A day in the life of one of my slaves.
Story by @cuckhumiliation
I walk down the crumbling concrete stairs and pull open the creaking, worn door. We never lock it. No one in their right mind would find anything worth stealing in our sad little basement apartment.
My entire body aches, just like it does every day. I grimace as I bend over to pull off my clothes and lay them on the pile just inside the door. Itâs 6âs turn to hand wash everyoneâs clothes. I walk into the middle of the single room that is our home. All the interior walls have been taken out, and there is no furniture whatsoever. An exposed toilet is in the corner, along with a tiny rusted out shower.Â
Despite there only being two tiny basement windows, the whole room is painfully bright. The lights stay on 24/7 - the switches have been removed. Master likes being able to turn on the cameras and see clearly what we are doing any time from his mansion. We never know when he is watching except for when his voice blares through the speakers in the ceiling.Â
All eight of us, now naked except for the unremovable chastity devices locking our shrivelled penises, file into the center of the room and perform our nightly ceremony of kneeling on the concrete floor and grovelling and thanking Master for the privilege of serving him. I lower my face to the cold concrete, already feeling the tears starting to form. I hate this so much. I never knew I could resent another person so much. Master takes complete advantage of us, making our lives utterly miserable for his personal gain, and then we have to daily grovel and thank him for it. I donât want to do it tonight, but I know if heâs watching there will be utter hell to pay if I fail to show enough gratitude.
âThatâs enough, losers.â His voice thunders over the loudspeakers. I whimper and pee myself a little, like I often do when he speaks to me. I am utterly terrified of him. I blush in shame as urine drips down my chastity cage and onto my thigh.Â
âI got a report today that you were late getting to one of your appointments.â He continues. We are all trembling now. We had been four minutes late to one of our cleaning jobs.
âDouble beatings tonight, and four hours holding coins to the wall with your noses. One hour for each minute you were late.â He barks.
âYes Sir thank you Sirâ we chime pathetically.
I groan, looking at the clock. We will be getting almost no sleep tonight. We look into each otherâs faces, everyone already at the breaking point, even before the punishments begin. We donât dare hesitate though. Three decrepitly walks to the corner where the wicked rattan cane sits, patiently waiting to make our lives miserable. Itâs threeâs turn to deliver the nightâs beatings.Â
I wait my turn to be whipped, listening to the pathetic sobs and howls of the others as the cane destroys their already bruised and welted asses. The dread settles into my stomach, just like it does every night. When itâs finally my turn I take punishment position, my bare butt up in the air awaiting the pain.Â
Three doesnât hold back. He knows failure to thoroughly blister our asses will result in even more punishment for him. I howl as the first blow slices into my tender flesh. Forty-nine more to go. By the time he gets to ten Iâm a sobbing mess, with tears flowing down my face onto the cold floor. By twenty Iâm begging and blubbering, almost losing control. It takes every fiber of determination to hold position. I know if I move the punishment starts over. When fifty is called, my whole body is shaking, and I fall to the floor unable to do anything but sob pathetically.
The last two take their beatings, and itâs time for us to take our positions at the walls. I try to stand, but my cramped, exhausted legs falter and I fall back down. The others are older and faring even worse. It takes us a long time to hobble to the little pile of coins by the wall and each take one. Itâs a cruel joke that the only money weâre allowed to touch is used to punish us. Before taking our positions, we all chime crackled âthank you Sirâs through our tears. He might still be watching.
I press the coin to the block wall and pin it in place with my nose. I have become very accustomed to this miserable position. I interlock my fingers above my head and try to find a position that wonât leave me too horribly cramped. I know itâs pointless. My body is already broken and this will make it even worse.Â
As the room becomes quieter, with the sobbing and whimpering getting more muffled, I think back over the last year. If only I could travel back in time and convince myself to run away while I still could. But thatâs only a dream. Master took my car, my house...my life. And pathetically I never fought back, I just weakly said âyes Sirâ each day as he crushed me.Â
I remember the day I officially signed the house over to him, realizing there was no going back. He had sold it immediately, making hundreds of thousands of dollars and leaving me penniless.Â
I moved in to the tiny slave apartment the next day and immediately was put to work as part of Masterâs cleaning company - working long days and getting nothing for it except the privilege of living in this cramped place and being fed disgusting slop. My name was gone. I was just slave eight.
But even then I hadnât really known what it meant to be utterly broken. The chastity device he locked me in hadnât seemed like a huge deal at the time - more of an annoying inconvenience. But after two weeks I had started losing my mind. I would pathetically rub the exterior of my cage, desperate for just a hint of satisfaction. After a month I was desperate, and in sheer frustrated agony had even tried tampering with my device to try and touch myself a little. That was when I had learned true fear. Master punished me in ways I would never be able to forget. I was hung upside down and beaten from head to toe - my testicles were zapped with so much voltage they were singed - and my face was put inside a modified punishment toilet every day for a week.Â
It was after that when I started peeing in terror at the sound of Masterâs voice.Â
Now chastity was just a part of my daily misery. I had been let out twice in the past year, each time only allowed to hump a block of ice. Master would just laugh and laugh as I desperately thrust my rock hard couple inches at the unforgiving solid ice in a futile attempt to cum. Each time I was locked back up even more frustrated than before being unlocked.
Now here I am, yet again being punished, this time with the agonizing monotony of corner time. My feet are aching already, and Iâm starting to feel the cold of the space get into my bones. The thermostat is locked away from us, and except for the warmest summer months it always feels extremely cold, especially in our required naked state. It doesnât help that the hot water has been turned off to our unit, leaving only ice cold water in our shared little shower.
My mind goes to Master, probably in his bed by now with a beautiful woman. I wonder what kind of delicious dinner he has had already tonight. I canât get the image out of my head of him eating a steak as a gorgeous girl is under the table sucking his cock. I press my nose against the cold coin and cry. I hate him so much. I dream of revenge. I dream of sending him here to the horrible long hours of thankless cleaning, followed by punishment and humiliation, only to be repeated again every day for the rest of his life. I dream of whipping him. I dream of locking his cock. I dream of making him stand obediently in the corner like a bitch.
Theyâre all just dreams. He has already won. He has utterly defeated me. I can never do better than a pathetic fantasy. Iâm the one with welts on my ass, standing for hours with my nose to the wall. Iâm the one who is going to live this miserable existence every day while I lives in luxury. I start to cry again.