Slave Life Storyline – The first approved afternoon Sleep...... so that it can be presentable.

 Day 6, morning till late afternoon (immediately after the 'aftermath of the ‘big’ punishment')

The potty sits in the corner — plastic, low, white, like a child's thing. I did it at awhile ago, right after eating that cold rice-milk-lettuce-mayonnaise mess. Squatted over it, knees already burning from yesterday, ankles sore. Shit came out soft, warm, almost liquid — pale-yellow sludge, like thick yogurt mixed with curdled milk. No solid bits. No control. It splattered a little, stuck to the sides. I pulled panties up — no wipe — warm paste smeared across my groin, clinging to the cotton, pressing into skin like glue.

Now it's there. Right beside me.

I closed my eyes. Not because I was sleepy—because I was. Too tired. Sleepless night. Body heavy. Head spinning. No fight left.

And just like that—I fell asleep. On the spot. No pretending. No waiting. Just… gone….

----- awhile later.. (likely 9am…)

Bulb hums dim yellow overhead, always on, no window, no off switch. Room sealed. Air already thick, still. My breathing makes it warmer, wetter. Humidity fills the air.

Lying on back. Legs straight, ankles bound tight. No spread, no bend.

Thumbs zip-tied palms-together right over pubic mound.

Hands flat, useless. Can't scratch, can't shift weight. 

Neck chain—PVC sleeve against collarbone. Lying flat, no tug. Chain loose, coiled beside ear. Only pulls if I move far. Won't let me escape, but doesn't choke in rest.

Still FULL Uniform: blouse pinned to panties at waist both sides—safety pins on both sides. Blouse no ride-up, but pull constant, tugs waistband tighter across hips and crotch. Pinafore layered over, pleats sticky against thighs; tie knotted firm at throat, polyester collar clinging damp. All layers soaked through, clinging heavy—no air between skin and fabric, just trapped heat.

Sweat from night still trapped, fermenting slow in folds—sour, salty rot building layer by layer.

Panties compress tuck hard, penis pulled back flat, balls squeezed up. Five days no release. Pressure dull ache already. 

White canvas shoes squeeze toes flat, socks thin and damp already from night sweat. No heels now, but feet still throb, blisters raw under fabric. 

Training bra straps carve shoulders with constant dig, fabric edges grinding skin with every shallow breath. Band squeezes ribs tight, compressing me tight—each inhale feels like fighting for air.

The smell of the potty beside is faint — milky-sour, like old yogurt left in the sun. Not bad. Just... there. Floating. Every breath — I taste it on my tongue.

Mayo from yesterday's meal lingers faint oily ghost under old sweat smell.

Eyes shut. Pretend sleep. But body won't let go deep. Knee welts from yesterday night’s caning—swollen, purple edges burn when slightest twitch. Nipples raw from clamps all night—purple, swollen, blouse rubs like sandpaper. Every inhale tugs. 

Drift starts. Shallow. Exhaustion heavy. Head spins slow. Then jolt—cramp in calf from bound ankles. Eyes snap open. Bulb glares. Breathe fast. Shut again. Pretend. 

------ Some time later (likely at 10 AM)

Drifting again. Light doze. Sweating. Uniform sticks everywhere. The blouse clings my chest, pinafore pleats fold and press against my inner thighs.Heat builds slow. Bulb adds warmth like small sun.

The potty smell beside is warmer. The sludge starts fermenting. Sweet-sour now. Like curdled cream. I turn my head — it's closer than I thought. The white plastic rim has a thin yellow ring around it.

Smell thickens within me. Old sweat sour. Fermented panty note underneath, unwashed fabric pressed to skin. Faint ammonia edge when I shift my hips. Tuck still holds, but pressure throbs deeper. Penis head mashed against groin with dull pulse.

------- A little while later after another slight doze (likely 10:30 AM)

I smell some cheesy smell. Sour. Like mayo gone off. It is from the potty! The smell thickens with every breath. I try to breathe through my mouth — but then I taste it.

Inner reminder: Survive. Fake it. Six months. Maybe easier if stay still. Maybe he sees good girl. Maybe less pain. Thoughts mechanical. Repeat. Fade.

Reflection creeps in slow. Yesterday—contract. He pushed me. Threatened exposure. Facebook. Social media. My face, uniform, everything out there. Scared me bad. Signed straight to six months. No choice. But now, lying here and thinking. Wait. Malaysia. One month max legal stay! After that—overstay. Illegal. If he exposes—posts pictures—they trace. Find me. Find him. He gets into trouble with the law too! No way he will do it! I was tricked! Bluff! Stupid fear! I fell for it. Signed away half year. For nothing. Anger bubbles quiet. Tricked! But what now? Stuck!

Memory hits again! Yesterday night Master said new routine. Breast pumping. Once day, 30 minutes. Remembered command: “Pump. Every day. Make them useful.” Machine cold on nipples—raw already from clamps. Ouch! Suction pulls swollen tips and the pressure will surely hurt. Humiliation wave—body forced into new shape. For him. Strapped down, uniform on, pumping like cow. Why am I going to do this?

 

Drift. Wake. Drift. Thumbs a little numb now—deep ache in wrists. Try shifting a little—chain rattles soft. Stop. Pretend sleep. Drift……

------- Some time later (likely 12 noon)

Hotter. Sticky. Sweat rivers down me. Blouse damp patches under arms and between bra. Bra band digs ribs—shallow pants.

And adding on a warm, cloying. Rotten cheese + sweet milk from the potty! It fills the room like fog. No escape. Every inhale — it sticks to my nose!

Could feel my bladder pressure building slow. Full from morning bottle. Hold. Clench. Tuck compresses everything—harder to hold. Thighs tremble slightly. Ankles bound my legs in place, no crossing legs for relief.

Then spike! Body betrays me! Felt warmth suddenly! Can't stop! Urine leaks first—small hot stream under tuck. Panties instantly soaked. Warmth rushes out, floods backward under tuck, soaks cotton rearward, spreads along crack and butt cheeks, wicks up toward lower back of pinafore. The safety pins holding the blouse hem tight to the panties at my waist trap it—no escape upward—so urine pools deep in the crotch against the tucked-back genitals, then seeps slowly rearward down the crack. Wet patch blooms dark on the back of the pinafore, creeping upward.

Shame crashes and my eyes squeeze shut. Tears leak at the corner of my eyes. Wet clammy now! Urine cools fast—cold sticky against my skin. Smell sharp ammonia cuts through sweat rot. Mixes. Worse!

Fresh urine mixes with the rotten dairy from the potty—sharp ammonia + curdled milk stink. Nausea rolls. The smell peaks with heavy, choking. Like breathing through spoiled cream.

Lie still. Pretend sleep. But wet! So wet!

I am going to be in trouble when Master gets back, big trouble! I was trying so hard this time! Really trying! No more violations! No more points! Keep clean! keep still! keep perfect! Avoid the debt climbing higher! One more clean day, maybe he eases up. Maybe six months will be the final ending.

But now—wet. Soiled! Ruined uniform! Patch creeping up the back like proof I failed! Couldn't hold. Couldn't stop it. Body betrayed me when I needed it most! Helpless! No clench strong enough! All that effort—gone in one spike! One flood! Violation. Major. Automatic.

Stacking on stacking. This violation may trigger a massive stacking! Everything compounding. Major violation. Or even Super Major! He may even use MULTIPLIER! This is bad! This is very bad! Points piling fast, way more than usual! Automatic escalation AGAIN! Oh no!!!!

 

And the worst part? I was so close. One clean day. One day without points. One day closer to maybe, just maybe, him easing the regime! Gone. All gone! In one helpless rush! Master hasn't even seen it yet, but I could feel it is already updated. Stacked. Multiplied.

He'll see it first. Smell it before he even steps close. Fresh urine + rotten dairy stink hitting him like a wall. Then the tally and debt piles higher than ever. Punishment waiting again!

Tears leak steady now. Heart hammers under the tight bra band. Sweat fresh under the old layers.

Beg? No use…. All because I couldn't prevent it. Couldn't stop the helpless rush. Failed again. And he hasn't even walked in yet.

 

------- Feels like eternity later (likely 1-3pm)

Wetness settles. Panties heavy and sodden. Urine stays trapped in the layers—panties and blouse hem pinned so tight together at the waist that nothing really escapes downward fast. The cotton and polyester soak up most of it, turning the fabric thicker, heavier, clinging even more stubbornly to skin.

Some seeps slowly along the inner thighs and crack, but the bulk stays right there, sodden crotch, wet patch spreading wider across the back of the pinafore from the inside out, creeping upward. The clothing holding all the moisture like a second, filthy skin! Wet clammy now! Urine cools fast—cold sticky against my skin.

Shame still crashing. Panic rising! Wet! So wet! Every tiny shift—squish. Fabric clings colder, heavier, refusing to let go of a single drop.

Smell ramps: ammonia strong now, mixes fermented panty sour, old mayo oily. Sweat adds salt. Choking layer. Potty smell stronger. Sickly sweet-sour. Like a warm dumpster of milk and mayo. The air feels thick with it.

And now, the urine smell mixes with the rotten dairy from the potty—sharp ammonia + curdled milk stink. Nausea rolls.

The smell peaks with heavy, choking. Like breathing through spoiled cream. It seems to clings to everything. Every breath — it coats my tongue.

Drift. Wake to throb—knees swollen, caning welts pulse. Nipples sting blouse rub. Thumbs dead numb—shoulders deep ache from pinned position. Ankles throb around ties.

Panic lingers. Still wet. Still stinking. Still helpless. Trouble coming. Big trouble. Master will see. Smell. Know. Debt. Stacking. Multiplier. Oh no!!!! Oh no!!!!

Smell peak to its max! The full cocktail: urine ammonia sharp, fermented panty musk rancid, morning bowel fermentation gases sour fecal, sweat salt-rot, mayo oily ghost. Breathing it hurts!

Drift. Wake. Drift. Thumbs feels completely numb now, fingers locked and useless. Ankles throb around the cable ties and my calves still burning from the forced straight position from the night. Knees pulse with the old caning welts—swollen, hot, and every tiny twitch sends fresh fire. Nipples sting worse under the training bra, raw swollen tips rubbing the damp fabric like sandpaper. Shoulders hurt deep inside because my arms are forced down and locked in this position with no way to move them. Every part of my body throbs as one big, constant pain.

------- Some time later (likely 4-5pm)

Time drags like slow torture. Bulb still humming dim yellow, no mercy with heat.

Room even hotter now, air thicker, smell even heavier.

Every breath pulls in more of the full cocktail—urine, shit fermentation, sweat rot, mayo ghost—until it feels like I’m drowning in it.

The wetness has spread everywhere now and has slowly wicked outward through the sodden layers and even creep toward the front of the pinafore in faint, irregular dark streaks. Although the back patch is still the heaviest, but the front shows it too: a visible, uneven bloom of dampness that no amount of lying still can hide!

The pinned blouse hem and tight panties couldn’t contain it all forever—the sheer volume and slow saturation let it migrate forward and sideways, soaking the cloth until the entire lower uniform feels like one continuous, heavy, clinging wet mess!

Panic lingers. Still wet. Still stinking. Still helpless. Trouble coming. Big trouble!

Master will be back anytime. He’ll open the door. He’ll smell it before he even sees me. The smell will surely hit him like a wall! Then he’ll look down what is so obvious to him!  He will surely award the violation instantly! Debt will piles higher than ever. Stacking on stacking or even a massive stacking! Everything compounding. Major violation. Or even Super Major! He may even use MULTIPLIER! This is bad! This is very bad! Points piling fast, way more than usual! Automatic escalation AGAIN! Oh no!!!!

------- Final moment (likely 5pm)

Door creak sudden. My heart stops. Footsteps quick. He enters fast. Stops just inside.

The smell slams into him full force. Sudden. Overwhelming.

He recoils sharply—sharp gasp, hand snaps to nose, body jerks back half a step.

Cough once, hard. "WHAT ON EARTH?!"

Voice cracks high, shocked, furious. "This stench—urine, rot, everything!"

Face twists in disgust, eyes widen then narrow fast.

No calm. No slow scan.

The full cocktail floods him—urine sharp, shit fermentation thick, sweat rot—all at once. Breath hisses through clenched teeth. "You let this happen?!"

Then he sees me.

I dare not move an inch. Body frozen rigid—every muscle locked, breath held shallow, eyes barely open slits. No twitch. No shift. Just lie there like a statue, waiting for the verdict to fall. Heart slamming so hard!

Wet patches front and back. Dark streaks creeping. Trembling thighs—barely visible, but he sees. Swollen knees. Numb thumbs pinned low. Sweat-soaked everything. Potty in corner, crusting sludge. Face darkens.

"Violation!" he snaps, voice rising sharp. "Super Major—uniform soiled, wet, ruined! Base 800!"

I stay perfectly still. Awaiting. Helpless. No escape. No defense. Just waiting for what comes next.

He paces once, fast. "Uniform violation—Super Major. The centerpiece. Triggers everything." Breath sharp. "Hygiene failure—accident, no permission! Major—500!"

"Appearance destroyed—visible stains, odor choking the room! Major—500 more!"

"Mental collapse—couldn't hold! Minor—100!"

He stops. Eyes lock on mine. "Stacking. Now." Voice low but tight, angry. "Uniform is the absolute center—Super Major base. Layers within it: soiled triggers hygiene lapse. Hygiene lapse triggers appearance failure. Appearance failure triggers mental breakdown. Chain reaction across categories."

"Added stacking: wetness in uniform during sleep—compounds hygiene. Odor from accident in uniform—compounds appearance. Failure to maintain presentable uniform post-extension—compounds mental."

"Uniform itself stacks hardest—multiple within one: stain, soak, smell, all Super Major multipliers inside it."

"More added: accident in approved rest—stacks behavior lapse, no immediate report, no control. Minor—100."

"Chores category triggered—rest period is assigned chore of recovery; soiled it, failed to complete clean. Major—500."

"Contract baseline affected—post-six-month extension, this failure resets compliance clock, triggers overall status review. Super Major add-on—800 more."

"Overall stack builds massive. Debt explodes."

"Multiplier." He spits the word. "First accident after extension—×2. During approved sleep—×1.5. After you promised to behave—×2 for irony."

No laughter. Just rage simmering under control. "Debt explodes. Multiplied. Stacked."

He leans in close. Breath hot against my face.

"You know what this means."

His voice drops colder, each word deliberate, cutting.

"I just reset you to zero. Zero points! Clean slate after the extension. One fresh start for you. And you blew it! Look what you did!"

Pause. Silence heavy.

"In one afternoon—just one approved sleep—you jump straight to this!"

"From zero to overflowing. 127,800 points!"

The number lands like a hammer.

"Zero to 127,800. In one minute."

He straightens slowly.

"Punishment queue overflowing for you… "

Body freezes. Tears stream. Helpless. Failed. Broken. All in one afternoon.

 

The final amount awarded: 127,800 points.

Tears keep coming. Slow now, steady.

I tried. I really tried so hard today.

No violations. No slips. No points. Keep clean. Keep still. Keep perfect. One clean afternoon. One day without adding to the debt. One day closer to maybe… maybe the regime softens. Maybe after that he lets me breathe. Maybe after that the chains loosen. Maybe six months is the end.  Maybe after that I’m not just property anymore.

I thought I could make it. Just one afternoon. Just lie here. Pretend sleep. Survive the hours. No accidents. No failures. No reason for more punishment.

But I failed again.

This time, my own body betrayed me! Bladder gave out. Wetness spread. Smell bloomed. Debt jumped. 127,800 points. From zero—zero! to this mountain in one minute speech! One helpless rush. One overflowing flood. And everything collapsed.

Six months is already more than enough. More than anyone could endure. More than I can take. But now? This failure? This reset thrown away? What happens next?

Another extension? Will he push me to seven? Eight? A year? Two years? Forever?

The thought twists like a knife. I can’t. I can’t do more. Six months already feels like eternity! The heat. The smell. The ache. The humiliation. The waiting. The pretending. The breaking.

I thought I could hold on. Thought one clean day would buy mercy. Thought compliance would mean something. Thought maybe he’d see effort. See surrender. See I’m trying.

But no.

I failed again!!

Debt bigger! Punishment queue longer! More punishment! More everything!

And the worst part? I know it’s coming. I know the number is locked. I know the multiplier hit. I know stacking happened. I know zero became 127,800 in one afternoon.

I tried so hard.

But it wasn’t enough.

It never is.

Tears slow. Breathing shallow. Body one big throb.

Six months. Maybe the end. Maybe not. Loosing hope now…. Maybe never….