Chapter 6

The sun had barely kissed the horizon when I awoke, my eyes groggy and my body sore from the previous night’s torments. The metallic door to my cage stood ajar, beckoning me to begin another day of servitude. With a sigh that bore the weight of my shackled existence, I swung my legs over the side and stepped out onto the cold, hard floor. My body was sticky with sweat and the lingering scent of fear and arousal, a potent reminder of the night’s events.

I stretched my stiff muscles, performing the mandatory exercises that my owners had so meticulously prescribed for me. Each bend and stretch were a silent rebellion against the confines of my new reality, my body moving in a dance of submission. After completing my morning routine, I stumbled into the bathroom to cleanse the residue of my humiliation from my skin. The warm water cascaded down my body, caressing my bruises and waking them up to a new day of pain and pleasure.

As I stepped out of the shower, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My eyes fell to the black tattoo that adorned my chest, a symbol of my degradation that had been etched into my flesh the night before. The sight of it sent a shiver down my spine, a blend of horror and a strange, thrilling arousal. I quickly donned the clothes that had been laid out for me, a skimpy ensemble designed to expose my assets and leave me feeling utterly vulnerable.

The skirt was so short that it barely grazed my upper thighs, and the blouse was so tight that it threatened to split apart at the slightest movement. The missing buttons revealed the deep valley of my cleavage and the top of the tattoo, a tantalizing peek into the depravity that lay beneath my professional facade. I slipped on the coat, feeling the fabric cling to my damp skin as I tried to compose myself.

On all fours, I crawled into the dining room, my movements deliberately submissive. My owners sat at the table, feasting on their breakfast as if it were a kingly banquet. They barely glanced at me as I made my way to the dog bowl filled with a meal that was barely fit for a human. I lapped up the food greedily, the sound of my slurping echoing in the quiet room. It was a stark reminder of my place in this twisted game.

With my belly filled with the meager scraps, I made my way to the garage where my car sat, gleaming and mocking my newfound status. The drive to work was a blur of thoughts, a whirlwind of fear and anticipation. I knew that every pair of eyes that fell upon me would see the tattoo, would know what I had become. The office loomed before me like a prison, a place where I would spend the day pretending to be a professional while my mind was in a cage of desire and pain.

As I approached the elevator, the doors slid open to reveal Isis, my coworker and former friend. Her eyes grew wide when she saw me, taking in my attire and the stark new ink on my chest. “Sam, you look ... bold,” she said, her voice trailing off as she took in the full extent of my transformation.

My cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and defiance. I managed a small smile, praying fervently that she would not question the meaning of the tattoo. Her words hung in the air, a silent testament to the gossip that was surely already spreading like wildfire through the office.

Finally, I made it to my desolate sanctuary, my office cabin. With trembling hands, I locked the door behind me and sank into my chair. The leather was cold and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth that was building between my legs. I had not been allowed to touch myself since my early morning punishment, and the ache was almost unbearable.

With a sigh, I gave in to the need, hiking up my skirt and exposing my wet, swollen pussy. My fingers danced over my clit, the pressure building with each stroke. It was a sweet agony, a fleeting moment of pleasure in a world where pain was the currency. I was so close, so very close, but I knew I could not come. The rules were clear, and the consequences for breaking them were severe.

As the clock ticked away the minutes, my desperation grew. The sound of my breathing filled the small space, my moans muffled by the hand I had clamped over my mouth. With a Herculean effort, I stilled my trembling fingers and sat back, my arousal a living, pulsing entity trapped within me.

The lunch hour came and went with its own special brand of humiliation. Whispers and pointed stares followed me like shadows, the weight of their curiosity and disdain a constant burden. Yet, through it all, I maintained my composure, a mask of indifference painted on my face.

It was on my way back from the cafeteria that I saw him. My master, the man who held the key to my cage, was dressed in the janitorial uniform that had become his personal brand of irony. He moved with the grace of a predator, his eyes locking on to me like a laser.

“Hope you’re following those rules, slut,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress against my ear.

I swallowed hard, my voice a mere whisper. “Yes, sir,” I replied, my head bowed in submission. The words left a bitter taste in my mouth, a reminder that I was his to command.

As I made my way back to the safety of my cabin, I glanced down at my wrist. A cold shiver ran through my spine as I realized it had been three long hours since I had last indulged in the sweet agony of edging myself. Fear of the consequences that would befall me if I were caught grew with each step. But the burning need within me was too much to ignore. With trembling hands, I hiked up my skirt and allowed my fingers to explore my desperate folds.

Lost in the throes of my own passion, I never heard the door open. It was only when the sharpness of Isis’ voice pierced the silence that I jolted back to reality. “Wow, Samantha,” she said, a mocking lilt to her tone, “I never knew you had it in you to do something so ... degrading.” My heart skipped a beat as I quickly pulled my hands away from my exposed pussy and tried to compose myself.

“What are you doing here, Isis?” I demanded, trying to hide the tremor of fear in my voice.

But she was not easily intimidated. She strutted closer, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Don’t you dare try to act like you’re the boss here,” she hissed. “Not when you’re playing with yourself like a common whore.”

Our argument grew heated, a dance of power and fear. The thought of her spreading rumors about my secret habits was unbearable. But just as I was about to call for security, she slapped me across the face, the sound echoing through the room. “Shut the fuck up, Sam!”

The door to the cabin flew open and in walked Kevin, my master. The sight of him sent a mix of relief and dread through me. Surely, he would not allow this to happen. But as he locked the door and approached, his gaze remained cold and detached.

“Kneel,” he said calmly, pointing to the floor before him.

Isis’ eyes went wide with shock as I, the powerful CEO, found myself obeying his command. My knees hit the floor with a thud, my gaze cast downward. “What is happening?” she stuttered.

With a smirk, Kevin revealed the truth. “Samantha here, the woman you all look up to, is actually my slave,” he announced, holding out the legal papers that had been so carelessly signed. Isis’ face contorted as she read through the incriminating evidence.

“This can’t be true,” she murmured, looking up at me with a mix of pity and disgust. “You’re not capable of running a company, let alone serving as a proper CEO. You’re just a dumb slut.”

Her words stung, each syllable a blow to my already shattered pride. “We had the same thought,” my master said, his voice filled with amusement. “That’s why she’s here, to learn her place.”

“But she’ll ruin us,” Isis protested.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her, “I have a plan. But first, I need some stress relief.”

My heart sank as he looked at me. “Take off your clothes,” he ordered, “and get ready to suck my cock.”

Panic filled me at the thought of performing such an act in front of her, but the word ‘slut’ had sent a jolt of excitement through my body. With trembling hands, I began to strip, my blouse and skirt pooling at my feet.

Before I could protest further, Isis placed a VR headset over my eyes and ears. The video began to play, filling my mind with images of women like me, eagerly pleasuring the men around them. It whispered sweet nothings about how I was only good for one thing: serving as a sexual object for their pleasure.

The sound of my own moaning filled my ears as the video’s message sank in. I was nothing but a dumb bimbo, born to serve.

Finally, the video ended and the headset was ripped from my face. My jaw was sore from sucking my master’s thick cock, but I knew my punishment was not yet over. “Look at me,” he ordered, and I complied, my eyes filled with tears of humiliation and desire.

“Now, slut,” he said, his voice a mix of satisfaction and authority, “paint your face with your worth.”

I nodded and took a deep breath, then leaned back in and allowed him to cover my face in a sticky layer of his seed. It was a brand, a declaration of my new status.

Once done, I crawled out from his embrace and took my place, knees spread, hands bound behind my back, tits pushed out like a good little slut. The come painted on my face was a stark reminder of my new reality.

“You know what to do,” he said, and I nodded, eager to please. I positioned myself in a way that both he and Isis could see me clearly, my come-covered face held high for them to see.

“Samantha,” he announced with a chilly tone, his eyes piercing through my soul as he stood before me. “You are about to experience a transformation, one that you cannot resist.” His words hung in the air like a heavy shroud of defeat, suffocating me with the bitter reality that was about to unfold.

The weight of his statement crashed down on me as he continued, “You must come to terms with the fact that despite your ownership of this company, your worth is no more than that of a servant. Your talents lie not in leading but in serving.” Shame and humiliation flooded my being, leaving me trembling in his presence.

“Yes sir,” I murmured, my voice a mere whisper of its former self.

He went on to explain that from this moment onward, I would be relinquishing my role as CEO to Isis, the very woman who was once my assistant. She would now wield the power I had so desperately clung to, and I would become her subordinate. However, it was not a typical demotion; it was a descent into a new world of servitude.

“You will be her assistant, but not in the traditional sense,” his voice grew more sinister, “you will be her personal servant, her plaything to mold as she sees fit.” He turned to leave, the finality of his words echoing in the room. “See you at home,” he called over his shoulder, leaving me to drown in a sea of fear and anticipation.

Isis, now the one in control, locked the door behind him with a smug smile playing on her lips. She sat in the chair that was once mine, her eyes gleaming with excitement at the prospect of my downfall. “Dynamics indeed change rapidly,” she mused, “and you will need to adapt to your new role swiftly.”

The rules she laid out were clear and degrading. Each day, I would arrive at the office and immediately ascend the stairs to this floor, where I would strip bare, exposing my vulnerable flesh to the cold, unforgiving air. I would then proceed to clean the room and the washroom, ensuring not a speck of dust remained to mar the perfection she demanded.

Once my menial tasks were complete, I would kneel in the washroom, my naked body on display, waiting for her to grace me with her presence. She pulled out the collar from under the table, the very symbol of my submission to her and the men who had claimed me.