Maid

You sit the pencil down and it is hard to breathe. It’s the corset you’ve been wearing since your 18th birthday. Daddy promised you’d get used to it, but how can you ever get used to it when he tightens it more every month?

And the shoes! You were happy when Daddy took you for the leg surgery. It was easier to walk in heels afterwards, but being **** to wear them all the time sucked. Your feet hurt all the time now, but your only alternative was to crawl. Walking flat-footed was no longer possible for you.

You sit up and grab the white thigh-highs from where you left them on your nightstand the night before. You roll them up your legs before reluctantly, you slipping your feet into your six inch mary janes. It could be worse, you suppose, a friend of yours was modded into a ponygirl. She doesn’t get heels at all. Instead she has to wear ballet boots that make her walk on her toes all day with heavy hooves at the bottom.

You stand up and head to your closet for your uniform. After you were modded, Daddy got you a good contract with a maid service. Sometimes you wish you were contracted directly to a dominant, but being contracted to a corporation did have its advantages. You had your own apartment, you could still see your family in your off hours, and you even had control of your body, once you had been modified to fit the corporations standards at least. You slip the short maid dress over your head and smooth the short skirt into place.

Your fingers linger over the metal covering your clit and a small tear slips down your face. One of the conditions of your contract was that you had to be permanently chastised. You still remember the final orgasm your Daddy let you have, before your clit was sealed behind the thimble like covering.

Your poor cunt received similar treatment, after you healed from being sterilized. Without your ovaries, Daddy said you had no need of a cunt anyways. Cunts were for making babies not for fun. And you didn’t want any babies. The thought of being **** to give birth to child after child until you were nothing more than a useless, ruined husk of a woman left you terrified. So you let your Daddy take your ovaries and then you let him seal you shut forever.

A cute little head band for your bald head completes the look. You miss your beautiful long hair, but Daddy was right, life is so much easier without it.

As you leave for work, you happen to glance at the bed where a notebook lies open. For a minute, your head pounds with two sets of memories and you aren’t sure where or when you are. Then you look away and it’s gone. You shrug. That was weird. And you leave for work.

The End