Chapter 7

I awoke that morning with an unusual sense of serenity, a stark contrast to the turmoil that had plagued my recent days. My eyes drifted to the side of the bed where the woman I revered as a goddess lay in a peaceful slumber. Her dark skin glowed in the early light, her curves a testament to the divine beauty that lay before me. Carefully, I slithered down the soft expanse of the bed, my gaze fixed on the strap-on that had been a symbol of our power play the night before. With trembling hands, I unbuckled it, feeling the weight of it in my grasp as I gently removed it from her body.

Her eyes fluttered open as I descended upon her most sacred area, a gentle smile gracing her lips as she felt the warmth of my breath against her. She spread her legs wider for me, welcoming the intrusion of my tongue as it delved into the depths of her wetness. I reveled in the taste of her, the musky sweetness that was uniquely hers. The sound of my own hunger filled the room as I licked and sucked at her clit with an insatiable desire to please her. Her moans grew louder, her hands gripping the sheets tightly as she approached her climax. When it finally came, her body arched off the bed, and she released her sweet nectar into my eager mouth. I swallowed it greedily, feeling a sense of pride and submission mingling within me.

Our morning ritual complete, we both took turns to freshen up, preparing ourselves for the day ahead. She had laid out my attire, a simple yet elegant ensemble of a black skirt and a crisp white blouse. As I descended the stairs to the dining room, I found her engrossed in the newspaper, a steaming cup of coffee and a plate of toast by her side. She looked up and smiled at the sight of me, the power dynamics between us clear as day.

With a graceful wave of her hand, she offered me the food. For a moment, I was tempted to obey her earlier command and consume it like an animal. However, she must have seen the indecision in my eyes because she spoke, her voice a soft yet firm caress, “Sam, you can use your hands today.” I felt a surge of relief and gratitude wash over me. This small act of mercy was not lost on me.

Post breakfast, we set off for our shared destination, the office building that had been the bastion of my professional power. But today, the dynamics had shifted dramatically. I was no longer the CEO, the one in charge. I was now her personal assistant, a mere servant to her whims within the corporate jungle. The realization stung, but deep down, I knew it was a necessary change for the company’s prosperity.

Our journey took a detour, leading us to the very tattoo parlor that had become a second home to me. The bell above the door chimed as we entered, and I felt a mix of excitement and trepidation at what was to come. The bald artist, Tyrone, nodded in recognition, his eyes gleaming with the knowledge of what we were there to do.

Without a word, I was led to the table, my bare chest and back exposed to his skilled hands. He began his work, etching the queen of spades into my flesh once more, this time with an ‘I’ nestled just below the spade’s stem. I could feel the slight sting of the needle; a delicious pain that mirrored the emotional torment I felt at the symbolism of what was happening.

When it was done, I was made to examine the new artwork in the mirror. The queen of spades adorned my chest, now personalized with the initial ‘I’, a declaration of my submission. But what truly shook me to my core was the tattoo on my back. In bold letters flanking the larger spade, the words ‘BLACK OWNED’ stood stark against my pale skin. And in a delicate script beneath it, the words ‘property of Kevin Nina Isis’ completed the picture. It was a stark reminder of my new status, one that brought a fresh wave of humiliation yet also an undeniable thrill.

“Thank you, Madam and Sir,” I murmured, the words sticking in my throat as I tried to maintain my composure.

Her smile was like the sun rising on a new day, “We’re running late,” she said, snapping the leash onto my collar. She led me out of the shop and into the blinding light of reality, her hand firm on the leash as we approached her sleek, black car. The world outside was oblivious to the transformation that had taken place within me, to the pain and pleasure that now coexisted beneath my clothes.

The journey to the office was a whirlwind of emotions, the chilly leather car seat a stark contrast against my heated body. The basement parking area emerged before us, a grim symbol of the prison I had voluntarily entered. Isis brought the vehicle to a halt, and we both stepped out, the leash connecting us a clear indication of her dominion.

Kevin, our office janitor and also the man who owned me, awaited us, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as he greeted Isis. He reached out and smacked my behind, the stinging sensation leaving me trembling.

“I trust you have complied with our instructions,” he said to Isis, and she beamed at him, nodding vigorously.

“Samantha,” Isis instructed, her voice cold and authoritative. “Display your new body art to your master.”

I glanced around nervously, confirming our solitude before peeling off my blouse. The tattoos on my chest and back were altered, now branding me with their cruel message. I felt a fresh wave of humiliation as Kevin’s eyes raked over the ink, a twisted smile playing on his lips.

“They look splendid,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the freshly inked lines with an almost tender touch.

He allowed me to cover up before detailing the tasks they had laid out for me. I nodded, my heart racing as I headed towards the staircase. Their conversation trailed behind me, a muffled whisper that I knew revolved around my degradation.

Finally, I arrived at the floor where my office had been—now Isis’s office. I inhaled deeply, steeled myself, and stepped inside. The room was unchanged, yet it felt alien and hostile. I began to strip, my clothes falling in a heap around me, as I readied to clean and prepare the space for its rightful owner.

The cleaning was grueling, my bare skin brushing against cold surfaces as I scrubbed and polished. My muscles burned with fatigue, but I knew that this was only the beginning of my transformation.

The washroom beckoned, the site of my impending training session. I knelt before the rubber dildo fixed to the wall, the instructions from the previous day echoing in my mind. I inserted the vibrating ball into my clit and pushed the medium-sized plug into my ass, seating it snugly. The VR headset and earphones went on next.

The moment I secured my wrists behind my back and took the dildo into my mouth, the world disappeared. The only things that mattered were the sensations pulsing through my body—the ball’s vibrations, the plug’s stretch, and the video’s incessant messages of servitude.

The video played in an endless loop, brainwashing me into becoming a mindless bimbo, eager to please those deemed superior. I felt my thoughts dissolve, replaced by a burning need to serve. My body was merely a vessel for their sexual gratification.

Midway through my training, a gentle touch slithered over my drenched skin. Recognizing Isis’s touch, I moaned around the dildo, my body already trained to respond to her. She pinched my nipples, the sensation sending bolts of pleasure-pain through my core.

Without warning, she attached clamps to the tender buds. The weight was surprising, and the vibrations that followed were exquisite, matching the rhythm of the plug in my ass. The combined sensations sent me spiraling into a vortex of pleasure and degradation.

While I underwent this agonizing metamorphosis, Isis had been busy reshaping the company. Using my login details which I had given her, she sent emails to the entire staff, informing them of the power shift. Cunningly, she framed it as a measure, with me stepping aside to support her as an acting chairperson.

The training session felt endless, but finally, it concluded. I was a wreck—my body used; my mind numb. One by one, I removed the devices, placing them on charge like a good little pet. I cleaned the washroom and myself meticulously before redressing.

My clothes clung to me, a sad reminder of my previous life, now a mere illusion. I emerged from the office to face Isis, ready to continue my subjugation.