The slave with a slave. (3)

Even though the bet is already over, my colleague and I have decided not to tell the basement-whore.

I want to see her fail.

She has long since lost her sense of time and can only rely on what we say.

According to the contract, she can only give up after 8 p.m., when the day is over.

The same applies to the boyfriend, who is crying, swearing, and throwing himself back and forth in the cage; he has pissed all over himself. He too will not be released until 8 p.m., when he repeats his desire to call off the bet. And he will. The men and another friend have announced another party for tonight at midnight.

I’m going back home, knowing full well that you’ll be furious if I turn up without Pari. But that will give you a reason to punish me, and I’m looking forward to it.

When I enter the living room, you’re sitting at your laptop looking at something. You turn your head and make a questioning face. I remain silent to show you that I understood your instructions earlier.

“Where is the whore?”

“I haven’t been able to find her yet, Master. She’s not answering her phone, and she’s not at home either. I’ve also asked in the park and at the university, but no one has seen her.”

“You have failed.”

“Yes, Master.” I lower my eyes submissively. Despite your unpredictability, you’re not an idiot, and you must realize that Pari could have simply run off and we’d never see her again.



“And how are you going to make up for your failure?” You ask, and the satisfaction in your gaze makes me cheer inwardly.

“I, I don’t know, Master.” I stumble and prepare for your rage.

The wolfish grin that makes me so hot appears on your face, and I can only hope I’ve judged you correctly. Once you want something, it’s generally very hard to stop you.

“You bring me another one. Until 6 o’clock today. I don’t care if you bewitch her like Pari, kidnap her, knock her out, or drug her. She’ll be here by 6, or you’ll wish you’d never been born. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

You are so happy to set me an impossible task.

You’ll fuck us both all the harder when you realize I’ve mastered it.



“Take your clothes off. I want you naked here, and then you’ll cook us something for lunch.”

“Yes, Master,” I say, stripping off my clothes. I think it’s ridiculous to walk around the apartment naked, but if it makes you feel powerful, so be it.

You take your cell phone and go into the next room to make a call.

I prepare a salad and put a pizza in the oven. That’s all we have in the house, as we usually eat out and both don’t like to cook.

As I finish the dressing, the doorbell rings.

I freeze, unsure, because I have no intention of answering it naked.

“What are you waiting for?” you ask smugly from the doorway to the hallway.

“Open the door, slave, before I drag you there by your hair.”

I panic inside. This is going way too far. I’ll play the game, but with you, not with the neighbors, and not with the postman.



As I slowly walk towards the door and think about how to get out of this situation, you grab my arm and throw me against the front door. Then you say very close to my face.

“Open the door, or I’ll drag you down the stairs and throw you in front of the house.” That would be the end of our master-slave relationship, but you’re crazy enough to do it, and I can’t let that happen.

I reach for the handle and open the door a crack.



Standing outside the door is your idiot nephew, Stan. I can’t stand him.