Could yesterday have ended any better?

That thought kept running through my head as I lay there, cocooned in bondage. I had made it. I had…oooooooh.

The butt plug gave a particularly nice vibration and I moaned into my plug gag. I managed to keep my hips from being too loud as they grinded into the floor. At least, I hope I did. I had no idea how much time had passed since I was placed here, and I sure as heck didn’t want to ruin my Mistress’ mood by waking her up in the middle of the night. If it was still night.

Her mantra still softly crooned its words into my ears. After so many nights it had become a soothing lullaby now, helping ease me off to sleep. Except for tonight. I had kept starting awake every so often, luxuriating in the rubber and the thick carpet, and the knowledge that I had made it. I was in her bedroom.

I drifted back to that moment. The tug on the leash, stopping me short. I had looked back at her, wondering why she was stopping me from going down to my cage. The wink and little grin she gave me as she slowly reeled my leash in to her. I hadn’t dared to actually believe she was going to bring me into her bedroom, even as she led me upstairs all the way to the very threshold. And then…I had crossed it.

I moaned softly into my gag, my hips taking on a quiet rhythmic movement as the butt plug continued to buzz. I had definitely had my best night’s sleep last night. At least, since my abduction.

I felt a hand begin to trail along my catsuited leg, up my thigh. I grunted into my gag, sounding pretty darn content with the situation. Was that weird? Her hand began to make little circles up and down my side and my bum, prompting further happy little grunts from me, and some additional hip thrusts into the carpet. This seemed to encourage her, as I felt her other hand join the first. Her light touches, especially through the catsuit, were amazing. I felt her press her body up against my bound form, her hands continuing to roam, and I gave another contented grunt.

I was in heaven.

 

Eventually though, our lazy morning together had to end. I felt her hands around my head, working away at the buckles that held my head tightly. She murmured a warning and I squeezed my eyes shut as the hood was peeled back and away.

I felt her fingers lightly caress my face, “Good morning Davey. Sleep well?”

I opened my eyes to see her grinning at me, her hair haloing her face. I gave a small smile, ducked my head, and nuzzled into her as best I could, while mumbling something that could have conceivably been ‘yes Mistress’.

She chuckled and stroked my head, trailing down the back of my neck and giving my collar a little tug, “There’s my shy little slave huh?”

She gave me one last pat and then a firm spank on my rear, prompting a muffled yelp from me.

“Time for us to start the day Davey. Let’s go.”

With that she untied me from the hogtie that I had been placed in and, snapping a leash to my collar, led me out of her bedroom. After yesterday’s activities I was privately relieved that she was skipping morning sex, something I hadn’t thought I’d ever think after the three days of relentless chastity and teasing.

I followed the tugging of the leash, my thoughts wandering over the past day, as my captor led me slowly down the stairs. Reaching the main floor she paused for a moment to pinch my catsuited ass, getting a surprised squeak out of me, before continuing down back to her dungeon.

Once in the dungeon she untied and stripped me completely before strapping me down onto the table. At this point I knew the drill and refrained from complaining while she hooked up her enema machine. Well, any significant complaining. I just didn’t like the darn thing. Though this time at least I was still in her good books, so I got some soothing touches from her when the discomfort really started up. Then, once I’d stewed for a while, she unstrapped me from the table, bound my wrists, and walked me into the dungeon bathroom where I finished the process.

While I was finishing she had wandered over to the shower and had turned it on, getting the temperature to a warm level. Once she was satisfied she came back over to me, grabbed my leash, and led me into the shower. She removed the collar and leash before gently pushing me under the warm water. Shucking her pyjamas she followed me in, squeezing my butt as she joined me.

“I hope you don’t mind sharing your shower time with me Davey,” she murmured, running a hand down my naked hip and thigh.

“N-No, Mistress,” I responded, blushing a little as I met her eyes.

She laughed at that, pulling me in close, “Oh, I hope you never lose that adorable blush, slave.” She ran a hand through my rapidly soaking hair, and pulled me in for a kiss. It was a warm, welcoming kind of kiss, not tinged with the hunger that normally happened.

I moaned and melted into her arms a bit, my hands flexing behind me, held firmly by her cuffs. It felt borderline normal. Almost like showering with my girlfriend. If I had a girlfriend that is, which I didn’t. Instead, I had a Mistress.

I bent my head forward and buried it in the crook of her neck. She gave me an understanding pat on my ass, and then rubbed my back a bit, before beginning to clean the pair of us. This time the process was a heck of a lot more enjoyable than when it was happening with cold water. And it wasn’t filled with terrible frustration, even when she delicately cleaned my chastised cock. It had been through enough yesterday that I was quite happy keeping the protective little device on and locked.

When she finished with both of us my collar was refastened around my neck, and I was led back out into the main dungeon area. She hooked my leash into a snap hook on a wall, and walked off to where her racks of fetish outfits were stored. I shifted around on my feet a bit, arms flexing against her cuffs out of habit, looking around the dungeon with interest. I was still a little taken aback that she had assembled all of this gear and then picked me as her slave project. I wasn’t used to someone taking any significant interest in me. It felt…weirdly good.

I gave my head a little bemused shake. Man, my brain was messed up. But I still felt a stronger flicker of warmth in me as I saw my kidnapper returning, a pile of rubber and latex in her arms. I saw the white latex apron among the jumble.

“I’m your maid again today Mistress?” I asked, a little shiver racing up and down my spine. Normal household chores wrapped up in kink. This lady certainly knew how to make cleaning interesting.

“Yes you are Davey,” she said, dumping the pile on the table next to me, “After yesterday you’ve got quite a few chores to get through. Be a good boy and work hard, and we can have some fun tonight hmm?”

I nodded and gave her another smile, this one a bit wider.

With that she bent to the task of dressing me. On went the rubber and latex French maid outfit, enclosing me once more from neck to mid-thigh. She tied the white latex apron in front, giving my butt a firm swat while she was back there. Next she put a pair of knee high boots on, with a bit of a heel, “Because you really need more practice walking in boots for me, slave.” Once those were properly fitted, then came the restraints. Cuffs were locked onto my wrists and ankles, with a generous amount of chain linking wrist to wrist, and ankle to ankle. She was feeling very good today.

Next went a ballgag, buckled snugly into my mouth. Not nearly as large as some of the ones she had stuffed in before, further underlining how kind she was evidently feeling this morning. Then she brought out a Gwen hood, grinning as my eyes lit up at the sight of it. Next to my night time isolation hood, Gwen hoods were my favourite. I did my best to help her as she fitted it over my head, drawing everything tightly down. The final piece was rebuckling my collar around my neck, locking it back in place. She stepped back from me to admire her work. She held up a single finger and slowly rotated it.

I responded to the unspoken command, carefully turning around so that she could see.

“Good boy. Goodness you make a cute little maid don’t you?”

I flushed at that, and she laughed. Apparently the hood didn’t completely protect my blushes from her eyes.

“Alright Davey, let’s go start our day.”

 

A routine began to develop over the next few days. My mornings would generally begin in roughly the same way. I’d wake up, always in the darkness of my hood. Sometimes the mantra would still be going, sometimes it would have been switched off during the night. I was always in some form of bondage. Sometimes it was fairly relaxed, perhaps a comfortable straightjacket, or a loose hogtie. Other times, if perhaps I hadn’t been on my best behaviour, it was a strict hogtie or some other form of stringent bondage. I would either wake up in one of two places, my cage in the basement or somewhere within her bedroom. Only if I’d been especially good though. It was a reward, at the end of the day, not an assumed right. So she kept telling me anyway.

Once I was up, if she wasn’t the one who had woken me, I would simply wait until she woke up herself. Once she was up, morning sex almost always followed. Usually I was staked out, spread eagled, for this. Sometimes naked, sometimes fully enclosed in rubber with my pelvis the only uncovered portion of me. Once she strung me up in a mid-air hogtie in the dungeon and then lowered me, via her winch, into her. That had been kind of fun to experience. The two hours after that of suspended bondage, not so much. She seemed to especially enjoy starting her day that way, so if I was being punished then she just used that infernal chastity dildo of hers, denying me anything out of the experience. God I hated that damn thing.

Then the morning cleanings and shower. I never got over my discomfort with the enemas, but she was insistent that they were the most efficient way to keep me clean. Not really being in a position to argue the point with her, I got through it by looking forward to what followed. Shower time. After she showed me how tender our showers together could be, I tried my best to make sure she was in a good mood so that we could share that time. Occasionally, when I’d managed to annoy her, hey went back to the more clinical cleanings from my first few days under her care. But that didn’t happen too often.

After that came time to dress in the uniform of the day. Sometimes it would be a simple rubber catsuit, often it was the maid outfit, and occasionally she just kept me completely naked. Although that was fairly rare. She enjoyed dressing me up in fetish attire, and our morning dressing sessions could sometimes stretch out for almost an hour as she rifled through her collection while I stood nearby. During these times she would ask me my opinion on various options as she considered them, though it was all one big tease as I’d usually have a gag strapped tightly into my mouth. It felt like I was at some weird suit shop, with her carrying on like a shop assistant. But it was still kind of fun.

Coupled with the outfit of choice for that day came the bondage I’d be enduring. At least, for the morning. Though sometimes it could stretch into the afternoon as well if she was busy with other things. If I was cleaning it was usually just pairs of metal or leather cuffs, plus my gag and collar. Other times, if I’d misbehaved, or if she just wanted to add some challenges to my day, I was decked out in an armbinder, heavier shackles, and a Gwen hood. Once, on an especially nice day, she sheathed my arms and legs so that I was walking around on knees and elbows, and left me to be her bondage puppy for a full day. Lots of time outside while she read one of her books, and I was left to amuse myself. Before being captured I would’ve probably found something like that to be a huge waste of precious time. Now though, a day like that was a liberating day from chores and other tasks, where I could just laze around and not have to think of anything. My definition of normal and relaxing was really changing.

Once she fitted me out for the day I was given my list of tasks to complete, usually keeping me busy at least until lunch. Morning routine was cleaning the kitchen and living room, with occasional days spent cleaning the dungeon and its equipment. It’s an odd feeling to clean the restraints and clothing that your kidnapper has used or will use on you. Not bad, but…odd. Really messes with your mind. Occasionally this was broken up by cleaning upstairs, but after that first bout when she was doing something in her office, I wasn’t up there too much. While I was cleaning she was usually up there, working on something, interacting with the online world. She’d come downstairs to check on me now and then, especially when I was washing the dishes. That was a favourite of hers. It was rapidly becoming a favourite of mine too.

Then, lunch time in the kitchen. I was usually strapped into a chair, with rope or leather straps, and then she would feed both of us. Often while perched on my lap, her cute butt grinding into me. Her eyes, sparkling with that little light of mischief, so close to my own. Lunch was often a rather heated affair now. I swear this woman could make the most mundane thing into the hottest experience of my life.

If I hadn’t behaved myself that day I’d eat out of my bowl on the floor, with a stricter bondage for my meal time. Once, just for fun, she hogtied me on the table, and had me carefully try to eat from my plate. That had been fun. And incredibly messy.

Once lunch was done, and cleaned up by me, it was on to our afternoon activities. Usually that involved some outside time. She insisted on maintaining our habit of an outdoor walk immediately after lunch clean-up was complete, through her property. I was still amazed at the sheer size of her land. We wandered in every direction and I had yet to see another sign of human civilization that wasn’t hers. I was almost always completely enclosed in fetish attire, usually a similar outfit to the first time she had taken me out on a walk. She was still attuned to my fear, weird though it was given the situation, of someone else seeing me. I dunno why, but that was my biggest concern whenever I was outdoors. So she made sure no one could ever recognize me, keeping me in tight and anonymous bondage outfits. She was thoughtful like that.

Once we had finished with our walk, it was usually back to her porch so that she could read. I was normally waiting on her, or writhing in bondage nearby.

Dinner would follow our porch time, with similar form to our lunches. I was also expected to carry out the washing of dishes afterwards. No thanks to my Mistress as she groped and teased me all through it. Captive dishwasher is definitely one of her things.

After our kitchen play draws to a close, we shift over to the couch for a relaxing evening watching something. Sometimes it’s an actual movie or tv series that she wants to watch, other times it’s the latest episode of her growing slave training series. She’d begun to include more captions now on the pictures that she took of me to put in her videos, with an almost proud parental vibe to some of them. Like a picture of me in my hogtie from that first night in the bedroom, “A good boy’s first night in his owner’s room.” Or “Slave doing the dishes – SO CUTE!” with a picture of me from the rear and her hand reaching out to pinch my butt.

Other pictures too, like one of our first bondage selfies. I had fallen asleep, nestled into her on the couch. I had only been gagged that particular night, with no hood. She had a massive grin on her face in the picture, with the tagline, “Watching TV and he dozed off, adorable.” Or a shot of me midway through worshipping her boots, “Polishing boots, he gets better every day!” And a final cutesy one where I stood in my maid uniform, in my normal cleaning bondage, and blushing furiously when she took the picture. Tagline, “Slave managed to go an entire day of cleaning without falling over or getting stuck once! So proud!”

I always had mixed feelings when watching these training videos with her. On the one hand, deeply embarrassing. At least, to what remained of my pre-kidnapping thoughts. On the other, it was only the two of us that were watching them. And all the bondage and everything in the videos…well it was all drawn from my own damned fantasies. And it was pretty sexy. And her captions sometimes drew chuckles and giggles out of me too. Which she never failed to notice and tease me about. I think that’s part of why we keep watching them. Almost like she’s helping me cope with everything. Helping me avoid bad days.

Because bad days, or moments, did happen. At least occasionally. I’m only human right? Still not completely ok with the whole kidnapping thing, and sometimes that would just creep up on me and I’d have a sudden bout of…something. The first time I just started shaking as she was getting me ready for bed, and I couldn’t stop. I had already been put in my straightjacket, but she wrapped me up in her arms and sat with me on the floor, just whispering soothingly into my ear. Even after it had stopped, and she had gagged and hooded me, we still sat there for a good long while. Me in my bondage, and her giving me a big bear hug, and rocking me back and forth. I think I ended up falling asleep there in her arms.

So thus the training videos every night, leavening my kidnapping and slave training with some of her humour. And she kept me busy. I think to make sure I didn’t have a lot of time to mope around and get those shakes again. It was strange, but I felt grateful. Even though she had kidnapped me, imprisoned me, anytime I suddenly felt just completely overwhelmed or lost, she was there. She’d tie me tight and then hold me tight, and comfort me until it was over. So yeah, not your typical kidnapper reaction. My Mistress was pretty great for that.

Anyway, after our evening couch time, it was usually off to bed. Not always up in the bedroom with her, because that was still something I had to earn. But I managed to get up there a few times. Nights in the dungeon were usually because I wasn’t doing something well enough, or occasionally just because she wanted me down there. Knowing that she had that control.

Bedroom nights were definitely my favourite, and they were steadily becoming the goal of my day. Whenever I managed to earn a night in her bedroom, she was at her most tender. Apart from when she was soothing me down from my shaking reactions. Sometimes I’d still be on the floor, leashed to the bed. Other times I’d be completely enclosed in leather bondage, acting as her snuggle object in bed. Once or twice I dozed off in her arms to waken a few hours later in the darkness of my isolation hood, my mouth filled with leather, and her soft words in my ears and mind, cooing my slave mantra to me.

 

My kidnapping and slave training was starting to become my daily routine. My Mistress, while still a slightly terrifying figure, was gradually breaking through to me. That she…cared.

It was, weirdly, my new normal.