As night settled over Hailee's opulent bedroom, Catherine once again found herself confined to the cage, a symbol of her captivity.

Sleep eluded her; instead, her mind replayed the day's harrowing ordeal. Each time she closed her eyes, she was transported back to that moment of degradation, vividly recalling the taste of Hailee’s feet on her tongue, as echoes of Hailee's commands rang in her ears.

In the dim glow of a solitary lamp, Catherine's emotions churned like a turbulent sea. She felt the weight of shame and helplessness pressing down on her chest, suffocating any semblance of peace.

On a scorching afternoon, the sun beat down relentlessly on the sprawling estate, casting harsh shadows across the immaculate grounds. Hailee reclined on a plush lounger by the shimmering pool, clad in a vibrant bikini that accentuated her bronzed skin. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes as she flipped through a fashion magazine, occasionally sipping a chilled drink.

Catherine, still nursing the remnants of her sunburn from her last punishment, moved quietly nearby, tending to the flower beds under Hailee's watchful gaze. The thick humidity made her movements sluggish, every exertion feeling like an uphill battle against the oppressive heat. Beads of sweat trickled down her temples despite the wide-brimmed hat she wore for protection.

Hailee's voice cut through the midday haze, casual yet commanding, "Buttslut, go fetch the latest issue of Vogue from my bedroom upstairs. Make sure it's the one on the nightstand."

Catherine nodded obediently, her eyes downcast as she began the trek towards the house. Walking through the corridors, the 41 year old did her best not to leave any dirt behind.

As Catherine passed by Madeline’s room, the door suddenly swung open. Out stepped a young woman, as naked and collared as Catherine herself. Startled, Catherine froze in her tracks, her eyes widening in shock at the unexpected sight.

The young woman, who appeared to be in her early 20s, had her black hair neatly pulled back into a bun. Her delicate, blue eyes mirrored Catherine’s own puzzlement as their gazes briefly met. A faint blush tinged her cheeks, adding warmth to her otherwise composed demeanor.

For a brief moment, Catherine’s eyes darted to the background, where she saw Madeline lying on her bed, upper body fully exposed, as she put on her pants.

Fearful, the middle aged slave immediately looked back down at the floor and continued her journey towards Hailee’s bedroom, now with increased walking speed. As she looked back over her shoulder, she noticed the mysterious girl walk towards the opposite side on the corridor.

On her way, Catherine’s mind swirled with questions prompted by the unexpected encounter. Who was this woman? She must’ve been a servant as well, given her lack of clothing. But what was she doing in Madeline’s room? Her thoughts raced, grappling with the implications of what she had seen. She couldn’t shake off the image of the young woman’s gentle demeanor and puzzled expression.

The following evening, she’d just began doing the laundry, as she heard the sound of a small bell.

The noise, a delicate yet insistent chime, pierced the mansion's hushed atmosphere like a command. It was a signal Catherine had quickly learned to obey without hesitation, a summons that demanded her immediate presence in the living room. Dropping the linens she had been folding, she hurriedly fixed her hair and made her way to the sound’s origin.

Catherine entered the living room, her steps hesitant on the plush carpet, and was taken aback by the sight that greeted her. The young woman she’d seen today, knelt obediently before Madeline. Her posture was one of submission—legs parted, hands clasped behind her head—as if she had rehearsed this ritual countless times.

Madeline, with her usual air of calculated control, gestured for Catherine to join the naked woman on the floor. As she lowered herself, she nervously mimicked the other slave’s position, unsure if it was required of her.

The room was silent except for the faint ticking of an ornate clock on the mantelpiece. Madeline, now seated on an opulent armchair, surveyed them with an air of cold authority.

"Good evening, Butt..Ass…what was the name again?," Madeline asked.

“B..Buttslut, ma’am”, Catherine hung her head in shame.

"That’s right, Buttslut. And this…” Hailee’s mother began, her voice icy and controlled, "is Jugs. I’m sure you can tell why we went for that name”, Madeline smirked.

Indeed, Catherine had noticed the well developed chest area on the woman next to her. Even though she’d been rather skinny, “Jug’s” breasts must’ve been Double D’s by the very least.

“She has been in my service for several years now."

Catherine glanced sideways at the other slave, who kept her eyes lowered, her expression blank. The realization that another person had endured similar horrors for several years had been a terrifying thought.

Madeline continued, her gaze shifting back to to the 41 year old. "Jugs has been away, as I’ve borrowed her to my sister, which is why you haven’t seen her until now."

"You should learn from Jugs," Madeline said, a faint, cruel smile playing on her lips. "She is obedient, efficient, and knows her place."

Catherine felt a surge of defiance rise within her, but she quickly suppressed it, knowing that any sign of rebellion could lead to further punishment. She forced herself to nod, hoping to avoid Madeline's wrath.

With a dismissive wave of her hand, the older mistress signaled the end of the conversation. “You are both dismissed.”

As Catherine began to rise, she noticed “Jugs” remaining on her knees, crawling towards Madeline. With a reverence that bordered on ritualistic, the young slave leaned forward and kissed both of Madeline’s shoes. The act was performed with a practiced grace, a silent testament to her conditioning. Only after completing this gesture did Grace stand up and leave the room.

Catherine followed soon after, her mind swirling with the new information and the unsettling display she had just witnessed. The sight of Jug’s subservience left a lingering sense of dread. This was what they’d expected of her—complete and utter submission.

The following days were a whirlwind of curiosity and apprehension for Catherine. She couldn’t stop thinking about “Jugs”, the young woman she had only glimpsed but who shared her plight. She wanted to speak to her, to understand her situation, and perhaps find a way to escape together.

Whenever Catherine and Jugs crossed paths, their owners’ looming presence served as a suffocating barrier to any exchange. Like ships passing in a foggy night, they exchanged fleeting glances laden with unspoken messages of solidarity and hope. Each stolen moment, whether in the opulent halls or shadowed corners of the estate, was a whisper of shared determination amidst the silence forced upon them. Catherine yearned for a chance—a brief respite from the watchful eyes that tethered them—to forge a plan that could liberate them both.

Unfortunately for Catherine, the foot licking ceremony from a couple of days ago had not been an isolated torment. Instead, it had insidiously woven itself into the fabric of her daily existence.

In one especially humiliating “session”, Hailee sat at the kitchen table, delicately spooning chocolate pudding into her mouth as her slave got to work on her feet. The teen’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she savored each bite, her gaze never leaving her servants bent form.

With a giggle that sent a shiver down Catherine’s spine, Hailee dipped her spoon into the pudding, scooping a generous amount before spreading it lazily over her own feet. The act was slow, deliberate, each smear a statement of her absolute control.

Catherine’s stomach churned, but she immediately understood the assignment. This was another test, another indignity designed to break her spirit.

Closing her eyes, she licked it off in long, slow strokes. The taste, once a treat in her former life, now felt like ashes in her mouth, a bitter reminder of her servitude. Hailee’s laughter rang in her ears, a cruel symphony that underscored her degradation.

“Good girl,” Hailee cooed, her voice dripping with condescension. “Make sure you get every bit, Buttslut.”

2 days later

Catherine’s heart raced as she held the delicate blouse in her hands. The fabric was soft and fragile, unlike anything she had ever handled before. Fearful of ruining it, she knew she had to ask Madeline for guidance. Steeling herself, she descended the grand staircase, the blouse draped over her arm.

The house was eerily quiet, the only sound being the faint hum of the central air system. As she approached the living room, she saw Madeline from behind, seated on the couch with her arms comfortably resting on the headrests to her sides.

Quietly, Catherine cleared her throat and said, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Ma’am."

Madeline's voice, laced with annoyance, responded without turning, "What is it, Buttslut?"

Catherine took a cautious step forward, clutching the blouse tightly. "I, um, I needed guidance on how to iron this blouse. It's a very delicate fabric, and I didn't want to risk ruining it."

As she spoke, Catherine became aware of soft groans and moans coming from Madeline’s direction. She paused, puzzled by the sound, but continued, "Could you please show me how to handle it?"

The 39 year old’s voice came again, this time shaky and tinged with a strange pleasure, "Bring it here and show me."

Catherine hesitated, her confusion mounting, but she obeyed. As she walked around the large couch, the scene before her unfolded, and her breath caught in her throat.

to be continued.