I moved slowly about the dungeon as I cleaned, though for once it wasn’t intense bondage that slowed me. My mind was twisting about in ways that I still found somewhat surprising. The feel of my French Maid outfit was a comfort, as were the ankle and wrist restraints, the latter of which was attached to the normal thick leather bondage belt around my waist. The normality of my bonds, and my gag, gave me some slivers of comfort. Those were the normal parts of my life now. Being restrained, contained, and controlled by Mistress Eliza was comforting. Normal.

What was not normal was Mistress Eliza being…well, I dunno. Worried? Nervous? Hell, if I hadn’t experienced her control over the past…however long, I might almost think she on the verge of being scared. I gave a little snort, tinged with amused concern. It was hard to think of my Mistress feeling anything approaching nerves, but the day had been a weird one.

I was finishing scrubbing down the padded bench on which I had so often been stretched for morning sex as I recalled the phone call. The bloody, stupid, unfair, mistimed phone call that had prematurely ended dungeon day and thrown my Mistress into…something. A mood that had made me want to quail back at the roiling emotions that had played across her face. But her hand had held me against that wall, tightening against my face as though someone was trying to take me from her, all while a thunderhead grew in her eyes. I hadn’t understood the gravity of the conversation that happened in front of me, with each clipped response from Eliza seeming to sink her further into whatever stupid work stuff was clawing at her attention.

I hadn’t heard her refer to her work since that very first full day when she chatted with someone from her office while I was securely bound to her kitchen chair. That first, terrifying day of ownership, and she had seemed like an all-knowing, all controlling Mistress, in utter command of everything. Her work had never seemed to obviously impinge on her time and energy when it came to spending time with me. Training me. Enjoying me. An ugly little fear blossomed in my mind just then, a remembered interaction from Bondcon. A certain…someone, who had seemed to be linked up with Eliza’s work life in some way. Could this phone call be something to do with that…that Prescott fellow?

I shivered, remembering the way the man had looked at me. A cross between considering an insect that he might deign to squish, and an interesting piece of property that might bring him some advantage in obtaining. It had been a singularly unpleasant little moment, managing to do in just a few seconds what Red and her old cronies had achieved in an actual attempted theft of me. Eliza’s sharp dealing with him had relieved me at the time, but what if that hadn’t been enough? What if that slimey bastard was still…?

I shivered again, resisting the urge to rub at the goosebumps tracing along my arms. Best not to poke my mental nose too far down that particular hole. He couldn’t get me, no one could get me, while Eliza had anything to say or do about it. She was like an avenging angel when she wanted to be, especially concerning any attempt to take me from her. An angel who had kidnapped the mere mortal she was now guarding and enthralled him, but still. I felt my lips quirk into a smile. Enthralled me. That was good. Even better, the thought had brought an image of Eliza dressed in some sort of martial, angelic outfit while tightly keeping hold of my leash as I knelt behind her, beneath her protection…Goodness. Now there was an image that I would enjoy.

But all the same, when she had told me dungeon day was going to be cancelled in that quiet, controlled tone…I winced and stopped cleaning, hugging myself as best I could in my restraints. The amusing and desirable image I had conjured vanishing back beneath the waves of worry that ebbed and flowed in my mind. I hadn’t known what to do, except stand there like a bloody idiot, just watching her. Desperately trying to think of something I could do to ease whatever new burdens the world had flung upon her shoulders.

Was it weird to want to hug your kidnapper? Or snuggle them to repay for all the times she had protected me and soothed me over the long days and weeks in my early captivity? I could easily recall dozens of times when she had held me in my bondage, sometimes crooning soothingly, sometimes just being there as I whimpered or raged or pleaded or some other response that, in the present, made me blush to remember. She had been so patient with me, always been there in my moments of weakness, or terror, or mulish frustration with her having kidnapped me. Before I had caught a major case of feelings for her, at least.

But I had taken too long, hesitated in the grip of my awkward ignorance of just what was happening, and so had given Eliza just enough time to order me gagged. She hadn’t even met my eyes, and I had felt like my heart was clawing at my throat. But the last thing I wanted to do at that moment was refuse her. Not when she was like that. I didn’t want to add further to the internal maelstrom that seemed to be battering against her usual self-control. I wanted to be the antidote to that chaos.

Those thoughts, and some chewing on the gag filler that I had so assiduously packed into my mouth, carried me through the last bits of tidying up the various bits and pieces that were straightforward. There yet remained the evidence of my…incident…on the ceiling. I chanced a glance upward and blushed, remembering how Eliza’s questioning and “punishments” had rocketed me towards an unwanted finish. God that was going to be a bitch to clean. Even though she had told me to worry about it and the iso bed tomorrow, I still was half-considering making a go of it after the kitchen and upstairs tidying. Hell, maybe that was why she had left me in such light bondage, as there was no way I could manage that task in an armbinder. Not with my…less than stellar record at balancing in bondage. Just to give me the opportunity to go above and beyond. I giggled into my gag, basking a little in the surreal feeling of going above and beyond for my kidnapper, my Mistress. I glanced around the extensive dungeon, trying to check the mental list of where we had played over the course of the day and seeing if I had missed anything that would be quick to clean up.

Nothing that wasn’t going to require soap, a ladder, and a fair bit of elbow grease really suggested itself. I could always try to finish up the rest of it after doing a round of cleaning upstairs. I began to walk in my accustomed slave shuffle over towards the stairs that would lead out of the dungeon. Eliza hadn’t told me specifically to take my cleaning efforts beyond the kitchen, but she was most definitely in a mood. Taking initiative to clean or accomplish other chores usually seemed to make her smile. Especially if I was able to let her see me doing it in bondage. Apparently she found it just as amusingly sexy to watch me do chores in bondage as I did in actually doing them.

God, but I wanted to make her smile today, even more than my usual thrills whenever I saw her face light up over something I had did, said, or even just by being near her. Maybe I could hold off on doing the dishes until she was with me. I blushed as I felt a thrill race through me, and my chastity cage felt just a slightly bit tighter.

I grunted a laugh into my gag. Somehow that first time doing them, just prior to my hellish experience with her escape protocol, had really cemented the dishes, and everything that went with it, as one of my favourite slave chores. Given how often Eliza found excuses to come into the kitchen while I was doing them, and then proceeded to make it very…very…challenging to actually finish them, she seemed to share my sentiment. I began carefully navigating my way up the stairs, partially lost now in remembered kitchen kinky times.

By the time I was upstairs, I was firmly of the opinion that I needed to find a way to take my Mistress’ mind off whatever it was that was bothering her. No matter how serious it was, I was going to make her smile.

But the easy method of doing that, by showing off in bondage while doing chores, was denied to me. Eliza was nowhere in sight. I cautiously checked around the main floor of the house, feeling my plug thrum at varying speeds as I shuffled along through the different rooms. I carefully kept away from the backdoor and from the front door. The upticks in the vibrations told me quite clearly that Eliza was either outside, or had decided adamantly that I was going to stay on the main floor and not bother her. Either way, I was stuck in my chore area.

There was a time in the not too distant past that I would still have felt angry over being treated like a forgettable servant, an amusing distraction that could be discarded for hours at the whim of my kidnapper. A time when I might have considered the light bondage as an opportunity to try to escape. Hell, I’d had one or two times at Bondcon where I technically could have tried. I could have had a real shot at freedom, gotten away from the insanity that had consumed me from the day of my final exam.

I picked up the broom and began to carefully sweep. That Davey had bloody well learned his lesson, and the consequences that came with such foolishness. Not only that, I paused for a moment, a half incredulous smile flickering behind the tight panel gag. I didn’t even want to try it. Not just because of the consequences, but because of Eliza. My kidnapper, and my Mistress. The person who, more than anyone else, had demonstrated time and time again just how much she cared about me. Sure, it was an odd sort of caring, that required I be restrained and generally tucked away from the world, but I had seen the fierce protective streak often enough to luxuriate now in her control and domination. The terror of those early days, the frustrated rage of captivity, had receded. Chipped away, melted back, by Eliza’s devious, sneaky, caring approach to her taking and training of me.

Well wasn’t that something to realize, I gave my head a slight shake. I had been standing motionless staring out the window, broom paused in its sweeping. That would so not be a good position to get caught in. I picked up the broom again, shuffling to what I was pretty confident was a safe distance from the backdoor to begin sweeping up that portion of the kitchen. There was a time and place for lollygagging, and it most certainly was not when Eliza had given specific instructions to—

My train of thought was cut short by a sudden loud chime. A soft automated voice, a robotic sounding version of Eliza, spoke, “SECURITY BREACHED. PROTECTIVE PROTOCOLS ENGAGED.”

The plug in my rear roared to life from the gentle vibrations it had been largely pulsing at, and I dropped like a loose sack of potatoes, squealing in desperate surprise and denial. My body arched in surprised, agonized pleasure as the vibrations thundered through me. My mind contorted. What the absolute hell was going on??? I hadn’t gone near the bloody door!! I hadn’t done anything!

I spasmed on the floor, my mind winging back to that second experience with the escape protocol. Maybe she had changed it. Maybe Eliza had upped the sensitivity for some weird reason.

The vibrations weren’t slowing down, and began a dangerous pulsing that I recognized. I wasn’t moving towards the basement, so the bloody program was planning to motivate me unless I got moving.

I could figure out why this was happening later. I could plead for whatever forgiveness was necessary for making her day worse. God save me, I hope she didn’t think I picked today to try to run out again. She wouldn’t think that, would she? I gave a guttural groan of frustration and fear into my gag as I hauled myself towards the basement door. The doorway yawned in dim darkness, the portal to my hoped for salvation from my current torments.

I would just have to hope that the cameras would save me, like they had last time. And that Eliza would check them first before she came to see me.

“SECURITY BREACHED. PROTECTIVE PROTOCOLS ENGAGED.”

With a muffled moan I managed to get myself past the door, inch-worming my way over the threshold and into the stairwell. Over the panicked gibbering in my head, and the waves of pleasure pulsing through me from my rear, I dimly saw the recessed dungeon door slide shut after me. There was a distinct, heavy sounding thunk of a substantial lock engaging. That hadn’t happened last time. More noises were happening on the other side of the now sealed off kitchen, but I couldn’t concentrate on them. Apart from a frantic, frustrated thought. What the hell was going on?

I had far better luck with the stairs this time around, not least because I had comparatively light bondage and didn’t have to contend with heels. There was no repeat of my tumble down the stairs, despite my haste in charging down them as quickly as I could in a weird spidery shuffle-crawl. I was quite thankful for the full packing I had given myself, as I bit down hard against the stuffing as the pulses came more frequently, egging me onwards towards my goal. I fairly flung myself into the cage, turning around inside to yank the door shut behind me. I nearly fumbled the lock away as I fit it into place with trembling hands, but managed to prevent a further delay and clicked it shut.

“SECURITY BREACHED. PROTECTIVE PROTO—” Robot Eliza’s voice cut out in mid sentence, leaving me in the deep silence of the dungeon, alone with my racing chaotic thoughts. I huddled in the cage, my hands drifting down to cradle my chastity cage, against which my member was now straining hard. It would so, so not do to have an accident in my cage, after all the grief the ceiling explosion had caused for me. I did my best to breathe evenly, calmly, and desperately not think about what the hell was going to happen next.

Eliza hadn’t said anything about leaving the property, about going out to the store or some other place, but even so time seemed to drag by in inches while I waited for her. Somehow this felt almost as bad as that second incident, though at least I knew that so long as the cameras were working I could probably defend myself. Maybe. I hugged myself a little, slumped against the side of the cage. I stared down at my cuffed wrists, flexing my fingers as my mind spun. I really, really didn’t want her to think I tried to run. It wasn’t even all about the possible punishment, though that still sent spikes of fear through me. It was, on the whole, much more that I so did not want to be a source of stress to my Mistress. Especially when some jerk in the outside world seemed to be causing her so much grief.

My interminable time spent moping and worrying in my cage was eventually, thankfully, broken by the sound of the door cycling open. Well, not the door I was used to, but it sounded the same. The sound though was coming from the rear of the dungeon, back amidst the seemingly endless clothing racks of gear that I had spent hours upon hour cleaning and restocking according to the rather precise organizational methods that Eliza insisted upon. I heard the sounds, and craned my head back. My eyes widened as they took in the sight.

What had once been unremarkable dungeon wall had swung open to reveal a narrow but well-constructed tunnel disappearing out of sight. Eliza was just ducking out of it as I squirmed around to look, my mind spinning. My Mistress had a secret tunnel? Off to some other, even more secret lair than the one she kept me in? I watched with bemused wide-eyed trepidation as she swung the secret door shut, enclosing it once more and making the wall look perfectly normal. As though I had imagined the entire thing. My heart sped up a bit as I watched her. I couldn’t see her face as she slowly scuffed her boot back and forth, clearing away some unseen mark. Was she pissed? Had I done something? I scrambled up fully onto my knees, staring hopefully towards her.

Eliza turned and marched into the room. Her face wasn’t set in the expressionless mask I had feared, nor the Bitch Queen from Hell that still terrified me when it peeked out on occasion. Instead she was frowning, her gaze a distant one even as she approached my cage.

I was watching her carefully, and I could definitely tell now that something really had her on edge. There was nothing terribly obvious about it, and in my first few weeks of captivity I probably wouldn’t have noticed anything amiss in how she moved, how she looked, or anything else. It was half a dozen little minute tells, and just my sense of her as she neared my cage. Eliza was my Mistress, and I had managed to get a feel for her…sometimes. On occasion. Ok, not often at all really, if I was going to be totally honest with myself. But even so, she felt stressed and distracted. And I loathed whatever had done that to her.

Eliza bent down and unlocked the padlock from my cage, opening the door. I pressed myself out of the cage as quickly as I could, and bunted my head firmly into her hands, mumbling into my gag. I shuddered with the residual anxiety that had pulsed through me during whatever the hell sort of lockdown thing had just happened, and bleated into my gag. Partially to reassure her, and partially to plead for understanding.

I felt her hands pushing over me, soothing me in firm gentle motion as they rubbed at my head and shoulders. The faintest tremble, small enough that I might have imagined it, seemed to pass through them into me, and I moaned again into my gag.

“I know Davey.” Her voice betrayed not a hint of anything, beyond soothing reassurance, “I know you didn’t do anything. It was just a system test sweetie.”

I felt a current of relief flow through me at the words. It hadn’t been me. I hadn’t done anything out of turn, or screwed up her day. This was just a test. I pressed myself more firmly against her, mumbling reassurances into my gag. Mumbling thank you’s as well as her hands continued to massage and feel their way across my head and back. Just a test. Just a test. Just something…I tensed a little. Just something she had never done previously. She had always been confident enough in the setup at her home that any demonstrations or tests had always been done for my benefit.

I pulled back a little, my eyes filled with concern. I managed to catch her gaze for a pair of seconds, the unspoken questions clear in my eyes. But Eliza brushed her fingers across my face and said nothing, though a small smile quirked at the corners of her mouth as I mumbled into the gag. Then she pressed my head down, breaking eye contact, so that she could rub the back of my head and neck with gentle fingers. I moaned happily at the attention, but still tried to warble out a gagged question.

My noises went unanswered. Mistress was clearly not in answering mode.

The impromptu little reassurance session lasted several more wonderful minutes, and I found the sharp edges of my own concerns considerably dulled by Eliza’s attentions. It was difficult to stay worried when a gorgeous domme was massaging your favourite spots for relaxation, and I was soon making little humming noises as I kept firmly pressing myself into her. I hadn’t forgotten her worries, nor my own vague mishmash of fears. But Eliza didn’t want a talkative slave at the moment, and so all I could do was just kneel on all fours and try to help by sheer presence alone.

I like to think it helped a little at least.

Eventually though, Eliza gave a soft sigh and then slowly rose to her feet, pulling me up by the collar. She gave me another inscrutable look for a moment, her finger still holding the d-ring of my collar. My hands pulled and twisted against the cuffs, more by instinctual reaction than any real bid for greater liberty. I crinkled my eyes, the only real sign I could show of the smile I wanted to give her, and she shook her head with a wry smile, and booped me on the nose.

“Back to cleaning, Davey. Don’t think I’m going to let you shirk your chores over this.”

I shook my head rapidly in agreement, and Eliza gave me two spanks to my rear. I squealed into my gag, which brought a little more of a genuine smile back to her face before she headed back upstairs.

I decided that I could at least tidy away the isolation bed and bondage before heading upstairs. The ceiling challenge could definitely wait until tomorrow. Maybe, just maybe, I could somehow avoid being the one teetering away on a ladder. It took a hard twenty minutes work of scrubbing, packing, and other bits of the caring routine, but I soon enough had the isolation space back in reasonable shape. I was sure I would need to give it a more thorough going over tomorrow, or at least would be made to do so, but the worst of the task was dealt with at least.

Which meant anything else was now going to be upstairs.

I did my best to be quiet and unobstrusive as I went back up, though the always present soft clink and click of my chains announced my return to the main floor. I finished the sweeping, and the scrubbing down of the counters and table in the kitchen, taking some pleasure from the presence and feel of my bondage and outfit. Even after so much time in captivity, I still thrilled at the feel of restriction. Even when doing mundane tasks outside of play sessions, the knowledge that my full range of motion was denied to me was stimulating. After so long trying to struggle against it and deny it, I fairly reveled in my captivity and bondage.

I found Eliza sitting in the living room with a glass of something perched on a side table, staring out the window. I paused in the entryway for a moment, just taking her in. The punk domme outfit still looked incredible, and I felt myself blush a little as I looked at my Mistress and felt such a thrill go through me that she was mine. Rather, that I was hers. I slowly shuffled my way into the room, taking care to move slowly, and do my best not to interrupt whatever train of thought was taking up her attention.

I reached her without too much trouble, and carefully sank down to my knees in front of her. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her twitch a little as my motion caught her attention, but I just settled myself down with a small moan as my plug filled rump hit the floor. Then, with a slight flush to my face, I carefully, gently, took up one of her feet and began to gently knead and massage it. I heard her breathing change a little, becoming slightly deeper, though I kept my gaze firmly concentrated on the task at hand. Massaging was definitely a skill I had needed to work on, and it was something that could feel really wrong if it was done badly. But, thanks to Eliza, I had had a fair deal of practice and a teacher who did not accept mediocrity.

I heard a soft sigh come from above me, and I darted a hesitant glance up. Eliza had let her head rest back, eyes closed and towards the ceiling, a soft almost inaudible pleased hum emanating from her lips. I blushed happily, and bent back down to my task, my wrist cuff chains jingling softly, merrily, as I worked. Using the palm of my hand for large, broad pressure strokes across the bottom of the foot, and then following up with the flats of my thumbs, again in broad even-pressured movements. I even gently probed and worked over each of her toes, before using my hands to give her foot a brief all over rub down.

After that it was onto the second foot.

It was as I was coming to the end of my massage of her other foot that I chanced to shyly look up again. I was running my hands over it, just wrapping up, when I heard her breathing hitch just slightly. I looked up, and found her looking down at me with an odd expression. It was one I couldn’t recall having really seen on her, and it vanished within moments of me peering up at her to be replaced by a crooked grin. She reached out and snagged the d-ring of my collar, pulling me slowly forward until I was on my knees, in between her legs. A few scant inches from her face.

“Such a good boy you are, Davey.” A hand brushed over my cheek, and she brushed a faint kiss against my panel gag, “Are you here giving your Mistress a massage because all your chores are done?”

I nodded happily, burbling behind my gag and crinkling my eyes at her. My hands tentatively settled onto her legs just above her knees and began to gently massage along the outer edge of the joint. She arched an eyebrow at me, and I felt my cheeks flame a bit brighter, but I mumbled something that I hope sounded endearing and made my best puppy dog eyes at her. She let me mumble away, and massage her legs, for a few moments more, before settling back into the couch, dragging me forward and partially onto her lap so that I had to crane my head to see her.

“Well slave, I think I’ll leave my inspection to sometime tomorrow. For now, I want my boy with me for some relaxing. Get your butt up here.”

I did my best to scramble up onto the couch without upsetting her seated position, though she insisted on re-positioning herself anyway so that she was lying behind me. My cuffs were re-secured in front rather than at the sides, and I snuggled into my Mistress with a highly satisfied burble into my gag. I heard a gentle snort from behind me, and then one arm snaked around my chest while the other trailed teasing, tender fingers along my side and thigh.

I gave a soft, pleased, moan into my gag. I was in heaven.

Eliza flicked the television on, and I gave a grunt of amused embarrassment. It was the latest version of the training montage and digital scrapbook that she was still in the process of building. I guess that some of the initial pictures from Bondcon had begun to trickle in, because one of the first ones was of the end of that hellish, but awesome, obstacle course. Of Eliza and me at the finish line. Of…I blushed and turned my head a little to bury itself against Eliza. Of Lady Rubina and another redhead giving me a joint kiss. I felt and heard Eliza chuckle, and her hand gently turned my head back to the screen.

“No looking away Davey. You earned that evening.”

There were only a few more pictures from Bondcon, as it was most certainly a place that prized privacy for its members unless specifically authorized. In fact, it was rather strange seeing some of the pictures. There was not a hint of the attempted kidnapping by Red and her former cronies, nor the attempted…something…of those Kraken jerks. The pictures captured some of the good points, even with the little cutesy captions that Eliza enjoyed sticking on them. The pictures told part of a story.

But more than anything, I was reminded again, of just how much things had changed. Of the feelings that had crystalized for me at the convention. At the knowledge of just how much I apparently meant to Eliza, and how much she meant to me. Even though I had had this little realization only a couple of days ago, it still seemed so outlandish. Not wrong, never wrong, but that I had such a fiercely protective and wonderful Mistress in charge of me was something that I had never dreamed I needed, let alone would have. And yet, here I was…

There were a few videos and other pictures now, mostly pre-Bondcon material. Though there had been several artful shots taken of the really awesome dinner I had made her after the convention. A short little video of her cooing at me as I was hand fed some of the pasta and sauce I had whipped together. I flushed a little with remembered pride as I felt Eliza gently plant several kisses against the back of my collar and neck.

“Such a thoughtful boy, aren’t you Davey?”

“Yeerrfff MIfftresffhh” I practically preened in her arms, squirming a little with my usual blushes, but with a definite pride in knowing I had pleased her.

I always enjoyed the times that she decided snuggles on the couch were in order, and this was no different. The only difference really was that I made a conscious effort to stay awake. To keep up my squirming in my bondage and pleasant squeals and moans into my gag. To be her responsive, cutesy little boy toy. The montage video was mostly a pleasant blur of half remembered moments, blush inducing pictures or videos, and eye rolling at some of the captions. I did my best to avoid her seeing that, after the one got me three firm spanks, an arched eyebrow, and a dangerously sweet, “Do you not think your Mistress is funny, slave?”

No more eye-rolling. Check. Which made me giggle into my gag. Which got me a more playful swat, and a nibble at the back of my ear. Then her head rested against the cleft of my neck, and I gave a happy hum and did my best to press myself back against her. Good times indeed.

Eventually though, the evening dragged ever onwards. We ended up off of the couch so that I could briefly cook something quick for dinner, some simple chicken and roasted vegetables, and then it was evidently time for an early night. Whatever progress I had managed in trying to cheer her up still hadn’t made up for whatever that stupid phone call had done. And so as she led me upstairs, my stomach continued to churn a little with worry.

We both got changed for bed. Eliza got fluffy, comfortable jammies that made my domme look even cuter. I got a nice cushy purple straightjacket, and to have my involved panel gag removed along with all the stuffing. I had begun to turn towards the foot of the bed, where she normally chained me up on the thickly carpeted floor, but a tug on my leash halted me. I turned back to find Eliza already climbing onto the bed.

“Well?” Eliza asked. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t find anything to say in that moment. Sexy times happened in bed, sure, but not an invitation just to sleep. This was…was…

“Davey,” Eliza’s voice was tinged with fond exasperation, “Your Mistress wants you as a snuggle slave tonight. Unless you keep me waiting much longer.” Another tug on the leash. Well. I didn’t need to be told twice. I tipped myself forward onto the bed, landing with a soft thump, and began to squirm further up to be closer to her.

Eliza had parked herself on the far side, and watched with some degree of amusement as I squirmed towards her. When I managed to lay my head into her lap, I shifted around so that I could look up at her with a pleased grin. I got a crooked one in return.

“You are just impossibly adorable sometimes, slave.” She reached over to her side table and snatched up a long soft band of white cloth. Pulling it taut in front of me she waited, and I opened my mouth to receive my minimalist bedtime gag. A simple, snug cleave gag wound around my head a few times and then knotted off behind. I gave a contented moan, pressing my head gently back into her lap.

We spent a while like that. My head in her lap, staring up at her with a pleased grin over my gag. And she looking down at me, fingers lightly tracing the contours of my face. I could still see the worry though, even behind the smiles and occasional twinkling in her eyes. My Mistress still had some dark worry eating at her. And that gnawed at me in turn. Even when I drifted off a couple of times, I awoke to find her still up. Staring off into the distance, or staring down at me with that inscrutable look on her face.

I wanted so badly to ask her what was wrong. I wanted to help. But I also knew that she absolutely did not want to talk about whatever this was. Pressing the issue would just result in an isolation hood or some such thing, and I didn’t want to be locked away from her, however awesome such hoods usually felt. Whether for her own privacy, or in some effort to shield me from outside cares and concerns, I was kept in ignorance. In the end, all I could do was fade off into sleep, clutched tightly by my Mistress, and just hope.

The next day was worse. Eliza seemed to be wound even tighter, and I couldn’t even get a smile out of her by attempting bound snuggles, or my other morning antics that she usually found so endearing. If I didn’t know any better it only seemed to increase her tension, so eventually I stopped, at a loss as to what was wrong. Breakfast, usually one of our mutually favourite meals of the day, featured her distractedly fiddling with her tablet while I huddled next to her and finished my breakfast oatmeal. When she stood up without even her customary teasing I made a slight whimpery moan and pressed myself into her leg.

Eliza sank down to her knees next to me, and grabbed my head in both her hands, “Hey.” I blinked at her, trying to mutely make her understand my concern. “This isn’t a you thing, alright Davey?” She brushed a hand over my forehead and then cupped my chin, “I promise you, you’ve done nothing to put me in my current mood alright? You’ve been…you’ve been wonderful.”

Followed up by a tender forehead kiss. I was mollified somewhat, enough to not make an issue of whatever this was, but concerns till pulsed through me. I wasn’t set to doing dishes, those evidently would be another later task, and instead Eliza leashed me and led me downstairs.

The straightjacket came off, and in its place she slowly dressed me in a simple black rubber catsuit. She seemed to take her time with it, slowly moving the material up my unresisting form, and smoothing any wrinkles out with slow tender pressure. It was quite enjoyable, and I quietly hummed happily. Thick wrist and ankle restraints were buckled into place with a generous amount of chain, and then my collar was buckled back on and locked. It was some of the lightest bondage I had ever been in with her. Hell, she didn’t even hood me!

I stared down at my hands, bound in front of me, and then looked up as Eliza stepped back around from locking my collar on. Her frown had returned, her eyes far away even as they skimmed over me. I couldn’t wait anymore. I had to ask. I had to do something. Say something!

“Mistress,” I started, a little surprised at the sound of my own voice, “What’s wrong? I don’t under—”

“Hush,” She placed one soft finger against my lips, and I immediately stopped talking. But my eyes begged her for something. Anything to explain what was happening. Explain the changes, her stress, the deep concern that seemed to me to be coiling around both of us, anything!

Instead she hooked a finger through my d-ring and pulled me forward into a kiss. It started soft and tender, and gradually grew stronger. Not quite on the level of her forceful, domineering kisses, this seemed far more…something. I wasn’t quite sure. I was quite sure that I enjoyed the hell out of it. I gave a plaintive, whimpery moan of pleasure. She kissed me harder.

Eliza broke away after a few moments, her forehead touching mine, “Please don’t ask me any questions right now Davey. I’ll explain when I come back, okay?”

I trembled and nodded very slightly.

Eliza gave me another inscrutable look, her hands seemingly moving on autopilot as they roamed across my arms and chest, “Hey. I will be back.”

I blinked. It almost sounded as though she were reassuring herself as much as she was reassuring me. And then she was gone, heading towards the stairs and up to the main floor. I heard the basement door, the normal one, shut behind her. That was a hint enough, even without the warning pulse that my plug gave me. I was meant to stay in the basement.

I sat down, a little at a loss as to what I should be doing. Eliza hadn’t even left me with instructions. She never left me without instructions. And if I was being confined to the basement with nothing to do, usually it was because she had put me in some stringent bondage and the entire point was to struggle and do nothing but be a bondage toy. That hadn’t happened either. I felt disoriented. My life felt like it was teetering on the edge of something, and I really, really didn’t like the sensation.

I got up on the long padded table that we so often used for morning sex, and hugged my legs up to myself. Whatever this work nonsense was, I wanted it to be over. I wanted it to go away, and leave my Mistress alone. I squeezed my arms a bit tighter around my legs, feeling that worried concern ooze around in my stomach.

This had to be serious, whatever it was. Could this be something to do with the Krakens from Bondcon? Could it be something to do with the seemingly ages ago day that she had kidnapped me? Or was this truly some mundane work stress thing that had nothing to do with the kinky side of Eliza’s life? She couldn’t be in any sort of trouble, could she? Not my Mistress. Not…not her. Please, please not her. I shivered and hugged my legs tighter.

I didn’t know, and that ignorance was eating my mental space up. I needed to do something. I needed activity, or I was going to lose it.

It took my whirling brain a number of minutes to recall that I did actually have a task. Something that Mistress Eliza had set for me to do the previous day. I grasped at that little straw and pulled my brain out of the spiral that it had set out upon. I had a chore. I had something to do, ordered by my Mistress. It was a start.

Cleaning up my now dried spunk from the ceiling was not an easy task. It took me a while to locate a ladder, and longer to drag it back out to the space. Breathing a silent thank you to Eliza for not placing me in any sort of boots, I carefully climbed the ladder with several rags and some scrubber spray. Just a minute into it I was berating myself for not tackling the bloody task yesterday. By the end of it I was tired, my arms were sore, and I wanted to do nothing more than curl up back in bed with Mistress Eliza.

And she still wasn’t back. Bugger.

It really was difficult to tell how much time had passed, regardless of the other little tasks I found to keep my mind preoccupied. Eliza never kept clocks or watches in the basement, to enhance the sense of timelessness. There were no windows to catch the passing light of the sun, and I had definitely had plenty of days when I had descended the basement stairs in the soft dawn light, and emerged in the quiet darkness of deepest evening. It was a place that, normally, actually gave me a fairly zen sort of peace. No location in the house more perfectly reinforced my role as Eliza’s slave. No location was, when it came down to it, more perfectly my home. My safe place, when it came down to it.

All of which was to say, I hadn’t the faintest idea how long Eliza had been gone when the vibrator inside my rear suddenly roared to life. I had been once again up on the padded table, and I squealed in surprised, pained, pleasure as I toppled off the table and thudded hard onto the padded floor.

An automated voice, robot Eliza, announced coolly, “PERIMETER BREACH. SECURITY RESPONSE INITIATED.”

I dived towards my cage, managing to make good time since I was already in the basement, and slammed the door shut. I heard the heavy slam and thunk of the large security door on the basement engage. I heard the whirring of other, unseen machinery around me. It practically sounded like the house was waking up to do battle. Robot Eliza continued to calmly announce a perimeter breach, and I trembled in my cage as I secured the lock in place.

My heart was hammering in my chest, and my breath came in ragged savage gasps of air. What was this? Was this the cops? Was this some sort of fucked up robbery? Clearly someone was here, and not with Eliza’s permission. I felt a pit in my stomach yawn wide. Or was this the Kraken people? Had they come to take me? Spirit me away from my Mistress as some sort of weird punishment? Was that what they had threatened her with at Bondcon?

Was I about to be kidnapped again?

I let out a sharp sob as I pressed myself back against the rear of the cage. An anguished thought tore at my mind, ripping at all other considerations to add to the overwhelming mental whirlpool.

Was Eliza alright?