For the next couple of hours, I occasionally checked the live footage in order to ensure my slave was still doing her “homework”.

Even four whole hours later, she didn’t disappoint as I tuned in.

“…le 2: The slave will do whatever its owner tells her to do, without hesitation or complaint. Rule 3: The slave will ask its owner for permission in order to…”. Her voice was pretty hoarse at that point. An entire day without any kind of fluid intake was slowly leaving its mark on Emily’s body.

When I noticed an increasing wobble in her legs, which were surely cramping up after being in the same position for a long period of time, I decided to let my slave rest.

Pushing the microphone button, I announced: “Alright slave. You did well. You can move around freely again.”

Even though my voice seemed to have caughed her off guard, she was visibly relieved to be done with this monotonous task. Barely able to move, Emily lowered herself onto her butt to stretch out her fatigued arms & legs.

Sitting in my living room, I went for a relaxed evening of watching TV. My snack of choice were salted nuts.

On a second monitor, I decided to play the live footage of Emily’s cell, as I thought it would be important to keep an eye on her on those first few days. Not wanting to distract me from my show, I disabled the audio from the other screen.

In that moment, I felt like the luckiest man alive.

It was right at the big climax of the season finale, my eyes glued to the the big TV screen, when I noticed movement in the corner of my vision. Taking a peek, I noticed my slave standing relatively close to the camera, looking directly into it while forming words with her mouth.

Annoyed at the timing of it all, I rolled my eyes and paused my evening entertainment, in order to unmute the live footage of the basement cell.

“Please…I need to drink. Please I haven’t had anything for the entire time”, I heard her say in almost unrecognizably, dry voice.

I almost felt bad for her, before remding myself that she had all the time in the world to drink when I had brought her breakfast in the morning.

After a few moments of contemplating, I’d made up my mind. Walking to the kitchen, I grabbed the same metal bowl she’d refused to eat out of hours prior and made my way to her room.

Upon seeing me enter, Emily backed away from the camera to the comfort of the backwall.

I put the bowl down in front of my feet and explained: “I’ll let you drink once you’ve finished eating. Make it quick. If I go to bed before you’re done, you won’t get anything before tomorrow.”

Worried about the possibility of going thirsty the entire night, my slave, without a hint of hesitation, walked towards the bowl in order to pick it up.

“You might recognise the food from earlier today. You only get to eat a new meal once the last one has been eaten entirely”, I said as she looked down at the half eaten sandwiches, which were now a cold, sloppy mess with a slightly concerning smell to them.

The mere sight of it was enough to provoke a loud gag from Emily, who was now holding her dinner ( an armlength away in order to keep away the foul scent ) in her shaky hands.

Revolted, she took it back to the mattress and took a seat. Proud, and slightly excited for the upcoming spectacle, I left the room once again.

As I took a seat in the living room, I completely forgot about the season finale of my favorite show. My priorities shifted to the second monitor, where a new episode of “Degraded Slavegirl” just aired.

Zooming in, I noticed that Emily hadn’t started to eat yet, but was rather seeming to weigh her options. I could only guess what her thought process was.

On one hand, she didn’t want to cooperate in my efforts of degrading her to a servant.

On the other, she couldn’t refuse to eat the disgusting slop from her bowl, as it might result in more electric shocks from her collar. Additionally, the already foul-smelling food would be in even worse condition tomorrow, when she’d face the exact same decision yet again.

With no reasonable or realistic alternative, my slave took a big sigh before reaching into the bowl. As her fingers came in contact with the cold, slimy ingredients, new tears formed in Emily’s eyes.

After a few seconds of examination, she slowly lifted the first handful to her mouth. Using her second hand to block her nasal airways ( probably a smart decision ), she took the first bite of her new slave diet.

The disgusted expression on her face was priceless, as she chewed and swallowed, visibly fighting the urge to throw up.

Those sandwiches, which were absolutely delicious just half a day ago, were unrecognisable at this point.

As she struggled to gulp them down, I poured myself a glass of my most expensive Château Pétrus. Although I didn’t want to feed her half rotten food often, something told me that she’d learned her lesson.

After swallowing the last bits of scooped-up mush, Emily, in a burst of rage, threw the bowl to the opposite side of the cell. I couldn’t tell if she was angrier at me or at herself, for assisting me in her degradation.

Nonetheless, she did as she was told and deserved her reward. I refilled the metal cup and made my way to my slave’s cell.

As I entered, holding the desperately needed water in my hand, I moved to pick up the empty bowl off the floor.

A slight disappointment hit me as I peeked inside. Walking towards Emily, who didn’t even dare looking at me at this point, I explained: “A meal is only finished when you’ve eaten it all. This means I want the bowl to be licked until it’s spotless”.

A few moments of silence passed.

“I will let your little bowl-throwing breakdown slide, if you finish it now. So go for it”, I ordered as I threw the bowl between her legs.

As she looked up at me, for the first time upon entering, I registered an all too familiar fury in her beautiful, brown eyes.

Eyes who slowly drifted away from my face, towards the water-filled cup in my hand. Her physical needs were my closest accomplices in Emily’s training.

Betrayed by her own body, my slave instinctively brought up the bowl to her dry mouth in order to lick up the last few bits of food from the metal surface.

The sounds produced by her lapping tongue were more beautiful than the most harmonic symphony.

When she felt like she was done, Emily handed me the bowl for inspection.

“Well done, slave. You’ve earned your water. Are you thirsty?”

“Yes sir”, she bursted out, impatiently, almost surprised at her own compliance.

I’d never seen someone drink this fast. Within a few seconds, my slave shook the empty cup over her opened mouth in order to catch every last drop available.

Although she was desperate for more, there were no refills in a slaves life. This was not a hotel. Every bit of food and water would have to be earned with pure obedience and dedication.

And tomorrow, Emily would earn her keep in a whole new, exciting way.

to be continued.