A text was sent by Him around eight o’clock that evening. The order was to use the spare key under the welcome mat and clean the House to His standards by the time He was to be off work, not half an hour from the time of the message. A secondary message added that He was to later on have Guests over.
With the fear of God imprinted upon her at the thought of her Sir’s dissatisfaction, as well as He did train her, she hurried over and set to prepare each of the handful of rooms she was allowed to enter in His absence:
The floor-spacious living room was first with its large U-shaped sectional but it was easy enough to tidy by fluffing the decorative pillows and centering the wooden coffee table in front of the sofa. The guest bathroom, a full yet small one was more of a task given the typical dirtied services that required a deep clean. The same went for the dining room to a lesser degree, despite the expanding dining table that resided in it.
The hall closet, too,received a comb-through; Sir’s coats were neatly arranged on their hungers and the clothes she had been wearing were folded neatly and placed on one as well, being hung on the far opposite end of the rack to not taint the jackets. At the bottom of the closet, next to a couple extra pairs of Sir’s shoes, was a bulky, plain rectangular trunk she knew far better than to indulge in – that lesson had been painfully learned months ago. Instead, she ensured all supplies in the toy chest were clean, organized, and had working batteries if they so required them.
Lest her mind escape her, she left the trunk be after a final check and closed the closet. She settled upon her knees in front of the main entrance, head bowed and hands resting palms-up atop her lap.
None too soon, albeit, as the rattle of a key meeting the metal lock started her not a full five minutes later.
He wore a buttoned-up dress shirt that was tucked into a nice pair of slacks, the kind that made her paranoid under the unspoken threat of punishment to not be sloppy whilst giving head. Neither glance nor word was dropped to her as He passed, unaffected by her presence.
She dutifully refrained from casting either, as well, eyes steadily fixed on her lap as her ears tingled in straining to hear His actions behind her. She ascertained His whereabouts by the subtle clapping of His loafers against the linoleum shortly Before a snort of derision hated the dining room.
Her heart palpitated, a numbness stiffening jaw.
Before there was much more time for anxiety to settle in, she felt the electric closeness of victory of her Sir standing directly behind her. It was difficult for her to express a shudder as goosebumps prickled her skin and erected the hair on her arms and neck. She could feel phantom grazes of His hands all over her, wild thoughts flashing through her mind of all the ways he could use her from that angle…
He must have crouched down then, as His lowered voice came to her ear: “You forget to wipe down the most obvious place, stupid bitch. Now I don’t believe you truly know how to respect My House.”
A fist gripped the back of her should-length hair as He stood. “Come fix your mistake before I change My mind about allowing you to be here by yourself in the future.” Slowly, He began to lead her on all fours by the hair into the dining room.
It hit her then what exactly she had skipped over, and she mentally kicked herself for such a mindless error.
He tugged upwards on her locks to get her on her feet and took a step back with his arms crossed, directing her to get upon the table on hands and knees. “Mop up all the crumbs and filters stains with your tongue and spit. Your mouth is as disgusting as a sponge in mop water, anyway. Lick every inch of this table until I think it is clean enough.”
Without hesitation, she perched herself obediently and spat on the glossed surface, spreading it messily with her tongue. She did so once more to cover an area slightly bigger than her face, before lapping it up thoroughly, like she was lucky enough to be spit-shining a pussy – as if her Sir would ever reward her so graciously! She repeated this process many times over until almost half the table had been attended to, her average breasts having dangled so low at some point that their faces were tacky with her saliva.
Sir moved Along the perimeter of her workspace as He saw fit, scrutinizing silently for missed spots. He observed the bimbo dog’s technique, too, slightly amused that she was so eager to please that she was executing the task decently enough to appear practiced in doing so regularly.
Her brow created deeply as His silhouette left her peripheral vision, but she stayed honed in on the job at hand and, if anything, performed livelier under near lethal anticipation of further humiliation.
“Are you so desperate for attention,” He chided domineeringly. “that even this has turned you on, slut? You’re so fucking pathetic. I said I wanted My table to shine, not your spoiled pussy.” A swift slap landed on that wettened, openly exposed region.
She yelped, jaw stumbling as she resumed care for the last portion of table. “I’m sorry, Sir.” She apologized softly after a final sloppy lick. Her bare bottom rested on her heels, hands placed on her knees, as He stood in front of her.
“Apparently not sorry enough, since you enjoyed that so much. Do I have to let you clean every other inch of the House like this for you to learn?”
Restlessness electrified her being, skin raising with chills ever so slightly as she fight against the hypersensitive of arousal. A swallow became lodged in her throat and she internally chased on it more than the bulges she was used to There. Oh, she would have loved to be made to slave around the entire house, transformed into an eager, determined, work- (and pray-) hungry little pet at His command alone – but she respected Hisomnipotent authority and feared His relentless iron fist more than she longed for immediate pleasure. Further, she was wise enough to realize compliance was more likely to earn her the treatment from Sir that she so desired, and that being a brat would sentence her with quite the opposite, as His more stern of punishments entailed karmic withholdings of niceties for several consecutive sessions.
“N-no, Sir.” She answered through perseverance to obey. “I have learned.”
Feigned exasperation flavored His exhaled, a Flamboyant non-verbal she knew to be Him expressing disbelief and disapproval, but the subject would be left alone, for the time being, with her on thin ice. It was the type of signal – forebodance – that provoked such an omino feeling, because the disapproval always found sadistic ways to manifest itself later in the session.
Nevertheless, He did so move along. “At least you made yourself presentable, hm? Would have been a shame to whip your pretty piggy ass again for not shaving-” A shudder ticked her spine at the memory of the licks of leather to her bare bottom for neglecting to rid her public stubble a mere week ago. “-it’s nice to see you do learn something.”
He nudged the inside of her knee with a knuckle to spread her folded legs wider, and she lacened her hands behind her head at His command.
The pet was stoic and reserved, as she should be, as He deigned unamused inspection of His property, deliberating. As if deciding not whether or not she was good enough for the Guests soon to arrive or for His presence, but good enough, period. Of the many acts she had to perform in sessions past, inspections were always the most demeaning. Always put her in her place and reminded her not to become complacent. They also provided an amazing warmth with whatever straight compliment He handed During them, when and if He did.
But today, rather than hope for warm words which he didn’t seem in the mood for, she quietly prayed toappear her most presentable to His eyes – he was always more stern when Guests were expected.
Every inch of her love-marked flesh exposed for his approval burned, double so as he peered down below again: The cunt was not shavled, per se, but maybe waxed, with how full and pink the intimate lips were. Yet He did not let on to His appreciation for the deliciously plump folds, and simply continued to survey the slums of His ownership.
Whilst already there, He pressed her shoulders forward, legs still spread wide, to have her rear fully visible and ready. He wasted no time in spreading the modest cheats further, her decently-worn asshole spreading favorably enough that He grazed fingerprints across the pumper when it constricted. Hating fingers in her ass (and He knowing this), she fights a shudder as she was positioned upright once more.
Business-like eyes grazed up her body scathingly – a lackluster pre-screening of what was left. His called hands found either side ofher face first. Large thumbs fish hooked her mouth as wide as possible. “When was the last time you brushed your teeth, pet?”
Looking up at Him before she spoke, she felt so small, knowing how stupid she looked in the moment and how much worse she was about to sound. “B’foreths I can overths.” She sputtered awkwardly under his digit rigs.
“Good girl.” He hooked His index fingers under her lips and spread her mouth at four points, having her stick out her tongue for good measure. “Very good. A nice, clean dumpster.” He removed his fingers and swabbed up the spit around and under her lips, wiping it all off precariously on her face and hair, using her like a hand rag.
He repeated with a similar process for her eyes, smearing them at the outer corners, then opening them wide from the top and bottom lids. Then a little shove upwards to the tip of her nose. A smile ticckled His lips as He smushed her button nose. “Oink, My little piggy.”
She snorted without hesitation. The subtle flush plastered across her face did well in hiding her embarrassment at the reminder of admitting a while back that she wanted to try pet play for the degrading acts it entitled alone.
This time He made no pass to hide His amusement at her disappoint – they both loved it.
As His hands made their way to her less-than-impressive breasts, they stopped to tilt her head every which-way, elongating her neck and displaying the fading disclosure at the base of her throat. He ran his fingers across the marks with appreciation for His craftsmanship.
The pleasuresantry was short-lived, disappointed grunt of a sight coming from Him. “Just can’t seem to grow them, can you?” He mused rhetorically as He carefully flicked either of her nipples at the same time. “I don’t even want to waste My time on them, to be honest. Maybe I should flush your birth control so you can adopt a big ol’ pair of milky udders like a real woman, since puberty apparently never hit you as a girll. Pathetic little excuses for tits…”
His last scornful glare down at her breasts was cut short by a rapping at the door accompanied by muffled banter and laughter.
Her stomach leaves to her throat, not sure if she was ready for whatever He had planned.
“Make yourself as decent as your little scumbag self can for My Guests. Wait in the closet until We are ready for you.”
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