed. “Oh, okay, fine, if you want to keep secrets from me, don’t tell me then, I don’t care. But I’m hungry, so hurry up with dinner.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

As I passed her, she sniffed the air and crinkled her nose. “Eww, you need to take a shower first, Chrissie. No offense, but you smell like a whorehouse.”

Brokenhearted and mortified, I obeyed my mistress, although the hot water in the guest bathroom shower didn’t come close to washing away my shame. Having had much practice at compartmentalizing my degradation, though, I managed to focus on Rebecca’s wishes, which was to get cleaned up and have dinner on the table ASAP.

The stir fry was almost finished when Karl returned home. A few seconds after the door slammed shut, he boomed: “Chrissie! Beer!”

I turned off the burner and scrambled to fetch my master’s Budweiser.

Karl snickered when I hobbled into the living room and served him on the couch, where he sat next to Rebecca. “Limping pretty bad, eh? Ol’ Randy’s got a big fist, don’t he?”

My angel’s eyes widened. “OMG, he FIST-FUCKED him??”

“That ain’t all he did, huh, Chrissie?”

“Um … I … I …”

“Chrissie won’t tell me what happened,” Rebecca said. “Must’ve been pretty bad.”

Karl waved his hand. “Oh, it wasn’t that goddamn bad; Randy just had a few drinks and we got a little wild, that’s all.”

“Wild?” Rebecca furrowed her brow. “How so?”

“Well, he went crazy with the belt; how many did he give you, Chrissie? It had to be more than 100.”

“Um, I lost count after 120, sir,” I muttered.

“He said he wanted to tenderize that ass before he hit it,” Karl told Rebecca with a snigger.  “Then, he taught Chrissie how to play the trombone.”

Rebecca sat up. “Ooh, I wanna hear this. What’s the trombone?”

Karl winked at me. “Why don’t we show her, Chrissie? What do you say?”

Although I wanted to die, I knew how I had to reply: “Y-yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Karl stood and unfastened his jeans. After dropping his pants and underwear, he smirked over his shoulder at me.

“Okay, Carrie Underwood, come play a song for Becca,” he said.

With my ears burning, I knelt behind my master, leaned forward, burrowed my nose in his butt-cheeks and started licking his ass. At the same time, I reached around and jacked him off.

“See?” Karl laughed. “Playing the trombone.”

With my face smushed into my master’s buttocks, I couldn’t see Rebecca but I heard her crack up. After she caught her breath, she asked her husband: “And what were you doing during all this?”

“What do you think?” My master chuckled. “I was hitting that tight little booty — although it wasn’t so tight anymore after Randy got through with it.”

More laughter shredded my soul.

Karl stepped away from me and pulled up his pants. “Okay, Chrissie, music lesson’s over. Go get dinner ready.”

Sniffling back a tear, I replied, “yes, sir.”

As I started to slink away, Rebecca frowned. “Go brush your teeth first, Chrissie. Your breath smells like ass.”

 

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I stood my suppertime post near the dining room table trying to stay still, eyeing the clock. At 8pm sharp, I swallowed my anxiety and cleared my throat.

“Um, sir … it’s time for my counseling session, sir.”

Karl set down his fork. “I dunno, Chrissie. You done good today, and took everything Randy gave you. You made me proud, sissy. Why don’t we go ahead and let you slide tonight?”

“Oh, sir, thank you so much, sir.”

He shrugged. “No problem.”

Rebecca smiled and sipped her Diet Coke. “See how nice your master is?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl burped. “One big happy family. Now, how about some more of that stir-fry, Chrissie?”

After dinner, Rebecca went into the bedroom to gab on the phone while Karl watched TV. I did the dishes and then puttered around cleaning the condo with one ear cocked toward the television, which was tuned to a Thursday Night Football clash between Karl’s Cowboys and the Philadelphia Eagles. Normally after dinner on Thursdays, I drove to Karl’s garage to give it a thorough cleaning, which was a 4- 5-hour job. But my master wanted me to spend the upcoming Saturday giving the place a deep scrubbing, so he told me I could skip the usual Thursday night assignment.

That wasn’t necessarily a good thing, since being home when the Cowboys were playing always presented a danger — especially during a game in which Dallas had blown a 21-point halftime lead. Every time Karl cussed at the TV, a chill ran through me. As the fourth quarter wound down, the score was tied at 31 with the fate of my already-blistered ass hanging in the balance. I knew if Dallas lost a heartbreaker like that to their hated rivals, I’d be in for some serious marriage counseling, despite Karl’s earlier waiver. And, since my ass still throbbed from Randy’s annihilation only hours earlier, that’s the last thing I wanted.

For the first time that day, however, the fates finally broke my way when, with less than a minute left and the Eagles driving, the Dallas defensive back made an interception and ran it back 82 yards to the house. On the punt return, Philadelphia’s guy carried the ball to their own 32-yard line, leaving 38 seconds left on the clock. I hid in the hallway shadows, out of Master’s sight, my eyes glued to the game, feeling like I was about to piss my panties. It was the longest 38 seconds of my life, but I heaved a huge sigh of relief when the Dallas defense stopped Philly on 4^th-and-8, ending the primetime thriller.

As Karl cheered, I decided to take advantage of his good mood, so I ventured into the living room.

“Um, sir, I was just checking to see if you needed another beer or anything.”

He shook his head. “Nah, I’m good, Chrissie. Fuckin’ A, I’m good. Cowboys WIN, baby!”

“Um, I’m glad, sir. That’s good news, sir.”

“Goddamn right, it is.”

I dropped to my knees and folded my hands. “Sir, is it okay if I sleep with Miss Rainbow Sunshine tonight?”

“Sure thing, sissy.” Karl leered. “You made your daddy proud today, didn’t you? Took it like a good girl?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Damn, that fuckin’ Randy’s a mean sumbitch, ain’t he?”

I dropped my head. “Yes, sir.”

“He do that kinda shit when you suck his dick?”

“Um, yes, sir, he’s always grabbing my ears and twisting them real hard, or pulling my hair, sir. He likes to hurt me, sir.”

Karl chuckled. “Well, it must suck being a sissy, having to put up with all that. But you’re good at it. Being a sissy, I mean.” He pointed to his cheek. “Now, come give yo daddy a lil kiss, Chrissie.”

Red-faced, I obeyed.

Karl’s attention was diverted by a postgame interview, so I stood there for a minute, waiting for a break in the show, because I had something else to ask him. When a commercial came on, I again knelt on the carpet.

“Sir, I was wondering if I could please use the credit card to buy Christmas presents for you and Mrs. Martin.”

My master scoffed. “What for, Chrissie? We ain’t getting you shit.”

Rebecca walked into the room just then and giggled. “OMG, you are so mean!” She joined her husband on the couch and stuck out her bottom lip. “Aw, don’t listen to him, Chrissie; you’re just like part of the family, and we’re getting you a Christmas present too.”

After fiddling with her phone for a few seconds, she presented it to me. “Here, Chrissie, come pick out your present. Anything you want on Amazon. If you order it from Prime, it should get here before the party.”

I rose and took the phone from my mistress, feeling devastated. First of all, even though she was acting like she was doing me some huge favor, it was MY money we were talking about spending, although I’d been a slave for so long I didn’t really think of my savings and other holdings as belonging to me anymore. More importantly, though, it broke my heart to know that my beloved mistress didn’t think I wasn’t important enough to expend a few thumb-swipes to buy me a gift, after everything I did for her and her husband. I had to pick out my own gift. I’m certain she had no idea how utterly humiliating that was for me.

Scrolling through various possible choices, I couldn’t think of anything to buy. I would’ve loved to have ordered a soft bed, or at least an air mattress, because while sleeping on the stuffed unicorn provided welcome relief from the unforgiving floor, it wasn’t exactly comfortable. But I knew if I asked for a mattress, Karl would immediately shoot down my request, and possibly give me an ass-whipping for being “cocky,” since one of his hard-fast rules was “slaves don’t use furniture.”

Rather than buying myself a gift, I decided to go in the other direction and get a set of camping accessories that included a canteen, compass and other items, since a few days earlier I’d overheard my masters discussing how they’d like to go camping someday after the baby’s birth. When I made the purchase, I handed the phone back to Rebecca, my chest swelling with sissy pride.

“What’d you get, baba?”

I again sank to my knees. “Um, Sir, Ma’am, uh, I didn’t get anything for myself; I got something for you, because I wanted to show you how much I really want to serve you, and be a good slave for you.”

Rebecca giggled. “Awwwwww, that is sooooo sweet.”

“Yeah, Chrissie, you’re a real sweetheart.” Karl sneered. “See? I told you you’d be fallin’ in love with yo daddy soon. Ol’ Roscoe always delivers.”

“Oh, be quiet, you’re ruining the moment,” Rebecca chided her husband before smiling at me. “What’d you get for us, baba?”

I cleared my throat. “Um, I remember you guys saying you’d like to go camping after the baby comes, so I got a bunch of accessories; a canteen and compass and stuff.”

Karl nodded. “Hell, yeah, that’s a great gift. Nice job, sissy.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Rebecca brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You know, Chrissie, even though I’m too big to have sex, I could go for your tongue right now. You been so good, and put up with so much … you deserve a little prize.”

My face flushed. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl squeezed his crotch. “You know what, Chrissie? How about two prizes? We can make this your second spit-roast of the day, how’s that? Ol’ Roscoe says he ain’t too tired to hit that ass again; what do you say, Chrissie Pooh?”

I gulped. “Y-yes, sir.” Hating myself, I added: “Thank you sir.”

He scoffed. “No problem, sissy. Now, go wash that booty; make it nice and squeaky clean for yo daddy.”

As I struggled to my feet and trudged toward the bathroom, Rebecca squealed. “Ooh, this is gonna be so much fun. Our first threesome.”

 

Part IIIVII

Gina spun me around in the salon chair until I was facing Rebecca. My mistress smiled.

“Perfect,” she said. “Tight little curls, just like a little doll. And I love them green-and-red tips. All ready for the party. You’re an artist, girl.”

“Well, thanks.” Gina waved her hand at the salon floor. “Since he’s here already, does he have time to clean up a little? We were pretty busy today and we probably shouldn’t wait till the morning to get some of this up. And I don’t feel like doing it, to be honest.”

Rebecca shrugged. “No, problem, Chrissie, get to cleaning.” She turned to her friend. “You got any appointments coming up, or are you free for lunch?”

“No, I’m free, let me go grab my purse,” Gina said. “Chrissie, you do whatever Brianna tells you, and keep your mouth shut if any customers come in. Understand?”

“Yes, Miss Gina.”

Brianna pointed. “You can start by cleaning out that shampoo sink.”

“Yes, Miss Brianna.”

Gina asked her friend, “you want me to bring you back anything?”

“I’ll take a Cobb salad,” the hairdresser said.

When Rebecca looked at me, I’d hoped she was going to ask if I wanted any carryout, too, but instead she barked an order: “Make sure you get this place clean before we get back, because you still got to go over to my ma’s to get ready for the party.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

With a flip of her hair, my mistress disappeared with her friend.

There was lots to do, so I got busy. While I cleaned, Brianna relaxed in a salon chair, grilling me.

“So, what’s it like being somebody’s slave? Don’t you ever get tired of being treated like a little bitch all the time?”

“I … I don’t know, Miss. It’s just how it is … I love Mrs. Martin, even though … even though I know it can never be … you know, like a relationship. We have our own kind of relationship.”

“So, you basically become some woman’s sap for the rest of your life.” She shook her head. “I don’t get it, but better you than me. I suppose it takes all kinds. I can’t even imagine my boyfriend putting put with that shit, but then again, he’s a man. You … it’s weird, cuz you’re not really a man or a woman. I don’t know what the hell you are. A sissy, I guess.”

For a nanosecond I contemplated not answering her, but being a slave who lives in constant fear, I decided I’d better respond somehow, lest she misinterpret my silence as “disrespect” and report me to Rebecca, who in turn would surely tell Karl.

“Y-yes, Miss, my masters say sissies are like a third gender. They say I’m not trans; I’m a sissy, and they say … um, that means I’m below everyone.”

“Well, you got that right.” Brianna smirked. “I’m just glad I ain’t you.”

“Y-yes, Miss.”

“Alright, enough bullshitting.” She jerked her thumb. “That bathroom needs major attention. I’m gonna go outside and smoke a cigarette.”

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

Elvis’s “Blue Christmas” provided the yuletide soundtrack while Ian cut up a line of cocaine with Karl hovering over his shoulder.

“Mmm, nice, fat rails.” Karl grinned. “You say your boy’s shit’s pretty good, huh?”

Ian handed over the straw. “Be my guest. Try it out.”

Karl leaned down and snorted a line. “Woo-HOO! Damn, that’s got a kick.”

“Told you.” Ian bared his teeth. “I got the connections.”

Marlene frowned at Emily. “You better not be messin’ with that shit, you hear?”

“I ain’t,” Emily told her mom. “I seen what happened to Heather.”

“I hate that shit.” Rebecca crinkled up her nose. “I wish you guys wouldn’t do it at the damn Christmas party.”

Karl shrugged. “Oh, it’s fine, what’s a party for?” He held the straw toward Randy. “What do you say? Want to do a line?”

Randy shook his head. “Naw, I’m too old for that shit. I will take another beer though.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t hear his order, since at the moment I was lost in a Rebecca Anne Strickland-Martin daydream, staring at the way the light was shining off her golden, angelic locks.

My lovesick reverie was rudely interrupted when Randy jumped out of his recliner and booted me hard in the ass, sending me literally flying several feet across the room before crashing into an end table.

“Get your head out of your ass, sissy, and go get me a goddamn beer, I said,” he snarled.

“S-sorry, sir.”

As I limped out of the room rubbing my behind, I heard Rebecca cluck her tongue. “Aw, don’t be so mean to poor Chrissie. He’s been running ragged the last few days. The poor thing is tired.”

After I served Randy’s beer I stood at attention while everyone conversed. To my chagrin, the topic was me.

“I don’t understand why you let Randy punish him, but we can’t,” Emily said.

“Because you two don’t know when to stop.” Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t mind loaning him out to you once a week for cleaning, but I can’t have you abusing him like that. And once you start … well, just don’t do it, okay? That broomstick was too much.”

Karl snickered. “Way too much. Just ask Chrissie.”

That brought down the house, but when the laughter subsided, my master waved his hand.

“I’m kidding; if Chrissie needs punishing, just tell us.” Karl winked at me. “I’ll take care of it, won’t I, Chrissie?”

“Y-yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

Emily rubbed her chin. “Well, then, now that you mention it, Chrissie WAS pretty disrespectful last time he came over to clean.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Oh, bullshit, what’d he do?”

“Um, I … I caught him taking a break … um, sitting down on the edge of the bathtub.”

“You’re so full of shit; you just want to see him get whipped,” Rebecca said.

Emily shrugged. “Okay, I do; what’s so wrong with that?”

Ian raised his hand. “Ooh, let me do it.”

“Nobody’s doing it.” Rebecca frowned. “Don’t you guys want to open presents?”

“We can do that later.” Emily folded her arms. “I want to see Chrissie get whopped.” She tilted her head toward Rebecca and put on her most beseeching expression. “Pleeeease? Let Ian do it. You’ll be right here if he gets carried away.”

“But Chrissie didn’t even do nothin’.”

“So what?” Emily replied, and everyone cracked up.

“Come on, have a heart,” Rebecca chided her little sister. “It’s Christmas.”

“Yeah, it’s Christmas — so let Ian do it. As a Christmas present.”

My mistress sighed. “Oh, alright, if you won’t shut up about it.” She pouted my way. “Sorry, baba. I know it ain’t fair, but it’ll be over before you know it, ‘kay?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Ian stood up. “Shit, I don’t even wear a belt. Hey, Karl, can I borrow yours?”

“Sure.” Karl stood and pulled his belt through the loops before handing it over to his younger counterpart.

“Only ten,” Rebecca warned.

“Aw, seriously?” Ian huffed. “Come on, Becca, that ain’t even getting warmed up.”

“Ten really ain’t that much,” Randy agreed. Karl and Emily nodded. Marlene just shook her head.

“Okay, 20, but that’s all.” Rebecca smiled at me. “Sorry, baba, everyone’s always so mean.”

The pain from Ian’s 20 cocaine-infused blows was nearly as bad as the humiliation of being bent-over in front of a roomful of people with my panties around my ankles, my skirt flipped up and my ass hanging out. Even worse was having to thank my tormenter for each belt stroke.

After I shrieked, “Twenty, thank you, sir,” Ian handed the belt back to Karl and flopped onto the couch next to Emily.

“Whew, that shit’s a workout,” he said.

“Imagine how the poor sissy feels,” Marlene said, and everyone laughed.

I was still bent over with my bare, swollen ass exposed. From my upside-down position, I caught eye contact with Rebecca.

“See, baba? It’s over now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“N-no, Mrs. Martin,” I lied.

“Alrighty then. Go get yourself fixed up and come pass out presents,” she said.

I pulled up my panties and hurried to the bathroom, where I washed my tear-and-mascara-streaked face and reapplied my makeup. When I was presentable, I returned to the living room, where the family was gathered around the tree.

For the next several minutes I scurried back and forth handing out gifts, gathering and throwing away wrapping paper, tearing open plastic coverings and putting batteries in when needed.

When the last present had been opened, Marlene chuckled. “Poor Chrissie does all the work, and don’t get shit.”

“Well, I told him he could get anything he wanted the other night,” Rebecca said. “He told me he wanted to buy something for me and Karl instead, because he loved being our slave so much.”

Randy scoffed. “What a little suck-ass.”

“Aw, I think that’s sweet.” Marlene lit a Newport. “But it’s kinda sad the poor thing don’t get nothing for Christmas.”

Rebecca stared at me for a second. “I know what might make a nice present.”

“What’s that?” Her mother took a drag of her cigarette.

“If Karl says it’s alright, maybe we can let Chrissie sit on the chair for a while. It’s been so long since he’s been allowed on any actual furniture.”

Karl shrugged. “I don’t give a shit; as long as he don’t get cocky and start expecting it all the time.”

“You won’t get cocky, will you, baba?”

I blinked. “N-no, Mrs. Martin.”

She swept her hand toward the recliner and sang: “Go ah-eaaaaaad, Chrissiiiiiiiieeeeee, you get to sit on the chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiir. Merry Chriiiiiiiiissssstttmasssss.”

As I sank onto the soft cushion, I had mixed feelings. On one hand, I was beyond humiliated at how my angel was being so condescending; on the other hand, the soft chair felt so damned comfortable, I pushed aside any negative thoughts and tried to drink in the luxury for as long as I could.

My “present” lasted all of two minutes before Randy called for another beer. After I served him, I hovered near the chair, unsure if I’d be allowed to reclaim my seat.

Karl noticed me and shook his head. “Uh-uh, sissy, you got your present; no more furniture.”

While everyone else laughed, Rebecca made a sad face.

“Aw, poor Chrissie. I’ll tell you what: Karl’s such a meanie, and won’t let you sit on the furniture no more — but that don’t mean you can’t take a break. Go ahead and sit on the floor, baba, and you can rest up. Merry Christmas.”

“Um, Merry Christmas, Mrs. Martin. Thank you.”

I looked to Karl before sitting down, afraid of making a move, since Rebecca had found a loophole around his meanspirited order.

He smirked at me. “Go ahead, sissy, you can sit down. I bet it must be a motherfucker standing around in them high heels all the time. How many hours you usually put in a day, Chrissie?”

“Um, usually about 17-18, depending on when you guys go to bed, sir.”

Karl whistled. “Well, shit, I bet you do need a break. Sit on down, Chrissie. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, sir.” A tear fell from my eye as I took my place on the carpet near my masters’ feet.

Rebecca smiled down at me and wiggled her empty glass. “I’m sorry, baba, I know you just got comfortable, but can you run and get me a Diet Coke real quick?”

“Of course, Mrs. Martin.”

I hopped up and fetched her drink, and retook my spot on the carpet near the couch.

The rest of the evening was spent sitting on the floor, looking up at everyone and listening to them talk, with interruptions every now and then to fetch drinks. Nobody sought my input, and I never added a word to the conversation, although I did smile whenever someone cracked a joke, and would nod when a point was made. I almost felt like part of the family.

As the night appeared to be winding down, Rebecca suddenly squealed, making me flinch.

“Oh, shit.” Her eyes were huge. “I think it’s time. My water just broke.”

Part IIIVIII

Karl must’ve done 120mph on the way to the hospital while I sat with Rebecca in the backseat, holding her hand and trying to calm her down. My angel wasn’t very nice to me during her contractions; when I reminded her to use the breathing exercises she’d been practicing for months, she dug her nails in my arm and screamed, “shut up, what does a sissy like you know about making babies?” I knew she wasn’t in her right mind, so I ignored her insults.

When we arrived at Plainville Hospital ER entrance, an orderly whisked Rebecca into the facility while Karl hopped out and told me to park. By the time I found a spot and got to the waiting room, Karl apparently had been taken into another part of the hospital with Rebecca, because the chairs in the area were all unoccupied.

The cushiony furniture looked so inviting, and for a quick second I considered sitting down, until my inner voice reminded me of Karl’s mantra: “Slaves don’t use furniture.” I played it safe and remained standing, even though I’d been on my feet for hours, first preparing for the Christmas party and then serving it. I realized that I hadn’t had time to change, and was still wearing my heels and formal maid’s outfit, with green-and-red tips in my hair.

Although being in drag publicly didn’t invoke as much panic as it once did, and I was gaining more confidence about my ability to pass as a female as long as I didn’t talk, I knew I must’ve cut an odd figure — a formal, Christmassy maid in a hospital setting. There was nothing I could do about it, though, so I tried to put it out of my mind.

It was a good thing I chose to remain standing because Karl stormed into the waiting room, clearly pissed off.

“I can’t believe them assholes.” He punched the wall. “Fucking prick doctors.”

Clearing my throat, I ventured a question: “Um, is something wrong, sir?”

“Goddamn right, something’s wrong — them cocksuckers wouldn’t let me in the delivery room because they said I smell of alcohol.” He placed his palm an inch from his mouth, blew on it and sniffed. “I don’t smell shit.”

He walked up to me and blew his breath in my face. “Can you smell any goddamn alcohol?”

“Um, no, sir.”

It was utter bullshit — he smelled like a Jack Daniels distillery — but I wasn’t about to tell him that.

I looked on with envy as my master plopped down onto one of the chairs. “Go see if you can find a vending machine, Chrissie. I want some coffee … and get a Snickers bar, or a bag of chips or something.”

“Um, sorry, sir … I don’t have any money, sir.”

Karl huffed and pulled out his wallet. “Here.” He passed me a $5 bill. “See if they got one of them change machines. If not, then see if they got a cafeteria or something — but don’t come back without coffee and something to eat; I’m fucking hungry. You hear?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll find something and be right back, sir.” I hurried out of the room, happy to escape his shitty mood.

As I ventured through the hospital corridors on my high heels, I kept my eyes down, feeling the stares of passers-by and hearing the occasional snicker. On the second floor, I found both a vending machine area and a cafeteria. I opted to buy a cup of coffee and a Snickers bar from the machines, partially because they were cheaper than the hospital cafeteria would have been, but mostly because it allowed me to avoid interacting with a cashier.

When I got back to the waiting room, I found Marlene, Randy, Emily and Ian huddled in chairs next to Karl. They all looked up when I walked in.

“Ooh, I want coffee, too,” Randy said.

Marlene held up a finger. “Me, too. In fact, I’m kinda hungry. They got anything besides them candy bars?”

Even though I didn’t feel like dealing with a cashier, I knew I had to tell the truth, so I explained that the hospital had a cafeteria — and that didn’t sit well with Karl.

“If they got a cafeteria, why didn’t you get me something from there, instead of this goddamn Snickers Bar?” he spat. “I told you I was hungry.”

I thought fast.

“Sir, I … I’m sorry, I just thought it would be cheaper in the machine, sir. All I had was $5, and the hospital cafeterias are always really expensive, sir.”

Karl pulled out his wallet and handed me his credit card. “Here, see what they got and get me some real goddamn dinner. You know what I like; don’t be getting no sissy-ass salad or none of that bullshit. And get another coffee while you’re at it.”

“Yessir.”

Everyone else started barking out what they wanted to eat, and I retraced my steps to the 2^nd floor, trying to keep everyone’s orders straight in my head, which prevented me from freaking out over having to possibly talk to a cashier and blow my sissy cover. My concerns turned to be unfounded, though, because the cafeteria had kiosks, not live employees. Since I hadn’t been given permission, I refrained from buying anything for myself, which at least made it easier to carry all the containers back to the maternity waiting room.

When I got back with the food, two women and a man were in the room with Karl and Rebecca’s family. I passed out the Styrofoam boxes and coffees, and then stood at attention near the wall, feeling the strangers staring at me from across the waiting area. I clearly was the family maid, but I imagine it must’ve been confusing for them to watch the Stricklands devouring their food, spewing profanities with their mouths full and not behaving in the manner one might expect of a family that employed a formal servant.

Seeing my masters eat, and smelling their food made my stomach growl loudly, prompting chuckles. Ian, always the ill-mannered prick, chewed up a piece of his chicken, spat it on the floor and sneered my way.

“You seem hungry, Chrissie, so there ya go,” he said. “Eat that.”

I glanced at the people on the other side of the room to see if they were watching and, sure enough, all three were riveted. But because I was starving — and because I knew there’d be hell to pay if I didn’t obey — I bent down, plucked the chicken from the carpet and ate it. Karl and the Stricklands cracked up.

“Ew.” Emily curled her lip. “You’re really a disgusting piece of shit, you know that, Chrissie?”

One of the strangers, the man in the trio, shook his head. “Why don’t you guys leave that poor girl alone?”

Karl stood up with his fists balled. “Mind your own business, motherfucker, or I’ll knock your goddamn teeth down your throat.”

“There’s no need for that,” the man replied. “But you’re being horrible to that poor maid.”

Ian rose and joined Karl in a combative stance. “Fuck you, what are you gonna do about it, motherfuckers? I’ll kick all your asses.”

Emily nodded and stared at the two women with her arms outstretched, palms up. “You bitches want some?” she screamed. “Huh?”

Mortified, I looked on while three security guards ran into the room.

“Is there a problem here?” one of the guards demanded.

“There’s gonna be a goddamn problem.” Karl put up his dukes. “If I was you, I’d step the fuck away from me.”

The older of the two guards put his hand on his coworker’s shoulder. “Just call the police, Bob,” he said. “Don’t engage.”

Bob the guard started to call for help when Ian lunged forward and swiped the walkie talkie out of the man’s hand before throwing it across the room. The guard put Ian in a headlock, and the two struggled on one end of the room while Karl squared off with the older guard, whose nametag read “Richardson.”

Five more hospital guards rushed into the room, and a full-blown donnybrook broke out. Emily and Marlene jumped into the fray and started struggling with the guards while the other family cowered in their corner of the room. I still stood at attention, scared to move, while the guards wrestled Karl and the Stricklands to the floor and held them down. One of the guards radioed for help.

Within minutes, officers from the Plainville Police Department responded and took Karl and the Stricklands into custody. As my master’s hands were being cuffed behind his back, a nurse poked her head in the door.

“Excuse me, sir, this might not be the best time to tell you this, or maybe it’s the best time … but you have a healthy little girl, and your wife is resting up nicely,” the nurse said.

As pissed off as Karl was, he managed to smile as the officers led him out of the waiting room.

“Well, I’ll be a cocksucker — I got me a daughter.” My master looked at me and nodded toward the maternity ward. “Chrissie, go back there and tell Becca I’ll be back up here to see her and the baby as soon as I get out of jail.”

 

Part XXXIX

My eyes were open but I saw only swirling blackness. My master’s voice, on the other hand, was loud and clear, even at a whisper.

“Chrissie. Wake up.” He nudged me with his toe a second time. “Go to the living room.”

I dragged myself off the floor and limped after Karl as he strode out of my bedroom. I knew the drill: my master was horny and Rebecca still hadn’t recovered from giving birth, so it was going to be up to me to fulfill his carnal needs. My bedroom was next to the nursery and we didn’t want to wake little Taylor, so Karl always took me across the condo for our late-night rendezvouses.

My entire body ached because my master hadn’t allowed me to sleep with Rainbow Sunshine earlier. I hadn’t done anything wrong; when I’d knelt at the foot of the bed and begged for permission to sleep with my soft companion, Karl smirkingly denied my request, saying slaves shouldn’t take luxuries for granted. That got a giggle out of Rebecca, along with an “aw, poor Chrissie.”

When we got to the living room, Karl grabbed me by the shoulders and guided me toward the recliner. He bent me over the arm of the chair, yanked down my panties, spit on his hand, wiped it on his dick — and then tore me a new asshole.

“Yoooowww!”

Master smacked me on the back of the head.

“Quiet, damn it,” he hissed. “If you wake up the baby, your ass is grass.”

My ass is already grass, I thought bitterly as Karl butt-fucked me as hard as he could, with no lube other than the initial dollop of saliva, and no regard whatsoever for my comfort. I cried silently into the chair cushion until my master finally tensed up and blew his load deep inside me.

Karl pulled out of me and fell onto the chair. “Clean me up,” he sighed, waving his hand toward his gloopy cock.

Plugging my ass with one hand so my master’s cum wouldn’t leak out, I licked up the nastiness while mentally running through the 2016 Chicago Cubs lineup in an unsuccessful effort to distract myself from what I was doing.

When he was sufficiently clean, Karl pulled me off him by the hair, shoved me aside, stood up and strolled away without so much as a glance back or a how-do-you-do.

I allowed myself to lie on the carpet sobbing for a few minutes before limping to the bathroom. When I’d cleaned up and brushed my teeth, I tiptoed back to my room and retook my position on the floor. Without something soft to lie on, I wasn’t comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, although I was still incredibly grateful to be able to get back to sleep. Even my throbbing asshole and fiery guts didn’t prevent me from drifting off.

“WAAAAAHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”

I bolted upright at the baby’s cry. With a sigh, I hobbled as fast as I could into the kitchen to fetch a bottle.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Rebecca’s crabby voice startled me: “What the hell are you doing, Chrissie?” she hollered from the bedroom.

“S-sorry, Ma’am, I’m getting her bottle now,” I called before hurrying into the nursery.

It took about 20 minutes of bottle-feeding and gentle rocking for Taylor to finally get back to sleep. I was completely exhausted as I trudged next door to the maid’s room and flopped onto the floor. Within seconds, I was out.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

Rebecca relaxed in bed cradling her daughter in her arms while Karl lay next to them with his nose in his cellphone.

My angel frowned. “What the hell you were doing while Taylor was crying all damn night?”

“I-I’m sorry, Mrs. Martin. She just kept waking up.”

“Well, I hardly got any sleep at all,” she snapped.

“I … I’m so sorry, Ma’am.”

“Sorry, my ass.” Karl set down his phone. “That damn crying kept me up half the night too.”

“I’m … I …”

Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t want to hear it, Chrissie. All you do lately is make excuses.” She turned to her husband. “I’m thinking pancakes; that sound good to you?”

Karl shrugged. “Pancakes is fine, and I’ll take eggs, too. And hurry up, I’m hungry.”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir.” I hated kissing up to the man who had sexually assaulted me only hours earlier, but as a sissy slave, kissing up was in my job description.

I had breakfast ready in no time and served it to my masters before assuming my post at the foot of their bed. Rebecca set the sleeping baby on the mattress next to her and ate from the tray I’d provided.

“I see you’re getting behind on the laundry, Chrissie.” Rebecca cut a piece of pancake and took a bite.

Karl scowled. “Yeah, and there was mud all over my back tire after you was supposed to have washed the fuckin’ truck. You really been slipping lately, sissy, and it’s startin’ to piss me off.”

I wrung my hands. “Sir, please, I’m so sorry … it’s just … well, I haven’t really been sleeping any, and I just—”

Rebecca cut me off with a wave. “Oh, boo-hoo, quit your whining, already. Excuse after excuse. That’s what happens when you have a new baby, Chrissie. You don’t get any sleep. You just have to deal with it. Understand?”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.”

“You think I should have to get up and change diapers, Chrissie?”

“No, Mrs. Martin, of course not.”

“Of course not.” She crinkled her nose. “I don’t do diapers, Chrissie. That’s what I got a slave for. Why do you think you’re here?”

“To serve you and Mr. Martin.”

“That’s right. That means you’re here to do the shit I don’t want to do … and Karl don’t want to do. Got it?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. I’m really sorry.”

Rebecca took another bite. “I want all the laundry done today. Then you can swing by my ma’s, since you had to skip last week. She says it’s a mess, so you’ll probably be there a while.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl chuckled. “You’ll be there longer than that if Randy has his way. He still stickin’ that big-ol’ fist up your butt, Chrissie?”

“Um, sometimes, sir, when he’s in one of his moods.”

“That horny motherfucker’s always in one of them moods.” My master chortled. “I know he’s been blowin’ that booty out, cuz it just ain’t as tight as it used to be.”

“Ugh, I wish he’d leave him alone.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Between the two of you, it’s a wonder poor Chrissie gets anything done.”

“Oh, what are you talkin’ about? Chrissie loves it. We had us a nice little date just last night, didn’t we Sweet Cheeks?”

“Y-yes, sir.” I knew I had to add: “Thank you, sir.”

He sucked his teeth. “No problem, sissy. You took care of your daddy real nice.”

“Yeah, I heard you two.” Rebecca scoffed. “Maybe you should just run off with Chrissie, since he seems to be satisfying all your needs.”

Karl snorted. “Naw, Chrissie’s got a tight-enough booty, and he sucks a mean dick, but I wouldn’t exactly say it’s a stormy romance.”

“Aw, Chrissie don’t want to hear that. Chrissie loves his Master. Don’t you, baba?”

“Um … I … er …” I gulped. “Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl smirked. “There’s a good lil sissy.” He pointed to his cheek. “Now, come give your daddy a kiss and take this plate out of here.”

 

Part XL

Gina gave Taylor a smooch before passing her to Katie, who showered the baby with a new batch of kisses while Rebecca looked on with a mommy’s proud smile.

Katie bounced the giggling infant on her knee. “You are so cuuuuuute, you know that? Little cutie wootie?”

While Katie played with the baby, Gina held out her wine glass, which I hurried to refill before resuming my serving post. I watched Katie having fun with Taylor and got caught up in how adorable the little one was as she squealed and laughed at the goofy faces the adult was making.

Then, Taylor made a face of her own, followed by an unmistakable squishy sound.

Katie turned away in disgust. “Ugh, come here, Chrissie, take her.”

I hopped into action, retrieving the baby, grabbing the diaper bag and a towel and changing her on the living room floor while the ladies relaxed on the couch, sipping Chardonnay and idly watching me.

“Must be nice.” Gina sighed. “I used to have to change my little brothers’ diapers, and it sucked.”

“Oh, I don’t do diapers,” Rebecca proclaimed with her pretty nose turned up. “I don’t do housework, and I don’t do diapers. That’s what I got Chrissie for.”

“I swear, I’m gonna have to get me a sissy slave someday.” Gina smiled. “Chrissie’s such a good little sissy … aren’t you, Chrissie?”

“Yes, Miss Gina, thank you, Miss Gina.”

“No problem.” Gina slurped more wine.

Katie plucked a cheese slice from the tray on the table. “So, you guys ever decide on implants?”

“Me and Karl was just talking about it last night,” my angel replied, and I perked up, since that was news to me.

“What’s he say?” Katie nibbled her cheese.

“He keeps saying he don’t want our daughter raised around a sissy, so he wants him to live as a woman, and that means implants and the whole shebang; maybe even gender reconstructive surgery.”

Waves of panic shot through me. My masters had told me they were thinking about making me get breast implants, but this was the first I’d heard about the possibility of a total sex change operation. I did my best to swallow the shock, though, as I removed Taylor’s dirty diaper and listened to Rebecca gab with her friends about the future of my most intimate body parts.

“I dunno. I just can’t think of Chrissie as a woman,” she mused. “I don’t think I could get used to calling him her … and she … you know? He ain’t a woman; he’s a damn sissy.”

“That he is,” Katie deadpanned, and her companions scoffed in agreement.

My face was red as I changed Taylor’s shitty diaper, listening to the three women discuss me like I was a goddamn houseplant.

“I say you should still get the implants, but let him keep living as a sissy.” Katie sipped her wine. “Problem solved.”

“No, problem NOT solved.” Rebecca exhaled. “I told you: Karl don’t want the baby around a sissy; getting implants ain’t gonna change that. He says it’s a sexual kink and he don’t think Taylor should be exposed to it.”

“Why?” Gina shrugged. “It’s not all about sex. Transgenders aren’t even a big deal anymore. Nobody cares.”

“Tell that to Karl.” Rebecca huffed. “He won’t listen to nothing I say.”

Katie scowled at me. “Well, I don’t care what they call you, Chrissie — as far as I’m concerned, you’ll always be a little sissy. A little sissy who sleeps on the floor.”

“Yes, Miss Katie.”

I was used to my mistress and her friends being mean to me when they got drunk, so I faked a submissive little smile and continued my work. After putting a fresh diaper on Taylor, I offered her to Rebecca, but she shook her head.

“See if she’ll go down for a nap, Chrissie.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Luckily, the baby zonked out fairly quickly. I returned to the living room to report to my mistress, who was now engaged in a deep discussion with her friends about movies they wanted to see. Patiently, I stood there at attention with my hands folded in front of my apron waiting for a break in their chat.

Rebecca finally looked up at me. “Taylor go down?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

My mistress didn’t reply, turning away from me and picking up the conversation with her friends, so I remained standing there. After a few minutes I felt the need to urinate. I tried to ignore the feeling, but the pressure kept building until I was forced to try to alleviate it.

“Um … excuse me, Mrs. Martin?”

Rebecca expressed surprise, since I rarely spoke without being spoken to first.

“What, baba?”

“Uh … is … may I please be excused?”

“For what?”

“I … I … um, I have to pee, Mrs. Martin.”

Gina giggled. “Sissies don’t pee; they tinkle.”

“Do you sit down when you go pee, Chrissie?” Katie asked.

“Yes, Miss Katie.”

“He has to with that cage, remember?” Gina said.

“Oh, yeah,” Katie replied.

Everyone turned to Rebecca, who let me stand there for a few more seconds before smacking her lips. “Naaaah, Chrissie, hold it for a while.” She shook her hair, adding imperiously: “I feel like being a bitch.”

That got a huge laugh out of my drunken mistress’s drunken guests. They all watched me through smirks as I tried not to squirm.

“You ready to get your little pee-pee whacked off if that’s what your master wants?” Rebecca slurred.

“I … I … I …” Unable to hold back any longer, I broke down sobbing.

Katie snorted. “I don’t know what the hell you’re crying about. It ain’t like you get to use the ugly little thing anyway, with it locked up in a cage.”

“Aw, don’t be mean.” Gina pouted. “Chrissie likes his little pee-pee, don’t you, Chrissie?”

“I … I … but …” I still couldn’t formulate words, which made my inebriated mistress angry.

“Enough with the damn crying all the time.” She snarled. “You’re such a little drama queen.”

“Shit, if you think he’s bad now, wait till you put him on estrogen,” Gina said. “He won’t do nothing BUT cry.”

Rebecca stared at me. “Well, I’ll tell you this, Chrissie, I don’t want you to get that surgery. You ain’t a woman, and I ain’t gonna treat you like one. You’re my little sissy; that’s what you are.”

“T-thank you, Ma’am.”

Katie sneered. “Boy, Chrissie, you’re the only person I know who says ‘thank you’ when someone calls them a little sissy.”

The only reply I could think of was a meek, “thank you, Miss Katie.”

In response, Katie pointed to her empty glass.

“So, what are you gonna say to Karl?” Gina leaned toward Rebecca.

“There’s a chance I might be able to talk him out of the sex change eventually, but he’s bound and determined to have him get implants.” Mistress rolled her eyes. “He wants huge ones, but I’m not going for that. We’ll get decent-sized ones, though; I gotta compromise somewhere.”

Katie chuckled. “Poor Chrissie doesn’t get a say in any of this, does he?”

Rebecca shrugged. “Why should he? He gave up that right a long time ago. Didn’t you, baba?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

My angel preened like a queen bee, basking in her power, watching me push my legs together in a desperate attempt not to piss in my panties.

She tilted her head. “You want to go pee, baba?”

“Yes, please, Miss.”

My mistress pouted. “Aw, I’m so mean, ain’t I? Making you stand there like that?”

“I … n-no, Ma’am, you’re not mean. I … I just want to serve you; I really, really do, Mrs. Martin, and I just—”

Rebecca showed me the hand. “OMG would you SHUT UP? You always want to give a 15-minute speech.” She glanced at the clock. “So, that’s how long you’re gonna wait. Another 15 minutes, because you don’t know when to keep your sissy little mouth shut.”

“T-thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

Gina giggled. “Damn, girl, you cold.”

 

Part XLI

The carpet was covered with dark streaks thanks to Karl, who couldn’t be bothered to remove his shoes after he came in from the pouring rain. I gasped when I saw the trail of muddy footprints leading from the front door to the refrigerator to the couch, where he’d apparently kicked off his dirty sneakers and enjoyed a piece of apple pie, judging from the plate on the table, which was covered in piecrust crumbs.

I’d just returned home from cleaning Gina’s place, and hadn’t yet recovered from the shock of seeing all the extra work my inconsiderate master had made for me, when Rebecca’s irritated yell made me flinch.

“Chrissie, get your ass in here, NOW!”

I hurried to the bedroom, wondering why I was in trouble this time. Since giving birth, Rebecca had been constantly on my ass as I struggled to keep up with a never-ending list of chores while getting very little sleep. My workload had doubled after the baby’s arrival but my cranky mistress was cutting me no slack whatsoever, and it felt like I was permanently on her shit list. It made me question whether she might be suffering from a touch of postpartum depression and, as usual, taking her frustrations out on me.

Rebecca sat on the edge of the mattress, holding her blue pump and scowling up a storm. Karl was kicked back next to her in bed with the rolling tray on his lap, twisting a doobie and watching SportsCenter.

I folded my hands and bowed. “You called, Mrs. Martin?”

“You’re goddamn right I called.” She thrust the shoe toward me. “Look at this shit.”

My blood ran cold when I spotted a long, deep scratch across the shoe’s toe. Although I was certain I wasn’t responsible, I knew that wouldn’t matter to Miss Princess. One of her favorite pairs of shoes was ruined and someone had to pay.

In the Martin household, that someone was always me.

“Look at this shit, Chrissie,” my mistress repeated, pointing at the mark on the shoe. “What the hell did you do?”

“I … it … I … I don’t remember doing that, Mrs. Martin. I swear, I don’t.”

“So, it just got scratched all by itself?”

“Well, no, um … but … uh, I’m sorry but I honestly don’t remember doing anything to it. I cleaned it when I did your shoes last Friday, but it was fine, I swear, Mrs. Martin. I swear, please!” Tears were forming in my eyes. “Please, Mrs. Martin?”

My mistress scoffed. “Always a damn excuse. Day after day. One thing after another. I’m fucking tired of it.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to a spot on the carpet in front of her. “Get over here, Chrissie. Kneel your ass down.”

While Karl looked on with amusement, I scampered to obey. As soon as I got settled on my knees, Rebecca slapped the shit out of me, jarring my head sideways. She’d never hit me before Taylor was born, but since then my mistress had been smacking me with increasing regularity.

She struck me a second time. I braced for a third blow, and when it didn’t come, I rubbed my throbbing cheek, trying to hold back the tears.

Karl laughed. “Damn, girl, you’re a hellova lot stronger than you look. You should go into MMA”

“I ain’t in the mood, Karl, I’m fucking sick of the sissy always making excuses.”

My master shrugged. “You want I should give him a little marriage counseling?”

Rebecca thought about it for a second, then shook her head. “No, I’ll take care of it.” She glared at me. “Drop your panties, you little fuckin’ sissy, and then grab your ankles and stay bent over like that. I’m tearing that little ass up.”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. S-sorry.”

“Sorry, my ass. Just shut up and do it.”

She was being ridiculously unfair, but I kept my sissy mouth shut and complied. While I struggled to maintain my doubled-over position, Rebecca and Karl relaxed in bed smoking the joint he’d just rolled. After the doobie was out, Mistress grabbed the damaged pump and took up position behind me, tapping the shoe menacingly against her thigh.

“You got anything to say, Chrissie?”

“I … I …” There was only one acceptable reply, although I knew it would do no good: “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Martin. I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re GONNA be sorry, you stupid little faggot.”

With that, she began the assault, grasping the pump by the toe and striking me over and over with the heel. The pain was excruciating as she alternated between berating me and slamming the spike into my flesh.

“Gawd…” SMACK!

“…damn…” SMACK!

“...sissy…” SMACK!

“…don’t…” SMACK!

“…do…” SMACK!

“…a goddamn…” SMACK! SMACK!

“…thing…” SMACK!

“…right!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“I’m…” SMACK!

“…sick…” SMACK!

“…of hearing…” SMACK!

“…your excuses…” SMACK! SMACK!

“…every goddamn day!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“I’m sick of it, Chrissie, you hear?” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

“Yes, ow, please, Ma’am.”

“You hear?” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

The sharp heel was doing far more damage than Karl’s belt, so I broke protocol and begged my mistress to stop.

“Ow, please, Miss, please stop, it really hurts, please, ow, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

I heard Karl scoff and mock me: “It really hurts.”

Rebecca gritted her teeth.

“It’s…” SMACK!

“…supposed…” SMACK!

“…to hurt!!!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Rebecca finally threw the shoe across the room and stomped back to the bed to rejoin her husband. Everything was a blur because my eyes were filled with tears, but I heard the unmistakable wet smack of a kiss. They were celebrating my destruction.

“Damn, girl, remind me not to piss you off.” Karl chuckled. “You tore that ass UP! Look at all them red marks.”

My mistress snorted. “Serves him right, fuckin’ little sissy.”

I remained bent over while Rebecca and Karl smoked a second doobie. My muscles were starting to ache, but luckily after a few minutes, the post-beating quiet was pierced by Taylor’s cry.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”

Rebecca toked the joint. “Go take care of her, Chrissie.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.” I pulled up my panties and limped out of the bedroom as fast as I could, grateful for the opportunity to escape my mistress’s wrath — even if it meant having to change a shitty diaper.

 

Part XLII

Twisting to and fro so that I could see my backside in the guest bathroom mirror, I shivered in horror at the dozens of purplish welts covering my buttocks and the backs of my thighs. The entire area throbbed with pain, although it was nothing compared to the sense of betrayal churning my guts.

Since giving birth, Rebecca’s interactions with others had seemed normal enough, but when it came to me, everything I did pissed her off. I knew it wasn’t unusual for a woman to go through a rollercoaster of emotions after having a baby, and as I gazed in the mirror at my damaged flesh, I vowed for the thousandth time to work even harder to please my cranky mistress; to put aside the hurt and ride the tough times out.

It was all worth it. I loved Rebecca Anne Strickland-Martin with all my heart, and I knew I always would, no matter what.

After dressing my wounds, I squared away my uniform and returned to the living room, where Rebecca and Karl were playing with their daughter. I stood to the side for several minutes while they goofed around with little Taylor, and despite how mean my mistress had been to me the previous evening, the tender family moment made me smile.

Rebecca eventually glanced up at me. “What do you got going today, Chrissie?”

“Um, I’m not sure, Ma’am. The salon and garage are clean, and I’m caught up on all my chores here. Is there anything you wanted me to do, Mrs. Martin? Or, you, Mr. Martin … sir?”

Rebecca stretched and yawned. “I dunno, I think I’m good for now.”

Karl shrugged. “You can go ahead and do my feet, Chrissie.”

“Yes, sir.”

Still limping from Rebecca’s onslaught, I retrieved the lotion and started to kneel on the floor in front of the couch. A split-second after my backside touched my heels, I shot upward as though I’d sat on hot coals.

My master sniggered. “What’s wrong, Chrissie? Ass still sore?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Heh, heh, I bet. Becca wasn’t fuckin’ around with that shoe, was she?”

“N-no, sir.”

He smirked. “I bet that ass looks like hamburger.”

“Let’s see.” Rebecca gestured with her forefinger. “Stand up and turn around.”

I did as told, turning away from my masters, hiking my dress and gingerly shimmying down my panties, prompting a whistle from Karl and a giggle from his wife.

“Dang, Chrissie, look at that shit! Becca went to TOWN.” Karl chuckled. “And you thought I was mean.”

“Why you say I’m mean?” Rebecca scowled. “Little sissy had it coming — didn’t you?”

“Um, yes, Mrs. Martin. I’m so very sorry.” There really was nothing for me to apologize for, since I hadn’t scratched her stupid shoe. But I knew that didn’t mean shit. It was my fault, and that’s all there was to it.

I stood there with my dressed pulled up and my bruised ass on display, unsure of what to do, until Karl finally huffed. “What the fuck, sissy, didn’t I just say I wanted my goddamn feet rubbed?”

“S-sorry, sir.” I hurriedly yanked up my panties and reached for the lotion on the table — and in my haste, my arm brushed against a coffee cup, spilling its contents onto my master’s bare foot.

“Youch!” Karl’s eyes radiated pure rage. “You stupid goddamn little sissy.”

His loud voice made Taylor cry. Rebecca cradled her daughter to her bosom, glaring at me. “Here we go again. One thing after the other. Every day, it’s something with you.”

Karl gritted his teeth. “Yeah, well, I think it’s marriage counseling time. What do you think, sissy?”

“Y-yes, sir, I’m so sorry, sir.” The prospect of Karl’s belt on my already battered behind already had me in tears.

My master started to rise from the couch when Rebecca touched his shoulder.

“Not in front of Taylor,” she said, still nuzzling the baby. “Take it to Chrissie’s room.”

I cringed as my master stood up and approached me, and I wasn’t expecting him to grab me by the ear. To a chorus of “ow-ow-ows,” my master stormed away pulling me by my earlobe as I struggled to keep up on 4” heels.

Once we were out of the living room, he let go of my ear and pointed to my maid’s quarters. I slinked by my master, cowering, and when I passed him, he booted me in the ass, sending me tumbling into the small bedroom.

Karl made a move as if he was about to take off his belt before realizing he was still in his pajamas. So, he slapped the shit out of me instead, giving me an instant bloody nose. Holding me upright by my collar so that I wouldn’t collapse, he struck me over and over, making my head flop back and forth with each blow.

“What the fuck?!” My master glared at the leg of his pajama pants, which was streaked with the blood from my nose. He shoved me away. “Go get a goddamn towel.”

I scampered to the bathroom, grabbing both a wet towel and a handful of Kleenex for a quick wipe of my face. When I returned to my quarters, Karl had removed both his PJ pants and underwear. I started to hand him the towel.

“What the fuck you want me to do with that? Clean my goddamn pants off!”

I picked up his pajamas from the floor and started scrubbing while my master stood in front of me holding his underwear, shaking his head.

“You’re a stupid fuckin’ sissy, you know that?”

“Sorry, sir.”

In response, Karl slapped me one final time, then pulled his dirty drawers over my head.

“Keep ‘em on the rest of the day. Maybe that’ll remind you to be more careful.”

“Yes, sir. I’m … really sorry, sir.” I blinked at him through the leg holes.

He pushed me forward and kicked me in the ass a second time, causing me to fall down and scrape my knee on the carpet. As if my hindquarters weren’t hurting enough from Rebecca’s shoe, Karl’s kicks were beyond excruciating. I felt the pain in my molars.

I struggled to my feet, rubbing my poor ass. Master pushed past me.

“Now, then, sissy, like I said a goddamn half-hour ago: I could use a foot rub,” he snapped over his shoulder.

When I followed him into the living room, Rebecca giggled. “OMG, you’re such a loser.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“Your master don’t like having shit spilled on him, does he?”

“N-no, Mrs. Martin.”

Karl plopped down on the couch and pushed the button to eject the footstool. “Focus on the heels, Chrissie; they been feeling a little chapped.”

Rebecca tickled her daughter’s nose. “You hear that, Taylor? Your daddy’s turning into a metrosexual, worried about his chapped heels.”

Karl snorted. “Nah, Chrissie’s the only fag around here, huh, Chrissie?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Rebecca tilted her head. “Do you know how stupid you look, Chrissie?”

“Uh, y-yes, Ma’am.”

Karl snapped his fingers. “My feet, Chrissie.”

I got busy and the couple returned to playing with their daughter and watching television. While I toiled, I sneaked occasional peeks at the Martin family from behind the shameful cowl of my master’s smelly drawers, feeling sad and left out.

For once, I was glad my ass was torn to shreds. It gave me something to think about other than the terrible realization that at the end of the day, I meant nothing to these people.

 

Part XLIII

Ron held the door open, leering at me. As I slipped past him into the garage office lugging a case of transmission fluid, he slapped me on the ass and started pawing my butt-cheeks.

“We’re gonna have us some fun today, Chrissie. I been a’waitin’ a long time for this — and you can bet your sexy little ass I’m getting my fifty bucks’ worth.”

I had no earthly idea what he was talking about and couldn’t ask, since I was forbidden to speak at the garage, lest I blow my cover as a mute auto parts delivery girl. But when the other mechanic Jim strutted into the office kneading his crotch, followed by Randy, who smirkingly counted out a series of $20 bills, I began to get the picture.

Randy waved the money in my direction. “Chrissie, don’t worry about them other cases of tranny fluid just now. I want you to go back into the garage with Jimmy and Ronnie and show ‘em what you can do with that little tongue of yours. Go on and be a good girl, ‘kay?”

I bit my lip and suppressed a gasp. Randy was pimping me out to his mechanics and I was unable to beg him to reconsider. Ignoring my whimpers and facial expressions of abject desperation, he flipped the “CLOSED” sign around in the window, grabbed me by the elbow and escorted me toward the garage. After we’d widened the gap between us and the other two men, Randy leaned in close and pressed his lips against my ear. 

“You better not say nothin’ to Becca or Karl about this, you hear me?”

I nodded, scared shitless.

When we got to the garage, Randy tossed a pair of oil rags onto the concrete floor. “Here, kneel on them.”

Knowing I had no choice, I obeyed as Ron stepped forward unzipping his pants. “First dibs.”

Jim nudged him aside fumbling with his fly. “Bullshit, motherfucker, me first.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck YOU!”

The men jockeyed for position like fifth-graders on the playground.

 

“Come on, fellas.” Randy chuckled. “Chrissie, just do ‘em both at the same time, so you can get it over with and we can get on back to work.”

“Yee-hah, a gang-bang.” Jim whipped out his greasy cock and flopped it up and down.

“No, I done told you, just blowjobs,” Randy warned. He nodded at me. “Get busy, Chrissie, we ain’t got all day. I don’t want to keep the garage closed for too long. Suck ‘em both.”

With his arms folded, Rebecca’s pig of a stepfather supervised while I fellated the two grimy appendages. I alternated back and forth like I’d seen the porn stars do it way back in my Chris Tomczak days, when I was a normal man who sat on furniture and jacked off to women in dirty movies. Since then, in my new life as Chrissie Pooh Martin, I’d performed countless humiliating sex acts, so I was able to quickly put aside my disgust and act like there was nothing I’d rather do than kneel on a garage floor sucking two greaseballs’ cocks in the shadow of a jacked-up Subaru.

Ron climaxed first, shooting his mess in my hair. Jim followed minutes later with blasts aimed at my nose. Randy applauded.

“Damn, Chrissie, you done me proud.” He pointed toward the bathroom. “Now, use one of them oil rags to get yourself cleaned up, and get the rest of them cases in here, and then you can go.”

Jim chuckled as I picked up one of the rags. “And throw that damn thing away when you’re done with it, girlie — I don’t mind a little grease, but I don’t want cum under my fingernails!”

With tears welling in my eyes, I nodded and scurried away to clean the semen off my face and hair, chased by the soul-crushing cackles of my tormentors.

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

Rebecca held court in the Shear Elegance Salon, basking in her role as Big Boss Owner. Gathered around her were her manager and best friend, Gina, and cosmetologists Brianna and Cyndi, who worked on a pair of customers’ hairdos. Since I didn’t recognize the two clients, I kept my mouth shut as I carried in a case of conditioner.

My mistress frowned at me from her seat in a salon chair. “Chrissie! What’s them smudges all over your butt?”

I looked in the wall mirror and saw Ron’s grimy handprints all over the back of my dress where he’d groped my ass earlier. I blinked at Rebecca, unsure whether to speak.

She nodded at the two customers. “Gina told them about you. Go ahead.”

“Yeah, you can talk — they already know you’re a sissy,” Brianna added.

The customers smirked. I squirmed.

“Were you rolling around in mud, Chrissie?” Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “What the hell did you do?”

“Uh, Jim … the mechanic … um, he grabbed me, Ma’am,” I peeped.

The ladies cracked up.

When the hilarity died down, Rebecca shook her head. “You slut. I bet you came on to him, didn’t you? Did you bat your eyes, Chrissie?”

“I … I don’t know, Mrs. Martin.” I gulped. “Um … please … uh, can I talk to you in private for a second?”

“No, we ain’t talkin’ in private. Anything you got to say, you can say it in front of everyone.”

“I … but … but …”

“But nothing. If you got something to say, say it.”

I drew a breath. “Well … um … Randy told me not to say anything, but I think I should tell you.”

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. “Tell me what?”

“Um … well, he … um, Ron and Jim gave him $50 each, and he made me … he made me …”

Unable to continue, I broke down sobbing.

“Aw,” the blonde customer said. “Poor thing.”

Rebecca cocked her head. “Why are you crying, Chrissie? What did Randy make you do?”

I closed my eyes. “Suck … them.”

Brianna smirked. “So, you’re NOT a little slut — you’re a little whore!”

“Aw, be nice to my little baba,” Rebecca said. “I’m sure it was horrible, poor thing. You okay, Chrissie?”

“I … I don’t know, Ma’am. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Martin. I didn’t want to tell on Randy, but I didn’t think I should keep that from you, either, and I didn’t know what else to do, so I figured I’d go ahead and tell you, because I know I’m not supposed to keep stuff from you, but, then again, I didn’t want to—”

Rebecca cut me off: “Jeez, Chrissie, would you shut UP? You jabber on and on. I ask you one question and you give me your whole life’s story.”

“S-sorry.”

“I asked if you was okay.”

“Um … yes, Ma’am. I’m fine. Thank you.”

My mistress studied me for a few seconds. “Well, nobody likes a tattletale, Chrissie.” She tightened her lips. “Randy’s probably not gonna be happy when he finds out you told on him.”

A long moan escaped my lungs, which seemed to amuse the ladies.

Rebecca giggled and waved her hand. “I’m just kidding, baba. I won’t say nothing to Randy, I promise.”

Perhaps I should’ve taken umbrage at how my mistress had toyed with me in front of a roomful of people like that, but all I felt was gratitude for my mistress’s rare jovial mood — and for her kindness in sparing me Randy’s iron fist of wrath.

I practically sobbed the words: “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Martin, thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, baba. But, you know, if I don’t talk to Randy about this, the greedy old bastard is just gonna make you keep doing it, right?”

“Uh … I … um …”

I hadn’t thought that far ahead and started to cry again.

The brunette customer frowned at Gina. “You sure he likes being treated like this?”

Rebecca answered for her bestie: “Oh, Chrissie’s a little crybaby, he loves it. Don’t you, baba?”

I wiped my eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“Tell them how much you love being my little sissy slave.”

Folding my hands, I conjured up my most sincere tone. “I do love serving Mrs. Martin — it’s what my whole life is dedicated to. I’m really sorry for crying; it’s just … it’s just that sometimes it’s hard, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love serving Mrs. Martin, because I really, really do. All I want is for her to be happy. I’m … I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry like that.”

“Aw, that’s alright, Chrissie,” the brunette customer said, her bottom lip protruding. “I’m sure that WAS hard for you. I feel bad for you, Chrissie.”

Rebecca rose from the salon chair and ruffled my curly locks. “Chrissie will be alright; my little baba is stronger than he looks, and he puts up with all kinds of stuff for me. Don’t you, baba?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. Thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“That’s cuz you’re my little sissy doll, ain’t you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin, thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

“You’re welcome.” Rebecca smiled and touched my cheek. “I’ll figure out how to deal with Randy, don’t worry. Now, why don’t you finish running your errands and then hurry on home and start dinner? I’ll be back in a little bit, ‘kay?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. Thank you.”

“You need stop off at my ma’s and pick up Taylor first.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin, thank you. And … I’m so sorry for crying earlier.”

“Aw, that’s okay, baba. I get it. It’s no fun being a prostitute, huh?”

“Um, n-no, Ma’am.”

My mistress giggled and touched my nose. “Aw, my little hooker. Run along now, baba. I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin, thank you, Mrs. Martin.”

As I dashed out of the salon, I heard the brunette customer laugh and say, “Damn, Gina, you weren’t kidding.”

The blonde in the next chair sniggered. “No shit! OMG, what a cute little obedient sissy. I want one.”

 

 

Part XLIV

Rebecca and Karl both did doubletakes when I stumbled through the front door.

My angel covered her mouth with her hand. “OMG, Chrissie, what happened to you?”

I had to brace myself against the doorjamb to stay upright. “Um … it was Jim,” I intoned, trying to move my swollen jaw as little as possible.

“Jim?! Jeezus, he did all that?” Karl gestured toward my bruised face. “What the hell happened?”

“I … I delivered a box of brake pads and he … he pulled me into the bathroom. He reached under my dress … and when he grabbed my cage, and saw that I wasn’t a girl … he … he went crazy and started whaling on me, and kicking me in the ribs.”

Rebecca huffed. “And where the hell was Randy during all this?”

“He was out with Ron towing a car, Ma’am. I left before they got back, but it was hard driving home.” I gripped the doorpost. “Um, I’m feeling real dizzy; is it okay if I lay down on Miss Rainbow Sunshine for a while … please?”

My angel rose and helped me to the sofa. “Aw, you poor thing. Come and lay down right here, baba.”

Tears of gratitude filled my eyes as I gingerly lowered myself onto the couch, marking the first time in months I’d been on any furniture, not counting the seat in the car, the times I was called onto the bed to perform sexual duties, or my “Christmas present,” of being allowed to sit on a chair for a few minutes.

As I curled up on the sofa trembling, Rebecca shook her head. “We might need to take him to the hospital,” she told her husband.

“This is BULLSHIT!” Karl stood with his fists balled. “I’m driving down to the garage right now and beatin’ the fuck out of that cocksucker.”

“Don’t you think Chrissie should call the police and press charges? Jim will probably go to jail for assault.”

My master pursed his lips. “Nah, no point getting the cops involved. I’ll take care of the motherfucker myself. You don’t do that shit to MY people.”

Through my pain, I felt a twinge of pride that my master was so angry, and that he considered me one of his “people.” It proved he really did care about my well-being. I knew he probably only gave a shit because my injuries meant he’d have to fetch his own beers for a while. But for whatever reason, my master was on my side for a change, and as much as it hurt to smile, I managed to crack one.

After Karl stomped out of the condo cussing and vowing revenge, Rebecca sat on the couch, rested my head on her lap and stroked my hair.

“I’m so sorry, baba … I let things go too far.”

In my already-shocked state, I felt like I was having a heart attack. Rebecca? Apologizing? Was she finally crawling out of her postpartum black hole?

I mustered my voice. “It’s okay, Ma’am.”

“No, it’s not okay, Chrissie. First, Ian and the broomstick … then Randy’s got you turning tricks … now this. I don’t know if you got to go to the hospital, but it looks pretty bad.”

“It does hurt, Mrs. Martin, all over. But I don’t want to be a bother—”

“It’s no bother, Chrissie, if you need to go to the hospital, I’ll take you.”

“No … um, I should be okay, Ma’am. I … I’m sorry.”

“Aw, there’s nothing for YOU to be sorry about, baba.” My angel traced her fingers across my forehead. “You’re so loyal … and you work so hard. But I ain’t been treating you very nice, have I?”

I started crying, unable to answer.

“You’re my little sissy doll, and I’m supposed to protect you, but I didn’t do that. I let it go too far.” Rebecca had tears in her eyes. “Me and Karl both did. I think when you have power over someone like this, it’s easy to take advantage of it without thinking. I’m so sorry, Chrissie. I really am.”

I can’t describe the flood of emotions pouring over me as my beloved mistress bared her soul like that. Despite my physical anguish, it was one of the tenderest moments of my life, and I knew I’d cherish the memory forever.

“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Taylor’s sudden wail startled me, and I flinched, my nerves still on edge from the beating.

Rebecca patted my shoulder. “I’ll go get her, stay right there, Chrissie.”

I looked up at my mistress through teary eyes. “T-thank you so much, Mrs. Martin. Thank you SO much!”

“It’s okay, baba, shh.”

I continued sobbing, partially from the pain but also from happiness, until Rebecca carried her daughter into the living room with a sour look on her face.

“Listen, Chrissie, I know you’re hurting, but, ugh, Taylor made a huge mess. You think you can change her? I mean, if you absolutely can’t, I’ll do it … I guess.”

“Oh, no, of course, Mrs. Martin, you shouldn’t have to change diapers, Ma’am.” I struggled to sit upright. The pain was severe but I tried not to show it.

“You’re such a doll.” Rebecca set her daughter on my knee. “Here, Chrissie, do it on the couch so you don’t have to get up. Just a sec; I’ll go get the diaper bag and a towel.”

“Thank you, Ma’am. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all this.”

My mistress didn’t reply. As I watched HER fetch things for a change, the thought ran through my mind that perhaps it was worth taking that terrible ass-whipping if it meant Rebecca and Karl were going to start treating me better.

I removed the baby’s dirty diaper and wiped her bottom while Rebecca looked on.

“Taylor really loves you, Chrissie. You’re so good with her.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Martin, I love her so much. She looks exactly like you sometimes, Ma’am. Especially when she smiles; her eyes crinkle up just like yours do.”

“Yeah, Karl says that, too.” My angel sat next to me and rested her hand on my thigh. “Listen, I got good news: We was talking about you earlier, and I was able to convince him to just get the implants, rather than the whole reassignment surgery. And not them huge ones, neither; just normal-sized boobs. Ain’t that great?”

I blinked. “I … uh, y-yes, Ma’am. Uh, thank you, Ma’am.”

“I think he’s finally starting to be more open-minded about it,” Rebecca mused. “I mean, there ain’t nothing wrong with Taylor growing up with a transgendered maid. You know?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“It don’t matter what you are; you’re the maid, that’s all she’s gonna know you as. The whole thing is just stupid.”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin.”

“It’s gonna all work out, Chrissie.” She played with my earlobe while I fitted her daughter with a fresh diaper. “We just got to be careful we don’t let nobody abuse you like this ever again. You’re my lil’ baba, and we don’t want nothin’ bad to happen to you, do we?”

“N-no, Mrs. Martin. Thank you.”

My mistress smiled when I handed over her now-clean baby.

“Thanks, Chrissie, that helps a lot. I’ll take her into my bedroom so you can get some rest. Holler if you need anything, ‘kay?”

“Y-yes, Mrs. Martin. Thank you so much. I just … thank you.”

“Shh. Good-night, baba.”

“Good night, Mrs. Martin.”

My angel turned out the light before leaving the room. I smiled in the darkness. My mouth hurt like a sonofabitch but I didn’t care. The pleasure was worth the pain.

 

 

BOOK FIVE

“Boss Mommy”

 

Part LCV

A stubborn fleck of red polish remained stuck to Rebecca’s big toenail, and as I tried to figure out how to remove it without pushing too hard, my mistress’s shrill ringtone shattered my concentration.

Rebecca answered the phone with a smile. From my position at her feet, I eavesdropped on her tête-à-tête.

“Hey, Ma. How you doin’? … that’s good. Oh, yeah, she’s great … no, she don’t get home from school till about 3 … yeah, I know, I can’t believe he’s been dead eight years already. It goes by so fast, don’t it?”

She shrugged. “Me? I’m fine. I dunno, I hate to say it, but to be honest, I really don’t think about him anymore. Hell, I forgot it was the anniversary until just a little while ago.”

My mistress paused for a second and continued: “That was a whole ‘nother life, Ma … it feels like it happened to someone else. I can’t believe I remarried him, now that I look back. I should’ve learned the first time. The coke; starting fights whenever someone looked at him cockeyed. I mean, I did love him, God rest his soul, but come on! He was in jail the night his daughter was born because of his damned temper — and then it ended up getting him killed. What if Taylor would’ve been with him when he started running his mouth? Or me? And one of us got shot instead? It very likely could’ve happened. I’m sorry, Ma, but the guy was a loser. Once he started getting bad on that damn coke, it was all downhill.”

After listening to whatever her mother said, Rebecca shook her head. “No, of course not, Ma. I would never say that to her. All she knows is that her father died when she was two. I might tell her how it happened when she’s a little older, but she don’t ever ask about him, and to be honest, I don’t bring him up. Like I said, I didn’t even remember this was the anniversary until earlier.”

Rebecca took a sip of Diet Coke and set the glass on the end table. “Naw, I ain’t really got time to see anyone, between running all the salons and spending time with Taylor. A few dates here and there; nothing serious. Oh no, Chrissie ain’t a problem at all. It ain’t like back in Plainville; the guys out here don’t care. There’s a lot of trans people around, and it just ain’t a big deal. A lot of guys actually think it’s hot that I have a sissy maid; they seem to have more of a problem with me having a 10-year-old daughter, to tell you the truth.”

There was another pause. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s right here doing my nails. Hang on.”

Rebecca put her phone on speaker and smiled down at me. “Say hi to Ma.”

“Hello, Mrs. Strickland.”

“Hi, Chrissie. You taking care of Rebecca and my granddaughter good?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am. I’m trying my best to.”

“I know you are. You always was a good little sissy.”

“T-thank you, Ma’am.”

“How’s your boobs doin’?”

“I … they’re okay, Ma’am. The doctor said these new implants hopefully shouldn’t leak.”

“Well, I hope not. My daughter wants to keep you around for a while, Chrissie. That’s why she sent you to that school to teach you how to be a proper maid, so my granddaughter would grow up having the best. So, we need to keep you out of the hospital, okay? She put a lot of work into you.”

“Um … yes, Ma’am. I should be fine now, Ma’am. Thank you.”

I could hear Marlene fire up a cigarette. “Such a good little sissy. I miss your foot rubs, Chrissie. And I sure miss having a clean house, let me tell you.”

“I … I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

She sighed. “Can’t be helped, I guess. Just keep taking care of my girls, hear?”

“I will, Ma’am. Thank you.”

Rebecca pushed the button to return her phone to private mode.

“I was just talking to Chrissie about maybe adding a few more salons,” she told her mother. “There’s some new tax thingy he says we could take advantage of; something about small businesses in Oregon … oh, yeah, he’s great with all that stuff. My little business manager.”

My mistress giggled. “Oh, hush, Ma, you’re terrible.” She winked at me. “Yeah, I locked him back up as soon as he got out of the hospital the last time, and that was, what, 7-8 weeks ago? But he’s been good, so he’s due for a cummy pretty soon, ain’t you, baba?”

“Y-yes, Ma’am.”

“How long till Cummy Day?”

I cleared my throat. “Um … another four days … if I don’t get any points, Ma’am.”

Rebecca listened to something on the line and chortled. “Ma says I should add five points, just to be a bitch.”

Whether she was joking or not, the prospect of having five months added to my chastity period prompted me to redouble my efforts to please my mistress. I scraped at the stubborn speck of toenail polish with renewed vigor while Rebecca continued chatting.

“So, how’s Randy doin’?”

Whatever Marlene’s answer was, it clearly disturbed my angel, because she shifted on the couch with a knit in her brow. “Dang, I’m sorry to hear that, Ma. I thought all that cheating bullshit was over with ... yeah, well, he’s an asshole. Believe me, I know … I’d just dump him. He’s a pig. He’s always been a pig, Ma … okay, okay, I won’t say nothin’ more about it … no, if you guys want to try to work it out, go ahead. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.”

There was another pause. “Emily? I just got a letter yesterday. She says the parole board’s next month … I know, Ma, but it don’t matter if it was her first time — it was two kilos. They don’t screw around when there’s that much. I wouldn’t count on her getting out any time soon … yeah, well fuck Ian … no, fuck him, it was his dope, and he left her hanging out to dry … I don’t know; he’s probably still down in Louisiana somewhere. I don’t even care. Piece of shit.”

The conversation eventually veered to less-weighty subjects, and Rebecca yammered on for a few more minutes before saying her good-byes. After hanging up, she stared down at me from her queenly perch on the sofa.

“What in the HELL are you doing, Chrissie?”

I managed a weak smile. “Um … this last bit of the old polish just won’t come off, Ma’am.”

“Well, would you mind not tearing a hole through my toenail?”

“S-sorry, Ma’am.”

“You keep going round and round in the same spot.”

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am.”

She flicked her fingertips. “Just forget it and put the purple over it, Chrissie, jeez. And hurry up; don’t you got to go get Taylor soon?”

“Um, I have to leave at 2:30, Ma’am.”

Rebecca pointed to her empty glass. “Well, refill that and get these toes done.”

After serving my mistress’s soda, I curtsied like I’d been taught during my two-month course at the Home Service Training Institute, and then knelt before Rebecca and painted her toenails while she scrolled through her phone. I finished in just a few minutes, signaling that I was done by screwing the cap onto the bottle of Purple Passion polish and kneeling upright.

Rebecca held up her feet and spread her toes. “Perfect. Thanks, Chrissie.”

“You’re welcome, Ma’am. May I please be excused to go get Miss Taylor?”

“Of course, baba.” My angel smiled, lighting up my universe.

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

Taylor slid into the backseat frowning at her feet.

“I hate these shoes.”

I navigated the minivan out of the school parking lot and glanced in the rearview mirror.

“But I thought you liked those shoes, Miss Taylor. You were so excited when you brought them home. Why do you say you hate them?”

 She folded her arms. “Why don’t you shut up and mind your own business?”

“I’m so sorry, Miss Taylor.”

My young charge fumed the entire ride home without saying another word. When we entered the foyer, Rebecca smiled at her daughter.

“Hey, honey. How was school?”

Taylor stormed to her bedroom.

Rebecca glared at me. “What the hell’s going on, Chrissie?”

“I … I don’t know, Ma’am. When she got in the van she said she hated her shoes, but when I asked her why, she wouldn’t say.”

Grimacing, Rebecca rose from the couch and knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door. “Taylor? I’m coming in.”

My mistress disappeared into the room, and I busied myself in the kitchen, close enough to hear in case anyone called. After about 10 minutes, Rebecca emerged holding Taylor’s shoes.

“Here, Chrissie, throw these away.” She sighed. “More drama. The shoes gotta go, and Taylor says you should get two points for prying into her business.”

Blood drained from my face, and I folded my hands beseechingly in front of me. “Oh … Ma’am … please, I … I wasn’t prying; I just asked her why she said she hated her shoes, and I only asked once. I really did; just one time. Please, please, PLEASE, Ma’am?”

Rebecca shrugged and handed me her daughter’s flats. “You know how she gets, Chrissie. Some boy made fun of her shoes at school, and now she’s in one of her pissy moods. I told her to cool off before we give you any points, but if I was you I’d try not to annoy her.”

“Oh, no, Ma’am, I won’t. T-thank you, Ma’am, thank you so much. Is it okay if I make those peanut butter cupcakes she likes for dessert?”

My mistress chuckled. “That’s a good start if you want to get on her good side. Now, go do something, Chrissie; I wanna watch this show. Oh, and we’re checking on the salons tomorrow for the code stuff, so make sure everything’s ready.”

“Yes, Ma’am, I will.” I curtsied.

“Go see if Taylor needs anything.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I curtsied again and scooted to the kitchen, where I prepared Taylor’s usual after-school snack.

With shaky knuckles, I tapped on her door.

“What?”

“Um … I have your snack, Miss Taylor.”

“Come in.”

I tiptoed into the bedroom on eggshells and set the bowl of Doritos and apple juice on her nightstand. Taylor scowled at me.

“You get on my nerves, you know that?”

I gulped and curtsied. “I … I’m so sorry, Miss. I just—”

She showed me the hand, looking just like her mother. “I don’t want to hear it, Chrissie, you’re so nosy all the time. And then you turn around and tell my mom everything.”

“Miss, I don’t … I ..”

“Don’t even try it.” She scoffed. “I know you run right back to her and tell her every single thing. How did she know about my shoes if you didn’t tell her?”

“M-miss … I … I …”

“Just shut up, Chrissie, okay? You’re giving me a headache. We both know you run back to my ma.”

There was no winning this argument, so I kowtowed. “Um, Miss … is there … uh, anything else I can get you?”

When she didn’t answer, I offered an olive branch: “Um, I’m making your favorite for dessert, Miss. Peanut butter cupcakes.”

Taylor actually smiled as she fiddled with her phone. I curtsied good-bye to Rebecca’s daughter, thanked her, and backed out of the room with a sigh of relief. Given her mood, things could’ve gone a hell of a lot worse.

The ladies lounged around in their respective spaces while I got dinner ready. After setting the table, I informed Rebecca and Taylor individually that it was time to eat, rather than hollering it through the house, one of the rules of etiquette I’d been taught at the HST Institute.

Taylor’s spirits seemed to have lifted considerably during dinner, especially after I served dessert.

The 10-year-old chewed her cupcake, staring at me as I stood in my usual spot near the table.

“Ma, why does Chrissie hate getting points so much?”

Rebecca smiled. “I told you, honey, the more points he gets, the more money I take from his paycheck. A hundred bucks per point. That’s a lot of money for Chrissie.”

Taylor frowned. “What does he even need money for? He never buys anything or goes anywhere.”

“That’s not true. He buys groceries when he goes shopping, and he helps pay the bills, too. And he puts a lot of his money back into my salons. It’s called investing, hon.”

Taylor studied me, her brow furrowed. “But he seems to really, really hate it when he loses points. Like it’s the worst thing in the world.”

“Well, wouldn’t you hate it if someone took all your money away? He don’t make that much to start with.”

“I dunno.” Taylor shrugged. “I guess.”

Rebecca sipped her soda. “So, what do you think, honey? Do we really want to give Chrissie two whole points? He says he only asked about your shoes one time because you said you hated them. Two points is a lot of money for him.”

I remained statue-still but trembled inside while Taylor pondered the issue.

“I dunno,” she finally said. “I guess I was just mad and kinda took it out on Chrissie.”

Rebecca smiled. “That’s awfully mature of you, honey. What do you say, Chrissie? Isn’t that mature of her to admit that?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am, thank you so much, Miss Taylor, that is mature, Miss. Thank you so much. Would you like another cupcake, Miss?”

Taylor pointed to her glass. “No, but I could use more orange juice.”

I curtsied and rushed to obey, feeling as though a Mack truck had just been lifted from my shoulders. Mother and daughter enjoyed a nice meal and a discussion about how to handle annoying boys before retiring to the living room to play a board game. I cleaned up and did the dishes, thanking my lucky stars that I’d avoided those two awful points.

 

Part LCVI

I followed Rebecca into the Starlight Salon Beaverton Branch, weighed down by a box of hair care products and a stack of papers.

Carole, the salon manager, hugged my mistress. “Hey, Becca. I think we got all that code stuff ready.”

“I hope so.” Rebecca turned to me. “Put that box down, Chrissie, and go make sure everything’s good.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I curtsied and hopped to.

While the ladies talked shop, I rummaged through the papers until I found the checklist of the items needed to bring the Beaverton branch up to code with the stringent new environmentally-friendly measures that had been recently imposed by the state. While I worked my way through the facility double-checking each item on the list, Sebastian the hairstylist ogled me with his usual leer. I avoided checking the fixtures at his station until last, hoping he might run out to get a coffee, go to the restroom or otherwise disappear. He didn’t.

“Well, hello, Chrissie.” He smirked as I approached his station. “You don’t seem very happy to see me. We don’t want to tell your mistress you were rude to me, now, do we?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Sebastian, sir, I am happy to see you, sir, I’m very happy, sir, please, sir,” I whispered, stealing a quick glance at Rebecca to ensure she wasn’t listening.

“You’re looking cute today, Chrissie.” He started rubbing my ass, and I knew I had to stand there and endure it.

I closed my eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

“Are you feeling all better now? Your mistress tells me you had a little scare and went to the hospital.”

“Uh, yes, sir, I’m fine, thank you for asking, sir.”

Sebastian hollered across the salon: “Hey, Becca, when are you gonna give me another night with this sweet, obedient little thing?”

“That was a birthday present,” my mistress joshed back. “I can’t have you molesting my maid every night, damn it; I need him at home.”

“Well, can I at least borrow him for about 10 minutes right now? He’s just so irresistible.”

Rebecca looked at her watch. “Oh, alright, only 10 minutes, though. We’ve still got the rest of the salons to check.”

“Thanks, boss,” Sebastian replied before crooking his finger at me. “Come on, Chrissie, don’t be shy. We’ve only got a few minutes. Let’s make the most of ‘em, shall we, Hot Lips?”

The ladies giggled as he guided me by the shoulders toward the bathroom. Once inside, he wasted no time pulling out his dick and pushing me to my knees. With a resigned sigh, I got started.

“Do that little thing you do with your tongue, Chrissie … ooh, yeah, right there.” He grabbed the back of my head and started pumping. Within seconds, he shot his load down my throat, which I swallowed expertly.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, bending over backward to avoid breaking Rebecca’s rule that I never be rude to her staff.

Sebastian patted me on my curly locks. “No, Chrissie, thank YOU!” He strolled out of the bathroom zipping up his pants.

As I struggled to my feet, through the closed door I heard Rebecca snort and say, “damn, Sebastian, you’d never satisfy a woman — that took less than two minutes!”

“Blame Chrissie; he looks so damn sexy and femme, he almost makes me want to go straight,” Sebastian replied to a chorus of cackles.

I fixed my face and gargled, and then reported back to my mistress. After she double-checked with me to ensure everything was up to code, she said her good-byes, and I followed her out of the salon.

“Come back soon, Hot Lips,” Sebastian called just before the door swung shut.

Rebecca shook her head. “All men are horn-dogs, ain’t they, Chrissie? Even the gay ones.”

 

\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\///\\\//

 

Two fixtures at the Starlight Salon Tigard Branch needed replacing, but the new parts weren’t available, a fact that I reported to my mistress. She wasn’t happy.

“Why ain’t they done yet? Didn’t we go through the list of stuff that needed upgrades just last week?”

“Um, yes, Ma’am.”

“Then what happened?”

The truth was, Theresa the salon manager was supposed to have ordered the fixtures for me to attach that would’ve brought the facility up to code. But I knew I had to fall on my sword, so I replied with a lie: “Uh, I guess I forgot to get the parts, Ma’am. Sorry.”

“You forgot!?” Rebecca slapped me across the face, prompting giggles from hairstylists Lisa and Karen.

“Add a point,” Lisa suggested, and my face got redder. It was beyond embarrassing how Rebecca’s employees were all aware of the “point system” that dictated my chastity releases.

“Make it two points,” Karen called.

“Two points sounds about right.” Rebecca glowered at me. “You’re so stupid sometimes, Chrissie.”

I was absolutely crestfallen but I knew protesting would only make it worse, so I stood there and tried not to cry.

Theresa must’ve felt guilty watching me take the rap for her screwup, because to my great relief, she finally came clean.

“You know … now that I think of it, I believe I was supposed to order those fixture things,” she told my mistress.

“You were?” Rebecca frowned. “So, what happened?”

“I don’t know. You told me about it, but I guess I just forgot. Sorry.”

My angel shrugged. “No worries, girl. Chrissie, make sure them parts get ordered, and when they come you need to get back here and put ‘em on.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, hiding my resentment at being slapped in front of a roomful of women for no reason.

While I stood there with a burning cheek, the ladies relaxed on salon chairs and chatted for a few minutes until a customer came in. Rebecca took that as her cue to leave, so she bid adieu to her employees and strode out of the salon while I followed, trying to keep up on my 4” heels.

When we got to the SUV, I ventured the question that had been burning a hole in my stomach: “Um, Ma’am … am I still … uh, getting the two points?”

Rebecca twisted the ignition key and laughed. “No, baba, I forgot I’d told Theresa to order that stuff last week. I’m glad she told the truth — but why’d you tell me it was your fault?”

“Um, because I didn’t want you to think I was tattling on Miss Theresa, Ma’am. I thought you might think it was disrespectful if I said it in front of everyone, because she might have been embarrassed.”

My angel shook her head. “You really are stupid sometimes, Chrissie, you know that?”

 

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Taylor seemed pleasantly surprised that her mother was picking her up from school for a change. I held the door open for the youngster, relinquishing my spot in the front seat, before slipping in the back of the SUV.

Rebecca leaned over and kissed her daughter. “How was school?”

“Great, Ma. I told Bobby Belinsky I didn’t appreciate him making fun of my shoes, just like you told me, and he actually apologized — right in front of the whole lunch table!”

Mother and daughter slapped a high-five.

Rebecca grinned. “See? I’m so happy, baby. That’s what happens when you stand up for yourself. Don’t let nobody treat you like that, you hear?”

“I won’t, Ma. Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you, too, baby. Feel like going to Chopper’s to celebrate?”

Taylor pumped her fist. “Heck yeah!”

My mistress drove to Taylor’s favorite restaurant and parked in the lot.

“Wait here, Chrissie,” she said before slamming the door.

From my vantage point in the parking lot, I could see Rebecca and Taylor through the restaurant window. They seemed so happy, it almost made up for my sadness at being left to sit outside in the backseat of the SUV for nearly two hours.

 

Part LCVII

I had just plopped onto my pink-sheeted mattress, exhausted from a long day of housework on heels, when my mistress’s voice made me jump.

“Chrissie! Come here a minute.”

I rolled out of bed and hurried to Rebecca’s bedroom suite.

She pointed. “Close the door.”

With a pounding heart and an imagination full of possibilities, I obeyed.

Rebecca rolled over on the mattress and patted her haunch. “Come lick my butt, Chrissie.”

I curtsied. “Yes, Ma’am, thank you, Ma’am.”

I had hoped she was going to tell me to eat her pussy, but her ass was the next-best thing. I scooted behind my angel on the bed and began softly tonguing her tart butthole while she relaxed and watched television. My dick swelled in its cage and the spikes cut into my flesh. As my heartrate increased, my chest started to twinge and I had a hard time catching my breath. It concerned me for a moment, although when the pain subsided I chalked it up to overexcitement and continued giving my mistress her rim job without missing a beat.

When a commercial came on, Rebecca wiggled her ass back and forth, moving my head with it.

“You like how my butt tastes, baba?”

“YssrsssMrrrrmmm,” I mumbled into her butthole.

“You’re so sweet, baba. Move for a second.”

I lifted my head and she peeped out a little fart.

“Hee-hee, sorry, Chrissie, go ahead.”

The smell hadn’t dissipated but I did as told and got back to licking. Rebecca kept me at it for more than an hour until her program ended, and then gently pushed my head away.

“That was nice.” She yawned. “You want to sleep in here tonight?”

“Oh, yes, Ma’am, thank you so much, Ma’am. Thank you.”

“No problem, Chrissie, that felt good.” Rebecca handed me a pillow and the comforter. “Good night-baba.”

With a song in my heart, I wrapped myself in a cocoon and curled up on the floor at the foot of my angel’s bed, listening to her feminine little snores and relishing the earthy taste of her ass that lingered on my tongue.

 

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It was a stressful Saturday from the start, as my scheduled “Cummy Days” usually were. I did my quiet morning chores haunted by the knowledge that Rebecca or Taylor could add points at any time for virtually any reason. For each point deducted, I’d have to wait another month for sexual relief, although Taylor thought a point meant my paycheck would be docked $100.

While I dusted the knickknacks on the living room shelf, I chuckled at the concept of being paid. I was the one doing all the paying. In more than a dozen years of serving Rebecca, I had probably shelled out $3-4 million for the privilege of having her in my life, not counting all the money I’d earned for her since we’d moved to the Pacific Northwest. Right after we relocated I noticed a market inequity: Rebecca had complained that it was impossible to book a hair appointment, so I did some research and found that there very few beauty salons in our area, and a growing demand for cosmetology services.

So, I convinced Rebecca to let me purchase five salons, put them in her name and start a franchise. We came up with the Starlight Salons name together (well, I actually was the one who’d suggested the name and she liked it and co-opted authorship.) Whenever I looked at the marquees, I swelled with pride, knowing I’d done a good job of serving my angel. I’d handed her an instant business empire and was successfully managing it without charging a dime for my services. On top of that, I provided 24/7 free maid service at home, free taxi service for Taylor, and served as a punching bag whenever the ladies of the household needed an outlet for frustrations or annoyances.

Me? Get paid? What a laugh. But Rebecca and I played along, since it provided a plausible cover story to explain to Taylor why I strived so hard to avoid points. As open-minded as my mistress was, and despite her trashy upbringing, Rebecca was fairly conservative when it came to discussing sexual stuff with her kid, and she didn’t think it was appropriate for Taylor to know the real reason why I hated points so much.

No matter what the punishment was, Taylor had learned early on that the point system afforded her great power over me, and she knew she could get me to do practically anything to avoid getting a point. Or two points. Or three. Once, when Taylor was seven, she gave me 10 points after I’d accidentally let her puppy get out of the house, and Rebecca didn’t rescind the harsh punishment, even though I was able to quickly track down the damn mutt and bring it home.

But while a cloud of fear hovered over my head as I flitted around the house doing chores, I also was filled with hope, because I knew if I was able to avoid getting any points, by nightfall my glorious freedom would come … Rebecca would unlock me and let me lie on the floor at the foot of her bed and diddle myself while she either watched with a smirk or ignored me. I wasn’t sure which was worse: having my angel taunt me and call me all kinds of pathetic little sissies while I jacked off, or seeing her thumbing through her cellphone or looking at the TV, completely disinterested in my masturbatory display. Either way, it was always pure heaven when I had my “cummy,” as Rebecca referred to my orgasms — and pure hell being resecured in the spiked Kevlar penis prison for another three months minimum.

Taking a quick break, I leaned against the wall, kicked off my shoe and rubbed my heel. It wasn’t even 10am, yet my feet were already killing me. After years spent teetering on 4” pumps, I still wasn’t used to the constant throbbing pain that radiated from the knees down, morning to night. My chest hurt, too, and I again had difficulty breathing. I took a minute to relax before the pain subsided.

Life wasn’t easy for poor little me. My breast implants had caused major medical problems over the years, with leaks and other issues sending me in and out of hospitals. While my mistress and her daughter were sympathetic each time I got sick, they had gotten used to my service, and still demanded that I rush to obey their every whim.

All in all, though, I knew I had it made compared to how my life had been under Karl’s brutal regime. I slept on a nice, soft bed every night. Rebecca still slapped me when I annoyed her, but the constant whippings and humiliations were things of the past. Karl had been the worst kind of bully, and it had started to rub off on my angel. The sonofabitch got what was coming to him just in time, though, picking a barfight with a dude who whipped out a 9mm and busted six caps in his ass.

The murder turned out to be just the kick in the pants my angel needed. After the funeral, Rebecca decided she wanted to break away from her family altogether, both physically and philosophically. She didn’t want her daughter growing up in that trashy, dangerous environment, so she directed me to sell the condo, salon and garage, and she moved us to Oregon, thousands of miles from Plainville, Kentucky.

As I continued the morning housework, I again felt out of breath so I took another quick break. It only lasted a few seconds before Taylor stomped into the living room rubbing her eyes.

“Good morning, Miss Taylor. Can I—"

She cut me off with a curt “orange juice,” then plopped on the couch and picked up the remote.

I faked a smile, curtsied and hurried to the kitchen. Within seconds, Taylor had a cold glass of OJ in her hand, and after serving her I took two steps back and curtsied again.

“Is there anything else I can get you, Miss, before I start on breakfast?”

She huffed. “You can move out of the way so I can see the TV.”

“S-sorry.” I scooted to the side and executed yet another smart curtsey.

“Miss? Anything special you want for breakfast this morning?”

“Pancakes with strawberries.”

“Yes, Miss, coming right up.”

After one last respectful curtsey, I scampered away.

As I was hunched over the stove, Rebecca ducked her head in the kitchen.

“I need coffee out here, Chrissie, and I’ll take some of them pancakes, too, while you’re at it.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

I practically ran into the living room with the coffee tray and served my mistress, who sat on the couch scanning her laptop. After ensuring nobody needed anything, I retreated to the kitchen to finish making breakfast.

At one point during the meal, Taylor pointed to the syrup, and as I moved to obey her order, I felt a sudden sharp pain in my left side. It was so excruciating I fell to one knee.

“Chrissie! Are you all right?”

Rebecca’s concerned tone was the last thing I heard before blacking out.

Part LCVIII

 

Rebecca bathed me in a gentle smile as she set the steaming cup on the table beside me.

“There you go, baba, nice, hot tea. It’s really hot, so be careful.”

“Ma’am … please,” I croaked. “Y-you don’t … have … to ...”

“Shh, be quiet. You’re still sick; just relax.” She nodded at the cup. “See if you can get some down.”

With great difficulty, I sat up on the couch and took a sip. The liquid warmed my insides.

“Good, baba?”

“Yes, Ma’am … sorry to be … a burden … Ma’am. I … I’m … so sorry.”

“You got nothing to be sorry about, stop saying that. It ain’t your fault you keep getting sick. If anyone’s to blame, it’s me for making you get them implants in the first place. That’s what started all your problems.”

I mustered enough breath to try to make my mistress feel better. “The doctor said … my heart was weak anyway, Ma’am. The implants may not have mattered, he said. That’s why he kept letting me get replacements.”

Rebecca sat down next to me on the couch and put her hand on my cheek. “I know, baba, but I still feel guilty. About everything.”

“Ma’am, it wasn’t you. Karl …”

“Ugh. Karl. He was terrible to you, wasn’t he?”

The dark memories filled my eyes with tears.

“I feel so bad.” She shook her head. “Why did I go back to the bastard?”

I slurped my tea. “Ma’am, if you hadn’t gotten back together, Taylor would’ve never been born. So, there’s two ways to look at it.”

She smiled. “You’re right, Chrissie. I beat myself up, but you always find the good in things. I guess Karl was a mistake, but I’m glad it happened, if that makes sense.”

“Yes, Ma’am, it does.”

“My problem was, I would always give in to whatever man I was with,” Rebecca mused. “Karl … that asshole Tristan … Bryce. Well, not so much with Bryce; I kicked him to the curb as soon as he started his bullshit. But with the rest of ‘em … well, I kinda did what they did, and went along with what they wanted to do. You know?”

“Um, yes, Ma’am.”

“Maybe after Karl got killed, I did the same thing with you.” She smiled. “Only, after I started listening to you, my life actually got better.”

My eyes watered anew, this time from pure joy. My wonderful mistress, my beloved Rebecca, was telling me that I had achieved my life’s dream.

I had made a difference! I had made her life better! It’s all I had ever wanted.

She played with a curl. “We need to get you to the salon, Chrissie.”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”

“Don’t be silly; I’m just kidding, baba.”

As we shared a chuckle, Taylor came stomping out of her bedroom.

“Ma, I don’t have any clean clothes,” she whined. “I know Chrissie’s sick, but can’t we just, like, pay someone to do the laundry? I got nothing to wear to soccer practice.”

Rebecca nodded. “That might not be a bad idea, actually. Hire one of them maid services until Chrissie gets better. This place is an absolute pigsty.”

“Oh, no, no, please, Ma’am.” I grabbed my walker and rose. “You don’t need to hire a maid. Please, Ma’am, I beg you … don’t do that. I … I can clean. I’ll go do the laundry now.”

“No, Chrissie; you’re in no shape,” my mistress said. “Lay back down.”

“Please, Ma’am, please don’t replace me. I beg you, please don’t.”

Rebecca sighed. “Well, okay, I won’t get another maid; I guess we’ll just live with the mess until you’re able to clean. But we do need the laundry done — I got nothing to wear, either.”

Taylor smirked. “You mean on a date with David?”

“No, I mean I got nothing to wear anywhere, with David or not, smartass,” Rebecca returned the jibe. Then, she turned to me. “Maybe you can just show Taylor how to load the machine; you wouldn’t have to lift anything.”

“I don’t want Miss Taylor to have to do my job. Please, Ma’am, I can do it.”

“It’s no problem, Chrissie; she can just put the clothes in the machine and you can do the rest,” Rebecca said.

“Well … okay, Ma’am, thank you.”

Taylor didn’t seem overly happy about having to do a chore, even one as easy as loading a washing machine, although she didn’t say anything to protest. After she dumped the clothes into the washer, I pushed all the right buttons and poured in the detergent. Rebecca, who supervised our team effort, smiled.

“I don’t know what we’d do without you, baba.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said as I used the walker to head back to the couch. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Rebecca went to take a shower while Taylor plopped on the easy chair. After a few seconds she looked around and threw up her hands.

“Listen, Chrissie, I know you just sat back down, but can you go make me some hot chocolate? And bring some graham crackers, too?”

“Uh … of course, Miss.”

I struggled to my feet and shuffled to the kitchen. It wasn’t easy preparing the snack, but with a sense of pride and a thumping heart, I managed to serve it with a smile.

Rebecca drifted out of the bathroom toweling her hair. She scowled.

“Damn it, Taylor, I told you to stop making Chrissie do stuff. He needs to get better.”

“Sorry, Ma, I don’t know how to make hot chocolate. I’ve been getting my own juice, haven’t I, Chrissie?”

“Oh, yes, Miss, I’m so sorry you have to do that.”

Taylor shrugged. “It’s alright, I guess. I’ll get through it. But you need to get better, okay? My ma’s been working me like a slave.”

“Yes, Miss. I’m trying.”

Rebecca scoffed. “A slave. It ain’t gonna kill you to put some damn clothes in the washer, and pour your own orange juice, Miss Princess. Stop making him get up.”

When the washer buzzed, Rebecca called Taylor to put the clothes in the dryer. She was able to transfer everything from one appliance to the other but then stood there with her fists on her hips.

“What buttons do you push?” she asked in an anguished tone.

Rebecca looked up from her laptop. “Ugh, the girl is helpless. Chrissie, do you mind?”

“No, of course not, Ma’am.” I pulled myself from the couch, hobbled to the laundry room and started the dryer. The effort took a lot out of me. Luckily, when the clothes were dry, Taylor was able to figure out how to pull them from the appliance and put them into the clothesbasket.

I was wiped out, but Rebecca’s daughter wore a clean soccer uniform when her friend’s mom came to pick her up for practice, and that was all that mattered. After Taylor was gone, my mistress prepared to leave herself. She hadn’t told me where she was headed, and I’d presumed she was going to one of her salons until I saw the way she was dressed. Rebecca was likely going on a lunch date, although I knew not to ask.

She set a large pitcher of water on the table near me. “You need anything else before I go, Chrissie?”

It was difficult to talk, but I managed a weak, “no, Ma’am.”

My mistress frowned. “You don’t look so good, Chrissie.” She sat on the couch and placed my head in her lap. “You okay, baba?”

I blinked and looked up at my divine mistress. “I’ll be alright, Ma’am.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’m … fine.”

Tears filled Rebecca’s eyes. “I hope so, baba. Because I don’t know what I’d do without my Chrissie. You got to get better, okay?”

“O … okay, Ma’am.” I searched her eyes. “Please, Ma’am … tell me something?”

“Anything.”

“Is this David a good man? I haven’t met him yet … and, to be honest, I’m worried about you, Ma’am. What if I’m not around to look after you, and he turns out to be another jerk? Please, if you see some red flags, just get rid of him, and don’t fall into the same trap. Okay, Ma’am? Can you promise me?”

Rebecca wiped her eyes. “Stop talking like that, Chrissie. When you get better, I’ll introduce you to him — and if you don’t approve of him, I’ll dump his ass. I promise.” She giggled. “Okay?”

I managed a weak smile. “O-okay, Ma’am.”

Rebecca stood and straightened her blouse. “You sure you don’t need anything before I go?”

“N-no, Ma’am. I’ll see you when you get back. Um … have fun.”

My angel bent down and kissed my forehead.

“I’ll see you later, baba.”

“Bye, Ma’am.”

For the millionth time, I silently mouthed the words, “I love you, Rebecca.”

Then, she was gone.

I tried to get some sleep, but was haunted by the pigsty that surrounded me. I felt ashamed that my beloved mistress and her daughter were forced to live in such squalor, and there was no way I’d be able to doze off.

It took every ounce of strength, but I managed to get off the couch. Using the walker to support myself, I started cleaning.

… I nearly collapsed at the sink, but the dishes all got done.

… using the mop to stay upright, I took care of the kitchen and bathroom floors, although I felt a twinge of guilt that I hadn’t scrubbed them on my hands and knees like I usually did.

… folding clothes provided me an opportunity to sit down, but as soon as I was finished, I was back at it.

… I saved the most difficult task for last, lugging five garbage bags to the curb one by one, navigating the walker with one hand while dragging a bag behind me with the other.

When all the chores were finally completed, I fell onto the couch, sighed and looked around. The house was clean. Everything was in order.

My job was done.

I closed my eyes, an eternal smile on my lips.

 

THE END