I never planned to end up like this. One night out, a few drinks, and his eyes locked on mine across the bar changed everything. He didn't ask me out. He told me to follow him to his car, and I did. That was the first order.
Now I wake up every morning in his basement room, naked except for the thick leather collar locked around my neck. The chain from the wall gives me just enough slack to reach the toilet and the small sink, but not the door. He comes down when he wants me. Sometimes it's morning, sometimes the middle of the night. I never know.
He stands over the bed and snaps his fingers. I crawl to him on hands and knees, mouth already open because that's what he trained me to do. "Good girl," he says, and shoves his cock between my lips. I take it deep, gagging when he pushes my head down, saliva dripping down my chin onto my tits. He fucks my throat until tears run down my face, then pulls out and slaps my cheek with his wet dick. "Turn around. Ass up."
I obey instantly. The chain rattles as I present myself. He spits on my asshole and pushes in without warning, stretching me wide. I moan like the whore he's made me because that's what gets me rewards. Pain mixes with the hot rush of being used exactly how he wants. He grabs my hips and pounds hard, calling me his cumdump, his property, his collared slave. When he finishes, he leaves it inside me and makes me hold it while he eats breakfast upstairs.
The rest of the day I wait. Sometimes he sends me videos on the old phone he allows. I have to watch them and edge without coming. One shows me from the first week, tied to a bench, getting caned until my ass was striped and I was begging to suck his cock just to make it stop. Another is me on my knees in the shower, drinking his piss from a bowl because I talked back. I watch with my fingers sliding over my clit but never inside, never enough to finish. By the time he comes back down I'm dripping and desperate.
He unlocks the chain sometimes and takes me upstairs. Those nights are the most intense. He ties me to the kitchen table, legs spread, and invites a friend over. They take turns fucking my mouth and cunt while they talk about me like I'm not even there. "She'll swallow anything now," he says. His friend laughs and comes down my throat. I swallow every drop because I know what happens if I spit.
The psychological part hits hardest. He makes me repeat rules out loud every night before bed. "I am nothing without your cock. My holes belong to you. I come only when you allow it." If I hesitate, he adds another day without release. I've gone three weeks before, crying and humping the air like an animal while he watched and stroked himself.
Last week he brought home a new toy: a thick plug with a tail. He worked it into my ass and made me crawl around the living room while he drank beer. Every time I slowed down he swatted my thighs with a crop. "Faster, slave." When he finally fucked me that night, the tail brushed his stomach with every thrust and I came so hard I blacked out for a second. He kept going, filling me up, then made me lick the mess off the floor.
I don't remember the last time I wore clothes. I don't remember making decisions about food or sleep or anything. He decides everything.
The only freedom I have is how enthusiastically I obey. When I do it right, he rewards me with his cock in my cunt instead of my ass, or lets me come while he holds my throat. Those orgasms wreck me. I shake and thank him over and over, promising I'll never leave, that I'm his forever.
Sometimes he asks if I regret following him that first night. I always answer the same way: I drop to my knees, open my mouth, and wait. Because this is what I am now. His true sex slave. And every filthy, degrading, perfect moment is exactly where I belong.
