Slave Life Storyline- Master Must Leave the House

Day 5, late morning (after released from being used as human dryer)

Master watched me, still kneeling, drenched, trembling. He stood calm, voice low and even.

“Before I leave for the office this afternoon,” he said, “I prepared your lunches for the whole week. This one’s already done — in the dog bowl.”

He paused, letting the words settle. Then, calm, flat: “Violation – Inconvenience. Base 200 points.”

My mind barely caught it. Unfair. I was locked, sealed, trapped — he did this for me, and still punished me for it. Why? Can he be more reasonable? Just once? Miss normal life — meals I chose, no dog bowl, no points for someone else’s effort. 

Miss freedom where food was just food, not a violation. Regret stabbed: should have been home by now. Stupid. Now even lunch costs me.

He continued, tone unchanged. “I’m going back to the office to settle some things. Business waits for no one.”

I ate the lunch from the dog bowl. Drank 1.5 liters of water from the bottle — straight from the rim, no pet bottle funnel, no awkward tongue lapping, because he wanted to rehydrate me after the wrap. For once, the flow was normal, direct, almost like a human drink. The cold water hit my throat in full gulps, rushing down without the slow, humiliating trickle from the pet bottle. Regret flickered: miss drinking like this. Miss normal life — water just water, not a task to survive. Stupid. Now even a normal drink reminds me what I lost. 

Urinated into the funnel and bottle — quick release, no struggle, just another task done.

He looked at me again, still kneeling. “Still not confident leaving you alone at home yet. Not confident you can do chores without supervision. You might escape. I don’t lose property. You’re not tame yet. Not fully trained. 

And you’re already posed like a maid and in uniform— knees together, hands flat, back straight. But that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

He paused. “So — store room. Kneeling. Facing door. The entire time until I return.”

The words landed like the next lock. Just the next phase. Just the next reminder of my life for the next 2 months, still not trusted even after all this.

I am still a man. Still a person. Still not a maid. Still not tame.

Before the session, I thought it was supposed to be fun — four days, a stint, something I could walk away from. 

Now it’s two months. It should have ended. But why am I still kneeling like this, posed like a maid, tucked, uniform, heels, chain — everything I imagined as hot, now just heavy, wrong, endless. 

Why this stint becomes my life for 2 months. Why am I still being forced to become a girl? Why still reduced to a thing? 

Master grabbed the loose end of my collar chain — still dangling from earlier, PVC sleeve warm against my neck, carrying the day’s heat. “Come,” he said.

I stood, heels stabbing soles, legs wobbling like jelly after hours upright. Every step forward felt wrong — ankles burning, balance teetering, chain clinking softly in front of me, tugged along by his hand.

He led me to the store room, door already open, dim light from a single bulb. Inside, he replaced the previous chain — the short 1m one from before — with a longer one: 5 meters of slack, clipped to the wall plug. Enough to reach the door, even open it if unlocked. Not enough to leave the house. Just enough to feel the limit — close, but still trapped.

“Kneel like a maid,” he ordered. “Face the door. No move. The whole time I’m gone.”

I dropped to my knees — heels forcing arches high, calves cramping instantly. 

Knees together, thighs pressed tight, butt touching heels — no gap, weight pressing down on soles, stabbing pain shooting up. Back forced straight by instinct and fear. 

Both hands together on my lap — palms down, fingers straight, one resting over the other, no fidget, no clench. 

Chain dangling loose from collar — still not attached, PVC sleeve warm against my neck, swaying slightly with every breath. 

Head slightly bowed, eyes on the door floor, like a maid on display.

Alone.

PVC sleeved neck chain tugged. Heels dug deeper—no relief, no shift. Fatigue pressed like a weight—shoulders slumped, but I fought to keep the posture straight.

Still a man… kneeling like this… why? Still a person… why reduced to this? Why wait like this? How long before he comes back?

Why two months of this?

Normal life flickered—couch, TV, no chain, no knees on floor, no waiting for someone else’s return.

Should not have even come to this house. 

Should have left my fantasy as fantasy.