She looked fancy. Fancy and spangly. Just like how she felt.

 

The girl was going to be there soon. At least she was pretty sure it’d be soon. He’d said “morning,” and it seemed like there probably wasn’t that much morning left by now.

 

It was one of those days Master had taken away her ability to tell time. He did it to discipline her out of always trying to think ahead. The only time a slave knows is the time of obedience, and the time of obedience is always Now. Which was the Truth, but all she really cared about was how hot it made her. You glanced at a clock, by reflex, all at once you remembered again you couldn’t make sense of it. Just because of His will. It was unbearably sexy. The thought He could suppress something like that, something so basic, so easily. That He’d brainwashed her to where her mind was that open to Him.

 

Before too long she’d be begging Him to take away her ability to read. Make her forget what a book even was. She could feel the pressure of the idea building inside her. When she thought about it her chest tightened and she could scarcely breathe.

 

The other thing He'd told her was, it was a girl from class. She hadn’t thought before of Him taking another one, though obviously it was His right. She wondered how He was doing the other bitch’s training. She wondered which of them it was, though she knew she shouldn’t. At some point these last few days she’d probably dressed up every one of them in her head, even the non-hot ones, in some frilly, barely-there maid costume to masturbate to.

 

She for sure thought it was going to be Alecia, though. Alecia was the only Black girl in class. Lately her porn diet had been all Black girls, the more tatted-up and big-titted the better. Alecia had at least a couple tats, and she was definitely sporting a rack. It was funny because she couldn’t remember having a thing for either before, tits or tats. Maybe it was just a porn rabbit hole she’d gone down on her own, but she liked the idea that Master was programming some new preference into her without telling her about it. It made her feel like He was thinking of her.

 

The only other thing He told her before He left was that she could wear her choice of outfit for the girl. That one had really thrown her for a loop. Maybe once in a while she’d get a feeling about an outfit and Master would let her beg permission to put it on, but He never just said, whatever you want.

 

Alecia or whoever, the girl would know her just well enough that it was mortifying to think of showing up at the door fully naked to let her in. Or maybe kneeling and waiting while she let herself in, but would you even kneel to a maid? She didn’t feel instructed on how to manage the thing at all.

 

Whatever she had on, it would have to look special. She wanted to show off to this new bitch the kind of slut she really was, the kind Master saw in her. The kind that wasn’t used for housecleaning, for a start. The kind He was making useless for anything that wasn't sex.

 

None of her outfits looked right. It was hard to think her way through it all. She kept zoning out. She stood in the closet so long that Mitta, out of boredom or annoyance or just for perversity, decided to come in and start attacking her clothes.

 

Tossing the cat kind of woke things up for her. Mitta, who hated being out of whatever she thought was the action, set up a piteous whine as soon as the closet door shut. Through the slats she could see the little one flopped on her back, rolling herself in frustration over the floor. Which was when inspiration struck.

 

It took another shooing of the cat, this time from the bedroom, then she had to grab a spare sheet. She had no idea where she’d got the body glitter—some ancient rave?—it was frankly a wonder she had it to hand. There was a generous amount. She slathered gel on her tits, her ass, her thighs, she rolled around in the stuff then rolled around more, getting shiny, letting it go where it would and she’d never felt more vapid, more ornamental, more of a brainless fuck bauble. It was the most fun she’d had that didn’t involve taking Master’s cock.

 

She opened the door again as soon as she was done. She couldn’t feel comfortable on her own behind a closed door. Mitta slid back in and hopped on the bed. She preened in the mirror and primped and changed her shoes once and once again and Mitta watched it all stoically. Some of the glitter had gotten caught up in her hair, and at intervals when she moved her head bright little showers of it fell about her.

 

She was naked and she wasn’t naked. She was in her home outfit and she was in a different one, a new outfit He hadn’t approved. The ambiguity made her feel naughty. Maybe she wouldn’t even take the glitter off after the girl left. Let Master see. Maybe she’d have to be corrected.

 

Mitta launched off the bed and trotted from the room. A moment later she heard keys, and the back door closing. Heel steps against wood. She felt her heart pound.

 

She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled out. It wasn’t an idea she had, just the way things decided to arrange themselves.

 

The maid was in the living room. The first sight she had of her was the shoes, black leather, a high, old-fashioned buckle-y kind with heels and a pointed tip. Opaque white hose above. The skin beneath maybe was dusky, but she knew that whether it was Alecia or not was going to stay a mystery. She had no way to bring her gaze high enough to look. Higher than the tops of those shoes. She felt the constraint take her like it was Master’s own hand holding her head down.

 

She stretched out onto her side and rolled over to expose herself. She squirmed on her back at the maid’s feet, eyes still on them, imagining that severe shoetip entering her cunt, forcing her mouth open. She didn’t care that she was being a needy slut. The maid didn’t move. She tried to beg, she tried to tell her I got all glittery for you but the only sound that came out when she did was a long, loud, querulous meow. Mitta ran over to investigate.

 

Of course she couldn’t talk. That was Master, always inventing little humiliations to surprise her with. She tried it again, not to find her voice but just to relive the weird hotness of losing it once more. Her pussy dripped. The maid walked off toward the kitchen.

 

She was never going to get that attention. She’d never be able to stop begging for it though. She wondered how many more times she’d debase herself before the day was over. How long the maid would be around to make her do it. Then she remembered she had no concept of time.

 

She crawled toward the kitchen to try flaunting her spangles again.