‘Any milk yet?’ my Master asked, squeezing my breast hard so that my eyes widened. ‘A little, Sir,’ I said, flushing with embarrassment, although I wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment at failing him or embarrassment at his planned future use of me as a milk cow. ‘We’ll double your dose,’ he said, sounding bored.
The Lucky Girl: Chapter 2
[Femsub maledom slavery erotica. Chapter 1 of ‘The Lucky Girl’ is here.]
‘We’ll double your dose,’ my Master said, sounding bored. ‘Hawkins, see to it, would you?’
The driver said ‘yes, sir’ from the front of the car in a solid, wooden voice and I flushed again. The reality TV agency had warned me that I would be in an awkward position in the Master’s household, if I was lucky enough to be chosen.
You’re the slave, they had said. The Master will treat you like a piece of valuable furniture. Don’t expect any privacy. You’ll probably sit below most if not all of the house servants in the Master’s eyes. I had flushed at their words, secretly delighted at the thought of being objectified like that.
We arrived at his house and he snapped his fingers at me curtly, telling me to ‘come’ again, to follow him.
I followed him into the house, shocked at how large and luxurious it seemed to be.
‘Is this the girl?’ asked the servant taking Master’s coat and gloves, eyeing me up and down as I stood awkwardly inside the front door, my breasts still oozing rampantly from my opened dress. The man looked like an old-time butler and I flushed in humiliation to be standing here half-naked.
‘Yes, Briggs,’ said Master, straightening his tie. ‘I’m late for dinner. Get her out of those clothes, would you? Put her in my bedroom, on the rug at the end of the bed. I’ll find her there later.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Briggs stolidly. ‘What do we call her, sir?’
‘Udders,’ said Master, over his shoulder as he headed off into the inner sanctum of the unknown house. ‘Like a cow. Oh, and double her lactation dose, would you? She’s not in milk yet, and the show hosts assured me that she’d be ready to drink from by now.’
Then he was gone behind closed doors, and I was left with the open front door at my back, my breasts burning like a flame on the front of my body, as I wondered if I was already failing my Master.
Another servant shut the door behind me while Briggs regarded me up and down with a critical eye.
‘You heard him,’ the man said, his voice flat and short. ‘Take off those clothes,’ he said. ‘And the shoes.’
I stripped simply in the foyer area, flushing hotly as various servants passed me, eyeing me curiously. I felt so objectified, being made to strip here in the doorway without any privacy or fanfare.
Briggs handed my clothes to an outdoor servant, saying ‘see that they are burned, the slave won’t need them again’. He handed me two of the white pills I had been taking for days and a glass of water, and, feeling as if I was under observation, I swallowed them, my face and neck burning with embarrassment.
Everyone here would know that I was in the house for sex and for milking.
Briggs nodded forbiddingly at me and I followed him up the wide staircase and along countless carpeted corridors until he let me into Master’s bedroom.
Even his bedroom was huge. I had no idea people were even still that wealthy these days. I felt like this single room was twice the size of the small apartment I had been living in.
Briggs pointed to the rug at the foot of the bed, telling me to kneel down there. ‘Stay there,’ he said, very much as if I was a stray dog who had unwisely entered the house. ‘The Master will find you when he wants you.’ And then he left me there.
I knelt for hours on the rug, my feet slowly falling asleep underneath me, waking again with pins and needles, before falling asleep again. I kept my eyes down as the agency ordered, meditating and preparing myself. They had tested how good we were with waiting and I had excelled at their tests.
Master didn’t return until late, and then he swept right past me, sighing and stretching as he walked. He went straight to the drinks cabinet, pouring himself a nightcap, and sitting to drink it slowly, checking his phone for updates.
Only after he had sat and relaxed for a good long time, did he walk across to me, looking down at me where I still knelt on the rug.
My Master stood looking at me for a long time, still sipping his drink. I kept my eyes downwards, forcing my breathing to slow as I felt his eyes resting on me. I was alone with my Master in his bedroom. I was his slave, his property. I was naked and whatever came next, I was expected to behave demurely, compliantly, like the toy the agency had promised him I would be.
‘Did Briggs give you more pills to take?’ he asked, his eyes feeling as though they were boring into my breasts.
‘Yes, Sir,’ I said softly, feeling all of my skin flushing at the feeling of being objectified like this.
‘Good,’ he said, gesturing at me with his hand. ‘Crawl over here and kneel at my feet.’
All he wants is my breasts, I thought, embarrassed. I remembered him now, from the shorts they had shown us. He had talked at length about his love of large breasts and how he planned to keep his slave as a milking cow. If she misbehaves, he had said, chuckling, I’ll put clamps on her nipples. I won’t let any milk out until the slut grovels. I want her so full that all she can think about is the milk inside her. I want her to beg to be milked.
Moving stiffly, I crawled across the floor naked towards where he had been sitting, my feet screaming at me in agony as all the feeling rushed back into them. Kneeling at his feet, I kept my head bowed while he stroked a negligent finger down my cheek.
‘Such a pretty slut,’ he murmured and I flushed in pleasure. ‘I’ll test your hole shortly. I’m expecting you to be tight and fuckable, is that clear?’
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Pixie Isobella 