A Task a Day…
Amanda picked up the wet sponge and squeezed the tepid water over her breasts, eyes peering outside yet seeing nothing but her Mistress’ face. She had cleaned every window as instructed and was finally allowed a moment of pleasure.
“A task a day keeps my conscious mind away. I will obey,” she muttered. The enslaving mantra was always at the tip of her tongue, binding her to desires she never thought she would have. Foam sliding down her bare mid-drift, she picked up her smartphone and sent a picture to her owner before sitting on the cold floor, waiting for her next instructions.
The message arrived almost immediately, punctuated by two winking emojis at the beginning. Her new command was to head to the bathroom and scrub the showerhead until it was perfectly resplendent.
“When you see your blank gaze reflected on it, insert it in your pussy and leave it there until I contact you again. Are we clear, slave?”
Yes, Mistress,” Amanda replied as if she had heard her silky voice for real. “A task a day keeps my conscious mind away. I will obey.”
Amanda stood up and walked mechanically to the upper floor. She didn’t remember how long she had been working, nor if she had put on any clothes after getting up from bed. Details like that were meaningless clutter in what was supposed to be a perfectly balanced and structured mind. Her purpose was clear: she lived to serve, nothing more.
An only child, Amanda discovered she was into girls at fifteen when a cousin from Europe first stole a kiss and then her heart. Getting into a relationship had never been easy for her, but the same couldn’t be said about taking on the submissive role when she was in one. Thinking was hard, and she hated to call the shots in any situation unless there was no other choice. Mistress understood that, and she always followed her lead, even if she didn’t understand it.
“That’s what trust is,” she thought like a good little brainwashed working drone.
Mistress’ name was… Mistress. No other designation made her justice. The woman that owned her lived somewhere in Australia while she was stuck in Shithole, Wyoming. She often dreamed of going to her, carrying nothing but her collar and leash and throwing herself at her feet. Perhaps one day she could do that, but until then, the mantras and hypnotic triggers would have to suffice. She entered the bathroom and shivered, the weight of her suggestions reinforcing the truth of her servile condition. Real people had ideas and a will of their own. Fac-similes like her had the bliss of mindless routines. What more could she ask for?
Amanda wrapped her hands on the showerhead, the silver metal slithering between her fingers like a snake looking for a meal. She was it, ready to be devoured.
“A task a day keeps my conscious mind away. I will obey,” she repeated in-between writhing orgasms on the bathroom floor. Her life was perfect.
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