As you have already realised, this is no thrupple situation. I am under absolutely no illusions of my position in this house and there will never be a fairytale ending. My "husband" has me captive as his slave and I can't get out of it now. I was far too slow in realising what was happening. In the hope he'd give me back my dick. But now I realise I'm never going to have my dick back and he's taken my freedom too. I am so under his absolute control now that escape is impossible. He married me only to amuse himself and control me completely.
My slave cell is in a hidden underground cellar room down a back staircase. Behind a heavy door. If they want me hidden away at any stage I am imprisoned down here.
It's a single small brick room, custom made to his requirements. White walled brick and concrete floor. Why waste money on luxuries for a slave?
One corner contains the "luxury" of my slave mat over the stone floor. A simple basic sleeping space if they choose to be kind. The second corner contains the small cubed cage in which I am crammed if they choose otherwise.
The third corner contains the hole in which I piss and crap. The only place I am allowed to do so ever. Crouched over it on my haunches.
And the fourth corner is a multi purpose space. It contains the ironing board and sink, where I spend hours weekly washing and ironing their clothes to exacting standards. It also contains various punishment areas where I can be left in bondage chained to the floor or wall or ceiling if they decide it necessary.
I am punished daily. To remind me what I am and also to remind me of my sin in trying to move away from Ryan. My owner now. I am also punished harshly if I ever disappoint in my service or forget my place as a "grovelling inferior no-dick loser". Tate loves to find - or invent - reasons why I need more punishment.
My day always starts with the same reminder. I thank Ryan for every stroke of the cane as I am in position 1. On my knees prostrate on the floor hands stretched out in front of me on the floor as he administers ten hard caning lashes to my exposed butt crack.
I cry every single day in pain and frustration and fear. I beg for forgiveness that never comes. And then I sob and thank him like a pathetic shaking loser at the end of my beating. I kiss his shoes and thank him, thinking of the contrast with my own calloused, filthy, manacled bare feet. Every step is often painful as my bare soles are caned regularly.
Tate is of course allowed to punish me however he wishes too. He prefers to chain me in an X position on the cross. Pulling my stretched and full balls out the side of my chastity belt he likes to administer a beating until the drool streams out of my screaming mouth, leaving me black and blue and slumping in my chains.
Their cruelty is unending and unnecessary. But it will never end. I can be punished for countless minor indiscretions. One of Ryan's favourites is when my ignored dick drools any precum; I am tortured for disobedience if precum touches any surface. Tate's preference is to remind me I am nothing: he taunts me that I reek or that I have no dick or that I have no privacy or leisure from them.
Most of my time is spent in labour. A never ending cycle of cleaning every room, every part of their life. They do nothing in the house other than cook. I run around invisible after them and ensure they need never lift a finger. I am punished harshly if there is ever a mistake or a dirty surface or a sign that I have been "lazy". I work in desperate fear.
Ryan expects to see me busy at all times when not stored away. I iron every item of their clothing. I pick up their clothes from the floor and ensure they are washed, ironed and returned before they can miss them.
Every floor is hand scrubbed. The lawn is mown daily regardless of weather, still of course stark naked. And the patio areas brushed clean.
I am truly a pathetic beast of burden scurrying around naked quietly. Constantly aware I must be working.
There are times when I am stored away. If I am not needed or wanted I have no use. And therefore I am stored. I can be chained to a wall or in a confined space such as my cage for hours. I can be a footstool as they watch TV. Sometimes if they are reading or scrolling, my body will act as their chair. My face under their arse or their feet.
But most evenings I am displayed for their amusement. Just because they can and - in Ryan's words - it's always best that I am working and suffering as they relax.
Their favourite is the living room display. I have been trained to understand that my pleasure or consideration plays no part in their thoughts towards me. I will never experience orgasm or any form of comfort. My sex life revolves around throat fucking me, and my worship of their body as they see fit. Only ever for their pleasure and not mine.
And so when I am displayed in the living room as they relax, my wide open arse is - in the words of Ryan - "only for their amusement and not to provide me with any stimulation or delight.". He is of course mocking me with these words.
Noone could gain pleasure from spending time as I spend my evenings regularly. I am placed on my back in front of the TV to act as their table. Both my wrists and ankles are secured into a low frame so that they are secured tight in an unyielding way. My wrists spread out each side of me taut and my ankles pulled over my head and attached to an anchor point above my head. I am left like this for hours, contorted so I can barely breathe with my exposed arse facing them and pulled up into the air. Of course this alone would be insufficient. And so my arse is kept plugged with a wide wine bottle. I have been trained with much pain to self insert it, bottom end first, up my abused chute. The bottle is then used to either display flowers or simply to act as the base for a small table.
Imagine what it's like then to spend hours every evening - after a relentless day of labour, humiliation and torture - as the display ornament of a perverted couple. For no reason other than abuse and humiliation. A couple who hold your freedom in their hands and your cock locked away forever.
And then imagine my wracked sobs of pain as the evening ends with a caning of my filthy bare soles before locking in my cell.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
