The morning arrived slowly, with faint light filtering into the room where Catherine, stiff and sore from the cramped confines of the cage, woke long before her young captor. No clock adorned the room; Catherine glanced around, realizing the reliance on smartphones for timekeeping nowadays. She made every effort to remain silent, dreading the inevitable start of this new, horrible day.

The 19-year-old remained asleep, her breathing steady and deep. Catherine could hear it clearly, a stark contrast to her own anxious heartbeat. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours until the young owner finally stirred from her slumber.

"Good morning, Buttslut," Hailee’s voice rang out as she rose from her bed, the casual authority evident in her tone. Catherine winced internally at the diminutive name, a reminder of her subordinate position.

Approaching the cage, the young owner regarded Catherine with mild curiosity, as if studying a specimen. "How did you sleep?" she asked, her tone devoid of genuine concern, more a formality than a true inquiry, before making her way to her private bathroom.

Catherine shifted uncomfortably within the confines of the cage, feeling the cold metal against her skin.

Hailee's absence stretched agonizingly long; minutes ticked by like hours as Catherine's muscles stiffened and her body yearned for movement.

The sound of water splashing and her young owner’s occasional humming were the only sounds that could be heard.

The morning light continued to trickle into the room as Hailee finally approached the cage. With a nonchalant flick of her wrist, she unlocked the door and swung it open, the metallic creak piercing the silence. "Out," she commanded curtly, her tone brooking no argument.

Catherine obediently crawled out of the cage, her limbs stiff and protesting. As she rose to her feet, she felt the weight of Hailee's scrutiny upon her. The young owner circled around her like a predator sizing up its prey, her gaze assessing every detail.

"So, what could my special little girl wear today?" Hailee asked, her voice dripping with condescension. The belittling comment hit Catherine like a physical blow, her jaw tightening with suppressed indignation.

Hailee paused dramatically, as if genuinely contemplating wardrobe options for her servant. A faint smirk played on her lips, mocking the absurdity of the situation. "Hmm, let's see," she mused aloud, feigning thoughtfulness. "Oh, wait. Silly me," she chuckled lightly, her amusement devoid of empathy. "Slaves don't wear clothes in this house."

Catherine clenched her fists, fighting to maintain composure in the face of such demeaning treatment. This was her reality now: stripped of dignity, relegated to an existence where she was less than human in the eyes of her captor.

Catherine stood in silence, her slender form adorned only by the collar that marked her as property. Across from her, the 19-year-old heiress, effortlessly slipped into designer clothing, each piece a testament to her wealth and privilege. The contrast between them could not have been starker.

Watching her so called “owner” dress herself was a bitter reminder of Catherine's own vulnerability. The simple act of putting on clothes, something Catherine had always taken for granted, was now a luxury denied to her. The collar around her neck felt like a heavy chain, a constant reminder of her diminished status and lack of freedom.

As Hailee adjusted her outfit with casual indifference, Catherine's eyes drifted downward, unable to meet the young woman's gaze. The disparity between them—Hailee, accustomed to power and privilege, and Catherine, reduced to servitude—was painfully apparent.

Eventually, Hailee led her slave down the grand staircase. Each step echoed in the vast, marble-lined foyer, and Hailee’s delicate fingers tightened around the leather leash, a silent reminder of the control she wielded. Catherine, her gaze cast downward, followed obediently, struggling with each step as she crawled along.

They entered the kitchen where Madeline, Hailee’s mother sat at the breakfast table, absorbed in the morning paper, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of freshly baked bread.

“Good morning, darling,” the tall blonde greeted her daughter without lifting her eyes from the paper.

“Hi, Mom,” Hailee replied, her tone carrying a note of satisfaction. The brief exchange passed over Catherine like a cold wind; she was an invisible entity in their world.

The young bitch leaned closer to her human property and whispered, her voice a velvet command, “Wait by the dog bowl.”

Catherine felt a familiar knot of dread tighten in her stomach as she moved to the designated spot on the floor. She knelt, her eyes level with the polished metallic bowl that symbolized her degradation.

Hailee approached the counter with a casual air, retrieving two slices of sliced bread from a silver toast rack. Without a glance at Catherine, she crumbled the toast into the bowl. The pieces fell with a hollow sound, a mockery of a meal. She then turned on the tap, filling the same bowl with a rush of cold water. The bread soaked, becoming a soggy mess, a sharp contrast to the elegant breakfast Madeline enjoyed.

Satisfied, Hailee placed the bowl in front of Catherine, a slight smirk playing on her lips. She then returned to her chair, where a plate already awaited her. Perfectly made pancakes, golden brown and fluffy, sat beside a couple of slices of crisp bacon. The pancakes were topped with a pat of melting butter and a drizzle of maple syrup, the steam rising invitingly. The young princess picked up her fork and knife, cutting into the stack with a casual grace, each bite a celebration of her privilege.

Catherine stared at the sodden toast, her reflection distorted in the murky water. The humiliation was a familiar ache, one she had learned to mask behind a blank expression. She lowered her head into the bowl, the wet bread unpleasantly cold against her lips. The taste was a bitter reminder of her captivity, but she forced herself to chew and swallow, each bite a testament to her will to survive. She had to tey. If not for herself, then for her daughters.

With every gulp, she reaffirmed her silent vow: she would endure. She would escape. And she would reclaim her name, her dignity, her life.

Catherine followed her young owner hesitantly into the opulent living room areaX her stomach twisting with hunger after the scant breakfast.

Hailee motioned for Catherine to kneel on the floor while she settled into an oversized armchair. The contrast between their appearances underscored their disparate roles—one as the entitled mistress of the house, the other as a subservient captive.

"Alrighty, Buttslut," Hailee began, her tone casual yet authoritative, "let's get a few things straight. I like to keep things simple around here with a few ground rules."

Catherine kept her eyes downcast, unsure of what to expect next.

"First rule," Hailee continued, her voice carrying a hint of amusement, "call me 'Miss Hailee' at all times. We're maintaining standards here."

The audacity of it made Catherine furious. How could this spoiled brat expect her, a 41 year old woman, to show respect when she’s being treated like trash?

Hailee leaned forward slightly, fixing Catherine with an appraising gaze. "Rule number two: No eye contact unless I say so. Got it? It's a respect thing, you know? Eye contact implies equality, and we both know that's not the case here. You look at me when I want to be looked at."

Swallowing her pride and doing her best not to lash out, Catherine nodded.

"Rule three: Personal space? Forget about it. You're mine now, Buttslut. My shadow, my attendant," Hailee stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I might touch you, move you, or be very close to you at any time. You're here to serve, and that means being constantly available."

"Rule four: Speak only when spoken to. Your thoughts are of no interest to me," Hailee remarked casually, as if discussing the weather. "I decide when your voice is heard. Until then, silence suits you best."

"Rule five: Promptness is key. When I beckon, you better come running. Got it?" Her young owner’s eyes gleamed with a hint of challenge, relishing her control. "My time is valuable, Buttslut, and you're now part of ensuring everything runs smoothly for me."

"Rule six: Cleanliness. You're responsible for keeping my things pristine. From my wardrobe to my possessions, no smudges, no excuses," Hailee emphasized, her voice tinged with expectation. "If I see a speck of dust or a fingerprint, you'll be cleaning it again until it's flawless. Understand?"

The 19 year old paused, her expression turning thoughtful before she grinned mischievously. "Rule seven: No breaks. Every day's a workday here. Lucky you," she quipped, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "There's no rest for the dedicated servant. My needs don't take a day off, and neither do yours."

"Rule eight: You eat what I provide, when I provide it. That soggy toast this morning? Get used to it," Hailee remarked, enjoying Catherine's visible discomfort. "Your meals are dictated by my whims. You'll learn to appreciate whatever sustenance I deem fit to give you."

The 41 year old’s inner voice screamed for her to resist, to defy the young woman’s demands, but fear held her tongue. She hated her own cowardness of nodding along after every new rule, further assisiting in her own debasement.

Hailee reclined back in her chair, a satisfied smirk on her face as she surveyed Catherine's defeated expression.

"So, Buttslut, any questions?" Hailee's tone was mocking, as if daring the slave to challenge her newfound authority.

“No,” Catherine eventually replied softly, her voice betraying a mix of fear and resignation.

“No what?” Hailee’s voice sharpened, a hint of amusement lacing her words.

Catherine swallowed hard, her throat dry with anxiety. “No, Miss Hailee,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Each word felt like a submission to her new reality, sending shivers down her spine.

Hailee’s expression shifted, a triumphant smirk spreading across her face as she nodded in satisfaction.

"Good girl. Welcome to your new home."

to be continued.