“Kneel, slut. Now.”
The command hits me like a physical blow, and I drop instantly. My knees slam into the hardwood floor, my back straight, chest pushed out, and hands clasped firmly behind my ass. This is my default state. I don’t speak unless spoken to, and when I do, every sentence must start and end with the proper acknowledgment of my Master’s status.
“Yes, Master. I am ready for my instructions, Master,” I moan, keeping my eyes locked on his boots.
He reaches down, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head back so I have to look up at him. “Remind me of the speech rules, Edith.”
“I am a mindless, fucking hole, Master. I only speak to praise you or beg for your cock, Master,” I gasp, my breath hitching.
He sneers, his thumb pressing hard into my cheek. “And your posture when you aren’t kneeling?”
“I must keep my legs parted and my back arched, Master. I am never to close my thighs or hide my pussy from your sight, Master.”
He lets go of my hair, letting my head snap forward. “Good. You’re starting to remember. Now, crawl over here and lick the dust off my shoes. Use your tongue, slut. I want to feel every wet swipe.”
I don’t hesitate. I drop my chest to the floor, crawling forward on all fours, my tits swinging. I press my face against the leather, my tongue darting out to lap at the soles of his boots. I can smell the street and the scent of his power, and it makes my pussy soak through my thin lace panties. I’m nothing but a tool for his pleasure, and the strictness of it makes me ache





















