She woke up slowly in the dog bed on the floor next to his bed. Her body ached and was chilled, with goosebumps on her skin as she stretched. She glanced over at the table, 5:55 blinking in red at her. She never slept until 6 AM anymore. He had beaten that out of her. Nor would that clock go off as the alarm was never set. That’s what she was there for. She stretched, her body aching. Red welts crisscrossed her back, slowly healing. Her ass was purple, bruised dark from heavy paddling. Her thighs carried dozens of thin marks, bruised and bloodied, from her caning the night before. Every movement hurt, a gift from him.

She stared at him silently for a moment, her world. The only thing that mattered to her. She barely even remembered the before times. A year or more of training had seen to that. Months in the basement were spent shedding her sense of self, her name, only “cunt” now. It was down there he had shaved her head, burned her clothes, and destroyed her identification. Those things belonged to people, not property. Not things. Not her. She chewed her busted lip, still swollen, as she softly stroked his hair. She grew warm between her legs simply touching him. In the cool air, her pierced nipples stiffened, her pierced hood heated by the blood flowing down below. She smelled her sex but didn’t touch herself. That was forbidden. Orgasms were only a gift from him and even then rarely.

She bent down and kissed his cheek, pulling back the blankets. He stirred, but barely, as she slid down his naked body to wake him. Her mouth found his cock, kissing it again and again. She smiled each time, happy to be allowed to feel him stiffen, warm in her mouth. She watched him with awe and love as he moaned softly, then her head began to bob up and down. Slowly, a marathon, not a sprint, as she savored every second. Once he woke, the race would begin, but not till then. Her tongue traced every inch of it, the taste of her ass from the night before still faintly on it. She cleaned him, sliding down to his balls, salty and warm in her mouth. He woke then and held his legs, pulling back, allowing her deeper access.

Her tongue probed his ass as she pressed her face deep, smelling his musk, inhaling it. What a stupid cunt she was to ever resist. She was lucky to even be graced by him. He balled his hand in her hair and pulled her head up, jerking it to his cock. It was a monument now, granite, ready to pierce her skull. He roughly shoved her head down and she let herself drool around it, knowing what he wanted. He liked her messy, he liked her stupid, the former so easy, the latter taking months of work in the basement. Simple now, his perfect receptacle, made for him. Given purpose. Given reason. She whimpered a bit as he mashed her head down, smashing her nose into his belly. Thrusting faster and faster, rolling over on top of her, slamming his hips into her face, her crooked nose, her red cheeks. He squeezed her throat, pressing down, slowing the blood, blocking it, as the black began to creep in. Every day, until she slipped into the dark, if only briefly, before letting blood to her brain again, just a bit slower, just a bit more perfect. She felt his heat in her mouth as the world returned, him slapping her. Then he got up and headed to the bathroom.

She wiped her face, trying to focus, unsteadily stood up and followed him. After a few steps, she dropped to all fours and crawled along after him. Her knees were red, banged up, from carpet and concrete, but she felt nothing except the need to be beside him. He graced her with a smile and she almost cried. So lucky to have him. He sat on the toilet, but his cock hung out, ready for her mouth again. She knelt before him, the piss flowing as she neared. Some sprayed her chest, down her tits, and over the brand on her left breast where he had made her his own. She watched him, smiling, as she rapidly swallowed the wonderful warmth he was giving her. His piss never went in the toilet. Not even at work. A thermos brought his gold to her so she would have something to drink at dinner. He patted her hair, told her she was a good cunt, and stood up to take a shower. She got up, starting breakfast for him. The door outside was always unlocked these days, but it didn’t occur to her to go to it, to run. Those thoughts had died in the basement.

He ate and then left for work, leaving her to clean the house. Naked, she first took a shower, washing her body, rubbing baby oil into her skin as she got out. She then sat in front of the mirror and shaved her body and her head as best she could. He often helped with parts of her scalp, but she did her best to never have a single hair on her body. The closest she got was a wig and only when he wanted her to have one. Not for company, that was for sure. No one even knew she existed. Even if they saw her, they wouldn’t recognize her as the college girl that disappeared a couple years ago. Slim, lithe as a starved animal, her nipples and labia stretched out a bit, exaggerated and heightened as they were the most important parts of her.