Slave life- Extended my contract- How I ended up keep extending my slavery days initially

I never imagined the first five days would turn into this endless spiral.

I signed the initial 5-day / 4-night contract on Day 1, thinking it was just a short, intense dive into the unknown. No prior roleplay. No hints. No games. Master — who had been a friend up to that moment — presented the paper, and I signed. The rules started instantly: regular uniform on, posture enforced, hands over flat front, dog bowl meals, thin mat on the kitchen floor for sleep, thick hardcover book under my head. No pillow. No blanket. No mercy. I thought: "Five days. I can survive five days."

But by Day 3, the pain had already shattered that illusion.

The First Extension: Day 3 – Signed for One Week Because I Couldn't Face the Cane

Day 3. The punishment debt had piled up fast — late wake-up, posture slip, slow response to a call. Master tallied it calmly: 250 cane strokes owed. He didn't waste time. He bent me over the table in the punishment room, regular uniform skirt lifted, panties pulled aside. The rattan whistled. First stroke — fire across my thighs. Second — burn deeper. By thirty, I was sobbing, legs shaking, welts rising. By fifty, I was screaming muffled pleas through gritted teeth. He stopped. I thought it was mercy.

He slid the paper under my nose. “Sign for one week total,” he said. “The remaining 200 strokes are forgiven. Debt cleared tonight. No chain tonight.”

I refused six times. I kicked the paper back. I thought: "Only two days left. I can make it. I can endure." Pride. Shock. Denial.

He waited. No anger. He just started the cane again. Fifty-one. Fifty-two.

Seventh offer: legs numb, thighs bleeding, breath shallow. I signed. Because I couldn’t take one more stroke, let alone 200. I didn’t think “one week.” I thought “tonight.”

The chain stayed off that night. The cane stopped. I lay on the thin mat in the kitchen corner, book under my head, legs touching, and for a few hours I felt relief. But as the welts throbbed and the book dug into my cheek, the regret crept in. One week. Seven days. A hundred and sixty-eight hours. I had just added two days to escape one night of pain. What was I thinking?

The Second Extension: Day 4 – Signed for Two Weeks Because I Needed to Sit Down

Day 4. The cane welts were still fresh — burning with every move. Chores started at dawn: scrub floors on knees, serve breakfast kneeling, wait in posture for orders, clean the bathroom tile by tile. No break. No sitting. No lying down. Legs trembled. Back locked. Eyes heavy. Mind foggy.

I was swaying while pouring tea. Master noticed. He stopped me mid-task. “You’re exhausted.”

I nodded — too tired to speak.

He placed the paper on the counter. The next line was already written: “from one week to two weeks total.”

“Sign,” he said. “Immediate four-hour rest sitting down — no chores, no posture rule, just sit in the chamber right now. Debt wiped.”

I refused three times. “I can last the other three days.” But my legs were buckling. I thought: "Four hours sitting is all I need to recover. Then I can push through."

Fourth offer — still swaying, eyes heavy — I signed. Because I was physically collapsing — four hours sitting felt like survival. I didn’t think “two weeks more.” I thought “four hours sitting now.”

He said: “Sit. Now.” I crawled to the chamber. Sat on the thin mat. Uniform still on. No chain. No posture. No tasks. Four hours. Quiet. Relief.

But after four hours: back to full duties. Chores resumed. Debt started again. The cycle continued.

The Third Extension: Day 6 – Signed for Three Weeks Because of One Bite of Meat

Day 6. The 2-week contract was halfway done. The uniform was already 12 days old — smell starting to cling, fabric stiffening, early layering triggered because Master sniffed and said “too strong.” Chores nonstop: scrub, serve, kneel, wait, clean. No break.

I served Master his dinner every evening. Grilled chicken. Soy sauce. Garlic. Rice that smelled like food, not filler. The smell alone made my mouth water. I knelt nearby, eyes down, stomach growling loud enough for him to hear.

He noticed. Didn’t say anything at first. Took a bite. Chewed slowly.

Then, casually: “Sign for three weeks total — right now — and you can have the rest of this chicken. One meal. Real meat. After that, back to your bowl.”

I froze. The chicken was right there — hot, juicy, seasoned. I hadn’t tasted anything like it in two weeks. The craving hit like a wave — sharp, deep, desperate.

I refused twice — “I can last the rest of the two weeks.” Third offer — stomach growling again — I signed. Because the smell was right there. Because I couldn’t take one more day without tasting real food.

He pushed the plate over. I ate kneeling, fast, savoring every bite. Salt. Texture. Warmth. Tears came — not from sadness, but from how good it felt. One real meal. One moment of normal food.

Next morning: rice + beans again. The craving was back — stronger. And now the contract was three weeks.

I signed for three weeks not because I wanted three weeks. I signed because I couldn’t stand one more day without tasting real food.

And Master knew it.

The Fourth Extension: Day 7 – Signed for One Month Because I Couldn't Face the Cane Anymore

Day 7. The punishment debt had piled up fast — late wake-up, posture slip, slow response to a call. Master tallied it calmly: 250 cane strokes owed. He didn't waste time. He bent me over the table in the punishment room, regular uniform skirt lifted, panties pulled aside. The rattan whistled. First stroke — fire across my thighs. Second — burn deeper. By thirty, I was sobbing, legs shaking, welts rising. By fifty, I was screaming muffled pleas through gritted teeth. He stopped. I thought it was mercy.

He slid the paper under my nose. “Sign for one month total,” he said. “The remaining 200 strokes are forgiven. Debt cleared tonight. No chain tonight.”

I refused three times. I kicked the paper back. I thought: "Only two weeks left. I can make it. I can endure." Pride. Shock. Denial.

He waited. No anger. He just started the cane again. Fifty-one. Fifty-two.

Fourth offer: legs numb, thighs bleeding, breath shallow. I signed. Because I couldn’t take one more stroke, let alone 200. I didn’t think “one month.” I thought “tonight.”

The chain stayed off that night. The cane stopped. I lay on the thin mat in the kitchen corner, book under my head, legs touching, and for a few hours I felt relief. But as the welts throbbed and the book dug into my cheek, the regret crept in. One month. Thirty days. Seven hundred and twenty hours. I had just added two weeks to escape one night of pain. What was I thinking?

The Fifth Extension: Day 14 – Signed for Two Months Because I Couldn't Stand the Chain Anymore

Day 14. I was already two weeks in. The uniform was starting to smell — faint but constant. Chores never stopped: scrub floors on knees, serve meals, wait in posture, clean again. No break. No sitting. No lying down except at night.

But the debt had piled fast. Late wake-up yesterday. Slow response this morning. Posture slip while serving tea. Master tallied it silently.

Evening. He didn’t speak. Just clipped the chain to the ceiling hook. Standing. Heels on. No sitting. No leaning. Arms behind.

One hour. Two. Three. Legs trembled. Toes numb. Back screamed.

Four hours. Five. I started to sway — chain tugged neck. Pain shot up spine.

Six hours. Seven. I whispered — barely audible — “Please… Master… I can’t…”

He didn’t answer.

Eight hours. Nine. Ten.

I was shaking. Tears. Voice gone. Legs locked. I couldn’t stand anymore. I couldn’t think.

He walked in. Paper in hand. The next line was already written: “from one month to two months total.”

“Sign,” he said. “Debt cleared. No chores. No posture. Rest while kneeling”

I was broken. I didn’t think “two months more.” I thought “I can’t take one more minute standing like this.”

I signed.

He unclipped the chain. I dropped to my knees. He pointed to the chamber.

“Kneel”

I crawled. Kneeled on the thin pad. Uniform still on. No chain. No posture. No tasks. Just sitting. Four hours. Quiet. Relief.

But I knew it was temporary. The debt would return. The chores would return. The chain would wait for the next slip.

I signed two months not because I wanted two months. I signed because I couldn’t survive ten more hours standing in chains.

And Master knew it.