Cleaning Her Kitchen

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“Today you will learn to clean the kitchen, but more specifically how to clean my kitchen,” she said, looking directly at me. “You will begin by going to the cabinet above the stove and removing the box that is there. Place it on the floor next to my feet.

I reached up and opened the cabinet. I am not tall and it meant reaching up on my toes. Naked while she was fully clothed was very humbling, as I suppose it was meant to be.

“Open it,” she instructed.

I did so, finding a small bell on a thin piece of rope, and a white apron that belonged on a French-maid outfit.

“First remove the bell,” she told me. “Then Present.”

I had already been taught that “Present,” had many meanings and my response was expected to be the correct one for the situation. For instance if she was sitting and I was standing she might say ‘Present’ and offer a cupped hand, which meant to position myself over her and lower my testicles into her hand. In my current situation it meant to spread my legs, hold my penis up and away, and pull my scrotum out so that my balls were available to her. I hesitated a second, which she caught, and then moved my hard cock up and pulled out my sac with the other. She smiled and tied the rope very tightly to me balls, leaving the bell to dangle slightly below them.

“Put on the apron now please.” I quickly obeyed. I felt the wave of humiliation that the subtle feminization always brought. Sometimes I was given panties to wear, sometimes a nightgown, and now a frilly apron.

I never actually wanted to be a sissy-boi, but she enjoyed the humiliation of seeing me slightly feminized, and so I was going to be a sissy-boi despite my pleas that I was not at all bi and that it was hard for me. In fact that mistake was why she insisted on my feminization and continued to make veiled references to me sucking a real cock or being fucked by a gay friend. I should never have told her that. She fed on my humiliation like a vampire, and she used the information from her initial interviews against me. When she was talking to me and I said I was not bi and that wearing panties was a little “out there” she had laughed and even agreed with me. Of course these could not istanbul escort be hard limits, and I naively agreed completely.

Finally she removed the final object, a leather riding crop approximately eighteen inches long.

“First, dishes are to be washed by hand. You will not use the dishwasher.” She took the crop and ran the tip around my balls, watching for any reaction. Satisfied, she poked at my bell. “This bell will insure that without your chastity device you don’t try to hump something for relief. If I hear the bell ring too often I will know you are being willful and disobedient and you will be punished. Is that clear girl?”

“Yes Ma’am,” I answered. Being called a girl by her brought on the now familiar wave of humiliation and excitement. She knew exactly what she was making me feel, and I saw a moment of happiness in her eyes. She enjoyed my humiliation, and she enjoyed making me suffer. I had lost my willpower to resist her, if I had ever had any.

“You are very lucky I like you slut,” she said, smiling at my reaction to the words that she liked me. “I really do baby, and it is why sometimes I am hard and demanding. I only do it because I know you need it.”

“Yes Ma’am, thank you so much,” I said gratefully.

“It is why at the end of your task we will begin by giving you ten with the belt for being forty seconds late this morning.”

I almost jumped and the bell rang. Ten with the belt was not a thing that you ever wanted twice. The belt meant serious discipline or punishment. It would mean I would not be able to sit down tomorrow without it hurting.

“Ten more for your inability to control yourself. Please don’t make me hurt you more baby, I hate to see how horrible your bottom looks afterwards,” she said with what seemed to be genuine concern.

I knew I had better pay close attention. When she was in this mood it often meant I would be found lacking and then punished. Sometimes the punishments were very hard, and I had learned to never give her any reason to be angry when she was whipping me. She told me that if she was angry when she punished me that I would no doubt be hurt more than if she were calmly reinforcing escort bayan my place in her world. As to it being wrong for a Dominant to punish her property when angry — well she felt no need to justify her behavior. “If I’m mad then it is your place to suffer,” she told me once. Sometimes it did not seem at all fair to me, but I was beginning to question myself when I felt that way and embrace the new way she preferred that I feel about my treatment. Afterall, I was no longer a man or a person. I had accepted that. I was her bitch, her fucktoy, and her servant, and I hurt when she wanted me to hurt and was granted small pleasures when she felt generous. I was being taught to replace my old selfish desires with those that were more fitting for a boy in Domina’s home. I must learn to feel pleasure when she felt pleasure, and I was to willingly offer myself completely for the honor of making her life slightly more enjoyable.

“The drawers will be organized, utensils will be straight and placed in order. The counter-tops and floors will be cleaned and there will not be a single spot or blemish. The cabinets will be wiped free of dust and then you will give each one a coat of furniture oil.

“Do you think the bell is a good idea?” she asked, looking at me intently.

“Oh yes Ma’am. It was nice of you to allow me out of the cage and I know I’m not allowed pleasure until you decide. Thank you for letting me wear the bell Domina.” And the truth was at that moment I was grateful. I would learn the bell was going to be harder on me than the extended chastity however.

“Good bitch,” she said kindly. I felt warm at her praise. “I’m glad to see you are doing better at accepting your status as property.”

In the past few months I had learned what it meant to be property my Domina owned, and I had almost accepted that I was no longer a man. I cannot explain completely how it happened, even though I was an active participant in my own subjugation. She insisted I thank her for showing me what I was meant to be, and I was very grateful to her for training me, even when it meant I must gratefully thank my tormentor for my torment. There was a logic to my training, but it was Kartal escort one only she could teach. For instance when I first arrived she refused me permission to pee until finally I could not hold it any longer and I wet myself. I knew I had tried very hard but I very much off-balance by having peed my panties and not knowing what to do. When I went to her and confessed she told me that girls who wet themselves must be punished, and then waited for me to position myself for punishment. Crying I went to the closet and removed her belt, took out the stool and placed it in the middle of the room, pulled down my wet panties and waited to be punished. She let me wait for a while before coming to me and taking the leather belt from my hand. I was then expected to ask to be punished and to beg her for forgiveness. I was whipped until I lost count and I could only sob and beg her for mercy. Finally she relented and said I was forgiven. She told me to put on a fresh pair of panties and then smiled and said: “You will be thirsty. Go to the kitchen and drink six glasses of water.” Then I was again denied the right to pee until I again wet myself and was again punished. By the fourth time I had welts and bruises on my bottom. When I was then given permission to pee, she had me thank her and explain how lucky I was to be allowed to pee. And the thing was I had become grateful. I was so happy when she let me pee that I saw her as not my tormentor, but as the woman who could end the suffering.

When she explained why she was forced to punish me or humiliate me more and more I felt grateful and thanked her repeatedly, begging her to forgive me and to help me learn by punishing me even more. And the cycle would then repeat, deepening her control and my complete dependence on her. Her methods were effective and I was soon more property than I was a man.

“Get started. I will be in from time to time to inspect your work and give correction if necessary. You’ll remember the bell ringing too often will be proof you are trying to hump the air for your own selfish pleasure and it will mean you will hurt.” She stroked my hair, and then asked: “You do agree if you tried to cum without permission you must be punished don’t you slut?”

“Yes Ma’am. A slut should never be allowed pleasure without your permission Domina.”

“Good. Then we agree if the bell rings you will be punished.” She smiled at me, knowing I would soon fail and be in need of correction.

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