The car pulls up to the curb and Mistress turns off the engine. She looks at the house and smiles. We come here once a year. This is where she brings me to remind me what a true slave is. To let me experience my true being. The rest of the year, I am still her slave. I worship her, serve her, and tend to her needs. But she is kind to me. It is in her nature to be caring and nurturing. Some may think that is a contradiction but it isn’t. When she whips me, I know she cares about me.

But not when we are here.

She gets out and heads towards the front door. I grab all our stuff from the car and carry it to the house. In reality, it is mostly her stuff. Only humans have stuff and when I’m here, I’m not human.

“Put my stuff in my room, take off your clothes, and bring me my whip,” she states.

I put her belongings in her bedroom. I take off my clothes and set them aside. I won’t be wearing them much, if ever. I unpack her favorite whip and bring it to her.

She points to the couch. I kneel in front of the couch with my hands on it. I quickly think how lucky I am to be Mistress’s slave when the first strike hits my back. I want to scream in pain but it is too soon. The pain could get much more severe. Screaming now might make me seem weak. When Mistress first took possession of me, she explained quite clearly that I must be strong. That a good slave is emotionally strong so that they can take the pain and humiliation that is due them.

Each whip strike moves further down my back. The last two have landed on my ass. My chastity cage jiggles each time. The whipping stops.

“The usual rules apply. Go to the closet.”

“Thank you Mistress.” I crawl into the closet. It’s a small closet that is usually for a few coats and the vacuum cleaner. Now, it is for me. I close the door and sit in the dark. The rules are not complicated to understand. I am a slave. The only rights I have are those given to me by my Mistress and, in this house, they are very limited. I am not allowed any opinion. I will not speak unless I’m told to speak or to show my gratitude to women. I will not do anything unless Mistress tells me to do it. I’m an extremely fortunate slave.

After an hour or so, the door opens. I crawl out and kneel, waiting for my instructions. Mistress goes into the kitchen and brings out two pet dishes. I follow behind her. She puts one on the floor and fills it with puppy kibble. She puts the other empty bowl on the floor, squats over it and fills it with her Goddess nectar. I immediately want to rush over and lap up her nectar but I know that isn’t allowed. My only need is to please my Mistress and she has not told me to drink yet.

“Potty.” It isn’t a question. It’s a demand. I crawl over to the door and wait for it to be opened. Mistress opens the door and I crawl out. I pick a spot in the middle of the lawn – I’m not allowed the privacy that the bushes around the boarder would provide – and do my best to pee. Soon a sad, pathetic yellow stream flows out. I concentrate on getting as much out as I can. I don’t know when Mistress will next allow me to go potty.

When I’m done, I hurry back on my my hands and kneels. Mistress lets me back into the house. “Eat” I crawl over to the kibble and eat for a minute or so. “Stop,” she tells me. I move over to the other bowl and lap up the Goddess nectar. I reach the bottom of the bowl and lick the sides clean. I look up at her. I’m exploding with joy to be her slave; to have my tummy full of her fluids.

Mistress goes back to the couch and takes her computer off the side table. She points to her feet. “Worship.” I crawl over to her and begin licking her naked feet. She types on her computer. She has a lot happening with her business and her friends. “Miss Carol and Miss Stephanie have confirmed,” she tells me.

Mistress loans me out other women. They pay her to have me come over and serve them. I clean house for both of them. Miss Carol dresses me in a slutty maid uniform. Every so often, she will tell me I’ve done something wrong, tell me to lift up my skirt, and she paddles my naked ass. When I’m done cleaning, she points out all my mistakes. She allows me to beg for forgiveness and highlight my failings as her maid. Then she puts on a strap-on and rapes me. It hurts. It’s humiliating. Miss Carol has explained that I need to be violated so that I better accept my status as her maid. She pins me against her bed or her couch. I remain still and embrace the experience. I’m very fortunate to be allowed to serve women and to have my behavior corrected by them.

Miss Stephanie teases me. I’m naked when I clean her house. She’s curvy and sexual. She’s not as beautiful as my Mistress, but being compared to my Mistress is unfair to all other women. She’ll rub up against me all the while telling me I’m not a male. Many years ago, my Mistress made it clear that I will not be called a male. Even strangers intuitively know that I don’t qualify as being a male. Miss Stephanie’ll go into great details about the things she does with real men and their big cocks. In a sing-song voice she’ll remind me that I’ll never be allowed to do things that real men can. My cock is practically non-existent, unable to get hard. My balls are empty sacks meant to receive pain. Her scent triggers a need in me to submit and please. When I’m done cleaning, she lets me worship her pussy. My tongue doing the things that my tiny cock is never allowed.

Before I leave their house, they hand me a small pile of bills to give to my Mistress. I’m happy I can produce some money for her.

“Clean shoes,” my Mistress says. I find her shoes and lick them clean. There is mud and grass clippings on them. A small rock or two. I hate that my Mistress had to wear dirty shoes and do my best to lick them clean. I suck the laces to get the dirt out of them.

“Come here” I crawl towards the couch. I see that there is a video on her computer. I recognize it. It was recorded in this house.. The first frame is me in agony. “Let’s go.” I know where we are going. We only go into this room once. It only has one purpose. This is where I confess my failings over the past year and accept punishment for them.

The room looks like a personal office space of an artist. There’s a day bed in one corner. I kneel at the foot of the bed with my back to it. Mistress ties my arms to the foot board and my legs to the feet of the bed. She sets a chair a few feet in front of me, sets the computer on it, and presses play. She sits on the bed behind my head, with her knees on either side of my head. She squeezes her legs together. I’m forced to look straight ahead; to watch the video.

The video is intense. I’m confessing my failure. She knows what I’ve done wrong. She knows my failings better than I do. I’m not telling her my failings. I’m acknowledging I know what they are and that I deserve to suffer for them. I’m afraid of how she might hurt me. I’m much more afraid that I won’t be allowed to be her slave anymore.

About two-thirds of the video, I can smell her scent. It’s calming and comforting. I feel like I will do anything to please her. I want the pain. I focus on the video again. Mistress has allowed me a gag so I don’t embarrass myself with my screaming. The pain is overwhelming. I’m a fortunate slave.

The video ends. She moves the computer to the side, aims the camera at me, presses the record button, and says one word: confess.

As soon as I start the first confession, she has grabbed both my nipples, twisted them, and pulled them up and out. I feel like they are being ripped off. Occasionally I still have male needs. More pain. Occasionally I have male entitlement issues. Now the whip. Occasionally I don’t show women the respect they deserve. Mistress has turned me around with my back facing out. The next strike feels like a cane. I’m still not very good at anticipating women’s needs. The cane is applied in rapid succession and then I feel the gag in my mouth. The pain is a constant. I’m not aware of anything else.

Eventually the beating stops. Mistress leaves the room and then comes back with her vibrator. Her clothes seem to magically drop off her. She sits at the head of the bed facing me. She parts her legs and turns on the vibrator. Watching her is a reward for me. Being allow to watch her experience ecstasy makes me happy. I’m not allowed to experience pleasure between my legs. I’ve been in chastity so long I can’t get an erection. I can’t product sperm. I’m completely non-functioning. I’m a slave whose purpose is to serve women. There’s nothing between my legs that they want or need.

The bed stops shaking and my Mistress’s breathing returns to normal. She unties me and points to the bed. I lay on my back. This is a ceremony of sorts. My cock cage pushes my balls out while pushing my tiny cock inside my body. I’m completely smooth between my legs. Above the cock cage is a row of scars in my pale skin. She’s already pulled a cigarette out and lit it. “You’ve been an adequate slave this past year. I will continue to allow you to serve me.” She pushes the lit cigarette into my skin adding another scar to the row already there. Tears are forming in my eyes, from the pain or the joy, I don’t know. My Mistress maneuvers my balls to her satisfaction, puffs on her cigarette, and pushes the lit end into my ball. After so many years, the reflex to close my legs is nearly gone. I’m sure I can smell my skin burning. “Closet.”

The closet is dark and comforting. My skin burns from the beating and the cigarette. Inside I feel lighter having confessed to my Mistress. It is a burden being a sub-standard slave. I’ll continue to improve for my Mistress.

Time has no meaning in the closet. At this house, I’m either being of use to my Mistress or in the closet. Minutes and hours aren’t important.

The door opens and my Mistress points to my food dish. I crawl over to it and wait. She pulls a container from the ‘fridge and pours Goddess nectar into my bowl. “Drink.” I lap it up as before. “Get dressed. I’m going to dinner.”

It feels awkward wearing clothes. One the one hand, my nakedness is covered. And, in this case, so are my welts and bruises. On the other, I’m not allowed to express my slave status. Well, other than the leather collar around my neck. I briefly touch it and smile. This is a special collar for special outings. I sit quietly in the car. I feel like I should be driving my Mistress but while here, driving gives the illusion of having control over where I’m going. So I don’t.

We walk into a Thai restaurant. It’s small with only a few tables filled. We are seated by the waitress. She seems to give a signal to my Mistress but I’m not sure what it means. She leaves a menu with my Mistress and puts a kid’s menu on the table. I know not to touch it.

The waitress returns a few moments later. She sets a full glass of water in front of my Mistress. She holds up a kid’s class with some Chinese cartoon character on it and pointedly spits in it. It’s a large glob of mucus. She then does it a second and a third time. She sets it in front of me and waits. I drink from it. It is no longer water but a thick, viscous fluid. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Mistress asks for a special dish that she has pre-ordered. “And it wants the kid’s veggie fried rice.” We all know she’s referring to me.

The waitress returns with the food. Sets it down. She refills my Mistress’ water glass. She picks up my glass, splashes a bit of water in it and then spits in it. She sets it down and waits. I drink it. “Thank you, Ma’am.”

Mistress eats her food. After she had had several bits she tells me I’m allowed to eat. I thank her and take a few bites of the fried rice. I eat slowly the way my Mistress trained me to.

When my Mistress is done eating, I’ve only eaten a third of what is on my plate. “That’s enough,” she says to me and moves my plate to the edge of the table. The waitress returns with coffee for my Mistress and a fresh cup of water for me. She spits in it and sets it down. I pick up the glass and feel the warmth from it. I take a big swallow of her Goddess nectar topped with her spit. “Thank you, ma’am.”

My Mistress stands up, loops her finger under my collar, and roughly leads me into the restroom. Once inside, she sits on the toilet and points to the floor. I immediately drop to my knees. “I don’t think you showed her enough gratitude. When a woman give you anything. Her spit, her Goddess nectar, a beating. Anything. You will show her gratitude.”

No sooner is “I’m sorry, Mistress” out my mouth than the first slap lands on my cheek. It knocks me off balance. I quickly right myself in time for slap two and three. By the time she reaches slap eight and nine, I am consumed with shame. She stands up, drops her pants, sits down, and goes pee. I stew in my own degradation and shame. Soon the pee stops and a dainty splash sounds. She stands up, points inside the toilet, and says: worship.

I peer in the toilet and see crap bobbing around. This is new for me. I’ve only been allowed to worship Mistress’s crap a few times. It’s an honor and very grounding. I tell the crap how much more important it is than me. I tell it that it is superior to me. Then I put my head in the toilet and kiss it.

She wipes herself and puts the toilet paper in a baggie. A special treat for me later. She puts the treat in her bag, pulls her clothes back on, and walks out. I follow her a few feet behind. My face hot from the slaps and the stares from the people who recognize the red marks for what they are.

We had only sat down for a few moments when the waitress returns.

“We’re ready,” my Mistress tells her as she gets her stuff together.

The waitress gives me a stern look. I instinctively follow her to a less crowded area. She immediately starts scolding me for not showing her the respect she deserves. As her words tear me down, I vaguely feel her hand between my legs. A sharp pain tells me has found one of my balls sticking out from the cock cage. I gasp and whimper, remembering to not show my pain in public. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that a table of two women have realized this isn’t a typical conversation. They know what is happening to me, and yet they don’t really know. It’s as if they’ve lost their awareness of their natural superiority over me and their birth right to punish me.

The scolding ends and her hand disconnects. I thank her and make my way back to Mistress. My eyes have started to tear up and I have to concentrate on walking normally.

The car ride back to the house is silent as I internalize my scoldings and discipline; further integrating my lessons.

Back at the house, I follow Mistress inside. She goes straight to my water dish. “Undress,” she orders. As I peel off my clothes, she squats over my water dish and pees. She picks up the dish, pulls out my treat from the restaurant, and adds it to her Goddess Nectar. Using a spoon, she stirs it until the toilet paper has disintegrated. The fluid has a slightly brown tinge and the paper fibers are dispersed. She puts the dish back on the floor. “Drink.”

After I lick the last of it from the dish, she opens the door. “Potty.”

I crawl outside and immediately feel the warm drops seeping out of my lifeless cock. I remember my Mistress’ Goddess Nectar and the waitress’s spit. I’m a very fortunate slave.

As the last drop falls, I turn around. Mistress has closed the door and walked away.

I’ll be sleeping outside tonight.