Slave life – From 4 Days to 2 Months in One Day – The Trap Closes Fast

 Month 1, Day 3

I still can't believe how fast it happened.

We had agreed on a 4-day session before anything began — both of us signed, both of us knew the rules. I thought 4 days would be manageable. I thought I was strong enough. I thought I could walk away at the end back to my vanilla life. And leave all these bad experiences behind. I was wrong.

Day 3 – The Three Extensions (Morning to Afternoon) Morning. Merely one day before the agreed session ends. Master announced: 100 strokes of cane. I knew instantly — I could not endure that. Not after three days of little sleep, little food, constant restriction. My body was trembling. My mind was fracturing. This is not the first time he canes and my butt has barely recovered from the previous canning session. He proceeded anyway. Bound me to the chair. Wrists behind backrest. Ankles to legs. Neck chain locked to wall — no slack. Chopsticks wedged between teeth — jaw forced open, tongue pressed down, every sound muffled and stupid. I tried to spit them out. He held my jaw shut until I stopped. Upskirt, panties down, he started caning. First stroke on the raw tender butt — fire. I screamed — or tried to. It came out as a garbled grunt. He paused. “Count.” I couldn’t. The chopsticks made everything incoherent. I tried — “Wuh… wuh…” He shook his head. “Couldn’t hear clearly. Reset to zero.” Rage exploded. I thrashed. Chair rocked. Chain bit neck. I glared — old fire burning. He waited. Another stroke. Grunt. “Reset to zero.” Again. Again. Again. I reached 5 once — barely forced out. Reset again. He walked away for breaks — 5 minutes, 10 minutes — leaving me tied, gagged, chained, burning. Returned to taunt: “You’re still at zero. 100 to go. Want to keep going?” I wanted to kill him. I wanted to run. I wanted my old life back. After what felt like eternity (probably 30–40 strokes), he leaned in. “You may not get through this. But I can go on and on. Last chance. Extend to 1 week. I’ll consider the 100 strokes paid.” I shook my head — hard. Defiant. No way. Just one more day. I could endure one more day. I wasn’t signing. He shrugged. “Fine.” Walked away again. Left me there — tied, gagged, chained, burning. Silence worse than cane. Mind raced: escape plans, scream, fight. But couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think straight. When he returned: “You want more pain?” I was in distress. Fire behind me. Throat raw from muffled screams. Mind fracturing. He leaned in again. “Last chance. Extend to 1 week. You rest.” I couldn’t hold out anymore. Needed to save my butt. Reluctantly nodded. He smiled. Freed me. Positioned me bending over table — hands on surface, skirt flipped up. Applied ointment to fresh wounds. The moment cream touched skin, I almost screamed — raw stripes flared like fire again. Bit lip hard enough to taste blood. That was when the thought hit: I do not want to be in this anymore. Ointment still being rubbed in when I made my decision. As soon as he stepped back, I stood up. Rushed at him. Grabbed shirt with both hands, shook violently. “Release me! I don’t want this lifestyle! Let me go!” Shouted. Screamed. Old me again — the man who fought back. But weaker than thought. Days of little sleep, little food, constant punishment — strength gone. He reached up, grabbed neck chain, violently pulled toward him. Almost lost balance. Grip slipped. Stumbled forward. He dragged me by chain. No choice — follow or choke. Secured chain to another chain hanging from ceiling — taut enough to limit movement, but I remained standing on floor, weight on legs, no suspension. Arms bound upward to neck chain — hands near collar level. Fully suppressed — standing taut, gagged, chained, helpless. Shouted again. He forced soiled underwear into mouth. Taste immediate — salty, musky, humiliating. Silenced instantly. Before walking away: “Standing will help air your wound at the butt as well. Enjoy the morning here. And I will also record your actions as major violations and give you the more punishment points accordingly” He left. I stood there — late morning into early afternoon. Legs burning, the strain had become unbearable—calves burning, shoulders screaming, the chain biting into my skin with every tiny shift of weight. Arms aching. Mouth full of underwear. Hunger gnawing — days of bland rice-milk-cabbage slurry left me weak and craving. Mind racing with rage and regret. By about 2 p.m. I was very exhausted and tired from the standing. Legs shaking. Body numb. Desperation mounting. Helplessness extreme. Pain unbearable. No end in sight. Master reappeared. Looked at me. “You want more pain?” I was fracturing. He leaned in. “Last chance. Extend to 2 weeks. You rest.” I couldn’t hold out anymore. My legs wobbly and weak. Nodded weakly. He smiled. Freed me. I collapsed straight on the floor. He approached with three prefilled forms. Two for previous extensions (1 week + 2 weeks). Third for 3 weeks. I was so exhausted I couldn’t think. He released me from chain. I collapsed to floor. He knelt beside me. “Sign the three forms.” Barely conscious. Weakly placed signature — all three. Not thinking much it was 3 instead of 2. He smiled sarcastically. “Congratulations. You’ve signed a total of 3 weeks of slavery with me. Continue to serve me well.” Couldn’t resist. Exhaustion won. I was too tired to think or rationalise what 3 weeks meant. I could only think of the relief from the prior experience. Master was about to have his late lunch. As protocol demanded, I knelt beside him, head bowed, waiting while he ate. The smell hit me like a wave — savory, warm, rich. Real food. Chicken rice. My mouth flooded with saliva; my empty stomach twisted violently. The aroma felt almost euphoric, heavenly, like something from another life. Master noticed immediately. He watched my nostrils flare, saw the way my body unconsciously leaned toward the plate. He leaned forward slightly, voice calm and deliberate. “You’ve been so good today, little one. If you’d like to extend just a little more… I’ll let you have some of this.” He didn’t specify how long. He didn’t need to. My brain was too starved, too exhausted, too broken to think clearly. Food. All I could think about was food. I nodded frantically before the words even finished leaving his mouth. He reached for another form, scribbled something at the bottom in quick, sharp strokes, and tossed it onto the floor along with the pen. I lunged for it — didn’t even glance at the duration. I just signed. The scratch of the pen felt like salvation. Only then did he tip the remainder of his chicken rice into the dog bowl on the floor. I crawled to it and ate like an animal — ravenous, grateful, humiliated. It tasted like the finest delicacy I had ever known. I had no idea I had just sold myself for one full month. After I finished licking the bowl clean, Master decided I had “earned a reward” for my obedience — for selling myself so willingly into his service. He allowed me to sleep. In the afternoon. On the thin mat, with only the hard-cover book as a pillow. I collapsed instantly and fell into a deep, dreamless void. Until 7 p.m. The chain leash jerked hard around my neck, yanking me awake with a strangled gasp. My eyes flew open. Master stood over me, the sweaty uniform filling my vision and nostrils. By now the fabric was stiff, sour, clinging uncomfortably to every inch of skin. The smell was overwhelming — musky, pungent, inescapable. He wrinkled his nose. “You stink, slave. That uniform is filthy.” He glanced at the punishment chart and calmly awarded more points for hygiene violation. Then, louder: “Why are you still lying there? Kneel!” My mind was sluggish, still half-asleep. The command didn’t register immediately. Another violation. Another shout — this time even sharper. The second time it hit. I scrambled upright and dropped into proper submissive kneel position in front of him, heart hammering. Master looked down at me, chain still in hand. “Now that you are sold to me for one months—” One months? The words slammed into me like cold water. One months? I hadn’t even looked at the last form. I’d signed blindly for food. My mind — finally clearer after the nap — panicked. one months was far too long. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t prepared. I was agreeable to 2 weeks, that was what I remembered. What have I done? At the beginning of the session, I was only expecting if there was even extension, I was prepared for being away for a week and back to my vanilla life again. Agreeing to 2 weeks was already a mistake, which I remembered agreeing out of desperation, but as a man, I was ready to honour it. But now, it is 1 month, doubled the duration! My family would be worried about me. I have accidentally sold myself over a meal of chicken rice! I opened my mouth to protest. “Master, wait — that was a mistake, I didn’t mean—” He reacted instantly. The chain leash snapped upward in a vicious yank. The sudden jerk on my neck cut my words off mid-sentence, choking me into silence. Pain flared along my throat. “Who are you to interrupt me?!” he roared. “Know your place, little one! More violations. More points. Now I have two months to deal with you.” I tried again — weakly, desperately — explaining it was an error, begging to retract it. He simply tightened his grip on the leash and leaned in close. “You cannot do anything about it,” he said, voice low and final. “You are still locked up by this chain. I can control you easily. Whether you like it or not, a contract is a contract. I will uphold it.” The words settled over me like a heavy blanket. There was no arguing with the chain, the signatures I had placed with my own trembling hand. It has been an eventful day. I barely touched any of my assigned routine chores and it is already evening! This day 3 will always be remembered by me — the day I accidentally gave one month of my life away. But was it an accident? Or was it exactly what he planned? He has better plans now. He has the whole one month of pure ownership of me. And one month is long — long enough to be modified, long enough to be broken, long enough to be trained, and long enough for him to trick me into even longer service… He has another upper hand! The stinky uniform- stinky for him, The uniform’s fabric feels sticky, clinging to skin like glue. The pinafore feels heavy, damp, pressing the blouse tight against my body. The sweat drenched bra gripped hard to by skin with wiring dug in. The straps bit. I am now theoretically committing the mortal crime of dirty uniform, which comprise of a violation in every category on the violation chart. I am under his mercy. Still kneeling before him helpless, he offered: “I can give you a clean set of uniform and not consider your current state of uniform as violations if you surrender another 1 to me or you will stand up the whole night in chains with the full array of other punishment, nipple clamps, bind hands to the neck, full punishment accessories and any more I can think of when I administer that, oh yes, you will also earn the punishment debt point.’ Instant swallow of saliva! Master’s one means 1 day or 1 week or what? I dared not ask. He seems intentional in his ambiguity. Just merely recovered from fatigue, I am not prepared to enter into punishment again, I geared to the former. But now that I have sufficient sleep and the nutrient for the chicken rice entered my body, I may think better this time. I rationalised quickly: if the session is ending soon, I might as well endure until the end. But now I have a long runway. After tonight, it is another 3 plus more weeks! There may be more! Oh no, both are bad. Master at this moment added pressure and shout: “I give you 5 seconds now. If not the deal is close.. 5, 4… “ I panicked, and out of the mouth, I just blurt “I choose one” Master gave a grin and replied: “I know you will do that, I will make sure I make you my master piece.” Fear creeped in. He has already pre filled the form. He threw the form down with a pen. When I looked at the form, this time mentally alert- HIS 1 MEANS 1 MORE MONTH!. The extension is a 2 month extension! Understanding the protocol that “If the slave regrets or backs out after verbal/bodily agreement but before signing: This is the most severe violation possible — not even classified as a standard category. Master has full rights to use any means necessary to force the signature (no limits, no negotiation).” I had to reluctantly sign. After signature, he throw me a set of new uniform and instructed me: "put this new set on top of this smelly uniform and shift the tie to the outer layer" I was cheated. I thought the carrot was for me to change out of the smelly and uncomfortable uniform, I heard wrongly!. He intentionally ambiguous his word. I regretted signing the 5th extension immediately. However I learnt to just submit to this fate. And the fate that I have to endure the existing uncomfortable dirtied uniform and the additional layer of uniform, making me sweat more from the extra layer. But now master is shield from the smell by the extra layer. Truly, bias arrangement.

It has been an eventful day. I barely touched any of my assigned routine chores and it is already evening! This day 3 will always be remembered by me — the day I accidentally gave two months of my life away. But was it an accident? Or was it exactly what he planned? He has better plans now. He has the whole two months of pure ownership of me. And two months is long — long enough to be modified, long enough to be broken, long enough to be trained, and long enough for him to trick me into even longer service….

Slave life- Cassandra’s Two Successive Nights of Mummification – The Breaking Point

(Month 1, days 15–16 – early slavery phase)

The first mummification on day 2 was “experience sake.”

A test.

A baseline.

Six hours.

I survived it — barely.

The sleeping protocol had been my nightly prison since day one, but the first few weeks were brutal.

I hadn’t adapted yet.

I survived — barely.

Then came the two successive mummifications — night 15 and night 16.

Debt had spiked from a chain of small failures: hesitation, posture drift, delayed response.

Master decided reinforcement was needed — and he needed it fast.

Night 15 – Second Mummification

Standing wrap.

Master started at the ankles and worked upward while I stood rigid in canvas shoes and socks.

Arms at sides — palms faced down touching the flat pubic area (as reminder of gender status).

Both thumbs tied together with a cable tie to keep hands in place during the wrap (minimal additional restraint).

Legs together.

Every loop tightened.

The wrap was for the whole body — from ankles all the way up, covering every inch, including the head.

No part left exposed.

Only the breathing tubes and water tube pierced the layers.

When the wrap reached shoulders and neck, he guided me down slowly to the mat.

Head significantly elevated — three pillows stacked under my neck and shoulders so my head was noticeably higher than my chest (prevents choking or reflux when sucking from the tube).

But lowering me was another violation.

I had shifted slightly during the descent — a tiny bend in the knees to balance.

Master noticed.

“Failure to maintain standing posture until fully wrapped.”

He noted it in the ledger.

Major violation: Upkeep + Contract Baseline related.

200–500 points added.

Blind Seal over eyes. Earplugs in.

Two breathing tubes taped to my nostrils.

A third breathing tube taped to my mouth and connected to a small fish tank air pump — constantly pumping fresh air in (for safety).

The water bag tube was secured to the same mouth area — I had to suck actively when thirsty.

The taped tubes themselves worked as an effective gag — I couldn’t speak, couldn’t cry out, only muffled grunts at best.

   Picture note above: the closest visualize achieved by AI

First 1–2 hours: almost nothing.

The whole-body wrap felt heavy but not yet oppressive.

Heat built slowly.

I could even drift into shallow sleep — exhaustion from the day helped.

Thirst came early — mouth dry from the heat and tubes.

I sucked on the water tube whenever the feeling grew.

The 3-litre bag was high enough — gravity helped, but I had to actively pull.

Swallow after swallow.

Thirst kept returning — the heat made it endless.

Hour 3 onward: intensity rose.

Sweat formed inside the wrap — no escape.

Restricted feel turned into itch to move.

Fidget urge kicked in — fingers twitching, toes curling, hips wanting to shift.

Nothing moved the wrap.

Tubes silenced every sound.

I could only wait helplessly.

Hour 6: partial release — Master cut only the lower wrap (waist down).

Legs freed.

Upper body still mummified — arms pinned, chest wrapped, head sealed.

He assisted me to stand — legs shaky, knees weak.

Then bent me forward over the table, whole torso leaning flat on the table surface.

Skirt flipped up.

Upskirt caning — twenty strokes on bare skin.

Sharp. Burning.

Tubes still in — no cry possible.

The upper wrap kept me pressed forward, immobile.

Full release followed.

Cutters snipped everything away.

Blind Seal off. Earplugs out.

The uniform was soaked and saturated with sweat — heavy, clinging.

Surprisingly, the massive sweating had washed away most of the smell more than it made things sticky.

The sheer volume of water loss flushed out odor instead of trapping it.

Skin slick, but not foul.

It was already morning.

No collapse.

No sleep.

I struggled to kneel submissively first — body shaking, limbs weak.

I waited on knees for instructions.

Master pointed to a bottle with funnel beside me.

“Pee.”

I adopted the peeing position — still kneeling, legs apart just enough, skirt lifted.

I struggled to release — dehydrated from the massive sweat loss.

Only a small, extremely yellow stream came out.

I squeezed harder.

A little more.

Then nothing.

I struggled to kneel submissively again — body shaking, limbs weak.

Master made me drink 1.5 litres of water as recovery from dehydration.

The drinking was a struggle — stomach bloated, throat protesting, but I forced it down.

Master watched every swallow.

Master pointed to the kitchen.

“Chores.

Regular uniform with heels.

Now.”

I waited on knees for permission to continue the day.

Master nodded once.

I rose slowly.

I was still in the drenched regular uniform from the night before — no need to change into it.

Only my feet were still in canvas shoes and socks.

I promptly removed them and slipped into the 5-inch black heels — legs trembling, balance unsteady.

I struggled through the day.

Dusting felt impossible.

Wiping took forever.

Folding — hands shaking, vision blurring.

The heels were torture on exhausted legs.

I moved like I was underwater.

Every task was a battle against collapse.

All day I kept thinking of sleep.

I expected that night would be a deep sleep.

I kept imagining the moment I could finally lie down — proper rest, no wrap, no drip, no tubes.

I clung to that thought to get through the hours.

But when night came, Master looked at me.

“Debt still high.

Mummification again.

Tonight.

Eight hours this time.”

The shock hit like cold water.

Eight hours.

I protested — a small, desperate whisper.

“Master… it’s only one day after… safety protocol… two successive nights… eight hours is too dangerous…”

He didn’t raise his voice.

He just took out the ledger.

“Arguing.”

He paused, pen hovering.

Then continued writing, voice cold and deliberate:

“Violation: Contract Baseline related — refusal to accept Master’s decision.

Disruption to Master — wasting time with protest.

Not behaving lady-like — raising voice, questioning authority.

Exhibit traits of man – Physical — asserting autonomy through speech.

Upkeep related — delaying protocol execution.

Financial Related — causing unnecessary delay in service.

Inconvenience to Master — forcing Master to explain rules.”

He looked up.

“That’s seven categories.

Points: over 1,800.

This mummification tonight can barely cover it.

You’re still deep in debt.”

The list hit harder than any stroke.

Fear. Disappointment. Regret. Despair.

And a sickening wave of self-loathing — I had done this to myself.

I had opened my mouth.

Master remarked: “Opened mouth, more violations.”

I had earned every category.

He continued:

“Continue protesting, and it will be three successive nights.”

I shut up.

Fear swallowed everything.

I knelt.

I prepared.

I knew there was no escape.

Night 16 – Third Mummification

Before wrapping, Master allowed me to empty my pee.

Then he made me drink 1.5 litres at one go.

The drinking was a struggle — stomach bloated, throat protesting, but I forced it down.

Master watched every swallow.

Same ritual. Standing wrap. Palms down on flat pubic area, thumbs tied together. Guided down (again, I shifted slightly — another violation noted). Head significantly elevated. 3-litre water bag tube secured to mouth (sucking required). Three breathing tubes taped — two passive at nostrils, one connected to small fish tank air pump at mouth for constant fresh air.

First 1–2 hours: almost nothing.

I drifted into sleep faster than the previous night.

Fatigue from the first session carried over.

Thirst hit hard — I sucked constantly on the water tube.

Swallow after swallow.

Thirst kept coming — the heat made it relentless.

Hour 3–4: heat and restriction intensified, but sleep fragments continued.

Exhaustion dulled the fidget urge.

I twitched inside the wrap, but less desperately.

Tubes kept silence absolute.

Helpless waiting — mixed with bone-deep tiredness.

Hour 5–6: mind fractured.

Very bad sense of judgement from the wrap and heat.

I kept thinking it was already the end — that hours had passed, that release was coming.

But it was not the case.

What seemed like hours was only a few minutes.

Time stretched and collapsed inside the darkness.

Hour 7–8: the pump kept air flowing.

Thirst never left — I sucked from the tube endlessly.

Sweat saturated everything.

No pee urge — massive loss kept bladder quiet.

Release: full release.

Cutters snipped everything away.

Blind Seal off. Earplugs out.

The uniform was soaked and saturated with sweat — heavy, clinging.

Again, the massive fluid loss flushed out smell instead of trapping it.

Skin slick, but surprisingly not foul.

It was already morning again.

No collapse.

No sleep.

I struggled to kneel submissively first — body shaking, limbs weak.

I waited on knees for instructions.

Master looked at the ledger.

He commented:

“Last night’s mummification never reduced the overall punishment debt.

Your protest the night before earned points that this punishment can barely pay back.

You’re still stuck with high debt.”

The words landed like stones.

A mixture of fear, disappointment, regret, and despair flooded me.

I had endured six hours twice in a row — soaked, aching, sleepless — and still owed.

Still trapped.

Still no end in sight.

Master added:

“I will think of another way for you to pay back the debt.”

The threat hung in the air.

I knelt.

I waited.

I knew whatever came next would be worse.

Master pointed to the kitchen.

“Chores.

Regular uniform with heels.

Now.”

I waited on knees for permission to continue the day.

Master nodded once.

I rose slowly.

I was still in the drenched regular uniform from the night before — no need to change into it.

Only my feet were still in canvas shoes and socks.

I promptly removed them and slipped into the 5-inch black heels — legs trembling, balance unsteady.

I struggled through the day.

Dusting felt impossible.

Wiping took forever.

Folding — hands shaking, vision blurring.

The heels were torture on exhausted legs.

I moved like I was underwater.

Every task was a battle against collapse.

The fatigue from two successive nights was overwhelming — body heavy, mind foggy, every step a fight.

All day I kept thinking of sleep.

I expected that night would be a deep sleep.

I kept imagining the moment I could finally lie down — proper rest, no wrap, no drip, no tubes.

I clung to that thought to get through the hours.

The two successive nights did what weeks of protocol alone couldn’t fully achieve.

They broke something.

Not my body — my remaining resistance.

The fear of a third night was unbearable.

Never do I hope to be in it again.

I really promise myself to be extremely obedient and submissive to Master from now on.

This method has effectively broken me.

Later, whenever Master verbally mentioned he wanted to punish with mummification again — even as a casual threat — I immediately behaved to my best.

Fear of being in it again overrode everything.

I corrected faster.

I obeyed without hesitation.

I anticipated his needs.

The sleeping protocol adaptation accelerated overnight.

The thin mat, the hard book, the forced legs together, the constant tug, the bra grip, the damp uniform — all of it suddenly felt almost merciful compared to the wrap.

I learned to lie still faster.

To breathe slower.

To accept the discomfort without fighting.

Because the alternative was six hours of true helplessness.

And after two successive nights, I feared the third so much that I made sure there was never a third.