Day 5, late evening (event happen after part 1)
Snap!
Big binder clip suddenly slams on my tongue! Pain detonates—white-hot, blinding, like my mouth’s been stapled shut! Tongue flattens instantly!
Oh —no—no—no!
Panic floods: This can’t—
I try to scream—nothing. Just “hssshhh!” exploding from inside.
Body convulses—legs buckle, heels scrape tile, chain yanks from the front—head jerks back, chest thrusts out.
Terror spikes: He’s here. He’s doing this. Again.
Without warning! Snap again!
Left ear—cartilage crushes, fire lances to skull.
Snap!
Right ear—same bite. Ears burn, swell, throb like they’re on fire.
He twists off the handles—now just jaws of the binder clip, locked.
Instinctively, my hands wanted to reach to rip them off. But I my hands were well secured above my head, the cuffs bite wrists, and the chain held me back in position. Felt frustrated and helpless!
Head whips, ears tug, tongue grinds. “Hssshhh!”. Burning.
Tears slam against goggles—hot, furious, sloshing in the dark. Shame crashes: I’m nothing. Just meat. Just clips.
He leans in—breath hot on my ear, voice low, flat:
“Still nothing to say? Good. Slaves’ tongues aren’t for talking anyway.”
Pause.
“Do you want to be in this?”
Instinctively, head shakes—small. Chain tugs, ears sting, tongue throbs.
He exhales—sharp:
“Wrong answer! That is not an acceptable behavior of my slave! One more chance before punishment points!”
“Do you want to be in this?”
Nod—tiny, forced.
Not because I agree. Just… cannot afford to earn any more points. Can’t take more. Just survive.
He continued (rapid this time):
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod. He asked in successive fire
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod.
“Do you enjoy it?”
Nod.
“Do you want to extend the contract to 3 months?”
Nod. Not realising or registering the question.
He immediately jumped in!
“Congratulations. You have officially extended yourself.”
Reality slams.
I shake—wild, frantic—head whips side to side. Ignoring any chain bites, ears burn, tongue swells or whatsoever!
He exhales. “As per our initial contract—the moment you nod, it’s official. Nothing overrides it. No retract.”
Voice flat:
“After this punishment, when I release you—you’ll sign the form. But it’s already done. The form’s just a formality.”
The mind spins:
What did I just do? 3 months. 3. Months. I nodded—like an idiot. But the pain… nipple clips, the tampons, the clips crushing my tongue, ears burning like coals, chain yanking every twitch, my toes crushing on the heels—it hurt too much. Plus all the discomfort! Too fast. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t stop. Just… reacted. Just nodded!
And now? 3 months. Because of me. Because my body went with the flow to say yes.
The contract—stupid contract—I signed it days ago, why was I even so stupid to initiate such terms, not him! And now it is working on me! A nod = official. No take-backs.
I was tricked! He scolded me like a child. “Wrong answer.” And I folded. Nodded. Again. Again. Like training. Like I’m already his.
And the worst? Like I don’t even know what 3 months means! More caning? More clips? More rubber bands? More nights like this—arms numb, heels cramping, drool drying on my chin, tears sloshing in goggles?
Instinct won. Pain won. And now I’m deeper. Four months deeper.
He reaches up—fingers cold—unclips the goggles.
They lift. Tears spill out like a dam breaking, rolling down cheeks, chin, neck. Salt burns eyes.
Then—sharp. Light floods in.
Everything snaps into focus: the lights overhead, the chain—right in front of me. Silver links dangling from my neck, pulling upwards. I see every part of it. And my hands—cuffed high above, I see them too, bind up and useless.
And him—clear, close.
Face calm, eyes flat, no expression. Just watching.
I blink—fast, stinging—but it doesn’t go away.
He steps back. Pulls something from his pocket.
My red passport.
He flips it open—pages rustle.
“Found this outside. Plastic bag right below a rock—the one that looked so obviously moved. Amateur. I walked in, saw it immediately.”
Shock slams on me: How—how did he—
I thought I did well. Thought the rock was clever. Thought the bag was hidden. Thought no one would look. Thought I was safe. But he saw. Like I was stupid. Like it was nothing. Now I am exposed!
Tears fresh now. Vision blurs again. Heart hammers.
He knows. He knows everything.
No words. Just “hssshhh… hssshhh… hssshhh…”—leaking out.
He holds it up—close enough to see my photo, my name.
“Now I know who you are.”
Pause.
“I found all your information on Facebook. Your real name. Your friends. Your family. Photos—old ones, new ones. The ones you think are private.”
He leans closer—breath on my ear.
“Do you want me to post anything up on social media? A picture of what I have taken of you? Or maybe a caption: ‘Look who’s playing slave tonight’?”
“Or… you could nod again. Make this easier.”
Panic surges.
Body jerks like a puppet—every move pulls everything tighter. But now—the pain, the clips, the chain, the burn—it all fades. Distant. Like noise underwater.
Panic takes over. Pure, sharp, loud.
He’s going to post it. Everyone will see. Everyone will know.
I thrash again—harder, faster. “Hssshhh… hssshhh… hssshhh…”—endless, useless. Heart slams against ribs.
Vision tunnels.
Nothing else matters. Just this. Just exposed. Just ruined.
Helpless. No noise. No escape.
He watches.
“Make noise all you want. No one hears.”
The passport dangles—like a key to everything outside.
He pockets the passport.
“Now I have two things to my advantage. And you… you have none.”
Voice low, steady, not rushed.
“Think through this. Nod once—extend to four months. I keep your privacy. I keep your photos. I keep your name. You go back to your normal life after the contract. Friends don’t know. Family doesn’t know. You can still rebuild your normal life. You can still pretend this never happened and continue in closet.”
Pause—long enough for the words to sink.
“And nod twice—extend to six months. Tonight’s punishment finishes. Then I reset your debt. Zero. I give you a chance to start fresh—after the extra time.”
“But these two come as a package. No separate deals. No nod and shake—there’s no such thing as a nod and a shake. It’s all nod… or all shake. Shake once—and it’s over. Either you take everything—four months for privacy, six months for reset—or none at all. nod. Or I post. Your choice.”
He leans in—breath on my ear, cold.
“I am ready to post. One click. Your Facebook. Your friends’ feeds. Your family’s timeline. ‘Look who’s playing slave tonight.’ Pictures—your face, your body, your shame. Everything. Your life crushed. No normal. No pretending. Just ruined.”
He steps back. Phone in hand, thumb ready.
“Extension… or life crushed. Choose.” He waits.
Three months… three whole months. Already a stupid mistake—two was bad enough, and not already 3! And now he wants to double it! Not for this. I can’t do it! I am not nodding again! Can’t sign away more time.
But if I don’t… if I shake, if I refuse—he posts. My name. My face. My clips. My drool. My shame. Friends scroll past it—laugh, whisper, unfriend. Family sees—mother cries, father disowns, sister blocks. Job gone. No more chance of normal life even I endured through this 3 months! No closet. No hiding. Just ruined. Just nothing. Just… exposed.
And it’s my fault. My stupid hiding. My stupid nod. My stupid contract. My stupid mistakes.
He cuts in—voice sharp, cold: “I don’t have much time.”
He starts counting. Slow. Deliberate.
“Five…”
Heart stops.
“Four…”
Panic chokes—throat tight, breath gone.
“Three…”
I panic—eyes wide, body jerks. Chain yanks. “Hssshhh…” sprays—pink, frantic, trying to ask for more time, but was not even audible!
“Two…”
Intensity spikes—chest tightens, vision narrows, everything blurs except the phone, the thumb, the screen.
“One…”
He shouts it—sharp, final
I nodded! Quick, wild, no thought. Just instinct.
And with that—I sold half a year away to him, ss his owned slave. Time, body, privacy—all his.
He pockets the phone.
He exhales—slow, satisfied.
“Welcome. For the next half a year… you’re mine.”
He steps closer—breath on my face.
“Now that you’re going to be long-term here, I’m arranging my tailor. He’ll come by in the next few days. Take your measurements. Prepare a proper formal uniform to befit a lowly slave like you. White blouse—tight, long-sleeve, winged collar, high polyester for stickiness. Black pencil skirt—no slit, knee-length. Black vest and blazer—body-fitting. All black-and-white, all to show you’re not going anywhere. And so that you can be also presentable to my friends when they come.”
He pauses—lets it land.
“That’ll be your life. Six months. Formal and uncomfortable Uniformed for you, but presentable to me as a proper owned maid.”
Presentable? To his friends?
The word stings—like a slap. We agreed. Private. That was the deal. The whole point. The only thing left.
But now—his friends? Coming here? Seeing me like this? In that uniform? White blouse—tight, long-sleeve, winged collar, polyester clinging to every sweat drop. Black pencil skirt—no slit, knee-length, hugging hips like a trap. Black vest and blazer—body-fitting, buttoned shut. 4-inch stilettos—forcing every step into pain.
Not getting excited. Not even close. This isn’t a fantasy. This is a prison. Layers that trap heat, make me sweat through every shift. Skirt rides up if I bend—everyone sees. Blouse sticks, collar chokes. I’ll look “proper”—but inside?
Suffocating. Humiliated. Displayed. Like a mannequin they can laugh at. “Look at him—once a man, now a girl and a maid.”
Why? Why his friends? I nodded for privacy. Not for… this. Not for them to stare. To whisper. To judge.
Shame floods. Tears fresh again.
He lied? Or I was stupid. Again. Always stupid.
No voice. Just “hssshhh…” leaking—weak, defeated.
He seems to read my mind—eyes narrow, voice drops lower.
“Now that you’re going to be here for six months. And your privacy? Some of it belongs to me now. I already know your name. I know everything. That’s mine too. So it is time for me to show off my property to my friends!”
He pauses—lets it sink.
“Moreover—the privacy? That was never in the contract. Just a verbal agreement. We only follow the contract. The real one. The paper. The nod. Not promises. Not feelings. Just rules.”
Regret floods! Why? Why did I stop him? Before the contract, when he first suggested it. “Privacy clause?” he asked. I said no. “No need,” I said. Stupid. So stupid. I literally handed him the knife to kill me! Now it’s too late. Now he owns it. My name. My face. My shame. And all his friends will see me. Because I said “no need.”
Idiot. Always the idiot. Now I pay the consequences. Six months. Displayed. No clause. No shield. Imagine me standing in front of them, curtsying, “Yes, Sir.” While they laugh.
Tears fresh. “Hssshhh…” leaks—broken, quiet.
He turns—walks out.
Returns with my clothes. Drops them at my feet.
Scissors out. Snip. Snip. Snip.
Jeans split. Shirt shredded. Underwear torn.
“Now I guess you don’t need this anymore.”
He kicks the rags aside.
Gone. All gone. My last pieces—cut up like trash. Like I was never real. I did not expect him to do it! What am I going to wear when I am finally released?
Now I’m naked. Not just body—just me. No clothes. No secrets. No escape. Just the uniform coming. Just six months of servitude. And no one to blame but me.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Then his reaches up. First, he twists the handles back onto the binder clip on my tongue. Metal clicks. Then with a quick twist he removes it. My tongue springs free—swollen, numb, throbbing.
But the chopstick stays—thick, wooden, wedged between teeth. Tongue presses against it—raw, useless. I try to speak—“Ah—” but it comes out garbled, muffled: “mmphhh… hssshhh…”
Drool pours.
Next—left ear. Handles snap on. Cartilage crushes. Then—snap—he pulls the clip off. Lobe burns, raw.
Right ear—same: handles on, snap off. Fire fades to dull ache.
All clips gone. But the chopstick holds—tongue pinned, words trapped.
“Mmphhh… hssshhh…”, no real sound.
He clamps the goggles back—darkness crashes in.
He leaves.
I hang there. Alone. For the rest of the night. As an owned slave for the next 6 months!
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