Christina’s thinking: “Maybe I can get lose before he ties my wrists.” Self-delusion can be so cute.
Claire sighed and pushed the door open to Paul’s office. Fair’s fair. She lost the bet, and this was her forfeit, to be his maid for the day. He’d started her off by having her wear that ridiculous outfit. She didn’t like it one bit, but she’d agreed to it, and she wasn’t one to back out of agreements. Then he sat her down and made her watch a video about her duties. She was only going to be doing it for one day, but if he wanted to waste precious time, she’d let him. Still, she was feeling a little tense so it gave her time to relax. Quite a bit as it turned out as, by the end of the hour, her panties were discarded on the floor and her hand was a blur of activity between on her needy sex. Paul didn’t seem to mind though. Then came the menial duties the video informed her about. Making him drinks. serving food and being bent over the table and fucked hard while struggled to take notes. At the end of the day, Claire was exhausted, aching and sore, but happy. She didn’t mind admitting that she’d happily work as Paul’s maid again As it happened, that Paul wanted her to come back again, soon. “Shall we say tomorrow, 8AM, Sir?” she asked, with a hopeful smile. “Better make it 7.30. And bring a change of stockings and plenty of wet wipes. Something tells me you’re going to be quite busy.” Claire gushed at the thought and the contents of her pussy dribbled down her stockings.
Clarice hated this. She hated the uniform, she hated the shoes, she hated the way she had to spend hours getting her hair, nails, and make-up just the way he liked them. She hated cooking and cleaning for him, she hated bending over and accepting his cock at his slightest whim and, most of all, she hated having to do it all with a smile and a giggle.
As she walked in to clear away the remains of his lunch, she even hated the drooling redhead that knelt before his chair, cum dribbling down her blank face and staining her blouse. The lucky bitch would never understand what had been done to her, never know that her free will had been stripped away by his powers. She would spend her life as a mindless drone, never aware that she’d been anything else.
Clarice longed for that, total oblivion was her only wish now. She begged him for it, politely and with an occasional giggle, every night before she fell asleep at the foot of his bed. Perhaps, once he felt she had been punished enough, he would forgive her for trying to steal his fortune with a whirlwind romance, a quick marriage and a severed brake line and he would grant her wish.
But, for now, she felt that mindless smile creep involuntarily over her face and heard her own voice ask if he needed any assistance cleaning up his new slave.
She had married him for his money. However, she had no idea about his experiments. Her wedding night was anything but the romantic dream she had fantasized about all these years. Instead, she had found herself feeling drowsy and woke however long later strapped to a cold table with wires attached to her. Now when she wakes up, she looks over to the box of lights by her door. They are all over the house. She can’t consciously figure out the code, but the flashing programs her anyway. Today, she would be in maid mode. She hated maid mode. But he loved it.(I loved both the other captions and was just going to reblog them…but then I felt like I was being lazy and should try to add my own. I think it pales in comparison to the other two, but oh well.)
Three stories in one reblog! Nice!
Clara carried the tray in to the office which had once been her own, ready to serve the man who had taken her job, a man who had once been her own personal assistant.
She hated the so-called New Order which had forced women out of all positions of authority, created a vast pool of unemployed women and repealed the laws which had once protected workers from exploitation. She hated her new life. She knew there was nothing she could do about it.
In college, she’d had a fascination with “mind control” fiction in which women were reduced to mindless bimbos who actually enjoyed being servile and submissive.
If only it were true….
[How about four stories?]
[Or what the heck, five.]
Eight weeks at the Academy had taught Claritza what she needed to do to keep her husband happy, and what could happen if she failed.
So she wore the maid’s uniform when he came home in the evening, the slutty lingerie in their bedroom, the 1950s housewife dress and apron in the morning, and any other outfit at his whim.
She complied with his wishes, as she had been trained.
What bothered her was that she was not only getting very good at her new “job”, but she was starting to take pride in it, even enjoy it … .
The Academy for Difficult Girls can make this happen for you.
It’s hard to add to a collection like this. But I’ll try:
Whenever he called to Carissa to bring him a drink “plus”, she never knew what that plus might be. When he called to her, her stomach knotted, & she was not certain if it was out of dread or excitement. Sometimes it was something trivial, like cleaning cobwebs from the corner of the ceiling, sometimes he bent her over a table to drive himself into her hard & furious & finish far too soon to allow her to cum. Some mornings Carissa thought about leaving him — the doors were locked against her, but she knew she could find a way past them — but she could not imagine going back to the life she lived before she became his property. Then she would take more time than usual over her makeup and appearance, & work harder at being his obedient maid.
She could only stand in front of the mirror & stare at the metal she would wear for the next six months: no orgasms for at least that long. And it didn’t he wouldn’t be using her body for his pleasure. She was his property, after all.
Willow, a late 1980s amateur who modeled a while for Harmony Publishing. (I have the issue with this image somewhere.) I wonder if she’s still doing stuff like this with her boyfriend/husband.
She doesn’t appear all that impressed at the effort her owner spent to restore this kitchen to proper period style. It could make her servitude easier if she did express some appreciation.
Either their conditioning has been successful, or they actually enjoy a life of menial labor and sexual slavery. In either case, they will make their owner very happy.
French style shows through even in the way they package their sex slaves for use.
"I don’t see why you two don’t get along. You both like Mai Tais, long walks on the beach, "The Sound of Music", & men. You should be eager to nibble on each others pussies by now."