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Becoming Daddy's Bitch
Chapter 10
There was a moment of confusion when I woke, and then I couldn't help but smile. I wanted to roll over and press myself against his warmth, but my abdomen ached with the need to pee, and I knew better than to disturb my Master. It was only a quarter after five as I slipped out of the bed, trying to be as quiet as I could and afraid the chain clinking between my ankles might wake him. As soon as I got to the bathroom, I pulled the plug, fighting back a loud groan as I emptied my bowels and my bladder, my brain still half asleep. I sat there a moment longer to let the cramping pass, then washed the butt plug and reluctantly pushed it back up inside me. It wouldn't do for Master to find his pussy unplugged.
I knew it would be a while before Master awoke, so I slipped my feet into my little slippers, then made my way to the kitchen nonetheless. It was still dark outside, but I could see the snow falling outside the patio doors that led to the back yard and the woods beyond. It had snowed heavily overnight, and everything was covered in white. Unsure what to do, I knelt on the floor and sat back on my feet to wait for my Master, cupping my hands together in my lap.
With all that had happened, it was the first time that I really had a chance to think. Only a week ago, I would have gotten dressed, then plunged into the snow to go wandering out in the woods. I couldn't now, though. Master would...well, it didn't matter. I understood that I'd probably never be able to again, and even though I wanted to, I knew that I didn't want Master to allow me to, either. If I wanted to be Masters slave, then I need to be a slave, and to be treated like one.
And I did want it. I wanted it because, somehow, I understood it. School had been fine, and I liked having Collin as my friend...well, most of the time. He was mean sometimes, and liked to pull pranks on me and make insulting jokes about me. But otherwise, I never seemed to understand what was going on, and always felt pretty much like I was lost. The only time I didn't feel lost was when I was at home with my dad, with my Master.
I jumped when the coffee pot clicked on and started to burble, glancing out of the patio windows once more. That wasn't my world any more. I was Masters slave, and I was waiting for Master.
It was a little cold in the house, and I shivered, remembering how wonderful it had been to have Masters warm body pressed up against my back.
I loved my Master. I had always loved my Master. Even growing up, when he had been strict with his rules and his expectations, but he was the only one who ever seemed to care about me. My mom never did. I couldn't think of her as my Mistress, even though Master had told me I was supposed to. I had never really thought about it, it was always just the way it was, but now I understood that, too, even if it hurt a little bit to know that she never even wanted me.
And then I smiled.
I would have to call her Mistress, and serve her and obey her, but I wouldn't be hers. I was Masters slave. It was Master who would own me, who I would love, and worship, and adore. Even if she was my Mistress, I didn't have to have any more feelings for her than she had for me, and I only needed to please her enough so that Master would be pleased.
It felt a little rebellious, but it made me yearn for my Master more, and I was eager to serve him his coffee as soon as I saw him appear around the corner. Setting it on the table in front of him, I knew without being told to drop to my knees and crawl between his outstretched legs, burying my head in the folds of his robe to wrap my lips around the head of his big, beautiful cock. It only took a moment before he sighed, and the hot, sour jet of his morning piss filled my mouth. My clit hardened instantly in its cage, and I moaned and gasped delightedly between gulps.
Yes, Master. Thank you, Master. Thank you, Master.
He touched the back of my head.
"Stay there until I say `done.'"
His stream slowed to a stop as I moaned softly, then blasted into my mouth again only a moment later.
Thank you, Master. Thank you, Master. I was glad to stay there as I was told, with my mouth on his cock until he emptied himself, letting his last few squirts drain over my tongue and down my throat.
"Done," he sipped his coffee as I backed away to sit back on my feet, consciously keeping my head bowed and my eyes on the floor. He sipped his coffee again, and I wondered if he was looking at me, or ignoring me.
"Turn around, face down, pussy up."
He wiggled the butt plug and I moaned, my clit still hard in its cage.
"Did you shit this morning?"
"Yes, Master."
"Good whore," he wiggled it again, and I knew he was pleased to find his pussy still plugged. "I'm proud of you for putting it back in. Go change the sheets on my bed, then you can take it out and clean it up, after which you can thank me properly for giving you my piss."
My clit throbbed in its cage.
"Yes, Master."
I blushed with pride at his praise, crawling from his sight before getting to my feet. It had always been my job to change the sheets on the beds once a week, but now, all of a sudden, it took on a new meaning, a new level of importance. I wasn't changing the sheets because I had to change the sheets, I was changing the sheets for my Master, and I pulled and stretched and tucked and fluffed until it was a perfect as I could make it, crawling back into the kitchen to press my tongue firmly onto the top of his foot as I started licking.
"Thank you, Master. Thank you for making me your slave and giving me your piss, Master."
I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke.
"That's a good bitch. I like hearing how grateful and how pathetic you are."
I blushed at the word "pathetic," feeling humiliated, and licked and kissed his foot all the harder, my clit filling its cage painfully.
"Get me another coffee, then you can have a glass of juice."
He picked up his phone and dialed a number, and I knelt in my place behind his chair with my juice as he talked. It only took a moment for me to know that he was talking to Gary, his sight supervisor.
"How's it going?"
There was a long pause as he listened, then, "Okay. I'll be coming out in an hour or so."
"Yeah, I'll bring them. Anything else?"
"All right. I'll talk to you then."
"Breakfast. A slice of ham, two eggs sunny side, and two slices of toast. Just butter. You can make one of each for yourself."
Slamming back the rest of his cup, he went to shave and get dressed while I cooked his breakfast.
"While I'm gone, you will clean the house. Top to bottom."
He paused to scrutinize me, pushing my hair up from my forehead.
"Yes, Master."
"You can have a sandwich and a yogurt for lunch, and if you're finished before I get home, you can take a nap. If there is anything I'm dissatisfied with, however, you will be punished."
"Yes, Master," I responded meekly.
I spent the rest of the day scrubbing and dusting and vacuuming and cleaning, trying to think if there was anything I missed. Going through my chores, I began to realize how much Master had already trained me, even before he had fucked me for the very first time; how he expected the towels to be hung in the bathrooms, with the folds out and the bottoms level with each other, how the beds were to be made...hospital corners... the sheet and blanket and comforter at a certain height, what cleansers to use on the sinks and the counters and the mirrors and the floors and the toilets and the tables. I had only been eight when I had been taught all my chores, and now I understood that it had been in preparation for making me his slave.
Sitting on the toilet to pee, I my piss spray from tiny pink cage locked on my penis. I was almost ashamed at how tiny it was, and how tiny my penis must be to fit inside of it. It was no wonder that Master called it my clit. Compared to Masters, it certainly couldn't be called a cock. I wasn't really sure exactly what a clit was, but I knew from health class that it had something to do with a woman's vagina.
A woman's pussy. And I was Master's pussy. Master fucked me like a girl, so why shouldn't it be called a clit?
I ate my lunch, and when I couldn't think of anything else to clean, I laid down to take a nap. I could still smell my piss on my mattress. The aroma had faded considerably, but for some reason I found some comfort in it. Master had taken complete control of me, chaining and gagging me in place for hours until there was nothing I could do but wet myself, and I had felt an erotic pleasure at feeling the warmth of my own piss splashing on my stomach and running down my sides.
Master wasn't home when I woke. Not knowing what to do, I knelt in my place beside his leather chair, knowing that was where he would expect to find me. Glancing out the window, I could see that the snow had stopped, and about six inches of it covered the ground. While I waited, I idly examined my body; the soft brown hairs on my arms and legs, and the little tuft starting on my chest and above my locked little clit. Lifting my arms, I could even see thin swirls of hair in my underarms.
I was happy for the lock on my clit. I wanted so badly to take it off and to shoot my load, but I wanted Masters control over me, more. I needed Master to control me, to direct my life and decide my purpose.
Just the realization of it made my clit swell, pushing the cage out painfully. Reaching up, I fondled the smooth metal collar around my neck, and tested the strength of the chain between my ankles, glad that they were there, too. I was Masters slave and Masters property, and for some reason they offered a level of comfort and security.
He stomped his boots on the back hall rug when he entered, kicking them off as he shrugged off his jacket, appearing around the corner a moment later. Setting two shopping bags to the side, he ruffled my hair, chuckling.
"That's my obedient little bitch."
Unzipping his jeans, he pulled out his cock and thrust it into my open and waiting mouth, barely giving me time to close my lips around it before firing his piss down my throat. I moaned and gasped and swallowed, uttering a "Thank you, Master," as he pulled it out and tucked it back into his pants.
"Get the groceries from the truck and put them away. Leave the chicken on the counter, you'll be making that for supper."
The concrete was so cold it hurt my feet, and I was shivering by the time pulled the bags from the truck and got back into the house.
"When you're finished with that, take a paper towel and wipe my boots dry, then take your place at my feet."
"Yes, Master."
I knew automatically where everything went, and didn't even think about what I was doing. My thoughts were on my Master, and what would take place at his feet. I would kiss them, of course, suck his toes and lick between them. Maybe that was all I would do, or maybe Master would want his balls licked and his cock sucked, and I started to squirm as my clit tightened in its cage.
My head bowed and my shoulders pulled in, I made my way meekly to my Master, kneeling before him as he sat in his chair with the newspaper. He was wearing his socks and his leather slippers, and I found myself disappointed that he didn't have bare feet. I wanted to kiss his feet. I wanted to please him so that he would let me bury my face in his crotch.
I bent to lick his slipper. Master knew I was there, and yet, I wanted him to know that I had obeyed, that I was at his feet as I had been told, and that I was eager to serve and obey him. He set his paper aside, and I could feel that he was watching me, so I nuzzled his ankle as I licked and pushed my ass high into the air.
Uncrossing his legs, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor immediately in front of him.
"Kneel."
Heart pumping excitedly, I hurried into the space, my eyes on his crotch and my back straight. I only realized what he had when he pushed the ball gag into my mouth, and I held still as he fastened it tightly behind my head.
"Put your arms out."
I held them up meekly in front of me as he dug into one of the bags, tearing open the packaging and clamping metal cuffs around each of my wrists. They were just like the ones around my ankles, round and shiny, with sturdy loops welded onto them, two little brass locks locking them into place.
He cupped my chin gently, but firmly enough to keep me from raising my head.
"That's my good little bitch."
I scuttled back as he rose to his feet, then hurried after him when he snapped his fingers, his finger pointing at the floor as he walked, keeping me on my hands and knees as he led me to the bathroom
"Face on the floor in that corner."
I was starting to get a little frightened and nervous, but was excited, too, as I pressed myself into the corner next to the toilet. I could hear my Master as he left the room and went about the house, returning a couple times and leaving again. Then he snapped his fingers, uttering a short "here," and I crawled out of the tiny space to find his feet, trembling with the fear of being punished for something I had done.
"Stand up. Spread your arms."
Spurting some lotion into a gloved hand, he grabbed one wrist and started smearing the lotion on my arm. There was a slight floral scent to it, but the overall smell was sour and acrid. Working steadfastly, he covered my entire body with it, and even smeared some up the crack of my ass. It stung and burned my hole a little bit, making me whimper, but he paid no attention to me as spread the liquid onto my legs, even rubbing some onto the tops of my toes.
"Stay just as you are," he commanded as he walked away, stripping the rubber glove from his hand.
I could feel my skin warming under the cream, taking short breaths to avoid smelling the aroma. I had no idea what was going on, and couldn't even imagine the purpose of the cream. It was only a few minutes later when Master stepped into the bathroom.
"Now shower. And wash your hair."
My skin was pink as I reached for the towel, and as I started to dry off I noticed that all the hair was gone from my arm. I looked down at myself in shocked surprise. All of my hair was gone, my arms and legs as smooth as a girl's. I checked my chest, then stared forlornly down at my crotch, the little patch that had been growing there completely gone.
"Finish drying, then clean out my pussy," Master appeared for a brief moment in the doorway.
I hug the towel and did as I was told, running my fingers over my hairless skin as I sat to empty, then hurrying to my Masters feet after the third and final rinse. I knelt, but he had me stand again, sitting forward in his chair so he could inspect me, lifting the cage and having my lift my arms, rubbing his hands up and down my legs and spreading my ass cheeks apart.
"Nice. What a pretty little whore you're going to make."
Once again, he pointed between his feet.
"Face on the floor."
I pressed my cheek onto the carpet, and was told to turn around as he reached into one of the shopping bags. There was a crinkle of plastic, then I felt him putting something onto my foot, fondling the ankle cuff as he tucked as he tucked it up underneath. It felt like he put a sock on me, but it felt different, too. He put one on my other foot, then told me to turn around and stand. Reaching down, he pulled one of the stockings up over my leg, and now I could see that it was a pair of white nylons, coming up to just above my knees. I blushed a little in embarrassment, but was even more embarrassed when he pulled out a skimpy little pair of pink, lacey panties. Tucking them between my legs, he drew them up to tie them on each side around my waist, the cage on my clit bulging in the little, sheer pink pouch. He fingered a circle in the air, and I turned slowly around so he could look at me. Smiling and humming satisfactorily, he reached into the bag again, this time pulling out a short, tiny pink skirt.
"Put it on."
My face turning beet red, I took it from him and pulled it up onto my hips. A sheer and silky fabric, it was all ruffles and little white bows around the hem and the waist, so short that it did nothing to hide my ass and my little caged clit.
"Yes, you do make a pretty little whore. Now go start supper."
Completely embarrassed, I pranced to the kitchen, hearing the back door slam as I washed the chicken and put it into a pot and into the oven. Hearing the scrape of metal on concrete, and the sound of an engine, I knew that Master was out plowing the driveway clear of snow. I looked down at the little pink skirt and the sheer, white nylons, the little pink cage bulging in the little pink panties, and blushed all over again. With all the hair on my arms and legs gone, my skin was smooth and pale, I looked just like a little girl.
Glancing out the living room window, I snuck past it to go look at myself in my Masters full length mirror, afraid, at first, to look at myself.
I did look like a girl, even with short and a flat chest, blushing with humiliation and finding my little clit trying vainly to swell in its cage. Timid of my own gaze in the mirror, I looked myself up and down. I was a pretty little whore, collared and shackled, and dressed in pink and white. Was ashamed, and yet, I was happy. I was glad Master had dressed me up as a girl. It was right. It was...humiliating, and it made me want to serve my Master even more.
Ashamed to admit it to myself, I liked the humiliation. I liked it a lot. I somehow felt that it was my place to be humiliated and degrade, to be reminded that I was only a lowly slave, and could barely be considered a person. And I knew that Master knew that, that Master knew me even better than I knew myself; that I needed to be kept naked and controlled, that I need to be sucking his cock and licking his balls and kissing his feet. I needed to be treated as a slave; as his whore and his property, as something less than a person, as something to be owned as used at his will and his pleasure.
I heard the scrape of the truck again, and hurried back to kitchen, glancing at the clock. Only five minutes had passed. It would be another twenty-five before the vegetables went in. Eager now, I set the table carefully, making sure everything was placed exactly as I had been shown, then knelt in my place as I tried to think of what else I might, or should, do. It was only after I heard the stomp of his boots in the back hall that I moved to take my place next to his chair in the living room.
"Where're you going, bitch?" he called as he saw me. "Come here."
Prancing meekly down the hallway, I knelt at his feet.
"Take them off," he pushed out his left foot.
I unlaced his boots and tugged them off, setting them neatly on the rug just off to the side. Nearly kicking me out of the way, he stepped past me, and I leapt to my feet to follow him, the chain between my ankles clanking on the hardwood floor.
"How long before the vegetables go in?"
"Fifteen minutes, Master."
"Set a place for your Mistress, then go start cleaning my pussy out."
I had almost forgotten that my Mistress would be returning home that evening. Making her place at the table, I went to prepare Master's pussy for him.
I filled once, and emptied, and filled again, then pranced to the kitchen to add the vegetables to the pot, catching a glimpse of my Master sitting in his leather chair with his newspaper. He had slipped out of his clothes and into his lounge pants, a T-shirt, and his slippers. Once I was flushed clean, I returned to my place by his chair, and it was only a moment later when I heard the sound of an engine in the driveway, and the slam of a car door.
"Stay," was all my Master said as he rose to greet my Mistress.
I heard her entry, heard the hellos and the brief kiss afterward, their conversation taking them into their bedroom. I could feel myself shaking my heart pounding wildly in my chest, waiting with trepidation for them to appear around the corner. Nearly twenty minutes passed as my Mistress unpacked her things, and until I remembered the food cooking in the oven. I had been told to stay, but it needed to come out, and I didn't want it to burn, so I hurried to the kitchen, wondering if I was going to be punished for disobeying.
I set the food out, filling their water glasses and wine glasses, then stood in front of the patio before they came, still deep in their conversation. Even with my eyes on the floor, I could see Master glance approvingly at the table, and at me standing in my place. Taking two candles from the bureau in the living room, he set them on the table and lit them, turning the overhead light down to a pale glow, the kitchen in near darkness, with only a halo of light around the table where they sat.
She hadn't even looked at me. I had been terrified of her first seeing me, her son naked and collared and chained, now dressed up like a little girl, but she didn't even glance at me, as though I no longer even existed except as part of the furniture.
My clit started to swell in its cage.
I was nothing. I was Masters nothing, and I was humiliated by the fact that I was proud of it, that I couldn't even see myself as being anything but Masters property and Masters slave.
So caught up in my own thoughts, I barely heard what they were saying until my mom...my Mistress said she would be taking her bath, Master glancing briefly at me to assure himself that I had heard and understood. Giving me a meaningful glare, he nodded at my Mistresses wine glass, and I hurried to refill it, my whole body trembling now that I had to move from my space. I refilled Masters as well, then topped off their water glasses from the pitcher, grateful that I hadn't spilled anything, then returned to my place.
"Run the bath first, then you can eat while you clean up. Your Mistress will be served tea in her office when she's out of her bath," Master directed me as they finished their meal and rose from the table.
"Yes, Master," I squeaked, unsure if I should respond or not.
He left me to my chores, and I pranced quickly to the bathroom to run my Mistresses bath, finding her half undressed and sitting in front of her mirror undoing her hair as crept meekly through the bedroom. It didn't matter that it was my Mistress who was taking the bath. I was filling the tub, and setting out the towels and the bath mat and the toiletries, because I had been told to by Master. I had to keep checking the temperature of the water, and was afraid that it wasn't going to be hot enough, but it was right where Master had told me it should be.
Mistress was just drawing her robe around her shoulders as I tried to sneak past her, and for the first time in my life I saw my Mistress naked. She was small, barely taller than me, and slender and shapely, and undeniably feminine, her body hairless save the red-blonde patch between legs. She didn't even indicate my presence, but brushed by me as I hurried back to the kitchen.
Blowing out the candles, I ate and cleaned up, unsure where my Master had gone and listening intently for any indication that my Mistress was finished with her bath. I put the tea kettle on and set up the tray; a trivet for the tea pot, a cup and saucer, a spoon, the little porcelain bowl of sugar and her selection of teas, then stood by the stove waiting for the pot to boil. It had just started to steam when I heard my Mistress move from her bedroom to her office, and I moved the pot onto the trivet, then carried it down the hallway to serve to her, setting it shakily onto the small table next to her chair, where she was just setting up her computer and her paperwork. Pouring out a cup of hot water, I quickly left, both because that was what Master had told me to do, and I was glad not to have to stay in her presence.
It wasn't that I didn't like my Mistress. She had been my mother my whole life, regardless that she hadn't paid a lot of attention to me. It was that I didn't know her, didn't know how to act around her, or what would happen if I acted in a way that displeased her.
I returned to the kitchen to finish drying the dishes and put them away, finding Master in his chair with his feet up and the television on. Hurrying to finish my task, I shuffled in to kneel in my place next to his chair, my collar and the shackles and the little pink skirt suddenly becoming very important to me.
Masters slippers were off, and his feet were bare, and I found myself watching them for some indication that I should kiss them, my clit swelling sweetly inside its cage.
I wanted to kiss Masters feet. I wanted to debase and degrade myself for him, to show him how much I loved and worshipped and adored him, my feelings so strong that I squirmed eagerly in my spot.
Master noticed. I know Master noticed, because he issued a soft reassurance.
"Go on."
I almost felt as though I was going to cum as I pressed my tongue against the rough, firm warmth of his foot, licking at it with undeniable gratitude. I couldn't believe what a wonderful Master I had, and how lucky I was to have been shown my place by him. His beautiful arch, the hard, rough heel, his wonderful, wonderful toes with the little tufts of hair on each. The only place I was more eager to be was with my face buried in his crotch, and I licked and kissed his feet with more passion than I had ever felt before. He ignored me for quite some time, but when he spoke, I almost melted with his praise and degradation of me.
"You're a good little bitch, aren't you, you low life little whore," he chuckled.
I blushed and squirmed, my breath in short gasps of pleasure as I answered.
"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master," I panted, my tongue slavering his foot lovingly.
"Then come and get your reward," he reached into the fly of his lounge pants and pulled out his cock as he spread his legs for me to crawl between them. Wrapping my lips around his cock, I knew instinctively to hold still as he placed his hand on top of my head.
Master had to piss. Masters piss was my reward.
I felt the first splash on my tongue and started swallowing eagerly.
Masters piss. Master's lowlife little whore, all shackled and collared and dressed in pink. Thank you, Master. Thank you, Master. I'm a good little whore, Master. A good little girl, and a good little slave.
"Mmmm, yeah," Master murmured as he tousled my hair. "What a wonderfully pathetic little faggot you've become."
The only response I could give was a grateful whimper as I sucked and swallowed and squirmed between his legs. He chuckled again.
"Yes. I know how happy this makes you, how desperately you crave being treated like a worthless little bitch. That's why I call you bitch, bitch, and whore, and cunt, and faggot. You crave the humiliation and helplessness, just like you crave my direction and my control."
Still sucking and swallowing, I nodded, and I could sense that he smiled above me.
"That's good, bitch, because you've got a lifetime of it ahead of you.
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