Margaret’s House Slaves by DreamingHard
Discover the tantalizing world of "Margaret’s House Slaves" by DreamingHard—a provocative erotic sex story that explores desire, power dynamics, and forbidden fantasies. Immerse yourself in steamy encounters and captivating characters that will leave you breathless. Join the adventure today!<br/>
IMPORTANT: All inequality, such as sexism, racism or the concept of slavery, is deplorable. This is simply a way of safely exploring those things which one inexplicably finds themselves turned on by.
PLEASE leave a comment if this turned you on or if you have any feedback.
This story is set in a universe just like our real everyday world – except that slavery is normalised and commercial. About an eighth (on average) of the population of each country are born into slavery and bought and sold as objects. Because of this ratio, only the rich upper classes can afford to own a large number of personal slaves – think of it as equivalent to owning a lot of cars. These slaves have no rights.
Margaret had grown up in a standard, middle-class family, but she had gotten married at the age of 35 to a much richer man, and landed a high-paying job as well. After 13 years of an average relationship, she had divorced him, and been left with a large sum of money. Now, two years later, at the age of 59 and fast approaching 60, she had enough to buy a large house for herself and have a lot left over to keep her in luxury, only working occasionally. She was becoming a slightly larger woman in her older age as everything began to sag and she expanded around the middle, but she kept her hair dyed an unrealistic shade of blonde. As her past marriage had dragged on she had thought about it and decided more and more often that, although she didn’t mind the occasional sex she had with her husband, she was really a lesbian at heart. Aside from some casual dates every now and then with both men and women, Margaret found that she actually really enjoyed living alone as an older single woman, and having all her time to herself.
Of course, she was only “alone” as far as the upper classes defined it. Her house was actually also home to her several slaves. The money her rich ex-husband had left her in her divorce had provided her the means to indulge in the luxuries of the wealthy, the foremost of which was owning multiple slaves. Her husband had taken all of their slaves in the divorce – she allowed him this as she wanted to start building up her own, hand-picked collection for her own pleasure, all to her tastes. All of her slaves now were young and female, as it pleased her newly-discovered lesbian self to have complete ownership over so many young, helpless, female bodies. Her slaves were carefully ***********ed every now and then on visits to the slave warehouse. Margaret was quite the figure, a larger, older woman with her curled hair, makeup, colorful, flower-patterned blouse and large handbag, inspecting the displays of sad-eyed, nubile, naked young slavegirls. The warehouses stocked slaves from various different enslavement and distribution companies who supplied slaves of all different shapes, sizes, ages, races, and price levels. Choosing to purchase a new slave was always an occasion, similar in scale to buying a car – not a light, everyday decision, but definitely achievable for someone so rich to do many times. As such, Margaret currently owned a household of 7 slaves.
Margaret would wake up at around 9 am every morning, mostly out of habit, and sometimes laze in bed for a little while. When she felt like breakfast, she would press the little button by her bed which rang a bell throughout the rest of the house. Margaret was an old creature of habit, and liked her routine. She would have the same thing for breakfast every day – two pieces of toast with marmalade, and a cup of tea. As soon as the bell rang it would be prepared by her maid slave, and would be delivered to her in bed within a few minutes. Her maid slave, Kiki, had been the first slave she bought with her own money as a single woman, which had been incredibly exciting for Margaret. Kiki was 25 (34 years younger than her owner), skinny, pale and dark-haired. Margaret had thought she had the perfect looks to be a traditional maid when she bought her. Her original name was Lucy, but she had called her “Kiki” after her childhood dog. Kiki was the household’s main slave, as the first one, and it was her duty to cook all her owner’s meals to perfection, keep the entire house spotlessly clean, and wait upon her owner whenever Margaret pressed her button or rang one of the many little bells around the house. Margaret liked to see Kiki’s body as she worked, and also feel like she was humiliating the younger slave woman, so Kiki worked naked except for a black-and-white, frilly, French maid’s top that opened to let her medium-sized, milk-white breasts hang out with their pink nipples, and a pair of high black heels. Her pale pussy cleft and perfect ass cheeks were kept completely hairless and uncovered. Margaret just loved the feeling of wealth and decadence she got from having her maid dressed up in this French-imitating way. What made Kiki’s tasks much harder for her was the fact that her high heels were permanently connected with a shining silver hobble-chain about 20cms long, forcing her to always walk in tiny, dainty steps, and her wrists were connected with a slightly longer chain. Because of this, and the huge house she had to keep clean on top of her daily cooking, Margaret allowed Kiki only 6 hours of sleep every night, strictly between 12am and 6am. When she had bought Kiki, before taking her home she had immediately paid to have her sent on a two-week intensive course where she was trained from scratch to walk perfectly upright all the time, keep balance in her hobbled high-heels, present herself gracefully with her back arched and breasts stuck out, serve food with her hands chained without spilling it, and of course how to cook all of Margaret’s specified menu exactly as her buyer liked them. Kiki was an ever-present presence in Margaret’s day, all over the house, starting from the moment she brought in the breakfast and tea and carefully lowered it with her chained hands onto the bedside table without spilling any. She would then be given any specific instructions Margaret had for the day’s work, and be dismissed to her duties. The only words she ever spoke were a delicate “Yes ma’am” or “No ma’am”. Still, the human spirit is incredibly resilient even in situations of complete oppression, and Kiki had, through sheer daily repetition, come to find pride and purpose in her work, her sole purpose being to keep her mistresses house as tidy as possible and make her perfect meals (Kiki herself only ate the most basic slave food and scraps of course.) She was also required to serve very busily whenever Margaret had her similarly rich, old, female friends over for a drinks occasion, and they all admired the well-trained maid slave with her bare milk-white breasts and pink nipples, and complimented Margaret on owning her.
Once she had finished breakfast, Margaret would get out of bed and get dressed before sitting down at her desk to check her emails on her desktop computer. Sometimes she would work for a few hours from home as well, and sometimes would be seated there for many more hours watching random silly videos or messaging her friends (this was probably one reason why Margaret was becoming a larger woman). This is where the job of the next slave to begin work in Margaret’s household would start. About two years ago, on Margaret’s birthday, her good friend, another rich woman around her age, had given her a present, saying it was a very special one. The present was a young slave girl, who she had hand-picked from the market for Margaret. Margaret had been asked to close her eyes and had been led into another room as all the old women at the party giggled, then told to open her eyes. The girl had been presented naked, standing in the middle of the room, with her hands and hair both tied with big red ribbons like a present, and all the old ladies whooped and cackled like old women having a drink together do. The slave was 22 (37 years younger than her new owner), blonde and slightly chubby, with a protruding bottom and large tits, as was the fashion for some older women to own, and the friend had ***********ed her thinking Margaret would like this. Margaret of course was very polite and pretended to be overjoyed, thanking everybody so much, and, when all the ladies chanted “spank her, spank her, spank her”, bending the girl over her knee and giving her her inaugural spanking as her owner. However, secretly, even though she would never say it out of politeness, Margaret didn’t like the slave at all. Hypocritically, Margaret couldn’t stand the look of even slightly chubby slavegirls – she believed all slaves should be in shape as it made them look like they were working properly and not being lazy (laziness was for privileged owners like herself to enjoy), and her taste was always for trim girls. When all the guests were gone at the end of the night, she had the girl stand in front of her while she inspected her. Then she finally let her displeasure show as she examined the slave with disapproving tut-tuts, feeling her slightly flabby belly and giving her a squeeze. “What am I going to do with you?” she said, almost to herself. “What can I do with a fat slave?” The poor slavegirl (who wasn’t even very fat, only slightly chubby) couldn’t help it and began to cry – already in a difficult life due to being a slave, her only role was to serve and please her owner and try to find a sense of purpose in that – but she now had to deal with the humiliation of being completely owned as an object by someone who didn’t even want her – that’s how low she was. Her crying just made Margaret more disgusted as she now looked uglier. The next day, Margaret had a great idea. She could still get good use out of a slave without having to look at her and be displeased (she was a very fussy old woman about beauty and aesthetics, and prided herself on her taste in furniture and decor – with human slaves included in those categories.) She would have the girl kept under her desk, unseen, with her head between where Margaret’s legs rested, to pleasure her while she worked or just lounged around on her computer. A builder had made the adjustments under the desk and the unwanted slavegirl was installed permanently in a bondage position under there. Margaret never had to see even a little bit of her – she simply sat down at her desk every day like she wasn’t there. When she opened her legs, which was the sign her slave was trained to respond to and the only communication that ever happened between owner and slave, the girl would begin to use her tongue and lips to lick and suck on her owner’s old, saggy pussy (Margaret never wore underwear, for this reason.) The slave, who was straight, despised her role in life, to lick an old woman’s genitals, but of course couldn’t express this. Margaret could quite happily spend hours and hours at her laptop watching videos of cute animals or sending emails while she was gently orally stimulated. By the end of each session, the unseen slave’s mouth and neck and jaw muscles were agony. She was strictly forbidden to ever make any noise that reminded Margaret of her presence, not even a sniffle, cough or sneeze, and the owner never said a word to the slave either. It was perfect for Margaret – she never had to see her, and the slave existed to her only as a tongue she felt under the desk. The slave’s name had been told to her as Hannah (“But name her whatever you want of course” the friend had said when she presented the gift), but Margaret had long since forgotten that. If she ever thought of the poor girl imprisoned down there at all, she simply thought of her as “Tongue” or “desk slave”. But whenever her friend who had given the gift asked her if she was enjoying her slave, she answered “Yes, very much!”